Season 4 Interlewd 7: Fuck x Sis

You are Alabaster Soliloquy, tomboy tapper, trap trainer, and totemo tanoshii otouto.


Oh fuck, here it comes. You're dumping another scalding load of jizz directly into Vivian's over-full cunt. It's your third of the night so far, and all three have gone inside her. Vivian lies under you in her bed, on her back, knees bowed with the heels of her feet touching. Her ass is half-submerged in the milky pool that all your cumming has created. Her bald little pussy is totally smeared and coated with it, too. She's a nasty mess.


You gulp and pant as you paint her insides even whiter. She grins perversely, and enjoys the high of getting cummed inside: more slop for the piggy. The feeling of cum racing through your dick and out the throbbing cockhead is always a joy -- but especially when you get to nut inside a hole this small and soft. Vivian's pussy is so tight that whenever you drop a load inside it, you have to flex your abs to force all of the cum out. Even with that assistance, it doesn't squirt so much as just wetly ooze, over the course of about ten seconds, as your expanding cock stretches her to her very limits. You dribble pulse after pulse of semen inside her; and, with nowhere to go, the semen dribbles right back out, all around the union of your bodies, and down her stippled thigh, to join the mess already splattered across the bedspread. It's a powerful fucking orgasm indeed, the tightness of Vivian's body drawing it out to an almost painful duration. You can't help groaning "ooooh," over and again as you sperm her.


Even after that third climax, you keep going. Propped on your elbows as you hump, you lean bodily forward and meet Vivian's lips with yours. Her facial muscles are lax and her expression is blank. But she has enough awareness left, just barely, to return the kiss. You join yourselves at both ends, cock in cunt and tongue in mouth, violating this small girl as utterly as you can. She loves it, of course. Although she has a burgeoning relationship with Amber, she will always be a slave to your dick: it turns her from an elegant and refined baroness of industry into a disgusting whore begging for a couple extra squirts of cock-slime. This is the true Vivian Darkbloom, the girl beneath you sucking on your tongue and orgasming like an idiot with her cum-drenched pussy. Her naked body, so anemic and fragile-looking, feels as if it will break at any second as you lie atop her. You're going to fuck her broken. That's what she wants: she wants her insides to break on your horny cock.


You know that's what she wants because she tells you so. Her slurred whining between kisses is hard to decipher, but she means it: "Alabashhhterrr... you're breakinggg meee... do it harderrrr..."


You taunt her. "I already came inside you three times. Shouldn't you share?"


She shakes her head violently side to side, ruffling the pillowtop.


"Greedy slut," you grunt.


Circling around the bed with a camcorder in hand, a naked Dr. Carte asks: "Is that true? Are you a greedy slut?"


"Yesh," Vivian says. Zero hesitation.


Dr. Carte gets up onto the bed on her knees, and zooms the camera's viewfinder up close to the messy spot where your cock is driving in and out of the girl she helped raise. Her other hand slowly tickles her own clitty. She sweeps the camera across Vivian's nude body to capture it in all its lurid detail, and finally focuses on the girl's face:


"Say hello to everyone at home," Dr. Carte instructs.


"You're not really going to post that somewhere, are you?" You ask.


"Hmmm. Maybe~" she says teasingly.


Eyes half-lidded, Vivian faces the lens and focuses on enunciating: "Hello all you perverts," she manages. "I hope... I hope..." she gulps hard, and finishes: "I hope you masturbate to my degradation..."


"Give them a peace sign," you say.


Vivian does as ordered, holding up two fingers by her slackened mouth. It's perfect.


"Are you a greedy slut?" Dr. Carte prods again. "Tell them what you are."


"Yeshhh!" Vivian wails. Her neck muscles strain and twitch. Still with the peace sign, she makes her declaration crystal clear for the camcorder: "I am a greedy slut cunt bitch... I am a disgusting whore! Watch me cum!"


And cum she does. Her little pussy-hole flutters and then she squirts all over your drilling dick. The fragrant smell of her cream joins the stench of raw sex in the room. It makes the slurry of semen underneath her a little less viscous. Dr. Carte captures it all on camera.


"You are greedy," Dr. Carte says. "Aren't you going to let him jizz inside me once?"


"No... no..." she says hoarsely. She gives up on speaking clearly. "In me... it hasssh to be in meee..."


"Fucking toilet," you sneer.


"Yesh."


"How much is it worth to you?" You ask. You lean back a bit, to make room for Dr. Carte, who's swinging her knees over Vivian's head to straddle it. From this vantage, Dr. Carte has the perfect bird's-eye view of your raping dick and how completely it dwarfs young Vivian's child-sized pussy. The position also means that Dr. Carte's own horny pussy is dripping steadily right on Vivian's face, furthering her humiliation.


"W-- what...?" Vivian asks.


"How much is another load of cum in your cunt worth to you?" You say. "How much are you willing to pay for it?"


Dr. Carte can't resist gyrating a little, slowly raising her butt up and down to repeatedly mash her hot pussy against Vivian's wet face. If Vivian won't let you share, Dr. Carte will take her pleasure this way instead. Every time she pulls back up, little threads of her pussy juice cling between her genitals and Vivian.


"$500?" You say.


"Yesh," Vivian says. She wriggles around a bit, her rail-thin body shuddering with the force of your marathon fuck-session.


"$10,000? A million?"


"Yesh! I don't care! Anything! Jusht cum inshide meeeee!"


"All right. I'll cum inside you one more time for a billion dollars," you tell her.


Dr. Carte focuses on Vivian's disbelieving face. "What... a billion...?" Vivian slurs.


"Oh, I guess you don't want it after all," you say. You pull your cock out of the warm sheath of Vivian's cunt.


She weakly reaches out for you, both elbows locking. "Wait! No!"


You thrust back into her. She goes limp again, bites her lips, rolls her eyes in lustful pleasure. Dr. Carte languidly fucks her face.


"One billion dollars and I'll give you another couple squirts of cum," you say. "That's the deal."


"Okay," Vivian says, her voice distant and apathetic to the cost. Her eyes are shimmering, and she smiles up at you. "Asssh long asssh you cummm in here... in h-h-hhereee..." She pets her tiny tummy with a tiny palm. "F-f-fill my womb... I'll do anything... I don't care..."


"There you go," Dr. Carte narrates for the video, "that's all it takes to get Vivian Darkbloom's riches. Just promise to cum in her uterus."


"Yesh."


It's a great deal, you have to admit. Nevermind the fact that you were planning to cum in her anyway. You get your cock buried as far as it goes, enjoying the way her bruised cervix hugs your shaft like an undersized onahole. You sigh and let it happen: a delicious, shiver-inducing fourth orgasm inside Vivian's little body. The semen comes out of your dick in thick glops and seeds her deepest parts, just as she wanted.


She cums again too, screaming, but Dr. Carte cuts it off by sitting on her face. Rocking back and forth, Dr. Carte gets herself off all over Vivian, keeping the camera steady to capture the moment you defile her already-defiled pussy. When she's had her fill of rubbing her cunt on Vivian, she slides off her face with a squelchy noise and settles on the pillows, allowing Vivian to rest the back of her head in her lap.


At last you finish jizzing. Even for you, this has been a banner night. Completely sated and tuckered out, you try to unmate your still half-erect dick from Vivian's steamy cunt. But she stops you with a hand to your chest.


"Wait... you're not done yet... are you...?"


"I couldn't possibly cum again," you say. "Not even for all the money in the world..."


Dr. Carte slowly parts Vivian's matted hair from her face, as Vivian says: "But... there's more than just cum inside that penis of yours..."


"I don't--"


"Please, Alabaster -- urinate inside me..."


You stare blinkingly down at her. Then up, at Dr. Carte, who's smiling in debauched amusement. Still recording, she asks Vivian: "Would you do it for another billion?"


"Yes, yes I would," Vivian says. She uses her cunt muscles to slowly, deliciously, massage your prick back to stiffness. "Alabaster Soliloquy, I will pay you a billion dollars to use my pussy as your private urinal."


Who can say no to that? You tilt your head back and close your eyes and focus on voiding your bladder. It's hard to pee with an erection, and Vivian's messy cunt-massage is keeping you at full mast. She wants this to be as lewd and dirty as possible, and what's dirtier than getting pissed in by an erect cock? You strain your pelvic muscles and manage to loose a couple stray dribbles against her inner walls. She hisses in delight. That breaks the dam, and then it starts to come in earnest: a torrential geyser of hot yellow liquid to scrub the cum out of Vivian's cervix and womb. It flows up into her, and then backflows out of her, just like your cum did; and just like your cum, it adds to the horrible stinking mess on the bed below. Vivian doesn't care, and rides out climax after climax on your pissing dick. Dr. Carte, ever the helpful camerawoman, gets it all down on video. You wonder whether she'll really post it. Or... maybe even better... it could be used to blackmail Vivian into doing all sorts of new, horrible and degrading things.


When finally you're empty, you pull out of her. Like a plug from a bathtub drain, your cock's exit from Vivian's little body unleashes a whirlpool of liquid. Vivian is lying in a nasty puddle of cum and piss, and she could not be happier. You and Dr. Carte have the same idea at the same time: you each yank her around by her hair, and force her face-down into the soupy mixture.


"Clean up after yourself, cunt," you spit.


"Mmmmmfff," she mutters deliriously, sucking and licking at the mixture. "Yesh, of courrshee..." Jaw hanging open, she draws her little pink tongue in lazy circles.


For minutes on end, piggy little Vivian Darkbloom feeds on your commingled fluids, slurping it all down into her hungry tummy. She sucks and licks, drinks and chews the clumpy wads of pissy cum until it's all gone, and the only thing left is a huge wet stain on the covers. Dr. Carte, who's an even worse pervert than you, isn't happy with just that. She hands the camcorder to you when Vivian is done with her meal. She takes Vivian by the ankles and doubles Vivian's body over itself, butt in the air. "Pee on yourself," she commands.


Vivian resists not at all: just opens her mouth again and lets her own stream loose. You and Dr. Carte share a loving kiss as you watch the sight of Vivian on the stained bedclothes, pissing all over herself. She catches a great deal of it in her mouth, but she can't control it that well, and at least as much of it ends up splattering her cheeks, forehead, and eyes, before running in rivulets down to the covers. Of course you make her suck that up, too. By the time it's all over, you swear you can see just a little bulge in Vivian's almost anorexic belly.


