Rachael Norfolk closed her eyes, leaned back in her chair and yawned. It hadn�t been much of a day; most of the freshman girls who�d paid extra to get into Leaf dorm wouldn�t come until the next morning. She�d only checked in four people all day, and none of them were even attractive -- well, revise that, she thought, Angel Fawn is physically hot, but she�s also an annoying giggly bimbo, and I�d rather shoot myself than ask her out. Even if she does, apparently, know who John Berryman is. Worse, even though the campus network she used to check the girls in was up, she couldn�t get internet access. She�d tried writing poems, like she usually did when she was bored, but nothing was coming today, and she�d already finished the books she�d brought over from the library. And she still had to be here another hour.
Sighing, Rachael adjusted her thin gold-colored glasses -- they kept falling off her nose -- and opened her eyes in time to see a girl passing through the revolving door. When she pushed through and Rachael got a good look, her eyes went wide, and she entirely failed to suppress a vacuous grin. This girl was just that hot. To specify: she was about six and a half feet tall, very pale, with heavily muscled arms that easily supported a pair of large travel bags. Her black hair was cut in a super-dykey style, really short all around but flaring out on the sides. She had a nose ring and a stud in her lip, and the most beautiful crystal-blue eyes. She was wearing a frilly but short black skirt and a black tank top, which showed off some obscenely large boobs. The girl must have been way further down the alphabet of cup sizes than Rachael was familiar with. She wanted to believe they were fake, but the way they bounced around in that top they didn't look it.
And as the girl swiftly drew closer, her combat boots ringing noisily on the parquet floor, Rachael spotted some white text written on the tank top. It read, in pseudo-medieval uncials: THE LADDER IS ALWAYS THERE. Yes, this girl�s shirt was quoting Adrienne Rich; Rachael might as well just go ahead and have an orgasm right there. But she had to pull herself together, and, somehow, she did.
�Hey, are you here to check in?�
�Yeah. Onyx Chaleur.� Her voice was sweet but richly sonorous, like good chocolate.
Well, that�s an awesome name, but I checked the roster ten minutes ago, and I would have remembered her. �Is it, uh, possible you�re listed under another name?�
�Nah. Check the list again, I got switched at the last minute. Here�s my ID.� She slid the laminated blue Southport College card across the desk to Rachael. It did indeed read Chaleur, Onyx Persephone; and though Onyx�s expression was placid at the moment, she was grinning broadly on her ID photo. Which just made Rachael like her more.
She opened the laptop back up, checked the roster again, and, indeed, Onyx�s name had somehow appeared. Rachael cross-checked the ID numbers and rummaged around for the appropriate card.
�You�re in 107. Your roommate isn�t here yet, so you�ve got the room to yourself for the night, unless she shows up soon.�
�Okay. So what�s the story behind Leaf, anyhow? Was it some sort of hotel?�
Rachael smiled. �You�d be surprised at how few people ask. Yes, the building was developed as a hotel, but they had to stop construction when Five Points, that�s the chain, went bankrupt. They sold the building to the college, cheap, but they�d only finished the first floor out of five, so that�s all we�re using this year, and there�s no access to the unfinished floors.�
Onyx nodded. �That�s interesting. Okay, one last question. Of the girls you�ve checked in before me, who�s the hottest?�
There was a long pause, as Rachael tried to process what the hell Onyx had just asked her so casually. The girl just stood there, a smile slowly spreading across her face.
�That is. T-that is a totally inappropriate question to--�
�Rachael, I know who you are, and I know you�re into girls, so just help me out here, okay?� She bit her lip, perfect teeth scraping against the metal stud. So hot.
�. . . I guess that would have to be Angel Fawn. Very all-American blonde cheerleader type, toned body, but does this really annoying giggling bimbo thing that might just be an act and Jesus, why am I telling you all this, you should get going, please go . . .�
�Okay, give me a key to her room.�
�What?�
Onyx leaned over the desk, her bosom nearly spilling out of the tank top. Her blue eyes were open wide, hungry, and they sparkled beautifully. Rachael was starting to feel dizzy.
