Season 3 Episode 9: Revolutionary Girl Camelia

You are Alabaster Soliloquy, school idol and choke artist.

"Thank you so much -- we really can't express how grateful we truly are!"

"Do not thank me. Thank Ala-bast-or Soliloquy. He was the one who so happily provided the endowment for IT support. This being his alma mater, it clearly matters a great deal to him!"

Fazil shakes hands with the secretary at the registrar's office and then again with the principal. Under his arm is his laptop. And though he doesn't know it, on that laptop is several gigabytes of pilfered emails in a hidden folder. He would have noticed the data transfer right away if he was looking, but he wasn't; never even considered that the very school he had been asked to help in the effort to beef up their cyber-security might have a time bomb on its network waiting to do a reverse-attack on him. But the network did have such malware on it, because yesterday Alabaster planted Galatea's program on a computer there, and was only waiting for Fazil to be granted administrative privileges for it to download the emails, and transfer them to his laptop. The entire thing was a ruse -- to use Fazil as a Trojan horse -- and then retrieve the real prize after the fact.

Fazil is just happy to have been of assistance. He is oblivious, but his heart is filled with glad feelings, as it always is after a job well done. To Allah be the glory, he thinks. He needs to hurry home now to do his calisthenics and watch his favorite television program, a Vietnamese cartoon about crime-fighting dogs, before taking his repast and retiring to bed at a reasonable hour.

He is on his way to his car when a suspicious figure accosts him in the parking lot.

"Hey!" The ruffian says. "Where are you going?"

"Excuse me, young lady, but I must be headed home. Thank you."

Fazil is on edge and in no mood to prolong this uncomfortable encounter. He quickly reaches into his trousers for his car keys and makes toward his subcompact VW. But he is acutely aware of footsteps following briskly behind him, and when he gets to the driver's side door, the voice calls out: "Wait up, my guy."

"Apologies but I must be going," he begins, not glancing back, trying to get the key in the lock -- but then he howls in agony. Spinning around, eyes bulging, he sees the ruffian -- the assailant -- holding a gun. He feels his side where he was wounded, and yes, he's been shot.

"Please -- I will give you what you want --!"

"Yeah. You will."

The nefarious hooligan fires again, hitting Fazil in the stomach. Then again twice in the chest, and finally the head. Blown back by the force of the shots, Fazil slumps against the hood of his car, and then down to the ground. The laptop clatters to the dirty asphalt. He lies prone and lifeless beside it.

The figure now straddles him, and snatches the laptop up. She searches his pockets for any other items, like USB drives, but comes up empty -- and knowing that time is of the essence, not wanting to be seen, she finally flees.

---

Fazil rubs his forehead where it's bandaged. There's a vicious bruise extending past the edge of the gauze -- his attacker nailed him point blank with a pretty powerful Airsoft gun. You sit across from him in the employee cafeteria at Darkbloom Analytics as he sips a mug of Turkish coffee. The stuff revolts you just looking at it, with unfiltered grounds floating around the sludgy surface, but it gives Fazil some much-needed succor in this trying time.

"It happened so quickly!" He says. "She came and fired at me -- and stole my belongings!"

"What did she take?" You ask.

"Simply my laptop."

You can't help seething at this -- and Fazil, seeing that, apologizes for upsetting you.

"It's not your fault," you say. "Not by a long shot. Listen -- did you file a police report?"

"Not yet. But believe me, I shall!"

"Hold on. What did this person look like?"

Fazil is animated. He motions with his hands. "She was the very picture of the upstanding citizen, Ala-bast-or. She wore the following: a conservative grey skirt and a button-down shirt, and black eyeglasses. She would have been perfectly suited to work in an office, or a nursing home. And yet she was the most frightening person I have ever seen! I knew from the moment I laid eyes upon her that evil lurked inside her heart. Her eyes were soulless and shifty!"

You nod. That sounds about right. One of Auburn Brantly's StuCo toadies, no doubt. That little turd is trying to ratfuck you. Or more accurately, Rose is. This incident has her stink all over it.

You give Fazil a reassuring smile. "You don't have to worry about it. I'll make sure you get your laptop back. There's no need to get the police involved right now."

"But Ala-bast-or -- this is my personal computer. There are things of a sensitive nature on it--"

You arch an eyebrow. You didn't picture Fazil as having urges like that. But, after all, he is a man.

"--Besides which, I have the latest episode of Thám Tử Chó on it -- and I was looking forward to watching it tonight!"

"...Tham what?"

Fazil frowns at you. "I have told you of this series multiple times. You have replied that you would 'give it a shot.' These are your words, verbatim."

Oh, yeah. The Vietnamese thing about the dogs who solve crimes. "I'm really busy," you say, "but I promise -- I'll try it out soon."

"Of course, Ala-bast-or, of course."

"You gonna be okay?" You ask. "I'll make sure your pay gets doubled for all this aggravation. I'm really sorry you had to go through this."

Fazil sips on the viscous slurry he calls coffee: "Do not worry about such things. I merely hope that the perpetrator is swiftly brought to justice. I am leaving it in your able hands."

You intend to do just that.

Rose is having a conversation with her mother when you arrive in her office.

"What a pleasant surprise," Charlotte says. "We were just talking about you."

Rose turns a shade of pink you rarely see.

"I guess my ears were burning," you laugh, masking the roiling rage within you for the sake of keeping up appearances. The last thing Charlotte needs to see is what you really intend to do with Rose right now. "What were you saying? Nothing bad, I hope."

"Oh, not at all," Charlotte says. "I was just telling Rose how nice it is to see the way you get on with each other now. It seems like only yesterday when you were always at each other's throats!"

"Gag me," Rose groans.

"Oh, don't be like that, dear," Charlotte says. "You should be thankful to have Alabaster in your life! I know -- I know I am... I'm very thankful..."

"Are you feeling all right, Mrs. Mallory?" You ask. Her eyes are getting misty and there seems to be a catch to her voice. You have a pretty good sense of this woman, and right now, something is amiss.

"It's fine, it's fine," she says. She sniffles and produces a tissue from her purse, to wipe her eyes.

"I'm not so sure," you counter. "You seem really sad for some reason."

She tents the fingers of one hand over her forehead and smiles a bittersweet smile: "It's so silly. Talking about old times with Rose just makes me -- oh, never mind. I should be going."

"Hold on -- really. What's the matter?"

This stops her from standing, and she settles back in her seat. "It's so terrible, Alabaster, I really shouldn't say... I'm so glad to have Scarlett back, and so happy for you... but now that you have your real mother -- however it happened -- I suppose you really don't need me to play at being your mother any longer, do you?" She cocks her head and gives you that same sad smile.

You watch her for a moment with your cheek resting on your fist. This is a sensitive area and you know you have to tread carefully. But you know how to charm, too, when you need to: "It's all right. I'm sure she won't mind having joint custody."

Charlotte puts a hand on your knee. "Alabaster... you're a very silly boy, to tease an old woman like this."

"I'm not joking around," you insist. "Of course Mom is great... but you were a mother to me, too... at a time when I really needed it."

"I -- I see..."

"We're still a family, after all. As far as I'm concerned, you're equally my mother, too."

"Alabaster has two mommies," Rose mutters under her breath. You catch it, although Charlotte doesn't seem to.

"Of course," she says. Her smile now is brighter, and genuine. But then it turns sly. "Although -- there are downsides to that, as well..."

"What do you mean?" You ask.

"I was just telling Rose before you came in... since you two get along so well now, it's sort of convenient if you no longer have to bear the burden of being step-siblings. Right?"

It's hard to tell who chokes harder at this remark: you or Rose. Charlotte puts her hand to her lips and laughs daintily. "Forget I said anything. I suppose there's always room for the two of you to improve your relationship even further."

Rose stares at the ceiling tiles above, mortified. "Thanks for that mental image," she says. "But I should go get ready for my debrief with Chalmers tomorrow. I'm firing his useless ass."

She stands to go. Although she has her excuses, you know what she's really up to -- she's trying to avoid you.

[ ] Follow her.

>[x] Stay with Charlotte.

Rose disappears from the office, down the hall and towards the elevators. You watch her go, and the look you share with her plainly indicates that you're not done with her just yet. She will have to answer for the crimes she orchestrated.

"I apologize for getting over-emotional," Charlotte tells you. "I didn't mean to add any more distress to what you must be feeling already. I'm so terrible!"

"Not at all," you say. "Actually, I'm glad to know you still want me!"

She blushes. "But of course I do... why wouldn't I?"

"I know I'm a pain in the ass," you say. "It's kind of my gimmick. Between all the crazy things going on recently, and all this trouble with the FBI..."

You know how to get Charlotte going, all right -- how to divert her attention from morose thoughts and towards something more productive. She puts her fist in her palm: "The FBI can go screw themselves! We honestly live in a police state nowadays, Alabaster. It's obscene what they've done to you. And to this company... and Cerise, and Whitney..."

"I agree. I totally agree."

"Those bootlicking pigs are going to get a taste of MY boot soon enough. Oh how I'm going to love seeing the look on that smug Noelle Keki's face when the judge grants our injunction against her and her cronies! She'll regret the day she ever crossed Charlotte Mallory!"

Charlotte and Saul have been spearheading the effort, aided by a retinue of fellow attorneys, to forcibly end the FBI investigation into Darkbloom Analytics. Unfortunately, those efforts seem to be going nowhere -- but Charlotte is more enthusiastic than anyone.

You ask when the next court date is, and she tells you that it's only next week -- immediately following the StuCo election, coincidentally. And even more coincidentally:

"September 23rd..." you mutter. "That's Cerise's birthday."

Her eyes go wide. "Of course! I nearly forgot. How awful of me... remind me, how old is she going to be?"

"26."

"Oh, to be young again..." she says wistfully. You have a feeling Cerise would strongly disagree with the characterization. She's dreading the date.

"Have you gotten her anything?" She asks.

"Err -- no. Not yet, that is..."

She swats your arm playfully. "Alabaster! You can't put these things off to the last minute. Especially since she spent her last birthday in the hospital... you need to show her how much she matters to you."

You rub the back of your head. "I guess you're right... see? This is the kind of mom stuff I still need you for."

She smiles warmly. Then, suddenly, she grabs her purse and stands up. "Well?" She says. "Let's go."

"Huh?"

"I know you quite well, Alabaster! I know if I don't take you right away, you'll forget. So I need to make sure you do this."

[ ] Let's go, then.

>[x] Let's take Mom, too.

[ ] I need to take a rain check. [help Amber with debate prep OR catch up with Gal/Cerise and strategize next steps.] 

"This was a splendid idea," Charlotte says, as you and she step out of the car to reconvene with Mom, who's just pulling up in the space behind. You've all come to an upscale, open-air shopping mall to begin with.

You watch with more than a little bemusement as Mom struggles to parallel park. She pulls up alongside Charlotte's car, then cuts the wheels hard to reverse, but ends up at an awkward angle. She pulls out and tries again.

