"Justice with change of interest learns to bow,
And what was merit once is murder now:
Actions receive their tincture from the times,
And as they change, are virtues made or crimes."
-Daniel Defoe, A Hymn to the Pillory
Each section of the patchwork school building that constituted Darkbitch Academy started classes at a different time. The area where Miss Rhea was rather roughly dragging her student Amy to the nurses' office would soon be filled with a bustle of happy, shapely, slightly glass-eyed uniformed girls, heading to lunch, their dorms, the gym or a private make-out spot in the vast gardens. Now, though, the well-lighted halls were empty. No sounds leaked out from elsewhere in the complex, or from the soundproofed classrooms; the only noises were the semi-regular clicks of Amy's five-inch stiletto heels and Rhea's much louder, eight-inch-heeled boots, echoing past rows of white lockers, their futuristic retinal scan machines flashing idly with soft green light.
At the intersection of two hallways, the teacher abruptly stopped, looked around, seemed to debate with herself about something, and tugged on Amy's arm to go left. They rushed through a series of sharp turns, the fluorescent lighting gradually going dimmer with each new hall. There were no windows in the cold metal doors, which were only adorned with numbers, and seemingly no way to tell whether there was anyone in a room. Nevertheless, Rhea confidently opened a seemingly random door, labeled 09067, and rudely shoved Amy inside the dark, empty classroom to which it led. Amy, staggering backwards at the blow, opened her mouth as if to object, but quickly thought better of it -- something like this isn't the nurses' office, as if she knew where that was or anything about it. She stood opposite Rhea, who was still in the doorway. Fearful, storm-tossed but excited, her waist-length blond mane, newly teased this morning into a highly combat-inappropriate cascade of ringlets, blowing dramatically in the strong breeze of an air-conditioning unit behind her.
Rhea almost effortlessly slammed the huge metal door behind her, her massive arms flexing under the tight scarlet blouse. She took one huge stride towards the blonde hottie, leaned down and rammed her tongue into Amy's bright-red mouth. For perhaps half a second, Amy stiffened with reflexive resistance to the teacher's predatory kiss. Even at that moment, there was no thought of fighting back or even of running away. Such ideas would have been abhorrent to the girl. The most she could conceive of was a failure to actively participate in her domination. But even that, she knew, wasn't right -- was just a momentary lapse into pointless rebellion. It was much better to cooperate, Amy thought as she inhaled her teacher's dark, powerful scent at close range, her nostrils flaring in a new anticipatory hunger. Within a few seconds she was participating eagerly, straining to coax an extra inch or two of height out of her frame so she could be more thoroughly scoured by her teacher's aggressive tongue.
"Lose the top," growled Miss Rhea after she abruptly broke the osculation, and the blonde nymphet hastened to obey. The diaphanous white fabric passed with difficulty over Amy's massive mammaries: although the fabric had expanded to account for her recent growth spurt, it retained, like everything else in her closet, the same obscenely tight fit. The budding slave slid without thought into an offertory stance, hands clasped behind her back, tits thrust out invitingly, eyes in dreamy submission. The teacher just stood for a few seconds in admiration, her excitement betrayed by hardening nipples under the blouse, a lecherous grin and the huge dark girlmeat that snaked out from under her skirt. Then, unable to hold out any longer, she grabbed the back of Amy's head and shoved the girl's glossy pink lips onto her angry cock, forcing Amy to her knees.
"Suck me off, and be fast," Rhea demanded. "I don't want Sydney to find out you were late. Shouldn't even be taking you, Akiko says, but -- nggh! Oh yes! -- I had to have you now. May not get another chance..."
There was still some part of Amy left that vaguely wondered what Rhea was talking about, and how Lady Akiko was involved. But those concerns were deeply submerged, minuscule in an ocean of more pleasurable, more important thoughts: I hope I'm pleasing Miss Rhea. I'm so glad she chose to take my throat with her beautiful cock. Up and down the shaft she energetically moved, but in perfectly timed rhythm to Rhea's thrusts, eagerly submerging herself to her teacher's strength. I wonder how her sperm tastes? Maybe it's sweet, like Julia's pussy. Maybe a bit tangy, like her shaft tastes and smells. Either way, I'm sure it's amazing. I wish I could stay like this forever, in perfect harmony and submission and rightness, knees bare against the cold tile but I don't care; her cock is warm and snug in my throat and that's all the comfort I need, forever, forever...