Dr. Carte, who's not shy at all about getting messy herself, curls up with Vivian on the soiled bed. Vivian is completely sapped from the abuse, and close to unconsciousness. Dr. Carte kisses her all over, her lips traveling across Vivian's sloppy body. From the young girl's skin, she licks and suckles the mix of sweat, cum, and urine -- yours and Vivian's.


As you pull on your underwear, you ask: "How are you going to pay me? I'll take some of your stock positions if that would be easiest for you."


Vivian smiles wanly at you even as Dr. Carte's lewd mouth continues its ravishment. "You are quite the comedian, Alabaster."


"I'm not fucking joking," you say. "Do I look like I'm joking? You owe me $2 billion."


Vivian's eyes turn to saucers. "You-- cannot be serious--"


"Now, now," Dr. Carte purrs. She pecks Vivian on the forehead. "You did make a promise, didn't you?"


"But I..."


"If you don't pay him... I might be forced to post the video we made, after all..."


See? Blackmail is so fun. Vivian is breathless with frustration and helplessness.


Dr. Carte kisses her soothingly on the lips. "Welcome to the Nail House, honey," she says.


---


Noelle is on her bed, sitting cross-legged on her laptop in her nightshirt, pretending to be focused on the screen, but actually watching Kay load the dresser drawers full of clothes. When this triggers Kay's sixth sense and she glances back over her shoulder at her, Noelle startles and quickly diverts her gaze back to the gentle glow of the monitor.


"Thanks for being my roomie," Kay says. "Can't believe a house this size can be fully booked."


"It's no problem," Noelle says. "There's two beds in here anyway, right?"


Kay nods as she wheels her now-empty suitcase to the walk-in closet. But when she opens the door, she finds there's precious little room to stow it. Though spacious, it's packed floor-to-ceiling with Noelle's belongings, the racks sagging under the weight of her clothes, the cubbies jammed with boxes. Unlike Kay, who packed light, Noelle moved the entire contents of her apartment into the Nail House.


"Jesus," Kay breathes. "Are you living in the closet or what?"


"--What?"


Kay finds some space to shove her empty suitcase, though it takes a little bit of force to make it fit. She closes the door again and starts to disrobe: flats, socks, jeans, peacoat. Noelle tries really hard not to stare.


"Anyway, I'm glad I got someone halfway normal to room with," Kay says idly as she unclasps her bra and tosses it in a hamper and Noelle tries really, really hard not to stare. "I feel like I'd end up getting raped if I stayed with any of the other perverts living here," Kay adds as she tosses her panties in the hamper now too, and Noelle tries really, really, REALLY hard not to stare.


The opportunity for a peep show ends as Kay steps into her nightgown and does up the tie around her hips. She sits down on the bed across from Noelle's, separated by two nightstands and a space of about six feet.


Guy leaps up onto the comforter with her, holding her favorite chewtoy in her mouth: a thick piece of off-white rope tied into knots. Kay absentmindedly plays tug-o-war with the pup. Guy gives it her all and really throws her entire body into the effort, but she's no match for Kay, who's used to a much stronger sparring partner.


"Pathetic runt," Kay says lovingly.


"Yeah..." Noelle says, her voice just a tiny bit shaky. "It's a good thing there's two beds here, huh?"


"Hmm?" Kay says, looking up. "Oh, yeah. That's what I said."


"W-wouldn't it be funny if we had to share a bed?" Noelle says, forcing some laughter.


Kay furrows her brow. "What? No. It would just be weird, and uncomfortable."


"Yeah, but..." Noelle says. "I mean -- if we had to share a bed, even in a house this big... that's what I mean. That's all I mean. Even though -- it's such a big -- big... house. And then if we had to share a bed, it'd be like, what? Why? We live in a mansion! You know? Haha."


Kay shrugs, and focuses her attention back on playing with Guy. "I guess so."


Kay lifts now, with one hand, hoisting the chewtoy; and with it, dangling from the other end by her mouth, Guy's entire body -- all four of her paws hanging limp as she growls and tries to wrest the toy back in midair. "You are such a fucking idiot," Kay says, frowning.


"Arff--!!"


Kay relents and lets Guy have the toy. The tiny schnauzer falls to the ground, on her back, landing with a thud that sounds painful. But she takes to whining happily at what she perceives as a victory of her overwhelming might. She flips onto all fours and trots proudly away with the toy, underneath Noelle's bed.


"Wait--!" Noelle cries.


Too late. A loud "HHHHHH!!" fills the room, and then a black blur zips across the floor. Kay, who's usually cool and calm, shrieks. When she gets her wits again, she sees a shorthair cat clinging tenaciously to the curtains, up near the ceiling, staring back over its shoulder to the bed below where Guy wandered.


"Get down from there, Kuso!" Noelle says. But Kuso isn't coming. He's still staring suspiciously down at the ground, claws embedded deep in the fabric of the curtains.


"You didn't tell me you had a cat," Kay says.


"Yeah, well. You didn't tell me you had a dog."


"You know I have a dog--" Kay begins, then: "Wait. You named your cat 'shit'?"


"Yeah. Because he's a little shit. See?" Noelle points at Kuso.


Kay grumbles. "If he's a shit, why do you keep him? Fuck. I hate cats."


"Well I hate dogs, so we're even."


After Noelle forces Kuso back down from low Earth orbit, and following much suspicious sniffing, the two animals make nice. Unfortunately, Kuso is much stronger and he dominates poor Guy, stealing her toy. In the end, Guy enviously lies with her chin propped on Kuso's side, as Kuso hugs the knotted rope with all four legs and gnaws it.


Kay is huddled under the covers, her back to Noelle. Noelle is staring at the ceiling with hands laced behind her head -- restless.


"You know what we -- what we should do?" Noelle says, breaking the long silence. Her voice is really shaky now.


Kay rolls around and faces her. "What?"


"We should... sleep in the same bed tonight. You know. Like as a joke." When this gets no response, she tacks on: "Haha."


"What's the joke?" Kay says, actually confused. "I don't get it."


"Because... even though we have two beds."


"What? How is that funny? Who is this joke even for?"


"It's for us. Haha."


"Why is it funny for us to sleep in the same bed?"


"I'm just -- I'm just joking. It's funny. ... You don't get it."


"Putt-putt was a one time deal," Kay says. "Don't get any big ideas. Got it? I'm not a dyke like you. I'm going back to bed, Noelle -- my bed. Goodnight." She faces the other way again.


"Okay! See you there!"


Kay turns back around, and accusingly points at her. "Stay in your bed. I'm warning you, slut."


"Haha... ha..." Noelle's laughter dies out; Kay is still pointing. "...Okay."


---


Non-lewd interlude 1:


[ ] Rose learns to bake

>[x] Gamer girl Charlotte

[ ] Gal could do that all along?!

>[x] You had a bunnygirl in your bedroom this whole time and you didn't tell me!?


That night just after Mom sets the pies on the table for all the very hungry Nail House residents, she gently pulls you aside. Worried, she asks: "Where's Rose2?"


You point to where Rose2 is busily carving into the apple-cinnamon pie without regard for making her slice remotely triangular; she just scoops a glooby mixture of crust and filling onto her plate, leaving an irregular cutout behind in the tin, ringed by the rim of the crust that she didn't bother to cut loose.


Mom frowns at you. "Not her. I mean your wife. Is she doing all right? I haven't seen her all day, and she was supposed to help with making dessert."


You nod reassuringly. "Considering the circumstances? She's okay. She just busy playing a game, that's all."


"A game?" Mom says.


"Yeah -- a video game. She's been pretty absorbed, so she didn't come downstairs to help with dinner." (The word "absorbed" is a bit underselling it. In the wake of her father's death, Rose has experienced a full-blown relapse into degeneracy -- she's been playing Touhou games nonstop, whenever she's at home.)


Mom steps back, furrowing her brow. "How odd. I suppose I never thought of your wife as a video gamer."


"Hah," Cerise laughs, leaning way over the table to cut into the cherry pie. "You haven't seen the real face of Rose Mallory yet, then."


"rose soliloquy," Gal corrects. Cerise shushes her. When Gal reaches for the plate that Cerise just served up, thinking it's for her, Cerise swats her hand away. "rude," Gal pouts. But then she stands and reluctantly begins to serve herself, while Cerise sits and digs in.


"Is that why she's missing?" Alex asks, catching on to the subject of discussion as he gets a heaping helping of white fudge pie. "Should we go get her?"


Charlotte smiles at him. "Oh, you know how Rose is with her too-hoo. We should leave her be."


You cut into the strawberry-banana pie and get two slices, with two forks, on one plate. "I was just gonna grab some dinner and go back up with her," you say. "Keep her company."


"Hold on, hold on, hold on," Kay says, as she settles in with a honking slice of key lime. "Rose Soliloquy is a gamer?"


"Hai!" Rose2 chirps. For some reason, she also salutes. "She's totemo obsessed with Touhou! Knows the lore and everything!"


"The fuck is a toe hoe?" Kay says.


"Unbelievable," Noelle says between bites of double fudge ripple.


"This is lame," Amber whines. She fixes you in her gaze, hands linked behind the back of her head with her armpits bared to the world. "You can't enable your wife's descent into NEETyness. Do you want her to end up like Cerise?"


Cerise chokes on a bite of her pie. Sputtering, she says: "What? What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"


Amber gets a forkful of lemon meringue and points at you with it. "If you let her stay cooped up in there for much longer, the foot stench is gonna waft out over the countryside and all of a sudden you'll be dealing with the rise of /rsg/. Just saying. You don't want Cerise to have any competition for weeb dick, do you?"


"You one-eyed little bitch!" Cerise howls. She stands, leaning with fists propped on the table. "Get over here, Long John Ginger! Alabaster's not the only Soliloquy who can dish out a spanking!"


Amber sticks her tongue out at Cerise.


"Amber is right," Mom says. "You shouldn't let her hide from the world. Why don't you go up and get her?"


"You haven't seen Rose when she plays Touhou, is the thing," you say. "If I interrupt her, she'll cut off my head."


"Can't she play downstairs?" Mom asks. "We have a TV the size of a movie theater in the living room. It's perfect for gaming, isn't it?"