Charlotte cups a hand over her mouth. "If you like, I can pull forward to give you some space!"

Mom's shouted reply is mostly muted from the interior of her SUV: "I don't need help!"

Charlotte giggles, and whispers to you: "She is so headstrong sometimes."

"Sometimes?" You smirk.

Charlotte gives you the side-eye and puts a finger to her lips as if to say: "Shh."

Mom finally gets parked well enough -- by her reckoning, anyway. As she gets out of the car, you point at the ground. "The meter maids can ticket you if you're more than 18 inches from the curbside."

Mom circles the car in a huff and glances down. "I'm more than close enough!" She insists.

"Are you blind? Do I need to get out a tape measure here?"

"Oh, and you make a habit of carrying around a tape measure, then? It's not going to get any longer even if you keep measuring it, young man!"

Charlotte intervenes: "Now, you two. Stop it. Let's not ruin such a beautiful afternoon with fighting."

Mom blows a stray strand of hair from her face, pouting. "In any case, if I get a ticket, I expect that my billionaire son would be happy to pick up the tab."

"Criminals don't learn if they never have to face the consequences," you say.

"Criminal!" Mom sputters. "For parking a bit too far--"

"What do you suppose Cerise would like for her birthday?" Charlotte asks, laying a hand on Mom's shoulder and leaning in. "It should be something really special, don't you agree?"

"Of course," Mom says. "Cerise deserves only the best. She knows how to be appreciative and loving towards her mother. Unlike some people!"

"I've got a few ideas," you say.

Mom and Charlotte both seem surprised at that -- the idea you could be a thoughtful little brother.

"She wants to do her stream again," you say. "You know, the one with the electronics mods? So she'll need to upgrade her PC... and she should have a car of her own, one that's not such a beater, so we should swing by the dealership, too... and of course -- again for the stream -- we should get her a few outfits, too."

Mom blinks. "My... oh my goodness," she finally says.

"I don't--" you begin, but she cuts you off by drawing you into an enormous hug. She presses your face against her voluptuous chest and ruffles your hair.

"What the hell," you say, voice muffled by her body.

"You actually learned how to take care of your sister!" Mom says. "It took you long enough!"

When you finally manage to break free of her grip, you see that Charlotte is watching on approvingly, hand to her cheek.

Mom and Charlotte try to steer you towards an upscale women's clothing boutique at the corner of one of the mall's many cobblestone intersections -- the kind of place that charges $500 for a pair of boots -- but you know you won't find the sorts of outfits that Cerise would need for her stream here. You beckon them on, towards a hidden little shop further down, a place called Fōtsūwan, that specializes in the sorts of outlandish cosplay-style outfits that Cerise prefers for her livestreams. The maid getup is fine, but she's going to need some variety too, in the era of Twitch thots.

"This place seems a little shady," Mom says.

"I have to agree with Scarlett," Charlotte says. "The clothes here seem a bit... risque?"

"You'd better not be trying to turn your sister into a prostitute!" Mom says.

"Nothing like that," you say gruffly. "I'm not looking to buy her anything pornographic, just... cute. There's a lot of cute outfits here too." You run your hands along the racks and come up with one at random. Bad choice. It's a revealing one-piece with built-in fishnets and a devil tail with heart-shaped tip: a succubus costume.

Charlotte blushes. Mom frowns deeply.

It's quite small, smaller than Cerise would be able to fit into, although you make a mental note of it as you put it back. There's someone else who it might be good for.

"Anyway, clothes shopping is a little difficult without her being here, isn't it?" Mom says. "Pants and shoes and such -- those are simple things... but full costumes like these really need to be fitted."

"That's no problem," you say. "You're just about the same size as she is. If it fits you, it'll probably fit her too."

Mom is embarrassed beyond words, literally, at the suggestion. She casts her eyes around the tiny shop, eyeing bunnygirl suits and seifuku and candy-colored dresses. The thought of wearing these things is more than uncomfortable. She's speechless.

Charlotte titters. "Now, don't be such a prude," she says, relishing the chance to needle her aunt. "Alabaster is right. There are some cute outfits here, too. You'd look adorable modeling them!"

"Come to think of it," you say, idly rummaging through the racks, "you're about the same size, too, aren't you?"

Charlotte chokes on her own laughter. "M-me?"

"Yes you."

"Couldn't be--"

You shake your head. "It'll save us a lot of time here if you fit a few of them on, too."

Mom grins smugly at her. "Yes, Charlotte -- it will be much more efficient!"

Now it's her turn to look uncertainly all about at the costumes and the fate that awaits her.

Cerise is maybe a size or two smaller than either Mom or Charlotte, so with that in mind, you have to find things that fit them snugly. Mom is first up to bat: literally. She comes out of the dressing room wearing a different succubus outfit, one that's not so utterly horny. It rather resembles Morrigan from the Darkstalkers series, with bright pink leggings and horns, and tiny bat wings on the back. Of course, then, even if it's not so sexual, the costume isn't exactly chaste either. The upper half of it is more like a bodice, and small -- even for a woman who'd fit it properly -- so with Mom stuffed into it, her tits are mashed together and almost overflowing from the top. In fact the entire outfit presses and pinches into her skin wherever there's a hem, leaving her limbs and butt looking much fuller even than usual. You're her son, so you wouldn't think of her in that way -- but you can at least, dispassionately, ascertain that she's pretty fucking hot to anyone who isn't her close blood relative.

Speaking of close blood relatives, you'll love seeing Cerise wear this. And maybe fucking her in it, too.

Mom rubs her elbow and stares at the ground.

"That looks nice," you say happily, "I think it'll be perfect for Cerise's persona on the stream. She is kind of like a devil, the way she treats those poor Furbys..."

Mom glances up at you. "This is so odd. I haven't worn an outfit like this in years -- and only then for Halloween."

"That's too bad. The world's missing out."

Her face flushes, and you realize yourself. Clearing your throat with a fist to your mouth, you move on to practical matters: "How does the fit feel?"

"Tight. A little too tight..."

"That's just perfect. It'll fit Cerise really well, then--"

You stop as Charlotte walks out of her dressing room now. Mom sniggers: "weren't we just talking about the slutty bunny from North High?"

"Y-you--!" Charlotte gasps. "Don't make this any worse!" She's so shy and uncertain that she seems about ready to crawl out of her skin.

The bunny costume is even tighter on Charlotte than the devil costume is on Mom. That's only to be expected, though -- Charlotte is a little plumper, after all. (Like mother, like daughter.) It's the archetypal example of such an outfit, sleek red polyester accentuating her own enormous tits, dark pantyhose making her thick legs even more alluring, fuck-me pumps bringing her up to about your height and cotton tail that you just wanna squeeze. The pointy ears on top of her head, one kinked at a 90 degree angle, complete the look.

Although Charlotte is your cousin (none times removed), and also your surrogate mother, you feel less abashed at appreciating her womanly beauty for exactly what it is. So much less so, in fact, that you do what only comes naturally: you touch her fluffy tail. The last time you did such a thing, to that "smug Noelle Keki" Charlotte so hates, you got a violently angry reaction. This time is no different: Charlotte tenses, then slugs your shoulder.

"Alabaster!" She says. "That's indecent!"

"Sorry," you allow. "Force of habit, rabbit."

"I don't like the way you're looking at her," Mom avers. "Charlotte is my niece, Alabaster. That makes her your cousin!"

Charlotte turns to Mom. "That won't stop him. You should see the way he eyes Rose."

"Oh, I'm quite well aware of that," Mom says. "It's unnatural!"

"Well," Charlotte says, not keen to go that far, "they're not full cousins. They're one generation removed, so that's less--"

"Excuse me," you cut in, "but I think you've got the wrong idea about me and Rose--"

"No we don't!" They snap in unison, hands on hips, looking back at you. Great: you've got a bunny and a succubus mad at you.

However, this diversion has a happy if unintended side effect: Mom and Charlotte are less embarrassed to be modeling for you. Somehow, presenting a united front against your insistent perversion has galvanized them to see this through to the end.

Mom comes out next in a gothic Lolita dress that almost makes your heart melt at the gap moe -- but you nix it, figuring Vivian wouldn't like Cerise crimping her style. Charlotte comes out in a schoolgirl uniform, the kind you'd find a 90s anime, and the skirt leaves her with a zettai ryouiki about the breadth of Siberia, her milky thighs almost as white as the tundra. You reject that one, too -- it's a bit excessive.

Mom slips into some kind of futuristic military jumper, like what you'd find on a mech pilot. It hugs her curves tenaciously, so much that you see her protruding nipples. You reject it on the rationale that Cerise would get way too overheated wearing that for the duration of a show.

Charlotte is out next in an actual military uniform -- camo vest, pants, jackboots, even a fake assault rifle. "Bang, bang, pow," she says playfully, pointing it at you. "You're dead."

You clutch your heart and feign falling over. "Ack! Betrayed by my own mother!"

Mom narrows her eyes. "Your mother?" She says.

"Uh..."

"Now Scarlett, don't be jealous. I did raise him for a few years, after all."

She shrugs. "Jealous? Who said anything about jealous. I'm not jealous. I'm just saying that -- between the two of us -- you're kind of a shabby mother, aren't you?"

"Shabby?" Charlotte spits. "Just what do you mean--"

"I raised four sterling children, didn't I? Meanwhile, you produced -- that horrible daughter of yours. The truth is obvious, isn't it?" She stands proudly with arms akimbo, the motion of striking that pose making her tits jiggle invitingly. You try and fail not to stare.

Charlotte is scowling indignantly. This is going to turn into a shouting match if you don't do something.

"What happened to not ruining this beautiful afternoon with fighting?" You try. "Let's not argue, huh?"

"Of course," Charlotte says, smiling. "I'll let it go. Just as long as you correct the record."

"The record--"

"Tell Scarlett what a wonderful mother I've been for you, please."

This is a grave you dug for yourself. You gulp. You explain as your mother's eyes get narrower and narrower: "Yeah. She's been really great -- I mean -- you're also great -- you're BOTH great -- what I'm trying to say, is -- is --"

"Exactly," Charlotte says. "Neither of us is a better mother than the other one!"

A rope ladder thrown down into the grave -- thank you, Charlotte. You agree whole-heatedly: "Yes. Neither of you are better..."

Mom seems at least willing to accept this. Except then Charlotte just has to add:

"Of course, I'm much cuter. I make these outfits look a lot better than poor old Scarlett does."

"Oh, please," Mom says. "I'm sorry, Charlotte, but you need to eat a little less Ben & Jerry's if you want to make a habit of dressing like this..." She pinches Charlotte's thigh. Charlotte jumps back and points the toy gun at Mom as if ready to fire for real. "I've always been the beauty between the two of us," Mom continues, "even all the way back to grade school."

"This isn't grade school anymore, dear," Charlotte says. "I'm sorry, but age is taking its toll on you..."

A conversation between two women is getting to a critical point when both their statements start receiving the preface, "I'm sorry, but..."