Amy's teacher let out a low, frustrated moan as her thrusts crescendoed in pace and intensity. Rhea's massive, powerful thighs strained to piston faster as her already-enormous girlmeat continued to expand in her blonde student's throat, causing no small amount of pain. Amy hoped, as she obediently faced the onslaught, that her transformation was far enough along that she wouldn't be damaged, but there was no way of knowing, as the pain � what Lady Akiko called the sacrifice of obedience � remained the same. She didn't hope for the sake of herself, but for an infinitely more important purpose: the ability to serve her superiors well. Amy's eyes glowed with beatific pleasure, as if receiving a blessing, as Miss Rhea screamed in delight, sending spasms of hot cum far down her throat. She only just maintained the composure not to make a mess all over Amy's face and huge, bouncing boobs with their delicate pink nipples � that would have ruined the secret. Sighing wistfully at the thought, watching her nymphet charge lick her lips in satisfaction, Rhea adjusted her short skirt, tossed Amy's nearly-sheer blouse back to her, and led her back into the hallway.
Soft, warm, wet, snug, dark, just above the water, swanlike neck resting across the mountainous curves of Aki's tits, the camouflage-patterned bra that had encased them earlier now floating somewhere to the side, forgotten. The Darkbitch's eyes were still closed, and she no longer bothered to use second sight; the world was in the soft focus of her fading, half-asleep senses as it began to dissolve, opening the doors to to daydream and daymare. Having already emptied out visually, the world first gradually divested itself of its sounds, fading as if slowly mixed out at the end of a DJ set. Then only touch remained; a calm, comforting contact with her companion, one last anchor to the world. But Kennedy was drifting further away into the misty ocean, and the anchor began dragging over the seabed, carrying rocks, weeds and human detritus scraping along the bottom until it finally sprung free as the seafloor dropped out and Kennedy found herself drifting over the open ocean of unmoored hazy chaotic memory.
Harsh light from above. Big windows, clouds � nimbus � outside. An oppressive air. People filtering in. Sitting in the third row; used to sit in the front but moved to see Marisa. The captain of the volleyball team, she towered over me. She filed in now, eased her lanky frame into the seat, stretching her toned muscles, undoing her ponytail and letting her unnaturally silky corn-blonde hair fall free. She turned to another girl and whispered something, eyelashes flickering over her cornflower-blue eyes, cute nose and mischievous smile outlined in profile, ignorant of my stare. I scribble in a small notebook I'm holding open under my desk: "Marisa, I love you. Hold me in your arms and guide me until the end of time!" I see my face dimly reflected in the desk, my memory supplying the unfortunate details that I can't quite make out: short, messy, dark brown hair of the most generic shade that rejected dye when I tried and only made a mess in the sink; too-large nose, thin lips, hints of acne and oil. I can't see it here, but I'm also short, weak and need to lose weight. My mind careens from my physical to my emotional faults as I wonder: why can't I shake off this crush, this love that I know is hopeless and a phantasm? Why does it seem so real as to be the only thing in the world?