Cerise gets her laptop broadcasting to the TV, and Rose, wearing not much but one of your tees and some undies, settles in on the couch with a wireless keyboard. Her eyes are deep-set, ringed by dark circles, and her skin is pale from lack of sleep.


Mom sits next to her, marveling at the sight of the intro: "Girls do their best now and are preparing. ... Please wait warmly until it is ready...? The translation here isn't the best, is it?"


"The translation doesn't matter," Rose says, eyes fixed on the game. The opening licks of PCB's title screen fill the living room, and everyone is crowding around to watch how she performs.


She selects start, and scrolls down to lunatic difficulty.


"no way..." Gal says.


"For real?" Noelle says. "Trying to show off, or what? I would have figured you play on easy mode."


Rose turns, and glares at Noelle. "That's Alabaster. He plays on easy."


Noelle puts her hand to her mouth, laughing. "Hahaha. No fucking way."


You slap Rose across the back of the head. "Shut up, will you?" You say. She stomps your foot.


Back to the game. Mom points: "Oooh, that girl in red is cute, isn't she? Is that who you play as?"


"Me?" Rose says. "No. I play as her:" She picks Marisa.


"Is that a witch?" Mom wants to know. "Marisa Kissa-me?"


"Kirisame," Rose mutters.


Charlotte puts a hand on Mom's arm: "Yes, she's a witch. A very mischievous one."


"Mischievous how?" Mom asks.


"She steals things, from what I gather. Makes trouble for the girl in red."


Mom nods, absorbing this new info. She might pretend at disapproving of Rose, but she wants to understand her, this girl who has become her daughter-in-law; that includes understanding her hobbies. Rose chooses Marisa's spell card loadout and starts the game. The screen fades to white and then Marisa is flying over Gensokyo's countryside letting out a continuous taktaktaktaktak of danmaku.


Keyboard: on. Knuckles: cracked. Girls: Prepared. Yep, it's Touhou time.


Rose is a bit out-of-practice, and doesn't exactly get an NMNB run. She dies a few times, and uses bombs a few other times. But as far as you're concerned, and everyone else in the room it seems, she might as well be Neo reading the code of the Matrix as she weaves in and out of the danmaku.


"Is she just... invincible?" Mom asks. "Why are all those bullets not hitting her?"


"There's only a very small part of her that can be hit," Charlotte explains. "Everything else is invulnerable."


Mom looks at the woman who is technically her niece: "You seem to know a lot about this game. Are you a fan, too?"


Charlotte titters. "Me? Oh, no. I've just learned a bit here and there via osmosis. I'm no gamer."


"Maybe you should try!" Rose2 pips.


Charlotte's titter here is obviously a little frustrated. "No, I couldn't possibly. I would be awful!"


"Now hold on a moment," Mom says. "You were excellent at games when we were younger."


You arch an eyebrow. "Really? Is that true?"


Charlotte shakes her head. "Scarlett is such an exaggerater. There was an arcade game at a restaurant we used to go to... Bubble Bobble. I was okay at it--"


"Okay at it?" Mom says. "You cleared it twice, back to back!"


"It was nothing like this!"


"Oh, please," Mom says. "It's the same concept, isn't it? You run around and shoot. It's basically identical."


You nod sagely, and play along. "Yeah. It sort of is, when you think about it. I'm sure you'd do fine at this game too, with a bit of practice."


Charlotte is emphatically shaking her head no, but the room is turning against her. "I just have to see this," Noelle says. "I need to know if this kind of reaction time is a genetic accident or not. Give it a go."


"But--"


"C'mon," Amber says. "Are you chicken?"


"Now you listen here, young woman--"


"Bawk," Kay says.


"I--"


"Baawwwwk," Cerise cuts in.


"This is absurd," Charlotte says.


"Bok bok, bok bok," Rose2 repeats over and over.


Charlotte startles as Rose dumps the keyboard in her lap -- reacting with all the same chagrin as if she's dumped a full diaper in her lap instead.


"Use these keys to move," Rose explains. "Hold this to shoot... this to focus fire... this is to use your bombs. You can save your life after you get hit if you're fast enough to trigger the bomb. Got it?"


"I really don't think this is a good idea--"


"I'll put it on easy for you."


"Well, if you insist on making me play, then I'm going to pick my own character," Charlotte says. "I choose Raymoo."


"She's cuter, isn't she?" Mom says.


Charlotte nods.


(At least the matriarchs of the family have good taste.)


The screen fades to white, and so begins Charlotte's first-ever attempt to play a Touhou game.


"go, go," Gal says, pumping her fists, providing Charlotte with a miniature cheering section.


...But it's a humiliating showing. You actually feel better about your own skills as you watch Charlotte go down in flames -- she hardly clears the first stage. And cruelly, after she game overs, Rose makes her go again.


"Keep trying, Mom -- you'll get it."


"Rose--"


But Rose refuses to let Charlotte shove the keyboard back into her lap. Is this revenge for the theater? You wonder.


"Remember your bombs," Rose reminds her as she continues the second attempt. "If you get in trouble, they're extremely useful."


"This is so confusing... there's too much going on. How do you do this?"


"You just have to dodge and weave. It's nothing, really. Look out--!"


Charlotte gets beaned with a danmaku. Reimu is about to explode -- but Charlotte saves herself with a bomb, and deals massive damage to Cirno. Charlotte bounces up and down on her butt, exultant: "I did it! I used the bomb!"


"great job," Gal says.


"Did you see that?" Charlotte asks, turning to look at Gal.


"i saw that"


"But did you see that?"


"mrs. mallory--"


Too late. In her excitement over saving Reimu's life, Charlotte lost focus, and now ironically, Reimu gets taken down again.


Charlotte pounds the keyboard in frustration. "This game is ridiculous! I'm not going to play anymore!"


But Rose is steadfastly making her mother forge ahead.


Thudding from upstairs interrupts your little family game night. A recriminating shriek resounds through the mansion:


"You had a bunnygirl in your bedroom this whole time and you didn't tell me!?"


"Mom-- geez! Chill out!"


Everyone in the living room is gazing up at the ceiling in mute wonder mixed with fear, as the thudding traces its way across the upstairs hallway, then down the staircase. Finally Dr. Carte is standing at the mouth of the living room, a cigarette dangling from her lips, tugging along a frightened and extremely naked Samantha by the crook of the elbow. Whitney, helpless, follows behind.


"H-hello everyone!" Samantha squeaks, blushing.


Dr. Carte is furious. She tugs on Samantha's arm, making her jiggly parts jiggle. "I want to know who else knew about this!"


"Put that fucking cigarette out," you say. "How many times do I have to tell you not to smoke inside?"


"Answer me!"


You raise your hand. Slowly, so does nearly everyone else in the living room -- even Vivian.


"Et tu, Vivian?" Dr. Carte says.


"I have availed myself of her services in the past, yes."


"How could you keep this from me?" Dr. Carte points at her. "You -- are getting punished." She wheels on her daughter: "And you, too, Whitney -- big time."


"Oooh, I'm so scared," Whitney says. "Hah. You wish you could punish me. I'm too strong for ya. And too fast."


Charlotte seems concerned for her former classmate. "Samantha, dear -- would you like something to wear?"


"Um... n-no," Samantha says. "I actually prefer being naked..."


Charlotte glances away, a little abashed but maybe not surprised.


"Come here, you," Dr. Carte says. She's dragging poor Samantha around like a kid with a red wagon. "You're getting bullied."


"Where are you taking her?" You demand, standing, as Dr. Carte leads Samantha towards the dining room's sliding glass patio doors.


"You want me to smoke outside, right?" Dr. Carte says. "Well, that's what I'll do. And I'm taking this young lady swimming."


"Naked?" You say. "You're gonna get us cited for public indecency!"


"Oh do not even!" Dr. Carte hollers. She tugs open the sliding door with her free hand. "I don't want to hear that from you. I know what you do outside." With that, she pulls the cowering Samantha past her, and dumps her out into the backyard, stark naked -- like a bouncer tossing out an unruly patron. She follows, hunger in her eyes, and slams the door behind her.


You shake your head. "Christ. Whitney, you wanna go take care of that?"


"Oh yes I do," Whitney replies, and follows her mother out the door. But the way she throws off her shirt as she exits, makes you think she has a very different idea of what "taking care of it" means.


---


Lewd interlewd 2:


[ ] Bullying Samantha

[ ] Come to our tea party, mister!

[ ] Yeah, Mom -- we call it family movie night...

>[x] Haha, just joking ... unless ... ?

[ ] Circuit bending, gender bending... whatever!


Kay's dreams turn towards the lewd. Her mind fills with images of bunny cunny and Vivian's cruel depredations. She dreams of mouths sucking on cunts, of cocks thrusting in mouths. She's never been the type to have wet dreams, but tonight she's going to cum all over herself in her sleep. This sets off some sort of internal alarm, something in her hindbrain that realizes this isn't normal. It wakes her.


She's back in the realm of the waking again, staring at the ceiling, body sweaty and uncomfortable and unbearably horny beneath the covers. She tosses them aside to get a little airflow. And that's when she sees Noelle: huddled up at the foot of the bed, hands on Kay's thighs, hem of Kay's nightgown hiked up, face buried in Kay's naked crotch.


"Ghh--!!" Kay chokes. Noelle, her button nose against Kay's clit, stares back at her like a deer in headlights. Kay kicks her feet wildly to find traction against the sheets, and struggles herself into a sitting position away from Noelle. She cowers against the headboard, shielding herself with the covers. She breathes ragged. Her lips tremble. Noelle, still on all fours at the foot of the bed, is like a cat poised to pounce. She meets Kay's eyes, and the two exchange a wordless, bewildered gaze that lasts for many long moments.


And then Noelle actually does pounce.


"Get off of me!" Kay yowls, trying to push Noelle back.


"Hold still -- hold still--"


"Rapist! Fucking dyke! What are you doing!"


The catch of desperation is plain in Noelle's voice. She paws at Kay's legs and tries to pry them open again. "I just want to sleep like this! It's fine! You won't notice a thing!"


"You crazy bitch-- get away--"


"Don't fight it! Why are you being so selfish!"


Kay's heel hits Noelle in the nose, knocking her back and causing her to roll entirely off the bed. She falls to the floor with an "oof," scaring off Guy and Kuso alike. It wasn't Kay's intention to land that blow, but it does fend off her would-be attacker.