"You can correct the record here, too," Charlotte tells you.

"Not going there," you say.

"That's all right," Mom says. She whispers as if trying to keep this between the two of you, but makes sure to do it loudly enough that Charlotte can overhear: "I know you don't want to hurt the poor fatty's feelings."

Charlotte smiles. It's the smile you've seen on Rose, right before she ties you down. "Don't worry, Alabaster. I don't need you to defend me. I can see the effect my body is having on you quite well..." she glances down at your pants, just briefly, then back up: "of course, Scarlett's decrepit old body is leaving you cold."

"It's not --" Mom begins, but then she catches herself. Charlotte, clearly, is a lot more open to the idea of turning you on -- Mom isn't willing to compete with her on that point. As horrible as it is, you know this was just a bit of gamesmanship; it's the subtle way Charlotte wins an argument, by bringing her opponent into unfamiliar territory. Like mother, like daughter...

"I'll be in the changing room," Mom mutters, leaving. Although you notice that she chooses out an extremely revealing cocktail dress for the next round. Maybe she is open to this level of competition, after all.

Charlotte picks out a sweater that's very... well, very Charlotte. It's not much different at all from the usual fare she wears, except for this: it's got a heart-shaped portal in the chest. She holds it up to her body. "What do you think, honey?"

"It's maybe a bit too much."

She twirls and faces a full-length mirror, still holding it up, considering it. "A bit too much is good," she purrs. "If you don't like it for Cerise, maybe I'll keep this one for me."

She goes into her own booth now. Alone again, you awkwardly shop the racks -- anything to take your mind off such awkwardness. Loath as you are to think so, Charlotte is right to an extent... her body does things to you. Maybe it's just the resemblance to Rose. They're eerily similar. But worse yet, Charlotte is decidedly wrong about the other point. Mom's body isn't leaving you cold.

It's a horrifying thought. Plenty of girls have called you a dog, recently, and maybe they're right.

Thinking this ruefully, you pull some hangers apart -- and are startled beyond measure to find HER squatting there, hidden among the clothes.

"Camelia!" You choke.

"Shh!" She hisses, finger to her lips. She's wearing an outfit that's about as slutty as any on offer in this store -- tanktop with no bra (what else?), ultra-short jean shorts, and sandals. She's got a dumdum in her mouth. She pulls it out with a wet plop. "Anyway, how many times do I have to tell you? Call me Amber, for fuck's sake."

"What are you doing here?"

"You were supposed to come help me prep for the debate. Are you constitutionally incapable of not being a dickwad, or what?"

"I'm busy, goddamn it. I'll come soon, all ri-- wait." You eye her suspiciously. "How did you even know I'd be here?"

"Duhhh. You ever hear that song, This Land is Your Land?"

"Huh?"

She begins to sing, swinging her arms back and forth like someone at a hoedown: "This mom is your mom, this mom is my mom... from the thick-ass butt-crack, to the big old tit-rack..."

"Jesus fucking Christ."

"I texted her. She told me where you were at." She sucks on her lollipop, rubbing it against the back of her tongue. "Are you coming or not? Or are you just gonna date my mom all night. Are you my new daddy, mister?

"I'll be there. Fuck. Why are you hiding, anyway?"

She shrugs. "I dunno. Cloak and dagger shit just kinda comes natural to me. Oh fuck--!"

She grabs the costumes on the rack and pulls them over her like drapery. You stand and turn just in time to see Charlotte coming out.

"Well?" She says.

Talk about sweater puppies. That thing is more than a couple sizes too small, and you can actually see the edges of her areolas. Why she decided to forego her bra mystifies you. It wasn't necessary.

"It's... good," you say, gulping.

"Good... good." She steps closer. Your nostrils fill with her perfume. Distantly, from Mom's dressing room, you hear thudding -- she's still struggling to get out of that tiny jumper.

Charlotte lays a palm on your chest. "You know, it's true... you do look at me kind of... how should I say this."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry, dear. I know why. I remind you of Rose, don't I."

You say nothing.

"It's okay. You and her -- have you already -- oh, don't think about lying. I know you two must have."

"We haven't done anything like that," you lie.

She frowns. "That's quite hard to believe. Are you certain?"

"Certain I'm certain."

"Why not?"

"Why not?" You repeat. "We're c--"

"Nervous? Intimidated? I know Rose can be a very intimidating girl..."

Her tits are mashing up against you now. She's staring wanly up at you. "Or maybe you need some experience first."

You shake your head dumbly.

"I've been putting on all these lewd outfits and filling your head with all these thoughts, it's really quite unfair, isn't it? It's okay. You can tell me."

"Mrs. Mallory..."

"I'll be in my dressing room."

>[x] Follow her.

[ ] This is a bad idea -- you can find another outlet for your needs right now. Make your excuses and leave with Amber.

This is such a tremendously terrible idea on so many different levels and from so many different angles that its terribleness legitimately makes you dizzy -- gives you a heady rush of nausea and cold sweat. So, of course, you follow. The last thing you see when you glance back, before you slip past the rickety plywood door of the fitting room, is Amber's head poking out from among all the garments, watching with a sly smile.

Charlotte is sitting on the tiny bench against the wall, knees pressed together, hands folded neatly atop, waiting for you. You stare at her; as you take her in, behind your back, you latch the the door.

Your mouth is dry.

"Are you feeling all right, dear? Are you feverish, perhaps? Here, let me check..."

"Uh..."

"Come on, now."

You step forward, like a chided schoolboy, and bend a bit, so she can put her palm against your forehead. "Oh my," she says. "Oh my, oh my... you're burning up."

"Is this... is this okay?" You say.

"Is what okay? A mother checking her son for fever?"

"That isn't what I mean."

She laughs that carefree laugh of hers, the one you've gotten so used to over the years. "Oh, Alabaster. Why wouldn't this be okay?"

"Your husband--"

She shakes her head. "Saul and I have an understanding... I am not the only one of us to wander. You remind me so much of him, in that way."

You really didn't need to hear that your adoptive parents are, apparently, swingers. But then, you're one to talk. You're about to do it with one of them.

"So yes, this is okay," she says. "Granting that you're okay with it too. And you are -- right?"

You nod stupidly, unable to form words.

"We need to be quick," she says. "We wouldn't want your other mother getting suspicious, would we?"

"Other mother..."

"Does that make you uncomfortable?" She touches your knee. "Would you rather just think of me as Mrs. Mallory? I don't want to disturb you, of course..."

"It's fine," you say. "I really did mean what I told you earlier. You know. The way I think of you."

She puts a hand to her cheek. "I'm glad. But even if you think of me like your mother... you still get all hot and bothered when you see me dressed like this, don't you?"

No use denying it. "Y-yeah."

She nods and smiles. "Good. Very good. Then let's get started, shall we? Come have a quickie with mama Mallory..."

She doesn't wait for your reply. She reaches up and tugs you forward by your belt, draws you to her so you're standing right over her head. She undoes your belt buckle now, and its jangling sounds like nuclear bombs going off. You're acutely aware of being just a few feet and some hollow drywall away from Mom, and you definitely don't want her to overhear this.

Next comes your zipper, and Charlotte's practiced hands have already gotten your pants down to your knees before you even realize it.

"Step out of them, please... you'll be more comfortable."

This is a really compromising position. To get out of your jeans, you also have to get out of your shoes, and being mostly naked in here with Mrs. Mallory while your Mom waits outside... plus Amber... is just adding to the complications.

Yet you do exactly as she says. That's the thing about the elder Mallory. She commands the kind of authority over you that Rose only wishes she could. You find it impossible to tell her no. You kick your shoes off, one then the other, and step awkwardly from your jeans. Your boxers are tented obscenely, and Charlotte's eyes widen with unconcealed hunger.

"Oh my... you are..." She looks you in the eye. "May I? Oh, of course I can, what am I saying..."

She tugs your waistband down, and your cock springs up, nearly slapping her in the face. It actually nicks the rim of her glasses and jostles them. She grins like the cat who got the canary. Her eyes remain locked on it as you step out of your underwear now, too.

Her soft, warm hand wraps around it with a frustratingly -- calculatedly -- loose grip. She tugs you languidly back and forth. "Have you really been hiding this thing from Rose, baby? She's going to be so upset if you have been..."

"Are you fine with us -- like that?" You stutter. "Me and Rose."

"I'm fine with us like this. So why wouldn't I be fine with you and Rose enjoying one another? She loves you, you know. She would never say it, but she does... and she would definitely love THIS thing, too..." She squeezes your prick for effect. "At least, if she's anything like me. But maybe I don't need to speculate..."

You nod. "You-- you got me. Rose and I..."

"It's more obvious than either of you think. I hope she doesn't mind sharing. Have you ever fucked her tits?"

You can't help letting out a choked gasp of shock at hearing Charlotte speak so frankly -- and so lewdly. She's still jerking you off, increasingly faster. And now she adds a second hand. Even stacked one atop the other, she hardly covers half the length of your cock shaft. Her hands tighten as she jerks. They're becoming a blur, lubed up by your own precum, as she works you over. You just stand there as she masturbates you, your bouncing prick only inches from her beautiful face.

"I'm sorry if I'm shocking you with my language," she says. Her voice is rough and husky. "I get a little coarse, seeing a cock as nice as yours, I suppose..."

"Keep going," you mumble. "Ung--"

"Is that good for you, baby? A big, fat cock like this... it needs a little relief, doesn't it? It's fine. You can't help it. It must hurt so bad being all hard like this..."

"Yeah... it does..."

Her voice lilts and catches. "Let your mother relieve you, then... that's it, darling... just leave it allll to me. I'll make my boy's cock feel good..." The slick sounds of her handjob are bouncing off the low ceiling, but you don't care.

"I'm gonna--"

She lets go. Both hands at the same time. "Ah, ah--" she chides, holding her palms up. "I asked you a question, didn't I?"

You blink rapidly, vision going fuzzy, balls aching for relief. "W-what?"

"Have you ever fucked Rose's tits?"

"I don't -- I don't know. We've done a lot... but... but no, I don't think I have."

She tsks. "What a silly girl. She isn't using her best assets... she needs to learn better how to treat a nice big prick like yours... sit down, dear."

You can't but obey. She stands up, and you sit down. Turning, getting on her knees before you, Mrs. Mallory, the woman you really do think of as a second mother, gets your straining, leaking dick between the heart shaped window of her sweater. Instantly you feel the hot, damp, unbelievably soft confines of the space between her bare tits. It's a new feeling, one totally beyond description. Maybe better than fucking a cunt. And that delicious, perverted pleasure rippling down your prick only intensifies when Charlotte clamps her hands against the side of either breast, and forces them together. The heat and pressure enveloping your cockmeat is insane, wonderful... just the best.

"Fuck them, Alabaster... fuck mommy's tits."

There's something like rationality still in your mind: "The sweater, though..."

"Never mind that. I'll buy it. You can cum on it. You can cum on me, too... I know your poor, hard dick needs a pretty girl to cum on... doesn't it?"