Harsh light from above. The crush of the anonymous crowds of a megalopolis high school, ninety percent of the faces unknown, ninety-nine percent unacknowledging. Walking fast, a bit uncoordinated and narrowly avoiding collision from time to time, but with a purpose, to get to my locker, grab stuff and get out before the bus left. Off in the distance I see the beginning of the blue set of lockers, which is mine; everything here is color-coordinated for the convenience of those easily lost. I'm almost there when I notice that everyone around me is staring in the direction of the blue lockers. I get closer and see a gaggle of girls huddled around my locker, excitedly talking over each other. Some of the most popular and beautiful girls in the school are there: Saraswati Sherawat-Jones the cell phone heiress; Olivia Dunadais the model; Flora Carver, the one who was "really sweet" but only to about thirty people, most of them rich. At the center of attention, a head taller than the rest, there she was: Marisa Frost, the muscular goddess, Athena of the volleyball court. Her hair was in a French braid this time, beautifully done. I took in every particle of her half-turned face in one ravenous glance: her periwinkle-fading-to-violet glittery eye shadow, which reinforced the beauty of her blue (wide, deep and oceanic) eyes; her coral-pink makeup suggesting innocent insouciance; the very light dusting of freckles across her slightly upturned nose. My heart stumbles and slips off its gears, as always, when I see her face.
Finally, I zoom out, shaking off love's enchantment, to see what's going on. I see her perfectly-formed hand, nails done in a dark salmon. I see that it's entering a combination into the keypad on my locker. It's apparently the correct one, as the device pings, the locker clicks and she swings open the door. It's a mess in there, of course, and at the sight of my books and papers haphazardly scattered in a landfill-like pile she starts a wave of giggles that reverberates among the group. But Marisa is undeterred, and she starts rifling through the assembled stuff, frequently knocking something to the floor, no doubt intending me to clean it all up. While all this is going on I'm stunned, motionless, blanched, hearing everything through a reverb filter, not quite present in the hallway. But as I gradually realize that this is really happening it brings on a nauseous feeling in the deepest part of my chest that just grows and grows, until I feel like I might throw up if there was anything in my stomach.
As Marisa continues violating my locker she's still not looking anywhere but in the main space, and I begin to think I might be saved until I hear Flora's sprightly voice:
"It's in a cardboard sleeve taped to the top, in the left rear corner. You have to come at it from the right."
"Oh yeah, you told me that. How'd you get the combo, anyway?"
"Well..." Flora shifted from one foot to the other, her ample bosom jiggling agreeably. "I promised Doug that if he hacked into the network and got the combinations for me, I'd give him a kiss."
"Ew. That nerd? Like, would you really?"
Flora laughed derisively. "No way. Let him wish. Anyway, go ahead and get it out. You're going to love what's in there."
"You'd better be right."
After groping for my well-hidden contraption for a few seconds, and spending a few seconds more trying to open its flap, she got hold of my diary � a small, scuffed notebook in imitation cheap leather with no identifying marks � and randomly opened it, hitting upon the most well-worn page, one that I had inscribed two months ago to the date. She began reading aloud, mockingly imitating my quiet tone.
"Notes, September 21. Melan-- uh, melancholy catches me unawares. It only undoes itself when I see my beloved. Marisa, I love-- what the fuck is this?" She abandoned her attempts to imitate my voice, shouting with something like amused rage. "I love you. Hold me in your arms and guide me until the end of time! Jesus Christ! The dog's a lesbo?"
Saraswati, interjecting: "I guess. Hey, there she is." None of them had theretofore noticed that I was standing only a few feet from them, absorbing the events in rapt horror.
"We've got to fucking do something about this. I can't just let people like that perv on me."
"I have an idea," offered Olivia, and the four girls crowded together, shielding their whispers from the shifting penumbra of onlookers. Before long they roped in another girl who had been standing at the edge, a petite blonde I didn't know. I finally came to my senses and turned to leave, not wanting be involved in whatever was about to happen, but suddenly a pair of strong arms grabbed me. They belonged to Marisa, who proceeded to drag me forcibly into the yearbook room nearby, into which the other three girls, plus the unknown blonde, had just rushed. Olivia, who ran the yearbook, had the key to lock it. There were no windows since it had been used as a darkroom before digital cameras.
"Dammit, why can't somebody else hold her? The bitch is probably getting off on this."
I sort of was, actually, although I hardly noticed it over the fright and anger.
"You're the only one strong enough to hold her, bucking like that."
I fought desperately to get out of Marisa's grip, even though I still had no escape unless I got the key from Olivia, and even though I had no reason to leave more pressing than trying to catch the bus. It was a matter of pride, which I was desperate to regain by at least making things difficult.