"Fuck!" Kay shouts. Then, glancing over the edge: "--Are you all right?"


"Errgh..."


Kay is too nice. She internally chastises herself as she reaches down and helps Noelle upright again.


"You're supposed to ASK before you put your face in someone's pussy," Kay says.


"I did ask!" Noelle sputters, rubbing her nose.


"Yeah, and I said no!"


"Exactly! What was I supposed to do?"


Kay pokes Noelle in the chest. "You have been hanging out with Whitney WAY too much."


Noelle folds her arms. "I don't want to have sex with you. Not if you don't want it. I just -- want to try sleeping like that. You'll hardly notice me at all."


"You are a psychopath. Oh my god."


"Please?" Noelle says. Her voice goes a bit emotional. "I just... I like you, okay? I had a lot of fun with you, after that minigolf game... didn't you have fun with me?"


Kay sighs.


"I promise I won't do anything you don't ask for. I got carried away, that's all... I'll keep a lid on it."


Kay is still indecisive. "If I let you into bed with me -- you'll let me sleep?" She asks.


"Yes."


"No groping, licking, et cetera?"


"None."


Kay sighs again. "...All right."


Hesitantly she lies back down, propped on her elbows to watch Noelle. Noelle climbs up with her, and resumes her position at the foot of the bed. Gently, she rests her face in the crook of Kay's crotch, her lips strategically resting against the tiny space between Kay's pussy and asshole -- her nose resting on Kay's wet vulva.


Kay is still majorly weirded out and self-conscious as she stares down at Noelle in the dim light. Noelle, meanwhile, is like a person calming down from a panic attack. She breathes deeply a few times, getting her respiration back under control. A goofy smile spreads across her face, as her eyes go half lidded. She's enjoying this way too much...


"Fank you," Noelle says into Kay's pussy. Kay isn't sure whether Noelle is thanking her as a person or actually just thanking her genitals specifically.


Kay points at her. "If I ever hear you call someone else a freak -- EVER again -- I am telling them all about what happened here tonight."


"Okay. Fank you."


Kay lies flat on her back. She settles in, and takes the covers in one hand. "I'm covering back up," she announces.


"Okay."


Noelle is engulfed in darkness as Kay says simply: "Goodnight."


"Goodnight." Noelle's voice is doubly muffled now, and almost unintelligible to Kay up above.


Noelle snuggles up to her, giving Kay's supple thighs the slightest squeeze -- contact Kay flinches at. Noelle's entire world now is nothing except Kay's two wet holes in her face. Kay's perfumey scent, that feminine mixture of sweat and arousal, is amazing... the absolute best. It's like a salve for Noelle's debased soul. Nothing on Earth is better than this feeling... this closeness, this raw heat, this overpowering aroma. There's so much more that she wants to do... but she promised she would be good...


Kay tries to sleep. But the knowledge that Noelle is under the blankets, face buried in her pussy, keeps her wide awake. What a perverted dyke slut. This house really does corrupt people, doesn't it? As much as she tries to resist it, she's wet already, and getting wetter... she's acutely aware of her pussy juicing up, and she knows this can't possibly be escaping Noelle's notice either. Yes, Noelle can tell how wet she's getting. That fuels a self-perpetuating spiral. The wetter Kay gets, the wetter it makes her. The stuffiness of these covers isn't helping matters. She's all sticky with perspiration now, too... covering back up was a mistake, but it's too late to go back.


Kay's breathing is unsteady and strained. She finds herself pawing at her own breasts -- and then stays her hands, mentally cursing herself. She tries not to writhe her hips, but her hips seem to have a will of their own, and want to move against her permission. Why did she agree to this? She can't say. It's just because of how pathetic Noelle was acting, right? Not because she, too, wanted this...


From under the blankets now, comes Noelle's dreamy voice: "You smell really good..."


"Fuck," Kay grunts, unable to stop herself.


"You're so wet..."


"Shut up. Shut the fuck up."


"Do you want me to lick you?"


"No," Kay insists. "You stupid whore. I told you no already."


"Okay."


Kay chews her lip. This fucking bitch is obeying orders all of a sudden. Rather than ravish her, Noelle is dutifully refraining from any non-consensual contact. She just keeps her face nestled against Kay's crotch, smelling but not touching, her exhalations coming out hot against Kay's throbbing clit. Kay drums her fingers urgently against the satiny blanket over her chest, praying for strength.


"Why... why do you like this so much?" Kay asks.


She feels the blankets shift, as Noelle shrugs. "I don't know. I just do... I *love* pussy... don't you love pussy?"


"Jesus," Kay says, gazing up at the stucco on the ceiling. Carrying on a conversation like this is so strange. "A little, I guess. Maybe? But... I honestly prefer dicks..." She closes her eyes and tries to envision Alabaster Soliloquy's squirting cock.


"Dick is fun," Noelle agrees. "But pussy is SO much better..."


Kay shivers, as she feels a rush of air across her cunt created by Noelle taking an especially deep breath.


"Are you having fun, too?" Noelle asks.


"Go to sleep. Idiot. Fucking lesbian bitch."


"Okay."


Kay's pussy cramps, begging for relief. Relief Noelle is refusing to provide unless explicitly asked. Somehow the tables have turned. It's Noelle who has what Kay desperately wants, not vice versa.


It's so close, Kay knows... Noelle's lips are right there, on her taint -- those ruby-red, wet lips -- and behind them a wonderful pink tongue. All ready at a moment's notice to lick and suck and slobber all over Kay's messy orifices, ready to suck Kay off, ready to make her cum, to service her all night long, if she wants it... to relieve that aching itch inside her cunt...


"All... a-all right..." Kay whispers.


"Hmm?"


"I said all right. Fuck."


"All right, what?"


Kay throws the covers off and grabs two handfuls of Noelle's hair. She grits her teeth, enraged. "I said all right! Fuck!" She wraps her calves around the back of Noelle's head and mashes her pussy against her face. "Lick me, fucking bitch! That's what you wanted! Lick my fucking holes!"


Noelle happily complies. She slides her palms under Kay's butt and pulls Kay's lower holes to her lips. She kisses, licks, and suckles -- guzzles down Kay's tasty cream. It's not enough. Kay is out of her mind with need, and aggressively humps the woman's mouth like she's trying to suffocate her. Her demands devolve into a string of lewd insults: "Lick me, you fucking dyke cunt! Suck me off! Make me cum! Perverted fucking freak rapist! Nasty slut! Whore!"


But Noelle doesn't mind the verbal abuse as long as she's got a mouth full of pussy. She laps at Kay's holes, not discriminating between anus and vagina -- totally pigging out, eating Kay with gusto. Kay rips off her own nightgown and rubs her sweaty tit meat, luxuriating in the feeling of a skilled mouth working her over. This might be the hottest she's ever been... this feels way, way too good. Better than dick? Maybe... yes, definitely. Soon enough she's squirting a load of girlcum all over Noelle's smiling face. She feels the orgasm from deep within her belly, radiating outwards, making her legs shake. That itch inside her is being replaced with that wonderful, tingly, wet release of orgasm. She cums shamelessly all over Noelle, tweaking her nipples to heighten her pleasure, and almost passing out in joy.


When the stars clear from her vision, she pulls herself off Noelle's face. Noelle gasps like a drowning victim being resuscitated. Her face and hair are totally coated with Kay's cunt-juice. Kay, wild and still horned-up, grabs Noelle and rips her nightshirt off. Noelle hardly fights. She lets Kay get her onto her back, and her legs in the air. Straddling Noelle and holding one of Noelle's calves for balance, drippy crotch to drippy crotch, Kay begins to grind. She cunt-fucks Noelle like she's got an invisible cock, still spitting obscene abuse at her: "Bitch! Stupid fucking cunt! Let me fuck you! Get raped!"


Noelle gasps and heaves, a lilt to her voice. "Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me," she sings. The bed bounces beneath her. "Fuck me... fuck my pussy..."


Turning, Kay gets down onto her elbows. They're all entwined, their tits rubbing up against each other, and their cumming pussies kissing, as they join lips and begin to make out. Like a pair of horny teens, they tongue each other, and cum wetly on each other's bodies. They leak all over each other, and get each other off. Their fingers slip into each other's holes -- Noelle enjoying the tight squeeze of Kay's cute little pussy, and Kay taking a sadistic thrill in prodding the rubbery opening of Noelle's pale asshole. Kay shoves another set of fingers down Noelle's throat, gagging her. Noelle responds by fingerfucking both of Kay's lower orifices at the same time. They pour sweat and cum and scream into each other's mouths and compete to see who can be the most aggressive and rapey. They do share the bed that night, but neither woman sleeps.


---


You and Whitney both share the same aversion to having servants and go-fers, having grown up in a world where you couldn't hire people to answer your every beck and call. You still do your own grocery shopping, for instance. It feels more natural that way. As you and Whitney get ready to head out for one such excursion with Noelle in tow, Rose drags her ass out bed long enough to lodge a couple requests:


"I need some tampons."


You frown. "What? Aren't you-- oh, yeah. Ugh." You shiver at the thought of a PMS'ing Rose. Never good.


"Shut up. Fucking misogynist. Just be thankful I need them, huh?"


"Should I be?" You ask sarcastically.


She lets that question hang in the air.


"Oh, and pick up some salsa, too," she says.


"You're not supplying your own right now?"


Rose's lips curl in disgust. "Oh my god, Alabaster. That is horrible--"


"Who's the misogynist now?" You say. She shoves you. "Okay, okay. Tampons, salsa--"


"Tortilla chips--"


"--and chips, check. Anything else, O queen? I'm your humble subject, after all, put upon this Earth to do whatever you require of me-- stop fucking smiling, I'm being sarcastic."


"There's a phrase for that -- 'kidding on the square'..."


"What kind of salsa do you want?" You say.


"The same kind I always get. My favorite."


"Which is -- what?" You say.


She makes a pissy purr of frustration. "You know what kind, Alabaster. God."


"I literally don't, is the thing."


"It's -- damn it, I forget the brand name. But it's the same salsa I've been eating since you've known me. You know what kind!"