You buck your hips, involuntarily. She thrills to this. "That's it... like that. Don't think, just fuck... get your cock off... get off for me, baby."

You begin to fuck her heavy cowtits in earnest now, hardly believing the way they ripple and undulate against you. Your bare ass is slapping against the benchtop and your dick is making sick squelching noises between her chest. She stares cross-eyed at your pistoning prick, directly at the piss slit every time it pokes up past her cleavage on the upstroke.

"I wish we had more time, and some space to stretch out..." she coos. "A dick like this deserves a pussy to cum in, doesn't it?"

"Unnn--" you moan.

"Do you like that? Do you want to use mommy's pussy, too?"

You glance down. One of her hands is traveling southward, towards her skirt, and then up underneath it. "Hold my other breast for me, dear... I need to play with myself... I hope you understand."

You do as instructed, to keep the even pressure on your dick. The sounds of Mrs. Mallory playing with her own cunt join the sounds of your cock sluicing back and forth in between her sweaty tit-meat. You idly grope her left breast as you hold it. It has such a nice, pillowy softness, even separated from your hand by the sweater's rough material.

A noise from outside grabs your attention. Another dressing room door opening, then closing. You go still and quiet.

"Alabaster?" Comes Mom's voice. "Where did you go?"

Charlotte smiles devilishly up at you. Then she starts slowly sliding up and down on your behalf, keeping the paizuri going even if you don't want to.

"Mrs. Mallory..." you whisper.

"Call me mom."

"She's--"

"Shhhh," she says. "Cum quickly, baby... okay?"

There's a loud knock on the door. You freeze in fear. Charlotte winks at you.

"Charlotte?" Mom says. "Are you in there?"

"Yes!" She calls, still fucking you with her breasts. You shudder in agonized lust.

"Did Alabaster leave?"

"Not sure. Is he missing?"

"Yes, he is... I hope he didn't run off on us..."

"Well, hold on. We'll be right out!"

There's a poignant pause on the other side. Charlotte quickly, and almost but not completely quietly, continues to bounce her chest up and down in your lap.

"We'll?" Mom questions.

"That's the royal we, Scarlett," Charlotte says. "We'll be coming soon. Okay?"

Her hand is still working at a frenzied pace inside her pussy. She's getting herself off while practically rubbing it in Mom's face.

You hear Mom's footsteps recede, and not a moment too soon, because you're going over the edge whether she's at the door or not. Your hips take a life of their own, again, and you ram repeatedly in and out of the tight, pussy-like crevice of Charlotte's enormous breasts. She eggs you on: "There we go... there we go... don't hold back, just let your dick cum for me... cum for me... cum for me, baby..."

You actually rise to your feet, bow-legged. You thrust madly up and down like a monkey. This is too good, this is WAY too good. Charlotte was 100% right, it's absurd that you never did this with Rose, and you know you'll be coming back for more -- from both women. You hump and hump her tits, and your depraved mind embraces the incest that Charlotte already did: "I'm cumming... I'm cumming, mom--!"

"Oooo--" She sighs when your horny cock begins to throb and spurt. She masturbates as she wrings your load out of you. The thick sperm sloshes up and pools around in her cleavage, and some errant squirts splash up even further, to her chin, and even across the right lens of her glasses. The fabric of the sweater becomes stained and smeared with fat white pearls of semen, too. You cum all over her. And she's perfectly happy to be your cum rag, to bring some much-needed relief to your dick. As far as she's concerned, it seems, it's her motherly duty.

When you're totally empty, Charlotte takes off the sweater completely, letting her giant tits flop out. They're even bigger than they seem, but somehow still perky, against all established laws of gravity. She uses the sweater as a cum tissue, wiping herself clean. Then wrapping it around your dick, too, she squeezes out those stubborn few dollops of cum from your urethra.

You think that's all, but she removes her glasses, and puts the sweater to her face, and inhales deeply.

"Your cum smells absolutely wonderful, Alabaster... it's heavenly... oh, I'm getting dizzy..."

You realize, then, that she hasn't cum yet. But she's about to. Huffing your sperm like an addict huffing paint, she finds her cunt again with her hands and masturbates openly. You watch with interest, and now she begins to suck on the soiled garment, to lick your jizz from the fabric of the sweater, even as she inhales its scent.

"I'm sorry..." she mutters, lost in debauchery, "I'm so terribly sorry you have a disgusting whore like me for a mother... I'm gonna need you to give me lots of cum from now on, okay? Lots of cum... lots and lots..."

And with that, she orgasms. It's wet and sloppy and it leaves a puddle on the tile floor. That doesn't matter to her in the slightest, you gather.

When you sneak out of the dressing room, going first, you rendezvous with mom on the opposite side of the store.

"Where were you?"

"Uh-- I was in the bathroom. That's all."

She squints. "Were you doing something funny?"

"What? No."

"I don't believe you."

Charlotte joins you now. She's still flushed and sweaty from earlier. No attempt whatsoever to hide the truth. "Are we all ready?"

Mom glances from her to you. "Revolting," she says.

"Don't be like that," Charlotte replies. "You never could admit your real feelings, could you?"

"Excuse me?"

"Oh, never mind... shall we go?"

The cashier rings up your costume selections. Charlotte takes pains not to let her remove the soiled sweater from the bag she has it stowed in -- which makes both the cashier and Mom skeptical, to say the least -- but Charlotte is gently insistent, and prevails.

The next few trips are awkward. Mom is some strange combination of judgmental and jealous. At the BMW dealership, she takes you aside and whispers: "she's your cousin."

"Once re-- err, wait, no. Never mind. Look, I don't know what you're talking about."

"Do you really think she's that much..." Mom starts, then trails off. There's an awkward silence. Finally: "I'm not asking you to be attracted to me, of course. But... I'm not as ugly as she said I am... am I?"

"No," you whisper. "She's just a jealous old crone. Honestly -- she jumped me. I think it's because not even Saul will touch her."

"He wouldn't. Who would willingly sleep with a woman like her? I love her to death, but -- please! It's ridiculous."

"Oh, yeah. Totally."

"So... I'm not old and decrepit?"

"I mistake you for Cerise sometimes."

She smiles warmly. It's what she needed to hear.

A few hours later, Cerise is the unknowing new owner of a BMW -- and an absurdly overpowered PC. She's gonna flip. It's gonna be great.

Amber was gone from Fōtsūwan by the time you were done with Charlotte, but you know you'll find her at North High all the same. In the gloom of a late summer California sunset, you stalk the empty halls, and go to the appointed room, the one you told her you'd be at hours ago.

Yep. There she is, sitting in a chair the wrong way, with her arms over the back-rest, reading a book. Fiction, surprisingly: Kundera's "The Unbearable Lightness of Being." She turns the page and continues reading without looking up. "There's the motherfucker," she says.

"Shut up. Are you ready?"

Amber repeats in a mocking tone. "'Are you ready?'" She tosses the book across the room. "Holy fuck. I've only been sitting here for about two thousand years. What kind of shitty thing is that to say to me? Am I ready. Are YOU ready, motherfucker?"

"I am, in fact. Check it out."

You pull your bag from your shoulder, produce your laptop, and open up a word document. Amber's curious eyes follow you. There on the screen is a list of questions -- the debate questions. The actual ones, the ones the candidates will be asked on the stage a couple days from now.

"Oh my g--" Amber says. "--where did you get those?"

"Mr. Langley. He just about did cartwheels when he saw me come back to campus. Wants me to help coach the quiz team. I said maybe. That's all it took to get a little collusion going..."

"You rock. Oh my shit." But then a dark shadow passes over her face. "If it was this easy for you to get them... Raisin Brant definitely got them in advance, too."

"Well, duh. That's how it works. Rose and I both got our debate questions in advance too."

"Fucking corrupt as shit," she says. "What a farce... gotta cheat to win."

"A wise woman once told me -- if you're not getting ahead, you're falling behind. That's life."

"I don't need you quoting your side hos to me."

You regard her warily. "And how would you know that this little bon mot came from a 'side ho'?"

"It sure as shit didn't come from the likes of the dumb broads you'd call your main hos. And you don't know any women who you aren't also putting your dick in. So call that inductive reasoning. If A equals B and B equals C... you get the picture."

"Uh huh. Okay, so, tell me: North High's standardized test scores have declined over the past three years. From the student body's perspective, what is needed to improve the situation?"

"Destroy the College Board, the ACT center, and the California department of education. Hang the administrators high from the rafters. No more standardized tests -- no more low scores. Simple as that."

"Okay..." you drawl. "That's one possible answer. Maybe a bit less radical, though?"

"Fuck that."

"Amber, you have to remember something. You don't just need the students to vote for you. You need to make sure the administration doesn't put its fingers on the scale."

"Excuse me?"

"You need to make sure they don't rig it. If they think you're going to rock the boat too hard, they will... the key is to look at least a little reasonable before you get in. Then make waves once you do. Understand?"

"You're such a pussy. Wow."

You massage the bridge of your nose. This is going to be long and very painful.

After an hour or two of back-and-forth, trying to bring Amber back from the edge of total batfuck insanity with her proposals, she's about at her wits' end herself.

"I'm telling you, plan B in the vending machines just won't fly. Condoms MAYBE, I mean this is California. But Plan B? It's not--"

"Oh come ONNNN," she groans. She throws her head back and tightly grips the headrest of the wood chair she's sitting in, shaking it. She rocks to and fro like this, as if riding a rocking-horse, her sandaled feet thwapping against the ground. The orange pall of sunset makes her hair look like it's aflame. And so fittingly, she suggests: "Forget about debate. It's such a drag. How about this: what if we set the school on fire and say that Raisin Brant did it? Tried and true tactic, right there."

"We can't burn the school down," you say. "Jesus."

"wE cAn'T bUrN tHe ScHoOl DoWn! Haha. Look at Mr. We-Can't-Burn-The-School-Down over here. Kind of a stones-in-glass-houses thing to say -- don't you think?"

You won't be deterred. "You brought me on as campaign manager for a reason, didn't you? Learn from my mistakes. Or don't, I don't care. But if you're going to ignore me, I'll just leave."

The chair Amber sits in has a gap between the seat and the head-rest, held on either side by two thin chrome rods. Amber draws her legs up and slides her entire body through this gap, all in one motion, pouring herself like a liquid through it. It's actually quite elegant, how she manages the maneuver. She lands squatting, but quickly unfurls and rises to her feet, and closes the gap between you. Then without warning, she's in your lap.

"What are you doing?" You demand.

"Sittin."

Whoever Amber Catachresis really is, the world at large sees her as exactly that: Amber Catachresis, a 17-year-old junior in high school. And you are Alabaster Soliloquy, a 22-year-old businessman. This, therefore, is a very dangerous situation. The word "statutory" rings like an alarm bell in your brain.

"Get off of me."

"Is this the first time you've ever said that to a girl? Honest question."

