You are Alabaster Soliloquy, dextrous danmaku dodging doujin devotee and cake fucker. When it comes to quiz bowl drilling, you're Daniel fucking Plainview.
You sit at the edge of Ms. Carte's bed as she noisily sucks your cock.
What she lacks in finesse she makes up for in eagerness. Her wet slurping echoes off the walls, filling your mind with animal lust. With her mouth stuffed full she moans around you, as if merely sucking you off is enough to make her cum.
From your many, many experiences with her this past week, you know it really is.
Her hot tongue swirls and contorts around every square milimeter of your achingly hard shaft. You hold the back of her head in both hands -- not forcefully, but appreciatively, as you gently guide her bobbing.
Her style is slow, almost maddeningly so, but unbelievably lewd and sloppy. On the outstroke, her tongue broadens to engulf as much of your cock as possible, like a little ribbed onahole. She draws her head back luxuriously, as if licking a sweet popsicle.
She never breaks eye contact, not for a second. Her irises simmer with ecstasy as she services you.
It's a look that says: this mouth is only for you.
Ms. Carte has a bad gag reflex and can't suck you very deep. Every once in a while she takes too much and chokes around you, coughing and sputtering.
When she gags, it sends a geyser of hot spittle cascading into your crotch. This plus the abrupt sensation of her throat muscles tightening around your glans makes you sick with pleasure.
And even when she chokes, she's never discouraged. If anything, it makes her work harder.
Because she can't take your entire shaft, she uses one hand to stroke the base with a rythmic twisting motion. Her thumb rubs against the sensitive underside of your cock. Between that delicious friction and the steady stream of warm saliva oozing down all around you, coating your balls and pooling underneath you, you're seconds from pumping her gullet full of seed.
You bite your lips and try to hold your cum back as long as possible. You curl and uncurl your toes, staving off the inevitable.
By now, Ms. Carte knows the warning signs, the way your balls tighten and muscles tense. Her eyes glaze over, like the musk of sex and the obscenity of this encounter have destroyed her higher intellctual faculties.
Her mouth releases your cock with a loud plop. A streamer of drool mixed with your viscous precum flows freely from her lower lip. She turns her head to the side and starts licking up and down your cock, rubbing you with her lips and tongue. She moans like an animal as she works you. Simultaneously, she fondles your balls, kneading them lightly -- tickling them, trying to coax out your jizz.
"Cum on me," she begs you. Her voice is husky. "Cum all over me."
You'd never deny a request like that. You grab a tuft of her hair in your hand and hold her head in place. Bucking your hips, you spew a load of cum all over her wet, flushed face.
She stares at your pulsing dick as if hpynotized, and takes your messy load without so much as flinching. When you finish cumming, she falls to her butt. With both hands, she starts rubbing the slimy jizz into her skin and licking the sticky strands of it from her fingers.
"Amazing..." she coos. "Amazing, amazing... this smell... this taste..."
One of her hands finds her pants, and impatiently tugs them down, rubbing your cream into her pussy. But this is nowhere near enough to please her.
"More," she says, "let's do something more... let's do something really kinky."
[X] Anal.
[ ] Paizuri.
When you suggest this, Ms. Carte lets out a little squeak of fear.
"Wait..." she says. "Maybe we should try something a little less extreme... don't you think?"
"It'll be fine," you insist, giving her bare shoulder a soothing squeeze. "I'll make sure it feels good for both of us."
Ms. Carte slams back a bracing chug of whiskey straight from the bottle on her nightstand. "You promise it won't hurt?" she asks.
"Maybe a little, at first."
She squeaks again.
"Come on, here..." You guide Ms. Carte to the bed and lay her gently down, reaching for the bottle of baby oil on the sheets beside her.
You tug Ms. Carte forward by her ankles. She helps, scooching forward to grant you better access.
You push her legs back and spread her cheeks to bare her puckered rosebud. She stares at you uncertainly from between her splayed legs as you kneel over her, glancing between your face and your turgid dick.
Her rear hole is slightly discolored and pulsates lightly, but looks deliciously tight. You can feel a sultry heat emanating from it. When you prod it with your thumb, Ms. Carte hisses and closes her eyes, her neck muscles straining. The flesh of her asshole is soft, but elastic, and so warm.
You unscrew the cap of the baby oil and pour an ample amount over her ass. It trickles down her pubis and over her cunt in fat streams, and down onto the bed as well. The sheets become stained with the fragrant liquid. You make sure to use a lot. You pull her asshole slightly open and pour a bit directly inside, too.
Ms. Carte whimpers. "It feels weird..." she complains.
You coat your dick in the oil, too. To calm Ms. Carte's nerves, you lean in and kiss her deeply as you position yourself at her rear entrance. Still, you can feel her trembling like a bird.
You push forcefully but slowly. Ms. Carte exhales sharply, whining, but you fail to break past the outer ring.
"Relax," you tell her. "You have to relax all your muscles."
Ms. Carte's breaths become shallow and she fiddles with her hair. "Like... like this?"
You push again, but can't get in. You decide to take a different tack: distraction. You kiss her again, running your palms along her bare breasts. You thumb her nipples and finger her sopping cunt. You bite her earlobe and her chin. You savor the droplets of sweat on her neck, sucking them up, breathing in their scent.
Ms. Carte's body responds to this, inevitably. She arches her back, giving herself to you completely. Her body goes slowly limp as she succumbs to pleasure. And this is your opening. You push again, and you're in.
"Ahn--" Ms. Carte sighs. You stop halfway, going motionless inside her. Her ass is like velvet, so hot it could anneal glass. Your cock tingles with frustration. More than anything, you want to cut loose, to pound this wet hole as hard as you can and fill her belly with cum, but you know she isn't comfortable right now. The bizarre thing about being with Ms. Carte is that you care how much she enjoys herself.