"Saraswati, you'll have to do it. I have a shoot tomorrow and I can't chip a nail; besides, you're probably stronger."
"I doubt that, but okay."
The little blonde, hovering in the corner, plain but dressed fairly stylishly: "I don't know if I want to go through with this. How do I know you're actually going to give me what you promised?"
"Taylor, it would make sense for us to do it, or you might not stick to the story," noted Olivia.
"I obviously can't give you Brian Douglas or the car in here, but I can peel off half of the cash right now."
Olivia extracted a large white leather wallet from her pale blue designer purse, unzipped it and extracted most of the bills from it, all hundreds. She counted out $3,000 and handed the stack to Taylor, who appeared to be somewhat stunned that this was really happening to her. She quickly secreted the money away in a jacket pocket.
"Are we agreed, then?" Olivia grinned.
"Sure."
"Okay, Sara, do it."
The mocha-skinned girl wound up and landed a solid front punch to Taylor's jaw, which quickly reddened in a bruise. Taylor let out a high-pitched scream, but recovered quickly, although she continued to wince at the pain.
"Oh, that Kennedy is so evil," moaned Marisa in a melodramatic tone, still seeming to take no notice of my futile struggles in her arms. "Just because our friend Taylor rejected her advances, the girl flew into a rage and punched her. And in front of some of the most well-respected students in the school! She's got some nerve to do that. Well, she won't get away with it."
"Not with your mom sleeping with the principal," snorted Olivia.
"Shut up. Anyway, let's get out of here. We wouldn't want the dog to miss her bus, would we?"
Amy felt dazed, her mind fogged over. What the hell had she been doing back there, letting the teacher take her? Being Miss Rhea's perfect slut, of course. Now where was I-- wait, that wasn't my thought. Was it? She was supposed to fall in line, of course, so as not to attract attention; even if she could have won a fight against the roughly eight-foot-tall behemoth striding confidently in front of her in that tiny skirt, she wouldn't have done any lasting damage to the Darkbitch or to her world. But when she was alone with the teacher, she hadn't been analyzing whether it would be worth it to attack her � she'd been letting her mouth be painfully raped while making doe-eyes like a girl ogling her first teenage crush. Crush... I bet those thighs could crush a girl's skull in two, but the ride would sure be fun... attached to that huge round ass that jiggles invitingly while the skirt flips all the way up every time she strides like a sexy strobe of deliciousness makes me want to just grab it and lick so deep inside the magically clean ass memories of Julia some moonbeam hitting perfectly on the rosebud and just saying can I? but not asking first just doing it and hearing her moans of pleasure ooh yes fuck yes yes mirrored in her own muffled vibrations deep up the girl's milky ass just increasing her pleasure that redounded right back onto her pleasure like a huge dark wave washing over her all night all night forever infinity an infinity symbol figure eight shaped like an ass the ass of forever Julia's ass Rhea's ass the Platonic ideal of asses the universal ass, hypnotically rising and falling in perfect rhythm with the clink of Teacher's boots and her own heels, unified in one sound, and her own ass was rising and falling too, in the perfect synchronicity that was only possible through total subservience, through falling in line behind someone greater, entering their slipstream and passing the surrounding chaos of the ignorant masses behind.
Suddenly Miss Rhea's ass stopped moving, catching Amy so off guard that she nearly barreled into her Teacher. Rhea had stopped at a larger-than-normal door with various electronics surrounding it, and a large label in bold lettering: "Nurses' Office." Rhea entered a code on a keypad to the right, shielding it with her hand. It chirped in approval and activated a speaker below it, which filled the area with soft static for a few seconds before a bright voice interrupted.
"Hello, Nurses' Office. What's going on today, Miss Rhea?"
"Amy Kalnia is not feeling well. Sydney suspects she may not be fully attuned to the anomaly."
"We'll check her out. Let her in."
With a soft hiss, the door slid open. As one last exercise of power, Rhea shoved Amy inside, and the door shut behind.