You try to push her away, but she surges forward, and loops her thin arms over your shoulders. She's a bit damp with sweat -- it's stuffy in this classroom.

"I don't get you," you say.

"Good."

"You said I was gross. Multiple times. Thought your sister was stupid for sleeping with me--"

"You are gross. And she is stupid."

"So..."

"So it's your lucky day. I'm into gross guys."

"Well, I'm not into you. You're too young."

She laughs. It's a real and gut-busting laugh. "I'm sorry," she manages between peals. "You're too funny sometimes."

"That's not a joke. You're too young."

"Not for you. I know what you're really like, Alabaster. Now you're fucking my older sister -- my mom, too, maybe -- and maybe even YOUR older sister -- but older chicks aren't really your bag. That's clear. You're a weeaboo. You've got a type."

Her body is very warm, and very close.

"What do you think?" She asks. "Did you like what I said earlier -- should I call you daddy?"

Your mouth is desert dry.

"That's kinda weird, isn't it. You like something else anyway... how about... nii-chan?"

"Cam-- Amber--"

Her voice goes higher, affectedly cutesy and pinched. "C'mon, nii-chan..." she enunciates each syllable of the Japanese, with a really hard "ch" sound for effect. "What do you wanna do with me... nii-chan? Are you gonna show me some fun things... nii-chan?"

She wags her hips back and forth, the crotch of her low-cut shorts rubbing against the crotch of your jeans. It's impossible to mask your hardness.

"Don't like that one either?" She prods. "Hmm. Should I just call you mister?"

"You should just get off of me, is what," you grunt.

"Why?" Amber asks, that annoyingly high pretend-innocent voice coming back. "I'm not in trouble, am I, mister?"

The heat and blood pressure are both rising within you. "This has gone on long enough. Stop it already. Or you'll regret it."

She puts a hand to her lips. "Oh -- oh no. You're not some kinda mean mister, are you? You're not gonna -- hurt me -- are you, mister?"

Your nostrils flare and you gaze at her menacingly.

She smiles. She puts her cheek to yours and whispers in your ear: "it's okay, mister... I don't mind if it hurts~"

She pulls back. Her eyes meet yours. She waits expectantly, and then -- her facial features collapse into a displeased frown. "Fucking hell, Alabaster. What more can I do. I'm pulling out all the stops here... are you going to fuck me or not?"

You grab her about her sides. She's so compact and thin and light. "Yes," you say. "I'm gonna fuck you."

"Hip hip hoo-fuckin-ray. Finally."

You hug her to your body, giving you the leverage to lift her up -- it only takes one arm -- and with your other hand, you anxiously unbutton and tug your jeans down. Amber's head is low, the crown almost touching your nose as she stares, as she watches you get your cock out right here at a desk in a random classroom at North High.

When she looks up, she's got a dopey smile on her face. "You're a pretty big guy."

"I definitely didn't need that."

"Heeheeh," she laughs. But then she's all serious. She fixes you with a stern glare. "Look, I've never done this before. I'm just trying to dip my toes in the water here, you know, sexually. So don't go all wild, okay? I'm not a dutch wife."

"You've gotta be kidding me," you say.

"I'm not fucking kidding you. I don't kid around. I'm a serious person, Alabaster. And I'm a virgin. So fuck me gentle."

As she says this, she undoes her own shorts too. She slides off your lap just long enough to discard them haphazardly on the ground, and then young little Amber is back in your lap, her clean bare pussy nestled up against your angry red cock.

"Okay, and for real," she breathes, gazing down at the size differential, "you really are big. So I want to just hammer home the whole 'gentle' thing here."

"I'm not making any promises," you tell her. "If I fuck someone... I really fuck them..."

Amber chews her lip, worried. "Gee, mister... you're kinda scary."

"Will you stop with that shit?"

"Why should I?" She pecks you on the lips. "Your dick twitched just now."

It's true. Amber's got you dead to rights.

You lean back, peering down the bridge of your nose at her. "Okay, then," you say, "okay, little girl. If you want to play with me, you have to do the next part yourself. Put it in."

"I don't get it," she pouts, playing dumb. "Put what in? Where?"

"Look down," you command.

"Okayyy..."

"See that big thing between my legs?"

"Uh huhhh..."

"That's Mr. Dick. And it feels really good when you put him inside your pussy -- right here." You reach down and touch Amber's already wet cunt.

"Oh geez... are you sure it'll fit?"

"There's only one way to find out, isn't there? You want to play like a big girl, don't you?"

She looks back up and nods excitedly, bouncing in your lap. "Yeah! I do! I really, really do!"

"Go on, then. Put it in."

She slides a bit up and down, her slimy pussy lips gripping the hot shaft of your prick like a bun. You can smell it, her arousal, and it's just like Camelia's was in the massage parlor last year. It's a pussy that's just begging for your cum.

After a few playful moments of this, she rises all the way up, getting herself over the tip. It's hard to overstate exactly how small Amber's pussy really is. She's similar to her sister in that regard, but being even younger, ostensibly, her fuckhole is yet smaller. It really doesn't look like you'll fit. But you're going to try. You're going to get your dick all the way up this hole no matter how much effort it takes.

Amber grits her teeth and tries to sink down. It's no use, the opening just won't budge, and she only succeeds in making your erect dick bend slightly towards your body, and then slide away from the hole, up the folds of her labia. She sighs in frustration. "You're too big, mister... you're way too big."

"Keep trying," you say. "It'll fit."

She hugs your neck and gives it another go. You give her some help this time, spreading the lovely lips of her pussy with both thumbs, as you flex your glutes and push up to meet her. You're gonna crack Amber's cunt open if it's the last thing you do.

"hhh-- hhh--" she breathes, pained, as you wedge and pry, to no avail.

"Relax, baby -- relax," you say, feeling like a dirty old pervert, and liking it.

"Is it okay if I kiss you, mister?"

She doesn't wait for you to answer, she just does it, leaning in and opening her mouth to yours. She tastes sweet, like cherry, and her little pink tongue is so warm in your mouth. She's a bit too eager, her teeth knock against yours, but that's okay. You like that, too.

The kissing does its magic and her little pussy loosens up just enough. With a palm gripping her coccyx, you force her down a couple millimeters and break the seal -- and then all at once, you can get the tip of your dick jammed up the tight chute of her cunt.

She inhales gaspingly against your lips, closing her eyes tight. She goes stiff and is clearly in pain. Glancing down, you see a trickle of blood down the shaft of your cock. Impossible. That can't be, this is some sort of trick. But it's not. Even though you've fucked her before, a year ago, you've taken her virginity just now, all the same. You popped this girl's cherry.

You roll with it. What else can you do? "Slow," you say, "slooow... like that. Get it in you. There you go."

With your tender guidance, she sinks her newly-spoiled cunny down the length of your dick. The lips bulge and strain and you can see a bump begin to form in the skin between her crotch and her belly button -- the outline of your dick expanding her to her very limits. There is nothing to compare this to, robbing a girl of her virginity, and one so tight, but so ready. She gazes lovingly down at the sight as well, for only a moment. She's too hungry for the attention of your mouth too, and soon she returns to kissing you desperately. She's a desperate girl. She's shaking like a leaf and still unused to being fucked, but she wants your attention, all of it: your kiss on her lips and your cock in her cunt. She's got the wind knocked from her, her breath coming out in those jagged little "hhhh--" noises, but she keeps going anyway. Such a darling, eager little fuck she is.

"Good," you groan. You pet her. "You're doing so good."

"W-will you-- w-will you... will you fuck me harder, mister?"

Her face is the perfect mix of childlike innocence and lust. You can't resist it. You grab her roughly and slam into her, the rest of the way -- pushing into her womb. Her jaw drops, her tongue hangs out, and her spine straightens up. She stares blankly at the ceiling, rigid, caught in a silent scream, like someone electrocuted. And that's when you begin to fuck her.

You fuck her quick, and hard, and filthy. Your lap slaps her thighs and makes her convulse. Her cunt hugs you so tight it actually begins to hurt, as if it's trying to spit you out, but you won't let it. In and out you saw, forceful to the point of merciless, raping her cunt raw. It's what she asked for.

"C-c-c-" she stutters, still staring at the ceiling. She's shivering as you screw her.

You pull her head towards you and kiss her -- first her delicate neck, then her flushing cheeks, and finally again her wet lips. She's half-lidded and mentally confused, seems to really believe the whole little girl act at this point, as she twirls a finger through her hair and says "c-cum...? M-mister, are you g-gonna cum in me now?"

"That's right," you grunt. "You're so smart. I'm gonna shoot my cum in you soon... it'll be messy... so get ready."

"O...okay... that's fine, mister... make a mess inside meeee..."

Your tongues mate with each other's as you do just that: you make a nasty mess inside her. It feels like squeezing toothpaste from the tube, your cum drawn out and made slow by the sheer vice-like tightens of Amber's too-young, unripe pussy. It's such a great fucking orgasm, one that seems to last for over a minute or longer, as you pull out -- and ram home, and lose another couple squirts up her womb -- then again, pulling out, ramming home, another satisfying squelchy squirt. It takes for fucking ever, and you're just happy for it to be that way. You kiss her cravenly and seed her right up. You cum over and over into Amber's baby cunt. And she cums against you, too. Her sweet pussy spasms and gets off on being spermed. She really is a desperate girl.

---

Cerise sucks hungrily on Galatea's pussy.

Cerise is lying on her back on Gal's bed with Gal is sitting on her face. As many times as they've done things like this, Gal is still somehow bashful and timid about it -- Cerise always has to initiate. It was Cerise who stripped Gal down to the nude and Cerise who commanded Gal to ride her face. Gal has her hands balled up against her chest with her chin resting on her fists. She rocks back and forth in an arrhythmic humping motion. Cerise keeps her hands pressed up to Gal's thighs to hold them apart; she never breaks eye contact with Gal, gazing devilishly up at her while her talented tongue works her over.

Renee, sitting on a stool in the kitchenette, tries in vain not to rubberneck. She is Cerise's designated babysitter tonight. Although Gal is still a little uncomfortable with her presence, she's been allowed in because Gal considers her to be Cerise's rescuer. Gal doesn't know about the Darkbloom situation, but she's easily persuadable anyway.

It's pretty hard for Renee to feign ignorance and not watch the show, for a couple reasons -- Gal's place has no proper bedrooms, so even from across the loft, she can plainly see and hear their passionate lovemaking. And also, of course, Renee finds it wonderfully tempting. Years in prison gave her a healthy appreciation of the female form, and Gal is simply a beauty. A slender, pale doll with just the most delicious-looking carnation pink pussy she's ever laid eyes on. And Cerise, devil she is, draws so many sexy noises out of the usually mute Gal with the ministrations of her broad wet tongue. Skill in oral sex must be a Soliloquy family special.