"I'm not your designated salsa detective!" You shout, throwing up your arms. "Why the hell is this on me, to know the foods you like to eat? If you've been eating it for years, you should know what it's called!"


"You're the one with the superhuman memory! I've seen you eating it enough, you're the one who finished off the last jar of it!"


You massage the bridge of your nose. "God fucking damn it, Rose. Describe it, at least."


She's gesticulating confusedly, trying to scrounge up a unique description. "It's... it comes in a jar--"


"A jar. Oh, okay. A jar. So not in a box. You should try boxed salsa sometime. You're really missing out."


"Fuck you. It's red -- and, and the label has some kind of, like, sun on it. In a sort of Aztec style."


"Red salsa in a jar with Aztec-inspired art. Okay, yeah. That for sure will help me find it. I'm definitely going to find what you want and you're definitely not going to bitch at me when I come back with the wrong kind."


She locks her elbows and stomps. "You know what kind, Alabaster! Fuck!"


"I'm getting you a jar of Pace."


"Don't you dare--"


"I'm getting you Pace and you're going to like it."


"I will dump it down your asshole! Don't you dare!"


You turn and go out the front door, as Rose continues to hurl insults and obscenities at you.


She's fighting with you for the first time since that day... it's a good sign. You smile to yourself.


---


Lewd interlewd 2:


[ ] Bullying Samantha

>[x] Come to our tea party, mister!

[ ] Yeah, Mom -- we call it family movie night...

[ ] Circuit bending, gender bending... whatever!

[ ] Fuck me in to bed, Daddy.


Whitney's mansion has a tea room. That's what the floorplan and the realtor both called it, anyway, although it hardly gets used for tea. It actually hardly gets used for anything, despite being furnished with settees, chairs, rugs, and a small table. You had offered to convert it into a bedroom rather than force Noelle to bunk with someone else, but Noelle was adamant that she wanted to stay in the room she already had -- and then kept interrupting you when you were trying to pitch the idea to Kay. Well, at least Noelle's room has two beds. So they won't have to share.


Maybe it was for the best. It turns out that Vivian actually does appreciate the tea room for its intended use. She's begun using it daily for the taking of tea and crumpets. British expat in spirit, she is. She regularly asks others to join her -- "you are cordially invited to elevenses with me" etc. -- but seldom does anyone take her up on it.


That's why you find it so strange when you get a text from Amber that Saturday morning:


>Come to our tea party, mister!


"Our" implies more than one; and since Vivian is the only person you know who actually drinks the stuff, it's reasonable to figure that Amber actually did take Vivian up on her brunch invitation. A bold choice -- she must want some backup in dealing with Vivian's chuuni self.


You make your way down to the tea room and find... roughly what you expected... and yet it still somehow surprises you.


A lacy white tablecloth lies draped over the round table, and the pale blue china is set out. Vivian, in full GothLoli regalia, parasol and veil and bodice and all, sits at the place of honor, her back to the bay window. She sips tea from a tiny cup, pinky extended, holding the saucer beneath. If where she sits is north on the compass rose described by the table, then at the western point sits Amber, wearing a tanktop and short-shorts; the platonic opposite of Vivian. Whereas Vivian is overdressed, elegant and fragile, Amber looks like she stepped out of the trailer park, her entire bearing low-class yet hale. At the eastern point of the table, sitting propped up on a stack of books in a chair, is a stuffed penguin you know as Johann -- Vivian's since childhood. At the southern point of the table, sitting similarly propped up on books, is a stuffed animal you don't know, a threadbare bunny with fat, floppy ears as long as its body. Just beside the bunny, in a second chair, is a teddy bear wearing an eyepatch -- that obscene thing Amber's classmates used to bully her.


"Hey mister!" Amber says. "Glad you could make it!"


Vivian slowly sets her cup and saucer back down. "Greetings," she says. "Thank you for joining us."


You uncertainly close the door behind you and step towards the table. Jumping up, Amber races to the wall and grabs a chair from along it, then comes back and places it at the table's northwestern side; jammed between her and Vivian.


"Uh, I think I'll sit here," you say, and pick up Johann to move him aside.


Vivian's voice, to the best extent it can, booms deeply: "Unhand me! Cad!"


Then she reaches out and takes Johann from you. She takes a moment to smooth his fur before setting him back atop his little throne of books. "Apologies," she tells the toy, "our guest clearly has a deficit of manners."


"You have got to be joking," you say.


"Gosh mister, that was really mean of you just now," Amber says. "Johann didn't do anything to you. Why do you gotta push him around?"


Shaking your head, you circle the table and sit at your appointed spot. This is where the girls want you, it seems.


"Sorry about mister," Amber tells Vivian, "I didn't think he'd be such a meanie."


"No matter. Do you take sugar?" Vivian asks you, as she pours you a cup from the intricately floral-patterned kettle.


"Sure," you say. You have no idea what the fuck is happening right now.


"One lump or two?"


"Three," Amber answers for you. She leans in with her fingers clutching the lace tablecloth. "He likes things *sweet*. Isn't that right?"


"Yeah," you agree.


Vivian uses a long, dainty spoon to plop one, two, three cubes of sugar into your cup. It might have been a little much for the volume of tea... but Mom's desserts have inured your pancreas to the ravages of diabetic shock. Vivian stirs for you, the spoon's edge scraping audibly against the cup's walls.


"Cream?" She asks.


"Oh, he definitely likes things creamy," Amber says.


Vivian tuts at Amber, but smiles all the same. She takes a small lidded vessel and pours, dispensing half-and-half. The tea turns from dark to pale umber.


You take the cup in hand and blow on the surface of the liquid to cool it. Vivian glances Amber's way and titters a bit, knowingly, like she's in on a joke you aren't. You've never been a tea drinker, or of most any other hot beverage, preferring to get your caffeine fixes from cold sodas or energy drinks. But this stuff isn't too bad, especially sweetened up now as it is, and you slowly sip the sugary slurry. As you swallow, you nod at the stuffed bunny: "Who's that?" (Might as well play along.)


"That's Adolf!" Amber says. She takes the thing in her hands, and holds it up in front of her face. With one of the bunny's long arms, she, uh -- "waves" -- and with a high pitched voice she ventriloquizes: "Hi, Al!"


You grimace. "That's yours?"


Amber lowers Adolf to her lap, unobscuring her face. "Uh huh. I've had him since I was only little. We're friends."


"You named your stuffed rabbit after Hitler?" You say.


Amber gasps. "Wh-what? His name is Adolf! That's a perfectly normal name for a German bunny! It's the 14th most popular name for German bunnies, you know!"


Somehow you sense that she's used this story in the past.


Adolf cuts in, his fluffy butt covering Amber's face again: "Oy vey, what a maroon!"


"I know!" Amber agrees, turning Adolf in her hands to look him in the face.


You grab Adolf roughly between his ears as if palming a basketball, hoist him out of Amber's grip and set him back in his seat. Top-heavy, he falls with his back against the chairback, arms slumping and ears flopping.


"And who's that?" You ask, nodding now at the one-eyed bear.


"That's Plissken," Amber says. She cups her hand to her mouth and adds: "He's mute."


You stare at Plissken, as if you're waiting for a response, and naturally, the bear says nothing. He's mute, after all.


Unbelievably, the girls have poured actual cups of actual tea for these inanimate toys; and now Amber, taking Adolf's cup in hand, pretends to give him a sip. She repeats this process with Plissken. Vivian does it for Johann. You feel like you're in an insane asylum.


"Johann and Adolf have gotten along famously," Vivian avers. "Although hailing from Antarctica, Johann also has German ancestry. The two have much in common..."


"They're both political, as a for-instance!" Amber chimes in.


"Plissken is overcoming his fear of others to socialize, as well," Vivian says. "He is warming up to us, I can tell."


You all look Plissken's way. He stares stoically back.


"Work in progress," Amber says. "Lotta trauma there..."


You roll your eyes and sigh.


Vivian turns to Amber: "How do you know this gentleman?" She asks her of you.


She shrugs. "I met him at my school one day! He seemed like he'd be pretty cool to hang around, but I didn't realize he'd be so *rude* to our other guests." She glares at you.


"How gauche," Vivian says.


"I expect this kind of stuff from Amber," you say, "but from you, Vivian? What's gotten into you?"


As always whenever Vivian acts haughty, her laughter genuinely sounds like "fufufufu~" -- it weirds you out.


You sip your tea a little more and then, setting your cup down, you tug at your collar. "Did you two turn the thermostat up, or what? It's like a fucking oven in here."


Amber, gasping theatrically, cups her palms to Adolf's prodigious ears. "Language!" She shouts. "Language, language, language!!"


"I think you have made a severe misjudgment of character," Vivian tells her. "This man is not an adequate guest for our tea party... no civility whatsoever..." And then, voice lowering to speak in Johann's stead: "I second the motion."


You chuff. "Fine. You two enjoy this weird little... whatever... without me, then." You push your chair away from the table and stand, but you almost collapse with a sudden rush of blood to the head. You brace yourself with a fist pressed to the tabletop. Your extremities tingle and your temples throb, your vision whorls. You blink it back to normal, and steady your shallow breathing. You notice at the same time Amber notices: that you have a massive erection tenting your trousers.


"Oh my gosh, mister!" Amber says. She points at it with a forefinger like a kid might point at a scary but interesting bug on a twig.


Your throat is dry. When you try to speak, only a creaky groan comes out. You smack your lips, swallow hard, and try again: "I... fuck, sorry--"


"Language, language, language!" She's shielding Adolf's delicate ears again. "Geez, you're not a nice mister at all, are you? Cursing like that... and walking around like *that*-- at a little girl's tea party!"


Vivian's smug "fufufu~" comes again, and you give her a hard stare. The jigsaw pieces are starting to click into place inside your mind. "You..." you sputter. "Did you fucking drug me?"


"Now, why would I do that?" Vivian says. She perches her cheek against the back of her hand.


"You did--"


Amber is pushing your chair towards the table now, and the edge of the seat catches the crooks of your knees, and your legs buckle, and gravity slowly tugs you back down against your will. "There we go," Vivian says as she watches on, "sit and collect your bearings. We can afford you at least that much hospitality. Are you feeling all right? Have you become disturbed, somehow, or somehow ill? Are you a mite feverish?"