"I-- I think I'm okay," Ms. Carte says after a few moments. She has her forearm folded over her eyes as if trying to shield her view from this violation of her most intimate part. "Please, continue."
You pull slowly out and then seat yourself a little bit further inside her. Her anal muscles contract around you as if trying to expel you, but you stay inside her. Tentatively, you establish a steady pace in her ass. At the same time, you thumb her clitoris.
To keep yourself from going overboard, you bite her shoulder. Perhaps partially in response to this, and partially to bear with your cock inside her, she bites you back. And joined together like this, biting each other sharply, you rut inside her as you frig her steaming pussy.
Ms. Carte enjoys this. She reaches out with her free hand and holds your thumb against her clit, guiding your hand how she likes. She bucks her hips against the hand you use to masutrbate her. This has the effect of making her fuck her ass back onto your dick as well.
"I'm going to cum," you bellow.
"Yes," Ms. Carte moans, lost in a sea of desire. "Cum in my ass... cum as much as you want! My ass is yours to use whenever you want!"
You give her a hard slap on the butt and watch the flesh undulate as you pump yourself balls-deep into her. And then you blow a load of cum directly into Ms. Carte's stomach. She howls in orgasm, her cunt spraying its juice all over the sheets, the blankets -- and you. The two of you will smell like sex for a week.
After your marathon session in her bedroom, you sit on Ms. Carte's couch watching TV. She lies beside you with her legs slung over yours, wearing nothing but an undone bath robe. The blue glow of the "Jeopardy!" clue screen makes her look cute, somehow paler. You both mumble answers to the questions, only halfway paying attention.
This has become something of a ritual for you two. You go over to her apartment for quiz bowl studying, and end up fucking for the first few hours instead. Then you're so exhausted that it's another hour or two before you fully recharge get down to business.
It's weird. Sort of like what being in a committed relationship would feel like, you think.
On Monday, she introduced you to alcohol, properly this time. In a drunken stupor, you jury-rigged a fix for her broken door with her, which resulted in sending Spancer to the hardware store for supplies about half a dozen times. At the end of the day, you made it so the door could latch shut, but not lock. Better than nothing, anyway.
Sitting on the floor of Ms. Carte's front entryway, slugging back beers and laughing as you fumbled around with the tools was worth all the effort, anyway.
Ms. Carte sits upright and grabs the bento sitting on the coffee table. She shovels whole forkfuls of rice and curry into her mouth, one after the other.
It's... not ladylike.
"How are you not 500 pounds?" you ask. "Do you ever stop eating?"
Ms. Carte slugs you. Slurring through a mouthful of food, she says, "Sex makes me hungry, you jerk. Tell that little brat to stop making these lunches for you if you don't want me eating them. Or eat them yourself. None of them have shown signs of tampering."
"Except -- and I quote you verbatim -- 'so much spanish fly you'd think it came from a spanish horse stable.'"
Ms. Carte swallows hard. "So she wants to get you all hot and steamy. Big whoop. All the aphrodisiacs she's adding are just placebos anyway. They'll only work if you want them to."
"Judging by your behavior, they're not really placebos."
Ms. Carte sets the bento down and leans in, hand on your shoulders. She nips your ear seductively. "But I want them to work," she whispers.
The next few hours are spent the same way your first few hours here were. You don't study for quiz bowl much at all today.
On your way out of Ms. Carte's complex, you run into a familiar -- and unwelcome -- face. Damon, your school's britbong janitor.
You swivel to your left, trying to beat a hasty retreat before he notices you, but too late.
"Oi! Wot're you doin 'ere, you little turd?"
"None of your business, you limey bastard."
"You been knockin' boots with that Carte lady, eh?"
You try again to leave, but he grabs you by the shoulder, stopping you.
He leans in close. Suddenly, his chav accent drops away, replaced by something noticeably more posh. He speaks in a whisper, looking side to side.
"Darkbloom is planning something. I don't know what or when. Watch your six."
"Wha... what?"
"Give this to Renee." He presses a manilla folder into your hands. Thumbing through it, you see tables and figures, all of them indecipherable.
[X] Take it.
[ ] No. I don't trust him.
You take the folder and scuttle away, creeped out. Damon watches you go with his trademark leering grin.
When you're out of sight of Damon, you try to hand the folder to Spancer. "Take that to Ms. Carte," you say. "And stand watch outside her apartment tonight."
Spancer doesn't take the folder. "Negative," he says. "My orders are to remain with you."
"Don't countermand me, you stupid jockbot." You toss the folder at him. "Go keep Ms. Carte safe."
You hurry home, alone.
You lie in bed, staring at the ceiling. The slowly rotating fan casts alternating shadows across your vision.
The night passes anxiously, punctuated only by the dull buzz of Cerise's vibrator in the room next door. By 3 AM, it's clear that you won't be getting any sleep tonight.
Finally, the vibrator goes still.
You wonder what Cerise is thinking right now, half-conscious and naked in bed, all cummed-out -- the image of that still makes your body tingle all over, no matter how hard you try to repress it.
But ever since your fight, Cerise hasn't been on speaking terms with you. In TCAC, she's cordial -- but at home, it's been the old cold shoulder for the past week.
With this feeling of doom hanging over everything, you don't want stay on bad terms with your sister. At the same time, you're not sure if she's ready to go back to normal. You pushed things too far, too fast last time. Now you have a hard time trusting yourself.
[X] Knock on her door.
[ ] Let her be.
You hear Cerise's muffled voice from the other side.
"I'm asleep, assblaster. Screw off."
"Yeah? If you're asleep, how are you talking to me?"
"I'm fucking magic. That's how."
"Is your magic strong enough to let me in?"
The door swings open. You were leaning against it, and the sudden opening causes you to briefly lose your balance. Cerise, standing at the threshold, chortles.
"What?" she says. "Not getting any nookie from the rest of your harem tonight?"