Gal's shy squeaks and moans are just the cutest. Renee wants to gobble the girl up... she's envious that Cerise gets to actually do it. Renee pretends to be reading but her eyes are 100% glued to the hot action happening on Gal's mattress. It's especially hot whenever Cerise gets a horny glint in her eye and snakes her tongue yet further back, past the wet hole of Gal's vag and into Gal's winking little asshole. Cerise makes servicing Gal seem almost like an act of domination. The way her mouth causes Gal to writhe and tremble is hypnotic. Even if she's on the bottom, even if Gal is sitting on top of her and riding her face, it's obvious who's in control. Renee squeezes her legs together in an attempt to surreptitiously soothe the building itch in her cunt. She really wishes she could just reach inside her pants and rub her clit a little -- just a little -- just to take the edge off... god, she wants to cum so bad...

"Like what you see?" Cerise pauses to ask, then goes right back to lapping Gal's tiny cunt.

Renee gulps, but doesn't respond. Although she's had something of a sexual awakening recently, this is unfamiliar territory. She didn't suspect until tonight that Cerise and Gal were lesbians... or that they would be so willing to fuck like a couple of bitches in heat even in her presence. Cerise has grown accustomed to having an audience, though, that much is clear -- and she's grown to like it, too.

Gal, not so much: "no..." she mumbles, "noooo... you said she wouldn't look... you promissssed..."

Even if she complains about Renee's voyeurism, she keeps grinding her mound against Cerise's tongue, lips, and nose. Renee can tell that the itch in Gal's own cunt is winning over her shyness, if only just. It's an ambivalence Renee knows all too well, and one she loves to see playing out in someone else, too.

"Oh she's looking, all right," Cerise says. "Why wouldn't she? You're too cute not to look at..."

"no... no..."

Cerise lightly slaps Gal's thigh, a love tap more than anything, just enough to assert a bit of authority. "Stop whining, now," she gently chides. "We both know you like being watched."

Gal shakes her head violently no.

"Hey Renee." Cerise turns her face and peers at Renee from in between Gal's creamy legs. "It's okay. I know you're watching. You can put the book down already. It was kind of dumb to think you wouldn't look, so... wanna help?"

Renee dispenses with pretense and closes the book and watches intently as Cerise sloooowly wags her tongue up and down the crease of Gal's cunt. Back and forth, like savoring an ice cream cone, Cerise scoops up droplets of Gal's juices that glint in the dim amber ceiling lights. It's a tempting invitation. Cerise is trying to seduce Renee into joining with this demonstration of exactly how fun it is to eat Gal out.

"Come on," Cerise says with a low voice, "come over here... help me bring the bitch off..."

It's too much to resist. Renee stands and goes to the bed, heart fluttering in her chest.

"cerise please," Gal begs. "don't make me--"

"Shh," Cerise says. "It'll be good, babe. You like my tongue, don't you?"

Gal nods eagerly. She tries to rub herself against Cerise again, to show just how much she likes it. But Cerise's hands on her legs stop her from moving -- frustrate her.

"Then you'll like Renee's tongue, too. Won't that be really nice? Two tongues at once..."

"um..." She chews the inside of one cheek.

"Get on your knees, babe... like that." Gal is putty in Cerise's hands as she steers her. Then, to Renee: "Which end do you want?"

Renee just lets the perversion run through her. "I want that pretty fucking ass of hers."

"Great choice," Cerise says with a grin. She gets on her stomach in front of Gal's pussy, propped on her elbows, tilts her head back and wastes no time getting to work. She feasts on Gal's cunt with wet, sloppy sucking noises, moaning in sensuous enjoyment.

Renee crawls onto the bed and takes the spot she claimed. Lying on her stomach as well, she spreads Gal's bubble butt with either hand. The way Gal's pristine-looking asshole trembles like the rest of her is too fucking adorable. It glistens with a thin layer of Cerise's saliva. Perfect. Renee lets out a lusty "ungg" that originates from deep within her diaphragm as she purses her lips and starts sucking Gal's anus. Somehow, just sucking this asshole is enough to help relieve some of the fiery lust inside her. She loves doing things like this, especially with the help of a partner in crime. Cerise, who hasn't come up for air even once, is shaking her face back and forth and up and down. She's absolutely reveling in the taste of Gal's cunt. And Gal, her entire weight resting on these two women's faces, trapped between them, is paralyzed with the overwhelming sensation. The sensation of two hungry pervs having their pervy way with her. They run their hands slowly up and down Gal's legs as they eat her out, petting her, comforting her. Even this otherwise chaste contact is somehow rendered lewd in the way they do it. There's something electric in their lust, which is translated in their every touch.

Their oral is rapid and haphazard. Occasionally their tongues miss the mark, meeting one another rather than Gal's dripping holes. It doesn't bother them, in fact they rather enjoy it; and they frequently kiss each other like that as they work. They make out with each other from either side of Gal, twirling their tongues around and swapping spit, savoring the taste of Gal on each other's lips.

Gal tries to keep it bottled up, and can't. She finally starts to cum on them. Her ejaculating juices rain down on their heads, making a sloppy mess. Neither woman pauses. They simply redouble their petting of Gal's thighs, to signal that Gal is doing great -- to encourage Gal to keep cumming as much as she wants. They suck down her fragrant cum as they tongue her inside and out. Drinking her cum is like ambrosia to them, Renee and Cerise alike, and this too helps quell their raging lust.

But soon Gal is all cummed out and woozy with exhaustion. She sways and nearly collapses. Cerise, finally pulling away, her face absolutely coated in drool and slime, helps Gal lie down. Renee won't be so easily deterred, though. With Gal lying prone, Renee circles her and dives in for a second time, attacking the half-conscious girl's asshole with renewed vigor, suckling on it with utter debauched contentment.

Cerise strokes Gal's cheek with the back of her palm. "I spoil you so much, don't I?"

"yes"

The rhythmic noises of Renee tonguing Gal fill the room; Cerise watches for just a few moments. "I love spoiling you, baby," she finally says.

"thank you..."

"Thank Renee, too."

"thank you ms. carte... thank you for licking me... thank you..."

"Feeling a little less tired yet?" Cerise asks.

Gal is still exhausted, but she doesn't want to disappoint. She nods weakly.

"We spoiled you, so now you should spoil us," Cerise says.

"yes"

Cerise crawls on all fours over to the headboard, kicks her sodden panties off. She rises to her butt and leans back. Renee, though reluctant to stop rimming Gal, gets the hint and joins her, also getting nude. Side by side they sit propped up against the back of the bed.

"I taught her how to eat cunt like a pro," Cerise says. "You'll love it."

"Oh yes I will," Renee grunts. "I'm sure of it."

Gal slithers over on her belly, obsequious, and waits for instruction. Cerise is is a bit selfish, and points down at her own pussy. But Renee is fine with that. She watches Gal get to work and rubs her own cunt idly while she does.

For some reason, it feels right to Renee, to reach over and link fingers with Cerise. They hold hands: Cerise getting her pussy eaten, Renee masturbating.

"Let me try now," Renee begs.

Cerise taps the top of Gal's head. "Lick her too, babe."

Gal obeys. She proves as shameless about eating ass as Renee was -- her tongue roams all over. Renee likes to be the one doing it, but is somewhat demure when it comes to receiving. She gasps at the slimy, slightly ticklish feeling whenever Gal's tongue strays all the way south. But no matter. It feels really good anyway. She eventually yields to it, the warmth and wetness of it, and just lets Gal's mouth do what it may.

Gal begins to alternate between Renee and Cerise's cunts at seeming random, trying to service both of them at once. They trust her to set the pace without issuing any more commands -- they just lie back and enjoy the use of her mouth.

Renee and Cerise lock dewy eyes with one another. Taken by a mutually sudden urge, they kiss -- full-on, open-mouthed -- a real and forceful kiss that lasts forever. They moan into each other's throats, suck the residue of Gal's cum from each other, and writhe in pleasure. Gal tongues their leaky cunts out and brings much-needed relief to their desperately itchy, horny holes. Renee loves nothing in the world more than having Alabaster's dick sperming her deep inside, but there's also something special, and almost as good, about having a talented girl's mouth to cum in. Renee makes out with Cerise and gets off, turning Gal's mouth into nothing more than a toilet for cum. There's something so nice, and so cute, but so demented and perverse, about squirting her cum all over the little redhead's face. This thought alone only makes her cum even harder. Gal, with no other option, gulps it down in gratitude.

Galatea, Cerise, and Dr. Carte are collapsed in a sweaty heap on the bed when you barge into Galatea's loft. All three girls are naked.

"Gal, we've got a prob-- oh. Ohhh."

Like a prairie dog, from the middle of the heap, Cerise pokes her head up: "Hey."

You frown. "I never, ever want to hear you call me a pervert again for as long as I live. Do you understand me?"

"There's nothing perverted about this," Cerise insists. "We were just pallin' around."

"Right. You have to be naked and on top of each other to pal around?"

"Pillow fight. Got out of hand."

"Are they awake? Did you suck out their souls?"

"Mmmmmaybe," Dr. Carte groans, groggy. She nuzzles her head against Galatea's thigh, and falls back into gentle snoring.

You go over and drag Galatea from the pile. She tries to rise to her hands and knees, but she's out of it, and plops back down to her stomach again as soon as you release her. Gazing up at you, she says: "i'm sorry, sir... i'm a bit too tired to play anymore..."

"This isn't about play. It's about work."

"too tired"

"Fazil got intercepted. We lost the emails."

Cerise is in the kitchenette, grabbing a beer from the fridge -- took to keeping a stash at Galatea's place since she's here so much. She cracks it open with a churchkey and takes a swig. "Is this that StuCo bullshit again? Do you and Rose ever get sick of these retarded fights?"

"Shut the fuck up, Cerise. This is important. You wouldn't understand."

She rolls her eyes. "I always thought you two would get less retarded if you just had sex. I was way off base."

"It's not about Rose! It's about getting to know Amber."

"And yet somehow, over the past few days, all you want to talk about is how Rose is trying to screw you over."

"Because she is! She actually-- you know what? Forget it. It's hopeless. It's like you don't even want to understand."

"Yep." She lazily strolls past you and sits at Gal's computer and pulls up Youtube. Recently she's been watching a lot of how-to videos on circuit modification -- getting ready for relaunching her stream.

"it's ok," Galatea says. You glance down at her in confusion, and she continues: "auburn brantly fell for a spear phishing attack after all... i got his login credentials... i have all his emails."

"Holy shit. You're amazing." You lean in and kiss her on the cheek -- which tastes like Cerise's pussy. (On inspection, is a little weird to think that you can instantly identify the unique flavor of your sister's pussy, but you set that aside.) Galatea warms to the praise and the gentle contact, and snuggles up against her mattress, hugging herself happily. Still very tired.

Cerise notices this. "Damn," she says. "Forget what I said. If you'll keep treating Gal that nice, then I'm fine with you having retarded slap-fights with Rose forever."

"Where are they?" you ask Gal. "The emails."

"folder on the desktop..." She's quickly drifting out of consciousness.

You shove Cerise aside from Galatea's PC. "Asshole!" She shouts.