"You're crazy..." you pant. "You're both -- fucking nuts --"


Even as you say this, you're harder than you've ever been in your life. Your cock is so erect that it causes actual physical distress, makes your eyes water.


All of a sudden now, Vivian is in your lap -- facing you, straddling you. Her knees rest on the edges of the chair on either side of your thighs, the hoop of her dress concealing her butt as well as your lap. Beneath that cover, you can feel her pantied crotch -- it's damp -- pressing down directly on your straining member through your pants.


"What are you doing?" You grunt.


Cooing, Vivian shushes you, and says: "I need to check you for fever." She presses her fingers to your moist forehead, and delivers a prompt verdict: "You're burning up."


"Oh no!" Amber says. Still holding the chairback, she leans around it, pressing her cheek close to yours. She looks her friend in the eye. "It's really that bad?"


Vivian holds your cheeks in both her small hands, the balls of her palms just barely reaching to your chin. "Oh yes, I'm afraid so," she says.


"What should we do?" Amber says. "I know he's kinda weird, but I don't want him to be sick..."


"Hmm," Vivian murmurs. "I am uncertain." She wiggles around in your lap, purposefully grinding against your hardon. You feel the soft cleft of her pussy through the fabric, and an unbelievable heat emanating from it... did she drug herself, too? And Amber as well? Still clasping your face, Vivian gets as close as she can without kissing, and whispers: "What should we do about this, mister?"


The lust grips you and takes over. These fucking horny cunts want to get themselves fucked... you'll fuck them, all right.


You grab Vivian about her waist and spin her 180 degrees so her back is up against your chest. You run your hands up and down the black satin of her dress, the rococo frills and ribbons, the ruffled white lacework. You rest your chin on her shoulder and exhale hard through your nostrils as you feel her up. It makes her long raven hair billow.


"nn..." Vivian gulps. "What are you doing...?"


You kiss her bare, thin neck. "I need to cool off... will you help me?"


"You believe this well help with your fever?" Vivian asks.


"Yes," you lie, "it's a heat transfer -- stop squirming, now, okay?"


"Erm..." Vivian murmurs, indecisive, as your curious hands cup her flat chest. She has not even the hint of breasts evident under the dress's heavy material -- flat as a board. Just how you like it. She looks up at you from over her shoulder: "are you -- certain?"


"Oh, definitely."


She rubs her thighs together and presses the weight of her butt against your leaky dick.


Amber, watching, says: "Hold on! If you're transferring heat, won't that just make Vivian sick instead?"


You shake your head, still groping Vivian. Reaching down, you tug the brocaded hem of her dress up, and bare her damp cameltoe. Amber giggles. "Vivian, you wet yourself!"


"I... I don't know why..." Vivian says dazedly.


You explain to Amber. "Vivian already has a fever, too. See? She's sweating down here."


Amber clasps the fanned-out fingers of one hand to her lips. "This is serious! She's already sick, too, then!"


You nod. "We have to transfer heat from both of us. It's the only way."


"How can I help?" Amber asks.


"Let's check you for fever too," you tell Amber.


She feels her own forehead, eyes rolling up as if trying to see it. "I guess maybe I feel sorta weird... but I dunno..."


"No," you say, "you have to check down here." You loop an arm around Vivian's thin body and lightly brush your fingertips against her dewy panties. She draws a sharp intake of air through her teeth.


"um..." Amber says, voice small.


"Do it," you say firmly.


She hesitantly gets a thumb hooked in her waistband and undoes the clasp of her jean shorts. Then she slowly, slooooowly pulls the zipper. The denim spreads and finally you can see the stripes of her panties peeking out beneath, baby blue and baby pink -- and you can see that she's totally fucking wet right now. To confirm, Amber presses her palm down her pants, holding it to her crotch, and says: "Y-yeah... yeah, mister -- I'm all sweaty down there, too... what should I do?"


"We need to get you both naked," you say.


Vivian, in your arms, shivers. Amber takes a halting step backwards. "H-hold on a sec! We can't get *naked* -- that's weird!"


You're already undoing the elaborate series of catches and buttons on the back of Vivian's dress. She's too mortified to fight you. Her leaky little pussy is getting wetter by the second...


"Don't worry," you say. "This will help you cool off... I promise."


"Is this... is this really okay?" Amber asks.


"Of course," you tell her.


"But we're not s'posed to get naked," Amber says.


"I won't tell," you promise. "Are you going to tell anyone?"


She shakes her head.


"How about you?" You ask Vivian, staring over her shoulder, down at her translucent white panties. You suckle her neck, making her shiver anew.


"No... I won't tell."


"Then it can be our secret," you say. "And it'll help you feel better."


Breath shaky, body trembling, Amber peels off her tennis shoes, her shorts, and her tank. She wasn't wearing a bra, the fucking little whore, and the nipples of her barely-there tits are already hard and pointy. She hesitates at the final step, her thumbs and forefingers making a diamond against her darkly stained underwear. She stares abashedly at the ground.


"Those too," you order.


Reluctantly, Amber peels the sticky garment off her body. Stepping from them one leg at a time, her perky butt and puffy pussy come into view. Her vulva is tight and taut, but shiny with arousal. So fucking pretty.


"Give those here," you beckon, and Amber fumblingly hands you her wadded-up underwear. She tries to cover her cunt with her hands; you swat them. "Don't," you bark.


Amber squeaks in pain and and fright. "M-mister--!"


But she does as you command. She doesn't try to conceal her cunt from you. She blushes deeply as she stands there on display.


You help Vivian out of her dress, pulling it away with one hand as you hold her body steady with the other. You discard the thing in a heap on the floor, and following that comes her petticoat, then her bra, and at last your hands are tugging at her panties too -- unwrapping the young girl like a piece of candy.


"I still feel hot, mister..." Amber says. You stare at her nakedness unashamedly, devouring her with your eyes: her little B-cup titties, her dripping pussy.


"This... is not normal..." Vivian says, her voice weak. "You're doing strange things to us... you're a pervert, aren't you?"


"Yes," you admit plainly.


She looks at her friend: "did you know this about him, when you invited him?"


Amber wrings her hands. "Um... uh, yeah... I'm sorry..."


"nn..." Vivian gulps again, as you force her panties off despite her feeble resistance, and set them with Amber's on the tea table. Both girls are nude save for their socks; Amber's not even covering her ankles, and Vivian's extending up past her knees.


"I knew mister was a weird mister..." Amber confesses. "Because h-he did weird stuff to me, back at school... and I thought... I th-thought it would be fun if he did weird stuff to both of us."


Vivian is always like a doll in your hands, but especially when she's naked and trembling. You have the feeling that you could break her in two if you're not careful... and you don't plan to be very careful.


"My parents warned me of men like you," Vivian says. You stroke her little tummy up and down, enjoying the softness of her body. "Perverted men who... like to do things to little girls..."


"But you're perverted too," you whisper in her ear. Your fingers trace their way down, to the mound of her cunny, and run in circles against the slickness there. "This part of you is perverted. This little hole of yours is perverted... it's all wet and sticky because it wants me to do weird stuff to it..."


"Th-that's a lie," Vivian says. "That isn't-- nnn..." She tosses her head back against your collarbone as you rub the hard nubbin of her clitty. Her little fist clutches your shirt.


"Does that feel good?" Amber asks. "He touched me lots down there, too... and it felt really, really good for me..." she rubs herself obscenely with both hands, and even spreads the lips of her cunt apart with her thumbs. Like she's trying to show off, and simultaneously relieve the aching itch that grips her. It's not enough, and she whines: "I've been doing it myself, ever since... but it isn't the same as when mister does it..."


"Come here," you tell her.


She steps up close. You grab her butt and roughly tug her even closer, startling her. Now both your hands are busy: you're molesting both these girls at the same time. Amber arches her back and juts her hips out to give you easier access. Both her hands grasp your forearm tightly for balance. Her eyelids drift closed in pleasure as you slip your fingers up the hot vice of her fuckhole.


Vivian tries to talk sense into her: "This man is violating us... we should stop him..."


Amber bites her lip and shakes her head. "No, no we shouldn't..." She looks lecherously up at her friend, and humps your fingers like they're a dildo. "...We should *fuck* him."


"A-Amber..." Vivian stutters.


"Mister's got such a nice dick, Vivian! Don't you wanna see it?" She looks over at you: "I do... will you get your dick out for me, mister?"


"Get it out for me," you tell her.


She giggles stupidly. "Welllll~ ... okay. Your hands are kinda busy, huh?"


She straightens her posture and steps yet closer still, your right hand's fingers never once exiting her cunt. Meanwhile you rub the side of your left hand's middle finger up and down the unbelievably wet, rubbery, lewd crease of Vivian Darkbloom's innie. She's like a human-shaped puddle of goo in your arms, utterly unable to fight this humiliating toying. And now her humiliation ratchets higher, as Amber reaches right between her pale legs, and under her pale butt, to find the zipper of your pants. She gets it undone and fishes your engorged dick out. You grunt in delight as you feel the cool air waft over it. It juts up from between Vivian's thighs, like the leg of a table, dark and enormous compared to her slight build. It throbs, pulses, and seeps prefuck like a faucet. Sitting in this position, it looks like it could push past her womb and into her diaphragm -- this fucking cock of yours could ruin her if you fucked her with it. You're definitely gonna fuck her with it.


You let your left hand fall to your side, and instruct Amber: "rub my dick against Vivian's hole for me. Jerk me off."


"Haha..." Amber laughs. "You really are a pervert..." But she does as instructed. She holds your cock by the root, down near the balls, and slaps it against Vivian's cunt. The skin-to-skin contact makes both of you groan, yours deep and lusty, Vivian's high and whiny.


"See how wet your friend is?" You ask Amber.


She nods. "Uh huh..."


"That means she's a cunt," you say.


"Haha..." Amber coos. "You're a cunt, Vivian! Just like me!"


"Amber--" Vivian pleads. "Don't... don't look..."


"Has she ever been fucked before?" You ask.


"Nuu-uhh," Amber says. "She's cherry, just like I was when you fucked me!"


"She won't be cherry for long," you growl.


"That's what you like, huh?" Amber says coyly. "You like popping cherries, mister?"


Vivian, mewling, clutches your shirt with both fists now, and writhes against you, looking pitifully up at you. "Please, mister, no... I don't want to have sex... your-- your p-penis is too big... it would never fit... I beg you... d-do not deflower me..."