"Things are really heavy right now," you admit. "I think David Darkbloom is-- well, I don't know what he's up to. But it's bad. And it involves me, somehow.
It's hard to gauge Cerise's expression in the darkened hallway, but the silence that follows seems a bit pensive.
"So you're worried," Cerise says, trying to sound sarcastic. "And you want to sleep in big sister's bed because you're afraid of all the scaaaarrrry monsters."
"Don't be like that. I'm opening myself up to you here."
Cerise stands aside. "Well, come inside, then. Let's talk."
You sit down at Cerise's computer desk. But Cerise climbs into bed, rolling onto her side and cuddling up under the blankets. In just a few moments, she seems to be dozing.
"I thought we were going to talk," you grouse.
"I'm listening," comes Cerise's drowsy response.
You mutter under your breath. If this is how she wants to play it, then fine. You crawl into bed with her. The mattress depresses underneath your limbs as you crawl toward her on all fours and lie beside her.
Cerise's eyes shoot open in the dark as you snuggle up next to her. "W-what are you doing?" she says.
"Talkin'."
Cerise grinds her jaw, clearly unimpressed. Her face is just centimeters from your own in the pale moonlight. She's so white that she looks like a ghost. She could really use some more vitamin D.
"All right," she says. "You have the floor. So speak."
"I'm sorry about the other day," you tell her.
"I don't want to hear about the other day," she says tersely. "You came in here babbling something about Darkbloom, didn't you?"
"I'm kind of, sort of... worried I might die soon. That's all."
"You're a fucking moron."
"...What."
Cerise kisses you on the forehead. Of all possible responses, this was not high on the list of things you expected.
"Do you honestly think I would let you die, Alabaster? Have some common fucking sense for once in your life."
She reaches behind her and adjusts her blanket's slack over so that it covers both of you. "Tell me everything," she whispers nuzzling up close to you, eyes locked on yours. "Just how deep of shit are you in, exactly?"
[X] Tell her everything.
[ ] Tell her everything, except fucking Ms. Carte.
[ ] Downplay the danger.
You start from the beginning and explain it all.
(Conveniently though, you leave out how rough you've been with Rose. You're not sure Cerise would approve of that.)
Other than this, you're honest: your escapades with Ms. Carte, with Spancer and Whitney, how creepy Darkbloom is, how strange Vivian is acting. Cerise listens to it all, somber.
"So to sum it up," she says when you're finished, "you're in it pretty deep."
"Well. Yeah."
"And you're scared."
"Well-- yeah. Obviously."
Cerise laughs, her voice low. "So my brother the lolicon is seeing an older woman. Weird. Do you care about this Ms. Carte woman? And Whitney, too?"
"Sure. I care about both of them a lot."
"I see."
You're worried you've said something wrong, but then:
"As much of a selfish faggot as you are, you probably made the right call giving Spancer to Ms. Carte tonight. For what it's worth, I don't think Darkbloom wants to kill you."
"Why not?"
Cerise shrugs.
"Thanks for the expert analysis, Cerise."
"Don't be such a simp. Sometimes you have to trust your gut on these things."
"Yeah, but sometimes my gut steers me wrong."
"Then you'll just have to rely on your big sister." She hugs you close. "Go to sleep. Try not to worry."
Lying next to her -- somehow, it becomes easy not to worry, after all.
You fall asleep beside her, and some distant portion of your mind aware that she isn't wearing panties: just a t-shirt. Her legs are wrapped around yours and her genitals are pressed up against your thigh, but your thoughts are chaste and pure as the driven snow tonight.
You just want to be close to her. Why hurry things?
As you both drift off, you hear Cerise mumble what sounds like: "I'm only a little jealous..."
"Huh?"
"Nothing..."
You don't dream of anything that night.
At school the next day, you spend lunch period with Whitney in an empty classroom. You sit across from each other in two desks that you've pushed together.
It's the Friday before your second quiz bowl competition, so your mind is a little bit distracted. Plus, you want to meet with Ms. Carte after lunch and ask about that file Damon gave her.
"Watch this," Whitney says, snapping you out of your reverie.
She takes out her cellphone -- a dumb phone, fittingly -- and sets it between you.
"I've been spending my lunches with Rose for the past few days. You know, some simple teasing -- whips and handcuffs and stuff. I've been showing up to the student council room at 12:05 on the dot every day."
"All right. What's your point?"
"It's 12:04 and 50... 51... 52 seconds... let's see what happens when I don't show up."
At 12:05:20, Whitney's cell phone buzzes. She flips it open and checks the text.
>From: cumslut
>Where are you?
"I like how you've tagged her in your contacts," you say.
"She's totally broken," Whitney laughs. "It's wild. You know, you should play with her more often. She keeps begging for your -- I quote -- 'stinky cum' -- unquote."
"Maybe later on," you say.
Whitney laughs again and pokes you in the stomach. "You're not fucking someone else on the sly, are you? I'll definitely find out!"
She says this jokingly, so you play it off as such, laughing nervously. But you don't deny it.
You settle in to lunch. Whitney eats some disgusting-looking greasy pizza from the cafeteria, mashed potatoes, cake, and a bologna sandwich. She cycles between these at random.
As with Ms. Carte, you marvel at how Whitney can eat so much and maintain her physique. Although-- come to think of it, she does seem to be gaining a tiny amount of tummy fat these days.
Whitney rambles through a mouth full of food. "Sho I shays to him, I shays--"
This diatribe is interrupted by the classroom door swinging open.
It's Vivian.
Good thing she didn't come here five minutes sooner, when you were railing Whitney from behind and she was crying out in ecstasy for you to fill her womb with sperm.
Spancer stands from his desk on the opposite side of the room adopting a vigilant stance, but you motion for him to sit.
"What do you want?" you ask Vivian.
"I want to eat lunch with you," comes her straightforward reply. "As a token of goodwill and team spirit. May I?"