"Just hold on for two seconds," you say, leaning over the mouse and keyboard. "Jesus. Youtube will still exist when I'm done. I only need to grab these files..."

You transfer the pilfered documents to a spare junk drive from your bag.

"Did you read them? Find anything good?" You ask Gal, looking over your shoulder.

"cheater..." she murmurs. "he's a cheater..."

"Fucking knew it," you say to yourself.

"Oh, and this -- this isn't cheating at all," Cerise says.

"No it isn't. This is justice."

The debate is the following afternoon, 12 PM in the North High auditorium. Students were given a half-day, and could optionally attend the debate or simply go home. Of course, most of them chose the latter, but attendance is far from sparse. Camelia's rambunctious campaign has drawn more attention than the average StuCo election -- which in other years, is usually more like a coronation of the administration's golden child.

You find Rose watching from a distant remove, along the far wall. You go and stand beside her. Neither of you look at the other, but rather stare straight ahead. It's an old tactic. If you're not looking at her, it's harder for her to get inside your head -- and vice versa, you suppose.

"Who was that you sent after Fazil?" You demand. On stage, the band is playing the school's fight song as the candidates, backstage, prepare.

"What are you implying?" Rose says. "My my. So paranoid. Fazil was mugged by a hoodlum. I hope they find the person who did it."

"He wasn't fucking mugged. They didn't even take his wallet --"

"Whoever did it must have panicked--"

"Will you just give it up, Rose? For once in your life. Whose idea was it? Not that fucking moron Auburn's, surely. This is all you -- isn't it."

She says nothing, but you can practically hear the smug grin. You don't want to look to confirm. It'll drive you up the wall.

"It's too bad for you, though," you say. "Allow me to go a bit Stackleford here. You activated my trap card."

"You've gone insane," Rose says. "How sad."

You quote one of the juicier emails to her, from memory: "'Here you go, Auburn. I received the debate questions from Principal Jackson last night. Review these in advance of our meeting tomorrow afternoon. Sincerely, Rose.'"

This time, you do look. The color drains from Rose's face. You love to see it.

"Your move," you tell her.

She seethes. The candidates are beginning to take the stage: from the right enters Auburn and from the left enters Amber. They shake hands. Amber grips the kid so hard that you can see his knuckles folding over themselves, and he grimaces -- but he gives as good as he gets -- Amber winces in pain, too.

"We should discuss this somewhere more private," Rose says. "You're not the only one with a trap card. I'd like to propose to you -- that we should arrange a detente before this gets ugly..."

>[x] Go with her.

>[x] Stay and watch.

"You must really think I'm an idiot," you say. "You've got nothing. You lose. Like always. And now you're lashing out like a caged animal, trying to get me alone. So you can do something sick and twisted to me in retaliation. I know you, Rose. Cut it out with this amateur hour bullshit. I'm not falling for it."

She slowly shakes her head as you speak, but can't find a rebuttal.

"It's all right," you say. "There's no shame in losing. I mean -- okay, there is. There's actually a lot of shame in losing. But I know you secretly enjoy it. So just sit back and relax... watch my horse take your horse out to pasture..."

The first question was about school lunches, and Auburn is already midway through an interminable lecture about how there needs to be healthier options at the canteen. That's just what will get the students jazzed to vote him: steamed broccoli. Really in tune with his fellow kids right there. His nasally voice is like an aural Quaalude.

"So what was it?" You ask Rose. "Got your taser in your purse? The old pepper spray trick? Or did you just want to throw down mano-a-mano like old times?"

She says nothing. You chuff, and turn to face the stage again. Amber's speaking: "...just get rid of the pizza. It isn't fuc-- it isn't freaking pizza. It's tomato sauce on soggy bread. Everytime I see the menu is pizza for lunch, I gag. Don't you guys just gag when see that? You hate to see it. You really do. So replace pizza days with the taco bar, and lunch here is basically fine. The taco bar is tremendous. It's the best taco bar, maybe in any high school in the country. No need for lots of other changes. This is, like, the one thing I don't want to change too much... for real."

"She is so brilliant," you say approvingly. "I taught her everything she knows, of course."

You don't even notice it until it's happening. Rose's small hands are around your neck, latching something in place. You glance down in horror: it's some sort of collar, with a black metal box tight against your Adam's apple.

"Razzle dazzle~" she purrs.

You reach back to undo the collar, but as soon as you do, you're nearly bowled over by an agonizing jolt of electric pain. You let out a choked cough and lean on the wall for support -- a few students in the back rows glance over their shoulders at you.

You grab for the remote in Rose's hand, but she's quicker. She steps back and gives you another jolt, and this time you fall over. Amber's increasingly energetic Gish gallop on the topic of allowing students to conduct self-directed chemistry experiments keeps most eyes facing forward, but a few of the students notice this second mishap of yours as well. "Are you okay?" a girl nearby asks. You wave her off, standing weakly.

"They use these to train dogs..." Rose tells you airily.

"You are demented," you growl. "Take this thing off me right now and I MIGHT consider beating you just half to death tonight, rather than all the way..."

"His name was Fazil Çatalhöyük," Amber says into her microphone. "And he sacrificed everything trying to bring the truth of this corrupt system to you!"

"Uh -- Fazil is alive," Auburn cuts in impotently.

But Amber bulldozes right over him: "His name was Fazil Çatalhöyük! Never forget!"

"Give it to me," you repeat.

"Nope."

"Give it--" you reach out, try to corner her, but she's got the advantage. She shocks you every time you get near, and even when you know it's coming, the unspeakable pain still blows you back. It's all you can do not to scream every time it hits.

"Be quiet," Rose whispers. "You wouldn't want to make a scene, would you? Don't want everyone to see what a pathetic little piggy you are..."

You try to leave the auditorium, to deny Rose the pleasure of seeing you struggle, but she shocks you again as you head for the double doors. You fall to your knees involuntarily. Peering up at her, you say: "Fine. You fucking win. Happy? If you want to go somewhere private, we can--"

She shocks you. You fall prone, and feel foam develop at the corners of your mouth. When your vision uncrosses, Rose is gazing down at you like a mother over the crib of her newborn, an adoring hand to her cheek, blushing.

"I changed my mind," she says. "I think we're fine right here."

She puts the sole of one of her flats against the top of your head. She's conquered you.

The drone of Auburn's voice is in your ears, insult to injury: "--to support the radical, almost fascistic ideas of this crazy girl, is just absolute insanity -- what North High needs is a steady hand on the tiller --"

"Crazy!" Amber shrieks. "I'm not crazy! You're the crazy one! You!"

"I want you to lick my feet," Rose says.

"Fuck y-- ghhh--" Your body seizes as the amps flow through it.

"I should have been clearer. You WILL lick my feet."

She steps out of her shoes and stands before you where you lie, feet bare except for her pantyhose. You can see up her mid-length skirt and find that she isn't wearing panties, as usual. She's almost never worn underwear since the night you commanded her not to. Even in the darkened hall, you see the shimmer of her wetness running down her inner thighs.

You glance now towards the crowd. Only a couple yards separate the space between the wall and the back row of chairs. There can be no hiding what you're up to, if someone happens to glance back. You're right out in the open. Rose, the fucking cunt, is intent on humiliating you in as public a forum as possible.

The sour odor of her feet fills your nostrils. She rubs one right beneath your nose, the fabric of the pantyhose scraping against your skin. With no option but to bide your time, you swallow your pride, and comply. You wrap a hand delicately around the sole of her foot and hold it to your face. Repulsed, you do your duty, and dart your tongue out. It's a horrible, musky, earthy taste, a mixture of sweat and grime, that sticks tenaciously to your tongue and nearly makes you retch.

Rose balances on one leg, back propped against the wall, and watches you slather your tongue around. You run your flattened tongue along the heel, the arch, and then even up to the toes, sucking each in turn. "You do that so well," she says. "You were born for this, weren't you..."

As you run your tongue back down to the instep, she wiggles her toes, using them to poke and prod your face. She's getting wild and overheated and way too into it -- this is always one of her favorite games. "You are such a fucking pig for me," she grunts. She can't help herself: she reaches down and snakes a hand under her skirt and starts masturbating her cunt, openly, right here in the auditorium.

The white-hot rage within you is only a little palliated by the lovely sight of Rose frigging her pussy. Despite yourself, you do like seeing her get off. Her plump, soft mound is too inviting. And so you almost forget for a moment that you're on your belly worshiping her feet like a slave. In fact: the tart, nutty flavor of her feet begins to sort of turn you on. You shiver with sheer revulsion at that thought. There's no way you'd let yourself get turned on by this.

Rose cums. Her voice is quiet, and hoarse, as she hisses: "Yesss-- like that-- oh, fuck... so good..." Her fingers strum her clit and she wrings out spurt after spurt of cum all over the top of your head. The sound of it splashing against you is pretty loud -- to you -- but thankfully no one seems to notice.

This is your only opportunity to gain the upper hand again and you're going to take it. That is, after one last slow pass of your tongue in a lazy circle over the flexing sole of her foot -- just to make sure she's properly distracted, of course. She keeps cumming on you, adoringly, as you give her this final bit of service. And she doesn't notice until it's too late, you springing upright, taking her wrist, and wresting the remote from her grip.

Her frightened eyes meet yours. Post-cum clarity, and the evil sneer you give her, combine to make her realize just what a terrible mistake she's made.

"Oh shit," she says.

She wheels around and tries to flee, actually tries to run away -- dumb bitch. You keep hold of her wrist and pull her in for a very un-tender hug. "Where do you think you're going?" You whisper. "We're fine right here."

Still holding her close, you direct her clearly and simply. "Get my cock out for me."

"You WOULD be hard, wouldn't you," she hisses back. "Did being treated like the worm you are make your little pencil dick all--"

You reach up and cup a single hand around her chin, fingers pressing into her cheeks, forcing her to make a stupid fishy face that prevents her from speaking. "I didn't tell you to talk," you say. "I told you to get my cock out. Don't make me hit you."

She's the one who's out of options now. With your hand still holding her face, she unzips your pants and frees your throbbing dick. You hate the fact that Rose's treatment of you really is the reason you're in such a state of need right now. You have to make sure you pay her back.

"Turn around." Although you give her this direction, you simultaneously complete it for her -- turning her by the shoulder so she faces the wall.

"Alabaster -- don't --" she whispers. "This isn't--"

"Oh, you can masturbate right here in front of god and everyone but I can't fuck you? I don't think so. Lift your fucking skirt up."

She shudders and bows her head in despair. Then, reaching back, she lifts up her skirt. Her bare white ass and fat pussy mound are out in the open. With a heave of relief, you push your cock in. The way Rose's thick thighs are pressed together makes the channel of her vagina incredibly tight. Its inner walls grip you with a sucking persistence that doesn't want to let you go. You begin to fuck in and out of her without a care in the world of who might witness it. Her smooth, tight pussy makes lewd sucking noises as you pump it.