�I said, give me a key to her room. If you want me to come back after I fuck her and have her sign off on it, fine, but if you make things easy for me, maybe I�ll even fuck you. Probably not, but just the thought of that is enough to get you to do whatever I want. Isn�t it?�
Rachael, who was blushing deeply by now, didn�t want to answer that question. So she silently slid an extra card to room 109 -- Angel Fawn�s room -- across the table.
Onyx took the cards, slid them into her wallet, and took her ID back. Then she leaned over the counter and placed a kiss -- pillowy soft lips broken up by the exciting harshness of the stud -- and on the mousy resident advisor�s lips.
Rachael shuddered, and quietly climaxed.
Onyx laughed briefly, grabbed her bags, and headed down the hall.
Well. This place sure isn't boring anymore.
Angel Fawn was a nervous wreck. She was already missing her family and friends -- she�d never been away from home for more than a week, and never without anyone she knew. Sure, there might be someone she knew among the eight thousand other students at Southport College. But she had no idea, because she hadn�t planned to go here. Her dad had offered to pay for Duke or Emory, so she hadn�t applied for student loans. But at the last minute, her parents had divorced, and dad had disappeared. She�d forgotten she�d even applied to Southport, but they gave her a full ride, so she made the best of the situation and took the offer.
But everything was screwed up. Not much money until the legal battle for child support got resolved, no friends, and no chance to have her dad meet and glad-hand the professors. Which wasn�t any worse than what any ordinary student had to deal with here, true, but for Angel this was all new and unexpected. Especially the isolation. A few times this afternoon she�d been on the verge of tears. She was coping better now, after going through the things that helped her relax. She�d sketched and colored a lovely mountain landscape, of the Smiths� ranch out west where her family used to vacation. Then, she�d reapplied her makeup and gotten all dolled up in her laciest pink dress, beautiful white gloves, and elegant heels, taking pleasure in the familiar process of decoration. In the mirror, she looked just like she always used to at dinner parties and formals -- the most elegant woman in the room, enrapture some well-heeled boys. But it was all in vain, as she didn't know of anywhere to go, and didn't have the energy anyhow.
She heard a knock on the door. �Room-mate! Are you decent?�
�Sure, come in.�
Angel got up and walked to the door as if to let her in, but the door opened on its own. Her new roommate brandished her keycard, and Angel awkwardly giggled. �Oh, of course you have a key. Well, nice to meet you, uh--� Angel had checked her assignment online, but couldn�t remember her roommate�s name.
�Onyx. And you�re Angel, right?�
�Angel Fawn, yes, thank you.�
And that was that. Onyx headed to the other side of the room and began emptying her bags -- one filled with clothes, the other, it seemed, containing nothing but books. Angel�s tall, punky roommate went back and forth between the bags, easily lifting everything with her bodybuilder-esque arms. She removed a stack of poetry anthologies, then a belt studded with huge, nasty-looking spikes, then a pair of atlases, then a black catsuit and a fetish nurse�s uniform. And Angel just watched her. She was fascinated by the clothes -- though some were appropriate for class, more or less, she wasn't sure where the rest could get worn, outside of costume parties. Or other types of parties that she didn't really want to think about.
Angel slowly realized that she was fascinated by the girl�s body. By the way her bulbous ass swayed under her short skirt. By the way her big boobs heaved up and down as she stacked her books and hung her clothes. By her nose ring and lip stud, which would never would have been allowed at her school or church, and which her parents would have said were an abomination. Angel had always thought that those sorts of things were just ways for ugly and insecure girls to feel better about their fallen state. But her amazonian roommate was so pretty that Angel just couldn�t see it that way. It seemed more like she was telling the world: I can shove whatever I want, wherever I want on my body, and I will still look so much hotter than you.
When Onyx was finished, she stacked the bags in the corner of the closet. Angel couldn't stand the silence anymore, and blurted out, "You must work out a lot. I mean, those arms. . ." She trailed off. Why had she said anything?
Onyx turned to face Angel, grinning. "Roomie, are you. . . hitting on me?"