[X] All right.
[ ] Bugger off.
Vivian smiles. She leans against a desk and pushes it slowly -- very slowly -- across the room, to join it with your desk and Whitney's.
In this quiet and empty classroom, the screeching of the desk's metallic legs against the hardwood is excruciating. Not to mention awkward. Whitney cups both hands over her ears, wincing.
When the desk is finally in place, Vivian sits down. She pulls a small black lunchbox from her backpack.
Inside, neatly wrapped in saran, is a tiny sandwich, some potato chips, and a couple squares of chocolate. You would probably need to eat ten times this serving size to feel full.
You watch as Vivian meticulously unwraps the food, spreading the plastic across the desktop and smoothing it out. She arrays her lunch in a neat row, and eats each item in order, beginning with the chips. She picks at them daintily, nibbling them one at a time.
Finally sensing that you and Whitney find this ritual of hers a bit strange, Vivian clears her throat and speaks.
"How has your day been progressing?" she asks you.
Whitney whistles. "I never would have believed it, Ally, but there's someone on this planet who's a bigger nerd than you are."
Vivian blanches. Apparently she's not used to Whitney's abrasive manner of joking. She goes back to silently eating.
"Today's been fine," you say in an attempt to salvage the conversation. "Uh-- say, are you ready for the game this weekend?"
"We will demolish them," Vivian says. You notice her swinging her feet under the table as she says this.
Despite her cold exterior, there are still flashes of a juvenile enthusiasm in Vivian if you know where to look.
She wiggles her butt around in her chair to get more comfortable and moves on to her sandwich.
"What the hell is that thing?" Whitney interrogates. "It looks like you just put some tomato slices on two pieces of bread."
"That's correct," Vivian says.
"Why?" Whitney breathes.
"The sisyphean task of preparing one's meals day in and day out leaves me mentally exhausted. It calls to mind visions of being marooned in a long, dark tunnel. Ultimately, it prompts me to ruminate on the heat death of the universe. I prefer to exert as little effort as possible in the preparation of foodstuffs and therefore I subsist on the simplest ingredients at hand."
Whitney stares at Vivian like a frightened cow.
"So you made that because it was easy," you summarize.
"If you want to put it so crassly, then yes."
Vivian wiggles her butt in her seat again. "These chairs are dreadfully uncomfortable," she says idly.
Vivian's aversion to making her own lunch isn't lost on you; it makes her daily preparation of your lunch seem all the more heartfelt.
You still have Vivian's bento in your backpack, the one she handed you this morning. Even though you know she's spiked it with aphrodisiacs, you'd feel like kind of a dick if you didn't eat it.
[X] Eat it.
[ ] No thank you.
You pull the bento from your backpack and open it. Vivian smiles wanly.
"Have you been enjoying those, Alabaster?" she asks.
It would probably be rude to say "no, but Ms. Carte has." So you just nod sheepishly.
She puts a contemplative finger to her lips. "I'm glad."
She goes back to nibbling at her sandwich.
"Pfft. I could make you lunch," Whitney says.
"You don't know the first thing about cooking."
Whitney blinks as if this is new information. "Point," she says.
The meal is actually pretty good. This time it's beef with broccoli, some teriyaki chicken, and strawberry cupcakes for dessert. You wolf it down greedily.
"So what's your deal?" Whitney asks Vivian. "You're, like, a robot. Or something? Right?"
"I'm fully human," Vivian avers.
"Okay but, like... human human, or human the way Spancer over there is human?" Whitney points at Spancer for effect. He gives no response.
"Spancer is more severe case."
"Do you know what your dad is up to?" you ask Vivian. You notice an unwanted erection coming on as the conversation progresses. Are Vivian's aphrodisiacs the genuine article?
"He refers to it as diegetic apotheosis. I don't know much beyond that. My advice is not to trust him."
"No wonder you're queen of the quiz bowl nerds," Whitney says. She gives Vivian a pat on the shoulder. "What would we do without you?"
"You would likely be fine with or without this advice. I believe it is probably the tack you were adopting prior to this conversation."
...Vivian doesn't seem capable of understanding sarcasm.
As you lick the frosting off another cupcake, your erection slowly becomes swollen and painful. Your mind begins to go a little fuzzy. You feel the need for release.
[X] Are you going to take responsibility, Vivian?
[ ] Vivian, get out. I've got things to do with Whitney.
[ ] Go find Ms. Carte.
[ ] Go find Rose.
Your vision is going blurry, you feel woozy. With a sigh you push back from the desk and look at Vivian accusingly. "Youuu-- you spiked my lunch, didn't you?"
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"You spiked Ally's lunch?" Whitney yells. She leaps to her feet and grabs Vivian by the hair. Vivian struggles and tries to pull away. "I'll kick your little loli butt, you skank!"
You hold up your hand to stop her. "Aphrodisiacs," you tell Whitney.
"Aphro-what? What does this have to do with black people?"
"They make you horny."
Whitney lets go of Vivian's hair. Vivian falls back to her seat with a pouty whine, and Whitney puts her hands on her hips, laughing. "This little twerp's trying to seduce you?"
"I think so," you say.
Vivian stares guiltily at her feet.
"Well?" Whitney asks her.
"I'm sorry," Vivian mumbles.
"Are you going to take responsibility?" you ask.
Whitney slugs you in the shoulder. "Stop talking like your stupid sex comics," she says.
She circles the desk and grabs Vivian by the wrist, hauling her to her feet. "...Ally is right, though," she purrs. "If you start something, you should finish it..."
She pushes Vivian to her knees in front of you and kneels down next to her.
Vivian stares at your crotch, blushing deeply.
"It's not going to suck itself," Whitney tells her. "Do something already."
With a trembling hand, Vivian reaches for your fly.
She fumbles with it and can't seem to undo it. Whitney steps in to help.