"Hang 'em high!" Amber's voice comes from behind you. "Hang 'em high! Hang 'em high!" She's got the crowd chanting and cheering, a perfect noisy distraction for you to cut loose and really rail Rose the way she deserves to be railed. You hold her hair with both hands, like handles. Rose's forehead bangs and rebounds off the wall repeatedly; her entire body shakes with the force of your jackhammer thrusts. She doesn't seem to know whether she's in pain or ecstasy. Either way, she's exhilarated. Her tongue hangs out and flops around and her eyes are blank. She smiles stupidly. She likes to call you a pig, but she's the real pig -- she's a pig for getting raped by your cock.

"This isn't as good as your mom's tits," you say.

"Wh-whuuh?"

"It's not as good as your mom's tits. She let me fuck her tits the other day, and I gotta say... it was much better than this loose, used up cunt..."

Her pussy spasms and she lets out a low wail. "Noooo..." she drawls. "Nooo... liarrr..."

"You know I'm not lying... I fucked her, Rose... she was better than you..."

"Unnnn--" She's cumming herself silly even as the despair chokes her.

"Maybe if I tried your tits--" you begin.

Rose straightens up, gets right off your cock and spins around. "My titsssh are better," she says, slurring her words, horny and desperate and eager to prove the point. She rips her shirt open, buttons flying. She tugs her breasts free of her too-small bra. The puffy nipples are hard and bright pink. She's already on her knees in front of you. "See?" She demands. "Seeeee?"

She mashes them together with balled fists and gets them over your cock. It slips right into the hot, wet crevice. Just like the older Mallory, Rose's obscenely large breasts have a tendency to trap sweat between them, providing a natural lubrication for fucking them. And unlike the older Mallory, Rose pulls out an extra trick. Each time your cock pokes up from the top of her cleavage, she drools over the tip of it, and licks it, and swirls her tongue around the foreskin.

"Oh fuck," you groan. Your knees almost buckle and you hold the wall, palms flat against it. Rose works with you frenzied eagerness.

"Seee?" She keeps saying. "My tits are better... my tits are beterrrr..." She slobbers and drools over your dick. You can't help humping her back. Maybe she's right. This feels so fucking good.

The hooting crowd masks your sexual perversion, and they're too rapt over Amber's performance to take notice. But, looking up to the stage yourself, you realize that there were two people in the auditorium who could see it, after all. Amber and Auburn were facing the crowd, of course, and therefore also you.

Amber grins at you as Rose fucks her tits up and down your leaking prick -- but keeps ranting, keeps the crowd distracted -- a perfect wingman.

Auburn is less pleased. Actually, he seems mortified. Maybe he thought that Rose helping his campaign meant he had some sort of chance with her, that she was interested in him. This would be a pretty rude wake-up call if that were the case.

You fuck Rose's tits viciously with that thought in mind. Yeah, that's definitely the heartbroken look of a man spurned on Auburn's face.

And then -- that awful zap. You grunt in pain. Rose has the remote in her hand again -- you stupidly left the collar in place around your neck. But even as she shocks you, she keeps fucking you with her tits. Her face is a broken, sneering, evil, desperate grin as she rubs your cock with the soft flesh of her breasts and sends what feels like millions of volts arcing through you.

"My tits are better," she says. "My tits are better... my tits are better! Admit it!!"

ZAP!

"Y--" you stammer. "Y-your tits--"

ZAP! 

"Your tits are better!!"

ZAP! ZAP!

Punishment or reward, you can't tell. All you know is that even as the pain saps you of all your energy, your turgid dick still feels wonderful pressed between the fleshy confines of Rose's fat cowtits. Your nuts tighten up, you gasp, and then you spray your cum all over her leering face. You cum and cum as she shocks you over and again.

You don't want to let her win like this, so in one last act of retaliation, while you sperm her tits and her face, while she shocks you -- you kick her. You kick her between her legs, right in her fucking cunt, and knock that stupid smug smile right off her face. She howls and throws her head back, in utter gut-wrenching agony, but she has enough mental fortitude to keep up the electric assault, and to keep smearing her cum-stained titties around your spurting dick.

It's an absolute trainwreck. Rose wringing your cum from you while you each abuse the other as viciously and as publicly as possible. But it feels absolutely divine, too. You've had very few orgasms as thunderous and satisfying as the one you have with Rose's shock collar, the tip of your loafers mashing her clit.

---

In an empty hallway after the debate, Amber has her fingers laced together behind her back, elbows locked, standing on tiptoes. She beams up at you. "That was wild. You're a madman."

You hand her the thumb drive with all of Auburn's emails on it. She pockets it. "Stick a fork in him," you say. "Win one for the Gipper."

"The who-per?"

"Never mind."

"You really threw Raisin Brant off his game back there. Banging your cousin-69-times-removed right in front of him was a real evil-genius-type move."

You play that one off and allow her to think it was all part of your plan, and not just a happy accident of Rose's own making. You turn to leave, but stop yourself, and decide that now is the time to ask:

"Are you Camelia?"

"You keep calling me Camelia, so I guess you already think I am." She hefts her small backpack up from the ground and throws it over one shoulder.

"You recognize that name--"

"Well duh. That crazy terrorist bitch you were so-sources-say involved with last year? She was all over the news. So of course I recognize the name. What she did to David Darkbloom is SUCH an inspiration--"

"That's not what I mean. You recognize that name, when I call you Camelia."

She eyes you warily.

"I helped you out," you say. "So I deserve to know." No reply to this, so you try again, adopting a gentle tone. "Amber... Camelia... what happened back then, happened -- I don't want to dredge up the past. I just want to know I'm not crazy."

"We're both crazy," she says.

"Well, fine. So you remember."

"Have you ever heard of confabulation, Mr. Quiz Champ?"

"Don't try to fuck with me. I know that what I remember is real."

She shrugs. "I'm happy you're so sure. But I'm not." She shifts her weight to one foot, cocks her head. "It's like trying to see something through TV static. I knew you from the moment I saw you... but..." she sighs and stretches lazily. "Man, I could go for a smoke right now. Would you buy me a pack of cigarettes?"

"I've contributed enough to your delinquency."

She motions with both hands. "Come on. Enough with the tsun tsun thing, you fucking dork. Let's go."

Outside a Circle K, Amber sits on a grey cinderblock wall the height of your chest, and smokes the Camels you bought for her. She kicks her feet in the air a little.

"I want to live a normal life," she says. "That's all."

"Me too."

"If I don't remember much, you should just leave it. I saw that livestream video of what Camelia did. It was fucking crazy... I mean, even crazier than anything I'D do, and that's saying something."

You kick at some pebbles on the ground. "Where did that flash drive in your bedroom really come from?"

"As far as I know, it's like I said... I found it one day in a cafe. Scout's honor."

"Don't scout's honor me. I scout's honor people all the time and there's only rarely any actual honor in it."

"Cross my heart and hope to die?"

"You've already died once, I'm pretty sure."

"Stick a needle in my eye?"

"I don't want you to lose another eye."

"Fuck, man. You're such a hard-ass. Whatever..." She throws the cigarette down on the ground, heaves herself from her perch on the wall, and stamps the butt out. She plays a finger slowly up your wrist and lower arm.

"I had fun doing it with you," Amber says. "We should be fuckbuddies."

You frown.

"Are you gonna let me live a normal life, Alabaster Soliloquy?"

"As long as we're fuckbuddies, your life is probably going to be pretty weird."

"I guess I'll adjust. Your dick game is way too good to pass up. Just... stop calling me Camelia. It upsets me."

"...All right."

She pecks you on the cheek and hurries off before you can say anything further -- like a shy middle schooler who's uncertain about being intimate with a crush. Where she's headed, you have no idea.

At work, Vivian reads the letter aloud to you and Dr. Carte:

"Dear R: I was happy to receive your correspondence of late, and even happier to read all the good news within. Where I am is quite isolated and I was unaware of all the momentous developments taking place over the past year. I am overjoyed that you have your freedom and are reunited with your daughter. She sounds like a handful. Good luck with her! This world is a better place with you and your daughter and brilliant young V. at the helm. I understand your concerns about Ms. C.S. and I do believe that I might be of some assistance. I will be in touch when I devise a way for more consistent, secure and speedy contact. Or perhaps you would like to come on vacation to my private island abode? Ha ha. Do not worry. It's joke. Your friend, G."

"It's joke?" You question.

"That is what is says, verbatim." Vivian holds the letter up. "It's joke. Sic."

You frown at her. She's frustratingly precise and literal with everything. Can't even correct someone's typo for them.

Vivian sets the letter aside now. "This is splendid news. I do rather miss Gustav."

"If he can get your father out of Cerise's head, he's all right in my book," you say.

Vivian appears a touch ambivalent about that. You hope she's still on board with the plan.

"The envelope is postmarked last Thursday," Dr. Carte says. "He must have some connection with the outside world, to get priority air shipment from the ass-end of Palau..."

"Island vacation, then?" You say.

"No thanks. The last thing anyone needs to see is me in a bikini."

"Actually, I'd love to," you say.

Dr. Carte blushes. "You--!"

"I am in complete accord," Vivian says. "You would look so becoming in a bikini." She puts her hand to her chin and ponders the image appreciatively, her hungry little eyes devouring the poor doctor.

Dr. Carte shakes her head and folds her arms angrily, still under the assumption that you're teasing her, apparently.

This feels like progress, though. Maybe you can give Cerise a birthday present way better than some car or PC or slutty cosplay outfit. Maybe you can give her freedom.

Your phone rings. You excuse yourself to answer it.

"School's on fire," Amber says.

"...What?"

"School's on fire."

---

A few minutes later you and Rose stand outside the campus of North High among a gathering crowd of people watching the school burn down in a horrible, crackling inferno.

As firefighters try in vain to fight the blaze, police are leading a handcuffed young woman away from the scene -- one who matches the description of the girl who mugged Fazil.

"IT'S NOT FAIR!" She's shrieking. "IT'S NOT FAIR!! IT WAS AUBURN'S TURN!! HE DESERVES TO WIN!!!"

They put the girl into a police cruiser, who's still cracking up, and shrieking, and crying, and pleading her case. Auburn Brantly himself watches on, embarrassed and sullen.

"Wow," Amber says, approaching you on your other side. "That's fucked up."

"Yeah," you say.

"Terrible way to kick off my presidency."

"Yeah..." Rose agrees.

"Now I know how you feel, huh," Amber tells you.

"Don't worry," you offer. "I'll get Whitney to buy you guys a new school."

"Oh, sure. That's great. You're swell, Alabaster -- the bee's knees."

You stand side by side with her and watch the school burn.

"You didn't order this, right?" You ask Rose.

"I might have been involved with the laptop thing, but this -- no. No."

"What about you?" You ask Amber.

"Burning the school down is so 2014. Pretty lame if you ask me."

"Some people just don't know how to lose with grace..." Rose murmurs.

"Shut up."

She shuts up.

END OF EPISODE 9.