"Call it a cock," Amber tells her. "That's what he likes." She wags that cock of your back and forth across Vivian's cunt, pushing the lips one way and then the other, and smearing your shaft with her lovely secretions. You enjoy the slick sensation of her juices lubing you up in preparation to 'deflower' her.


You lift her up. Your fingers can almost touch each other wrapped around her waist; she's basically a living dicksleeve. You perch your chin on her shoulder and rasp: "I'm gonna put my cock in you whether you want it or not, fucking cunt. You should have thought about this before you drugged me."


"S-stop -- I'm s-sorry--!! No!!"


You thrust your butt upwards at the same time as you slam her downwards. Your cockhead splits her pretty hole open, forcing it impossibly wide, stretching it like a rubber band about to snap. You don't stop there, either; you jab her down over and over, forcing her too-small pussy to engulf your burning hot shaft entirely -- down, down to the wiry pubes around your crotch. They're such a contrast against her hairless mound. The chair creaks and the china clatters on the table. Vivian grits her teeth, her entire body seizes -- and then she screams in pain that isn't roleplayed. You're really fucking hurting her with the merciless force and speed of your balls-deep penetration.


You grab, randomly, one of the pairs of panties off the table; Amber's. You pry Vivian's jaw open, fingers against her lower teeth, wad the garment up and shove them in her mouth. It shuts her up. "That's better," you snarl.


You start to fuck her, the flat of your other palm bracing the small of her back, humping up into her body as you sit in the chair. Vivian is still screaming, but it's muffled by the sodden cotton, and her frantic breaths through her nose are the only real noise to accompany your brutal, squelchy, slam-fuck rape.


"Whoooaaa..." Amber breathes. "You're really fucking her up, mister!"


She parts the hair out of Vivian's face and looks her in the eye. Vivian's expression is a whole panorama of emotions: fear, pain, betrayal... lust, perverted enjoyment, pleasure... Amber smiles back at her.


"He's gonna shoot his white stuff in you," Amber says. "That's how babies get made. Maybe he'll make a baby in you?"


Vivian wrenches her eyes closed and shakes her head violently. She doesn't want a baby. But whatever she tries to say is unintelligible through her playmate's cunt-stained shimapan.


"Kiss her," you tell Amber.


Amber, who's at least as much of a pervert as she says you are, winks at you. She takes Vivian's conservative white cotton panties off the table and wads them in her mouth in mimicry of Vivian; and then, through the dual gags, she presses her yawning mouth to Vivian's, and showers her in kisses. This is too delicious to miss out on yourself. So as you fuck Vivian's insides to a pulp, you join that lesbian kiss and turn it to a three-way makeout session, enjoying the taste and smell of those girls' panties, as well as their faces, their necks, their budding tits -- and Vivian's tears, too. She can cry, but the slut is still all juicy inside, and her puffy pussy spasms against your invading cock in a way that plainly proves how much it loves getting raped. Vivian likes getting her cunt busted open. She likes the way your dick bruises up her womb. You suck and kiss the girls' faces as enjoy raping her to the fullest possible extent.


"Get on your knees," you tell Amber.


She does, without question.


"Lick my balls."


She pulls the panties from her mouth and lets them dangle in the air, bridged to her lips by a long, viscous streamer of drool. "Aaaahhh," she says like a patient at the dentist. She rubs the slobber- and cunt-slime-coated thing against her pussy, masturbating with it, as she leans forward and begins to swab her dainty pink tongue around your nuts. It's nice and wet and smooth. She watches the way you fuck her pal, the way you rape her, from way up close, and helps you feel even better while you do it. What a good little girl, introducing you to her friend like this...


"Cum lots inside her, mister!" Amber says between licks. Her voice is all staccato and lusty. Telling you that gets her off, too -- you can hear the wet patter of her creaming in Vivian's panties.


Vivian tries to say something, and you decide to let her speak; you tug the underwear from her mouth as well.


"M-m-m-m-ister," she says, shivering like a victim of hypothermia, "A-a-are, are you g-g-going t-t-t-to insem-m-m-menate m-m-m-eee?"


"Is that what you want?" You ask, viciously punctuating your syllables with hard thrusts into her.


"Y-y-yes... y-y-yessshh..."


She swoons and collapses against your chest. Hands squeezing her tiny butt, you seat yourself in her uterus, and roar, a long, loud, "oooooohhhhh, fuuuuckkkk..." as your cock shoots off and you dump a load straight into her belly. Amber continues sucking your testicles as they tighten and spew their wad into Vivian; her lips purse into an O and her good eye shines bright as she watches Vivian's cunt getting sullied with your 'white stuff.'


"Oh gosh," Amber marvels. "You really spermed a whole lot just now..." She gives a long, languid lick, up to where your cock is wedged in Vivian's fun-sized cunt, and adds: "How nice... you've got a new pussy to fuck, mister! Do you like the way it feels on your cock?"


"Fuck, yes," you heave.


"You'll still fuck my pussy too, right?"


"Oh yes... I'll fuck both of you..."


Vivian, still woozy, and high on cum, smiles wanly up at you. Her grippy cunt massages your dick in her well-honed way and keeps it hard.


As you pull out Vivian's body, Amber makes sure to catch the backflow of semen with the crotch of Vivian's panties. Then, when the milky white mess is all out of her and pooled there, she helps Vivian back into them -- mashing the sloppy mess against Vivian's cunt mound, and trapping it. Vivian's hands join Amber's at her crotch, and together they play: they take turns pressing the totally transparent, sticky, sodden garment against the contours of Vivian's cunny. They wedge it into her and pull it out, over and again. They giggle and laugh at their games. Their hands get shiny with the residue of your cum.


But Amber wants her turn. She leaps to her feet, bends over the table, and spreads her ass wide with both hands. Her fingers make dimples in her unblemished skin just below her ass cheeks; you see her pristine anus and her slightly parted pussy.


Side of her face pressed to the table, she stares back at you. "Fuck me, mister, fuck me! Pour your white stuff in my hole, too!"


You let Vivian down onto the floor, step out of your pants and boxers, and mount Amber like the baby bitch she is. You fuck her doggy style, the table shaking underneath her, china collapsing to the floor, Johann and Adolf and Plissken lolling to their sides. Amber can just hold on for dear life, as you force your horny prick in and out of her cunny. You're even less merciful than you were with Vivian.


"You're such a pervert... such a pervert..." Vivian pants, rising to her knees. "Putting your cock in little girls like this... fucking them and shooting your white stuff inside them... don't you have any shame?"


"No," you grunt. "It's all your fault, you little sluts..."


"You're so mean, mister..." Amber whines below you. You shut her up by wrapping your hands around her throat and choking her. She gasps, but it's a gasp of enjoyment -- and she's smiling as you nail her even harder.


"Lick my asshole," you grunt at Vivian.


Her lips curl as if she's disgusted, but she doesn't dispute the order. She rises up and parts the globes of your ass. With a small sigh, she licks your anus a couple times -- then sticks her tongue inside. Sitting on her besocked knees, wearing cummy panties, she rims you out as you fuck Amber within an inch of her life. There's no better feeling than that, a hot little tongue in your butt and a hot cunt wrapped around your dick.


"Oooh," you're groaning again, "oh fuck, oh fuck--" you feel a couple deep, wet surges, your cock shooting internally, giving Amber the creampie she so desired. There's a huge volume of it, and it fills the tiny space of her pussy in no time. With Vivian kneading your balls to help you along even as she continues to lick you out -- a new, debauched idea enters your mind. You pull out of Amber's cunt with a slurp, gripping your dick by the base to stop your cum. The girls watch with interest as you take their teacups -- first Amber's, then Vivian's -- and squirt thick ropes of cum into both. The tea turns pale with your seed, although some of it misses the mark, splattering against the rim, and down the side, and onto the saucer too.


No matter; Amber and Vivian enjoy your cream either way. With both girls now clad in nothing but socks and cum-drenched panties, they resume their seats. The china is scattered all around, sugarbowl on the floor, spilled tea staining the white lace tablecloth; the room stinks of cum and fucking, and there are spatters of your collective fluids smeared on the table -- it's not a refined scene at all. But daintily the little girls sit there, and drink the rest of their tea flavored with your cum. They lick up the last dredges of cream from the dishes when it's done. Long, slow, broad licks, savoring it from directly off the gleaming porcelain. They giggle at you while they do it.


A few minutes later, when they take a second serving, you give them a second helping of that cream, too -- they jerk you off in tandem, all four of their hands working your enormous shaft over, and coax your jizz out. They sit between your legs, kissing and masturbating you. You cum in Amber's mouth, a couple blasts; then Vivian's, a couple more; and when they sit at the table again they drool the milky load into their cups, stirring it all up.


"Thanks mister," Amber says, the cum still dribbling down her chin.


"Yes," Vivian agrees, a bubble of cum popping on her lips. "You are a wonderful guest, after all."


---


Non-lewd interlude 2:


[ ] Rose learns to bake

>[x] Gal could do that all along?!

[ ] Samantha's hidden talents!

>[x] Whitney helps Gal get sporty

[ ] Alabaster helps Cerise with wedding vows


Dr. Carte has spent approximately 24 straight hours ravishing Samantha on a deck chair in the backyard by the pool, and it's only because Whitney -- Whitney, of all people -- has the mercy to force her mother back indoors that the poor, abused, beleaguered and now sunburned bunnygirl gets any rest at all. She lies groaning and violated on the chair, too tired to really move, but at least she's nice eye candy for the rest of you...


It's been unseasonably warm in the daytime recently, enough to take a dip in the pool. Whitney wants to use the opportunity to get Gal a little exercise -- an effort you can fully get behind -- but you suspect ulterior motives on the part of your tomboy girlfriend. She was a little too excited about getting to see Gal in a bikini, having missed out on the view during the Palau trip.


Whitney wolf-whistles her as Gal slowly steps past the veranda's shade, across the grass and onto the limestone tiling around the pool. "Whoa. What a fucking snack you are!" She says.


Amber, kicked back on a chair beside Samantha, wearing heart-shaped sunglasses and sucking a lollipop as she reads a book, purrs disgustedly: "Please don't use that word. It has traumatic associations for me."