"For the smartest robot on Earth, you're pretty dumb," Whitney teases. "Hmm. Have you ever seen a dick before?"
"No..." Vivian glances away, her face reddening even more. All her bravado and coolness is gone. Now she's just a scared little girl.
"Well, you're about to see one up close and personal," Whitney says. "Hey, come on. Look. This is what you wanted, right?"
Whitney fishes a hand into your boxers and pulls you straining cock free. It throbs in tune with your pulse. When Whitney lets go of it, it rests against Vivian's cheek. She winces, trying not to look at it -- but curiosity gets the better of her. Soon she's gawking at it unashamedly, her eyes unfocused.
"Say it," Whitney breathes. "Tell us this is what you wanted."
"M-maybe... maybe a little."
"It smells good, doesn't it?"
"A little."
"It makes your head feel all funny, doesn't it?"
"...A little..."
Whitney looks up at you, smiling. "Do you want her to suck it, Ally?"
You grunt. "No, I want her to paint me green..."
"You heard the man," Whitney says with a chuckle. "Go ahead."
Vivian sticks out the tip of her tongue and flicks it against the head. The sight of it makes you shiver, but the sensation is way too brief.
Whitney groans. "Not like that. Geez, don't you know anything? Like this--"
Whitney takes your cock into her throat with a single practiced motion, sucking you deep. She runs her tongue along your underside for a few moments, hands against your thighs, staring you in the eye. Then she releases you. Your cock glimmers with her saliva.
"Now you."
Vivian wraps her spindly fingers around the base of your dick to guide it to her mouth. Her hand is so small it doesn't even wrap all the way around you.
She opens wide. Her little pink tongue hangs out and she licks your drooling cockhead again, this time lingering.
She pulls back and smacks her lips a bit, mulling over the taste, and the verdict seems positive. She leans forward again and slips your glans into her mouth.
You always dreamed of what a blowjob from a loli would feel like, but never imagined it would be possible. Her tongue is just as wet and warm as in your fantasies. She closes her eyes and focuses on the blowjob, but she can only take a couple inches inside before her jaw is stretched to capacity.
"You have to service the whole dick," Whitney says patiently. "Not just the head." She guides Vivian's hands up and down your shaft a couple times, until Vivian gets the point and can do it on her own.
Eyes still closed, Vivian mewls around you and supports her weight on a balled-up fist. She scootches herself closer as she sucks and jerks you off in tandem. With her wearing that outrageous gothic-style black velvet dress, this somehow seems even lewder than it would if she were naked.
Whitney stands and circles behind you. She runs her broadened palms across your chest and leans over your shoulder, kissing you. Your tongues intermingle sloppily.
"You're such a pervert," Whitney says. "So how does it feel to get a blowjob from a little girl?"
"Amazing," you admit.
"Cum a whole lot in her mouth, okay?"
She didn't need to tell you. You kiss her again, enjoying the feeling of Whitney's eager tongue on yours as Vivian's much less experienced tongue tickles your cock. Every once in a while, owing to her inexperience and the disparity in size, Vivian's teeth brush against you -- but this just adds to the pleasure.
Soon, you feel that old tingling. You hold Vivian's head in place.
"Ally's about to cum," Whitney says. "He'll spurt a lot of liquid from his dick... don't worry, it's delicious. Just let it happen."
Vivian's eyes bulge as your dick pumps its seed into her drooling mouth. She coughs, but you keep her in place as you empty your balls. When you let her go, she falls to her back, little streamers of cum hanging from her lips and even out of her nostrils.
You sit there in silence for a minute or two, panting. Vivian does much the same. Finally, Vivian wipes her face off and licks her fingers clean.
In a very small voice, she says: "thank you, Alabaster Soliloquy. I needed that."
Whitney kneels down and kisses her deeply. Vivian is surprised and doesn't know how to respond, but doesn't fight it, either.
"We should do that again," Whitney says. "It was hot. I'll teach you to lick pussy, too..." She goes back to violating little Vivian's mouth with her wanton tongue.
You close your eyes. Life is getting... strange.
With all the excitement at lunch, you end up missing biology with Ms. Carte. After school, you hurry across campus to meet up with her and discuss Damon's file.
You come across her a little sooner than you expected. As you dash across the quad, you hear Ms. Carte's voice from a mezzanine on the second level of the science building.
"Smatters in the hole!" she cries.
You look up to see Ms. Carte tossing Smatters, the Transhumanism Club's pet rabbit, over the railing. You watch with horror as the helpless animal tumbles two stories through the air -- but instead of splatterring against the ground, Smatters activates some kind of jet propulsion system in its haunches at the last moment, and glides gracefully to Earth.
"Whoo! Hell yes!" Ms. Carte cheers as the other club members dissolve into joyful hoots and hollers of their own. "Experiment one is a success!"
Smatters glided straight into a planter, and now he's nibbling happy on some leaves. No harm done.
"Alabaster!" Ms. Carte says. "Be a doll and bring Smatters back upstairs."
You scoop the little brown furball into your arms and head up.
When you hand Smatters off to Ms. Carte, she snuggles him tight, rubbing her cheek against his fur. "Who's a good bunny? YOU'RE a good bunny! Yes you are! Yes you--"
She glances back at you, realizing herself, cheek still nuzzling the brown fur. She blushes and hands Smatters off to one of the other club members.
"Ahem," she says, putting her hands on her hips and trying to look dignified. "Yes. Ryan, take Smatters back to his cage in the club room. Everyone else, I'll see you there. I have something to discuss in private with Alabaster."
With the club gone, you waste no time inquiring about Damon's file.
"Have you ever heard of diegesis?" Ms. Carte asks.
"Of course," you say.
"Well, think of this. Everyone living in their own gay little cartoon, the whole world becoming 7 billion Japanese comedies running in parallel. How does that sound?"
"Not so bad."