Gal hugs herself as if trying to hide from Whitney's prying eyes. Whitney isn't having that. She forces Gal to keep her hands at her side, and then grabbing Gal by both shoulders, she says: "You are fucking hot, Gal, for real! You need to stop wearing those frumpy tees... no wonder you took Cerise on a one-way ride to Lezville."


"t-thank you... i think..."


"Could you not treat her like a piece of meat?" Cerise says as she steps past, letting her hair down as she takes off her sunhat. "That's my wife you're manhandling." She straightens the top of her own bikini as she watches on.


Whitney grins at Cerise -- and without breaking eye contact, slaps Gal's ass. Gal gasps, spine stiffening as her perky little butt jiggles.


"What you gonna do?" Whitney asks Cerise.


Cerise looks from her, to Gal, and back again. "Make you share, at least," she finally says.


"Heeeh." She spins Gal around and takes off her spectacles. Through a goofy grin, she asks: "Have you ever played pool volleyball?"


"n-no... or normal volleyball for that matter"


"You're gonna play now."


"i really dont want to swim today--"


"Too late!" Whitney squeals, and shoves Gal with both palms. Gal stumbles backwards two steps, arms windmilling, and falls into the pool with a splash that hits you all -- including Amber on her chair, who throws her hands up, book and lollipop and all, and groans in frustration.


"Jerks!" Amber yells. She crawls forward and pulls her glasses up. Gal is just coming up for air, gasping. "You okay, Gal?" Amber asks.


"so... cold..." She treads water. Her long hair is plastered to her head, and much darker when wet. "...yes im okay"


"If they bully you too hard, let me know." Amber flexes a bicep. "I'll kick their butts."


"thank you ca-- amber"


Whitney sets up the net, and you divide into teams of two. Whitney takes Gal under her wing, how sweet -- to go up against the unstoppable brother-sister duo of Alabaster and Cerise Soliloquy.


The odds seem pretty even, this way. Whitney is an athletic superstar, you know, but shackled to dead weight like Gal, there's only so much she can do against two, albeit comparatively unathletic, players. You witnessed that firsthand at the Darkbloom Analytics tennis invitational a couple months back when Whitney had the misfortune of pairing with Makoto, who couldn't hit a ball to save her life -- err -- maybe not the best analogy there...


Gal has the dubious honor of serving first, too. She stands somewhat off-kilter towards the shallows, rears back, throws the ball into the air -- and misses. It bonks against her head, into the water, and she groans.


Cerise can't help laughing. "Sorry..." she says between peals. "But... but... bwahaha!"


"Gal, Gal, Gal," Whitney chides, wading over to her. "Your form is all fucked. You gotta follow through, first of all."


"im sorry"


"Don't be sorry, toots. Just watch -- and learn, okay? Really focus."


"yes"


Whitney stands beside Gal and readies herself to serve. You and Cerise share an oh-shit look, and scramble to prepare for the coming spike. Whitney's main forte may be soccer but she's gifted all around athletically, and her arched back, her flexing quads as she hops upward, the bulging delts of her arms and the resounding ka-thunk of her fist making contact with the rubber; leave little doubt that she's playing for keeps.


It travels high over the net, and comes blazing back poolward towards you. You try to jog in reverse to intercept it but your movement is weirdly sluggish, feet uncoordinated underwater, and you can't get to it in time. Cerise doesn't even attempt to give you the assist, just watches dumbly as you lose balance and dip beneath the water's surface. The ball lands behind you unreturned, bobbing around as if dancing to mock you both.


"Point!" Whitney shouts, throwing both hands high above her head like a ref signalling touchdown.


You come back up, swiping the stinging chlorine-tinged water from your eyes. "That doesn't count!" you shout. "It's not your serve!"


Cerise has your back: "Yeah! That was just a tutorial serve!"


Whitney sighs. "Sore losers..." She glances back at Gal. "Just like that. Got it?"


"i think so"


"Great," Whitney says. "You're gonna do great."


"Sorry in advance for beating you," Cerise says as Gal prepares to serve a second time.


"cerise..."


Cerise laughs, and blows her wife a kiss. "No hard feelings, okay? It's just a game."


Then it comes: ka-thunk, whir, zip, splash -- Gal mirrors Whitney's serve to perfection. It happens so quickly. The ball comes sailing over your head. You jump for it, but only barely manage to bobble it with your fingertips. Cerise dives, clamoring to save it, but too late; humiliated, you both watch as the ball lands in the water, doing that bobbing-dancing mockery on the rippling surface that makes you want to kick a hole in the wall.


"Point!" Whitney says.


"God fucking damn it," Cerise snarls. "You knocked it off course!"


"I was trying to hit it!" You shout. "You know, the object of the game? So fucking sue me!"


"It was my ball! You should have let me get it!"


You're squaring off, sneering at each other.


"guys..." Gal says. "it's... just a game..."


"Shut up!" Cerise yells, turning and pointing at her. She treads over to the ball and takes it in hand, ready to give a return serve. "Your ass is mine, bitch."


Gal squeaks.


It's a rout. And it turns ugly. Gal might be weak, but the water is a great equalizer; it puts her on a relatively even playing field with the two of you who are otherwise stronger and faster. She mastered serving after just one viewing -- it takes her a little bit more time to master the intricacies of actually volleying. That leaves at least a little space for you and Cerise to keep it from turning into a total shutout -- but as the game grinds on and Gal observes more and more of Whitney's play, the two become a hivemind, one brain in two bodies; it's like you're playing with Whitney and her slightly slower, slightly weaker clone.


Cerise is the sorer loser; when it becomes clear the game is hopeless, she tries deliberately to bean Whitney a few times, spiking the ball right at her face. When once the ball is about to actually hit Whitney, Gal, with all the courage of a secret service agent shielding the president from gunfire, dives in front of her tutor and takes the hit instead. It whacks her rail-thin body by the ribcage, and you can already see a bruise fast spreading.


"Fuck! Sorry!" Cerise says, clasping her hands over her mouth -- mad about losing, yes, but not mad enough to target her wife.


"you're not sorry" Gal says ominously, taking the ball again. "...but you will be..."


"Heeeeeh," Whitney laughs. "I like the passion! Fuck her up!"


"Don't you -- don't you even think about it--!" Cerise begins. Too late. The ball is zipping back towards Cerise's face -- such wanton spousal abuse, you've never witnessed before. You try to take the hit for her, how Gal took the hit for Whitney, but let's face it Alabaster Soliloquy, you aren't fast on your feet. Cerise takes a Wilson to the noggin and falls back, mostly from the surprise of it you suspect, in a Christlike pose, submerged and enraged under the water.


"Point!" Whitney shouts.


When the game is over, you all work the aggression out of your systems with some poolside fucking. Even Amber joins in. And Samantha, tired and abused though she may well be, wouldn't miss out on raw sex happening just a few feet away. The debauchery helps your dyke sister smooth things over with her lipstick lesbian waifu, and... all's well that ends well -- as the bard would say. (You're a Shakespeare expert nowadays.)


Walking through the downstairs hallway, drying your hair off with a towel, you hear, from behind the closed door of a bathroom, Cerise's raucous laughter. You stop just outside, curious.


"What a fucking snack you are!" comes Whitney's voice, muffled by the door and the drywall. "You're fucking hot, Gal!"


"Stop, stop--" Cerise is begging.


This exchange has you confused, so you barge in without knocking. Cerise is sitting on the lid-down toilet, toweling off a very naked Gal who sits on the rim of the tub. Whitney is nowhere to be found.


As if looking for a phantom, you peer into the obviously-empty shower, and back the other way at the wall opposite. Nada.


"What the hell are you looking for?" Cerise says, unamused. She continues to vigorously towel her wife.


"Where's Whitney?"


"Uh?" Cerise says. "I think she's in Vivian's room. Not sure. Why?"


"Bullshit," you say. "I heard her in here just now. I -- what the hell?"


Cerise laughs, as if finally realizing something. She elbows Gal. "Do it again."


Gal clears her throat and says: "Ya fired! Heeeh."


She sounds exactly -- ex-fucking-actly -- like Whitney. Blindfolded it would be impossible to tell them apart.


"Oh my god," you breathe. "That's... how long have you been practicing that? You sound just like her."


"Are you weirdened out?" Gal says, still sounding just like Whitney. "You're a laugh riot, Ally."


"Whitney's not the only one," Cerise says. "Go ahead -- do Rose."


"Misogynist! Pig!" Gal shouts. "Fuck you, Alabaster -- fuck you! You'll pay for that!"


You can only gawp at her.


"Vivian," Cerise says.


"Greetings," comes Vivian's voice from Gal's mouth. "It is a pleasure to see you, Alabaster. Have you come for our spontaneous lunch date? What a splendid afternoon to get away from the dreary environs of the office."


"Amber."


"There's a million revolutions coming, Alabster..."


"She can do pretty much anyone," Cerise tells you. "It's crazy."


"Sakura Dokuahku here!" Gal says. "Today, we're going to learn how to turn a simple, everyday Furby into your zoooombie slave~... assisted by my trusty sidekick, Besuto..."


Cerise shoves her. "I do not sound like that! Why is that the only impression you can't get right?"


"No..." you say. "You sound like that. You sound... exactly like that. Jesus." You gaze at Gal in wonderment. "You could do that all along?"


She nods.


"Me?" You ask.


"On your knees, cunt--" Gal begins, but you cut her off with a raised palm. It sounds like you, all right -- still quite obviously a female voice, but matching your pronunciation and accent to the letter, and getting as close as she can to your masculine tone.


"That's amazing," you say. "You can do that with anyone?"


She nods.


"Why didn't you tell me?"


She shrugs. "i... i don't know... you never really seemed to care about that kind of stuff"


You shake your head. "I... do. I do." You're not sure what else to say -- you're a bit hurt. And yet you understand why she would think that. "Gal, that skill of yours... it's... I think it's really cool. I like knowing that kind of stuff about you."


She smiles feebly.


"did you know i play cello too"


That night she treats you, Cerise, Amber and Rose to a private concert that -- and you've never been a music lover or an emotional person -- honestly brings you close to tears with the beauty of it.


As you lie cuddled up with her and the others later that night, you think for a long time about how much more depth there is to Anna Soliloquy than you had ever, in your selfishness, considered.


END OF INTERLEWD 7.

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