Ms. Carte stomps her foot. "You're unbelievable! You're exactly the kind of person Huxley was warning us about when he wrote Brave New World!"
"That's Darkbloom's whole plan? Make the world a harem comedy?"
"Sort of... it runs a lot deeper than that. Listen--" she glances around. "This is a bad place to talk about it. Come to my house after the quiz bowl tomorrow."
"Fine," you grumble. "But I'm withholding all dickings until you tell me."
"That's cruel," Ms. Carte says.
"Deal with it."
She rolls her eyes. "I have to get back to the club. And shouldn't you be hanging out with the Japanamation brigade right now anyway?"
"I guess."
"Well then. I'll see you later."
Even though she acts mad, she can't resist pecking you on the cheek before she leaves.
As she goes, your cellphone vibrates. It's from Rose.
>I need you... please...
[X] Visit with the cumdump.
[ ] Visit with TCAC.
[ ] Go home.
Rose is waiting for you in the Student Council room. She sits at the head of a long oak conference table, alone. The room is cast in the orange pall of an early California sunset. The days are getting shorter already.
Rose's skirt is hiked up around her waist. She sits with her legs spread wide, not wearing panties, and masturbates openly.
You approach her, grinning, and reach out to grab her around the neck.
Such a good pet, to be waiting for you like this.
But as your fingers wrap around her, she does the unexpected. She quickly produces a small spray can from her blouse pocket.
You try to course-correct, step back, dodge it -- but too late. She squirts a burning hot cloud of aerosolized pepper spray in your face.
You wail and fall to your knees. Your eyes well up and your sinuses begin to drain, pouring thin mucus down your chin. Your face becomes a wet mess.
You try to say something, anything, but can't. You can hardly breathe. Your respiration is shallow and panicked. You wheeze on the stray particles of mace still tumbling complexly through the air.
"Ohhh-- that felt good," Rose murmurs, running a hand through her hair.
Spluttering, you manage: "what the FUCK! Oh, Christ! It burns!"
"Stop complaining, you baby. Sit up -- look at me. Hey."
You clamber to your feet and adopt a defensive stance, ready to strike back if she tries to mace you again. But you can hardly see her. You can hardly see anything. You paw at your eyes with the back of your palms. She grins tauntingly.
"That was just a warning," Rose says. She pockets the spray can. "I wanted to talk to you before the -- event..."
"I'll make you sorry you did that," you growl.
Rose grins with only one corner of her mouth. "Mm. I'm sure."
She regards you for several long moments. Then, looking down at her fingernails and playing nonchalant: "I want to be clear. I'm not submitting to you. Or to Whitney."
Rose looks you directly in the eye.
"I hate you," she says. "With every fiber of my being."
"Stop lying to yourself. You were begging Whitney for my cock just yesterday."
"My hatred for you is pure and black and perfect, like the space between the stars. Let me tell you how much I hate you, Alabaster. If the word 'hate' was engraved on every nanoangstrom--"
"Get to the point, you dizzy cunt."
"I hate you more than anyone. And... I respect you. More than anyone."
This throws you for a loop.
"I hope you understand we're kindred spirits, Alabaster. You'll never find a woman more like you than I am."
"I sincerely doubt it."
"Believe it. We tick the same way... like clocks that are off with the other clocks. We have the need to dominate. We have aberrant urges. But the difference--" Rose pauses, contemplative.
"The difference is, I have to wear this mask. Warm and welcoming Rose, goody two-shoes Rose, conscientious Rose. You get by without it."
"So you don't believe all that social justice crap after all."
"Oh, I believe it. I just don't give a shit."
Rose places her hands on her knees. She spreads her legs again, baring a dripping cunt nestled between fat thighs.
"I want you to rape me, Alabaster."
You wipe the mucus from your face and approach her, tugging at your belt. If rape is what this bitch wants, you're more than happy to oblige.
But Rose gives you another spurt of mace when you try again to grab her again.
You reel back. Groaning in agony, you lean against the wall for support. You drool. Your nose runs like a spigot.
"What the fuck is wrong with you!!" you yell. "Goddamn it!"
"I never promised to make it easy," Rose says. "I'm not going to be your braindead cum-toilet. If you want me, you have to take me. And don't cheat. Using Whitney is unfair."
"You call the pepper spray fair?" Your voice is nearly unintelligible through the spittle.
"I'm only using it today, to lay out the terms. After today it's gone."
"..."
"Alabaster."
You turn to face her, your vision doubled through the burning haze of pain and tears.
"I never knew how it felt to be dominated until you came along. Now I need it. Try to understand. I live amongst people incapable of making a single decision on their own. I have to decide everything... down to the color of stationery to use for memos in the student council. It's driving me insane."
Desperate for relief, you blow your nose on your t-shirt. "I couldn't tell!" you say. "You seem perfectly sane to me!"
"When you pin me down, I'm free. I don't have to decide anything. You decide it all for me. And when I think of you pouring your cum inside me... I feel like I'm drowning, but it's such a nice feeling, too.." She hugs herself, shivering. Her pussy drools.
"Fine. Got it. Lots of rape. 40 pounds of rape, coming up. Put the fucking pepper spray down."
"--But I still have those other urges, too. And judging by how you reacted when I rubbed my feet in your worthless fucking face, you have the same cognitive dissonance that I do. See? We're soul mates. You begged me to let you cum. You loved being dominated, too."
"...What are you saying?"
"I need a slimy little worm to violate, and you're it. May the best rapist win."
[X] You're on.
[ ] We play by my terms. I'll never submit to you.
Rose takes the pepper spray out of her blouse pocket and tosses it away. The canister clatters against the ground as it rolls into the corner.
She crooks a finger at you, as if to say: "come on, then."
In an instant, you're upon her. You lunge forward spastically, grabbing for her. She leaps up to meet you halfway, and you collide in a whirlwind of limbs, fists, and savage grunts. You grab each other by the hair and spin around, banging against the wall and into filing cabinets.
Gaining the momentum, you push her back as hard as you can, straight into a window. Her head smacks against it so hard that that one of the panes cracks, leaving behind a spiderweb pattern in the glass.
Rose knees you in the stomach and pushes back. You go tumbling backward against the conference table, Rose on top. Papers go scattering everywhere.
"Fuck you!" you shout. "I will rape you to death!"
Rose headbutts you, and you accidentally bite your lip. You feel a trickle of blood running down your chin. Enraged, you headbutt her right back, and she goes falls to the ground with a thud.
You loom over her, but before you can land another hit, she rolls to the side and jumps to her feet.
"Razzle-dazzle~" Rose mewls, pivoting behind you. She pulls a dog collar from her other blouse pocket and snaps it around your throat. You windmill your arms, trying punch her in the face. But not quickly enough. She deftly avoids the punches.
Spinning around, you charge her again. But then you feel an awful surge of agony radiating from your neck -- an electric jolt that shorts your brain's circuitry and turns your muscles to rubber. You collapse to the ground in a heap.
Rose cackles. Her taunting laughter bounces around your skull, failing to register for a few moments. Through slitted eyes, you look up at her, and see a remote in her hand.
"They use these to train dogs," Rose informs you.
You stand and try to attack again, a drunken swagger to your step.
BZZT -- She clicks the shock button with her thumb and sends you face-first to the ground. Your forehead collides against the hardwood with a disturbing crack. Spittle pools at the corners of your mouth.
"How does it feel to be on the other end of the tazer, you fuck?"
She kneels and clasps your chin in hand. You can smell her roiling pussy underneath her skirt. She gives you a long, luxurious kiss that you don't return -- but she doesn't seem to mind that. With her mouth wide open and grunting, she licks your mouth, your face, your eyelids. Her own eyelids droop and she blushes heavily, savoring her every excess.
You growl at her. "I am going to rape you so hard that your fucking womb falls out. Count on it."
Rose gives you another shock -- BZZT -- that sends you into a minor convulsion and makes you briefly lose your sense of time and space. When your vision uncrosses, Rose is smiling warmly down at you.
"I look forward to it," she says.
"If I had Whitney--"
"But you don't, do you? You're useless without that whore. Just a little fucking wimp waiting to get fucking raped... you're so cute, Alabaster..." she strokes your cheek with one hand, lewdly, somehow making even this innocuous gesture feel like deep violation. She does this for a few moments -- and then, suddenly, she spits in your face.
"You make me sick," she says.
"I'm going to--"
BZZT. You flop around on the ground like a fish. When you go still again, Rose grabs you by the hair and roughly guides you to a sitting position. She steps back to admire her work. Your face is blank with loathing as she -- oh God -- steps out of her shoes.
Leering, Rose snakes a hand under her skirt.
"Now-- you're a dog, so act like one," she says. "Say: woof, woof."
[ ] Woof, woof.
[X] Fuck you.
Rose frowns.
"That's right!" you continue. "I said fuck--"
She gives you another shock that causes your spine to go rigid. You fall to the side, spasming and seizing. Your mouth froths.
Rose steps forward and rubs her stockinged foot underneath your nose. It's pungent and penetrating -- like a mossy rock in wet soil, fetid, organic. It makes you dizzy but also brings you back into focus.
Opening your eyes, you spy the pepper spray canister lying only a few feet away.
Rose hauls your face upward. She rips off her blouse, baring her massive tits, and rubs your face in her armpit. Whether she shaves or simply hasn't budded fully yet, you can't tell -- but all that's underneath her arm is the barest hint of fuzz that tickles your face. Her sweat leaves a greasy film on your face as she rubs against you.
"That's it, you fucking pig," she grunts. "Smell me. You worthless cocksucker!" She masturbates herself as she violates you.
You gaze at the pepper spray out of the corner of your eye. If you could distract her long enough to reach for it...
You dart your tongue out and start licking Rose's grimy sweat off of her body. It has an awful tang that clings to the back of your throat and makes you nearly gag. Rose moans in delight.
"That's right! Lick me! Worship your mistress!" She diddles her cunt with wild abandon.
The humiliation of all this makes you shudder. But it's for a greater good. You need to keep her attention elsewhere.
"Look at how hard you are~" Rose coos. She uses one foot to step on your crotch, prodding it with her toes. It's true -- for some reason, you're hard as a rock right now.
Your tongue works up and down her smelly armpit and Rose continues to pleasure herself as she pets your hard-on with her dirty sock. Her toes has the dexterity of fingers, and work your cock through the denim of your jeans with expert precision.
Reaching out surreptitiously, your hands find the pepper spray canister and wrap around it.
Moving quickly, you aim the nozzle and blast Rose in the face.
She shrieks, tumbling backward, and lands on her butt. In an instant, her eyes become red and puffy, her face becomes covered with mucus -- just like yours.
You stumble awkwardly to your feet.
Her eyes wrenched shut, Rose shocks you again, trying to regain the initiative. The electric agony sends you falling forward on top of her.
Taking aim again, you hold down the nozzle and spray a continuous stream of mace in Rose's eyes. In response, she hammers repeatedly on the shock button. You convulse and writhe but keep the stream of pepper spray going strong.
"YOU STUPID CUNT! GAAAHHHH!!! I'LL MAKE YOU PAY!"
"AIIIEEEEE-- FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU!"
You roll around like animals, your shrieks and cries becoming an indecipherable wail that doesn't seem like it will ever end.
But then Rose's remote stops working. Your pepper spray runs out moments later.
You sit up on your knees, feeling lightheaded, and tug Rose's skirt down. She shakes her head side to side, lying in a virtual puddle of tears and snot from the mace, too weak to fight.
You pull your cock free and fuck yourself inside her without any warning or mercy. You hunch forward for better access, hugging her around the back. You use her as a human cocksleeve -- she lies limply underneath you, sobbing, choking, coughing.
Your cock bottoms out in her juvenile pussy on every stroke and batters her cervix. You know the pain this must be causing her and you grin to yourself because of it. You move your hands up and use Rose's hair as a handle to hold onto as you rape her. You pull at her savagely, and she shrieks as you use her.
But her cunt is creaming and contracting around you all the while. The heat and wetness only increase as your brutality does.
"Useless fucking whore," you grunt. You use one palm to slap her tits over and over again, alternating between them. You leave deep red welts that quickly begin to turn to bruises.
You slap her bare tummy next, and then her face, holding nothing back.
She just bites her lip and cums her brains out. She even begins to hump back on you, as if trying to slam her cervix against your cockhead.
You finish inside her, pumping her uterus full of jizz. You bellow, and give her a punch to the stomach. Still woozy, you stand, leaving her in a puddle of her own filth, covered in cum, battered and bruised.
"You haven't even come close to paying for this," you pant. "You stupid toilet."
Rose looks at you through half-lidded eyes. "...was I a good toilet today?" she asks. Her question sounds genuine.
By way of answering, you sit on your knees, straddling her neck, and put your semi-hard cock in her mouth. She accepts it without protest, her eyes smoldering.
You unleash an amber stream of piss directly into her throat.
She gulps it down happily, but the volume proves too much. When it starts to overflow and leak down her face, you pull out and finish pissing all over her body, spraying her skirt and hair. Rose's makeup, already ruined, runs even more, making her look like a used up whore.
She smiles brokenly, running her hands all over her body as you use her for a urinal.
"Let's do that again..." Rose murmurs. You put your cock away and zip up. Saying nothing more, you stumble out, leaving Rose in a puddle of cum, piss, tears, and slime.
That evening, you meet with Whitney in the diner where you planned Rose's first rape.
She slides into the booth over ten minutes late, sitting across from you. "Sup, dorkus malorkus? Got any menus up in this bitch?"
You point wordlessly at the menu sitting on the tabletop right in front of her. She looks down, noticing it for the first time, and jumps in her seat as if startled by this.
"Sweet!" she chirps. She swipes the menus up and paws through it. "You *are* paying, right?"
"Mm hmm."
Whitey is still reading the menu over when a mannish-looking waitress appears with a notepad to take your orders.
Whitney's brow furrows and she shakes her head in disgust. "What the fuck is may-hee may-hee?" she asks you.
"Mahi mahi. It's tuna."
"Oh. I love tuna." She smiles, then hands the menu to the waitress. "I'll take two."
"Two? You want to be a little less cavalier with my wallet?"
Whitney smiles toothily and shakes her head, bobbing it side to side. "I... have no idea what that word means."
"It means you're spending all my money and I'd prefer if you didn't."
"Tch. We can always dine and dash."
Whitney makes no attempt to modulate her volume here even though the waitress is still standing at the table. The waitress gives the two of you a look that says: "seriously?"
"I'm sorry," you tell the waitress, leaning in. "My girlfriend is a bit on the slow side."
"You guys don't pay, I'm calling the cops."
"Uh-huh," you say. "I'll take the mahi mahi, too." When the waitress grabs your menus, flips her notepad closed, and walks away, you turn to face Whitney again.
"Dine and dash it is," you say.
Whitney laughs, airy and carefree.
"We never do this," Whitney says, grinning.
"Do what?"
"Go out on dates. Isn't that what normal couples do?"
You shrug. "Were we ever normal?"
Your food arrives, and Whitney starts eating almost before the waitress sets it down. The waitress gives you a menacing look.
"We need to talk," you say as Whitney gobbles down her order. "Things are getting kind of heavy."
Whitney stops eating.
"All this stuff with Rose..." you say. "And now Vivian, I guess-- and-- well..."
Whitney props her elbows on the table and cradles her head in her palms. "Oh God," she says. "You're weirdened out, aren't you?"
"...What?"
"You're weirdened out! I went too far with Rose and now you're afraid of me!"
"That's not-- wait a second, 'weirdened' isn't a real word. You do know that, don't you?"
Whitney gives you a sharp kick underneath the table. "See! You're weirdened out, and now you're trying to changed the subject! I knew it!"
"Whitney--" you take her hand in yours, trying to get her to stop fidgeting. "Calm down," you say.
"I did it for you," Whitney says, her voice small and trembling. "All those games and porny comics you read, I thought that's what you wanted... when I did all that stuff with Rose and Vivian, I just wanted to make you happy."
"But you like it too, right?"
"...Maybe. It is fun to play with Rose. And-- I always secretly liked those games of yours. Except I always imagined myself as the guy, you know?... oh God, I'm so weird."
She rubs her eyelids and sighs. Then, looking at you pleadingly: "I can be different, though! I swear!"
You think. You need her help settling accounts with Rose, but after that... could she really live up to a promise like that? Would you want her to?
"The truth is, Whitney-- I...
[X] ...I love everything about you. I love your perverted mind. Never change."
[ ] ...I miss the old Whitney. I think I've been a bad influence."
[ ] ...I only wish we could be even more debauched."
"I love everything about you. I love your perverted mind. Never change."
Whitney's hangdog expression transforms into a grin that grows impossibly wide. She suddenly leans across the table, clattering silverware and tipping over your drink, and throws her arms around you.
"I love you, Ally! I knew you were the only person who could understand me!"
"Calm down," you say, trying to push her back. She squirms and trembles in your hands. "Geez. You're so excitable."
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" Whitney says, sitting back down. She wipes the tears from her eyes with her thumbs. "I'm just happy, is all."
You pick up your glass and and set it upright again. You sop up the soda with some napkins.
"Now then," you say. "We have a problem."
"...A problem?"
"A Rose problem."
END OF INTERLEWD 3.