"I, uh, no, um--"
Quite suddenly, Onyx pulled her tank top over her head and threw it into a corner. Her pillowy boobs jiggled, then settled into her black floral-lace bra. Angel stared, at first in shock, then from blatant but sheepish arousal. Looking at girls this way wasn't appropriate. It wasn't right -- it went against everything she'd ever be taught. It went against God. She'd struggled with such impulses before -- indeed, she had once nearly given in. But she'd made herself suppress those urges for so long that their recurrence was surreal. She summoned the verses to mind, began mouthing them silently. They exchanged the truth about God for a lie, and worshiped and served created things rather than the Creator -- who is forever praised. Amen. Because of this, God gave them over to shameful lusts. Even their women exchanged natural sexual relations for unnatural--
"Want a closer look?"
Angel gulped.
"All you have to do is say yes."
It was almost a whisper, but: ". . .Yes. Come here?"
Onyx took a seat on Angel's bed. She put one hand on Angel's thigh, squeezing the thin fabric of her pink doll-dress. The black-haired dyke smelled like lime and myrrh (Angel remembered from a Christmas play, when they'd used real myrrh.) The mysterious roommate's ruby-painted lips drew closer, and just as Angel closed her eyes to receive them, she felt the impact of Onyx�s tits against her own. Angel was a larger C-cup, and she wasn�t used to feeling inadequate about her breasts, but Onyx�s absolutely drowned them. The intervening layers of fabric only made her feel more cosseted. Then came the impact of lips on lips, the smearing of Angel�s gloss and Onyx�s darker paint all over as the pair kissed furiously, desperately, each seeking the physical satisfaction and wholeness they�d long missed, and each receiving it.
And then Onyx jammed something metallic into Angel�s neck.
Angel�s screams would have been muffled by the kiss. But, despite excruciating pain, there weren�t any. Almost as soon as the object went in, her entire face went limp. A half-second later, it tightened again, but in a neutral, deliberate expression -- one that Angel definitely wasn�t producing herself. And Angel�s kicks and shoves would most likely have been rendered ineffectual by the incredibly strong girl laying on top of her, but they, too, refused to come. No matter how hard Angel tried to move, her limbs refused to respond. And, about a second after her face went taut, her body did as well, deliberately maintaining the exact pose she had held before the object had entered. By now, the pain was already gone, replaced by a gradually spreading feeling of artificial mellowness. But her brain was still in panic mode. Why, she wondered, had her lover betrayed her? Well, why not? Did I actually think someone like her was going to treat someone like me nicely?
�Angel, calm down,� Onyx almost whispered. �I�m not going to hurt you.�
And, just like that, everything felt better. Why had Angel been so silly? She needed to trust Onyx. Yes, the metal-studded beauty had caused her pain, but she had also given her great pleasure. And more pleasure was pouring into her sex right then, inexplicably, gloriously. So, when Onyx grabbed the high-cut collar of Angel's five-hundred-dollar designer dress and ripped it, she wasn't scared. And after Onyx effortlessly lifted the girl off the bed to remove the dress, exposing her virginal white lingerie, Onyx repaid her trust. She ran her hand over the jagged seam, and the fabric somehow reknitted itself as she went, so that in a moment it was good as new. Though Angel still couldn�t move, she realized she could now speak, if only weakly.
�How did you do that?� she whispered.
"The Seraph chip. I put one in your neck just now, which has now dissolved into your body." Onyx reached into her bra and retrieved a silver piece of metal about a centimeter square, tapering to a sharp point on one side. "When its powers fully develop in you, you�ll be able to do quite a lot of things. For example, you�ll be able to tear men in half.�
�And you . . . trust me with that kind of power?�
Onyx laughed. "Oh, my sweet Angel. How could I not trust someone who belongs to me?"
Angel smiled. It was the truth -- her body and mind did belong to Onyx. It was easy to acknowledge. There was no boy or man or bank account who could take away her problems as quickly and forcefully as Onyx had. Why had she ever thought otherwise?
�Over the next few days,� Onyx continued, �your body will improve itself. You'll get bigger, stronger, and -- though it's hard for me to believe, more beautiful. And you'll be able to pull off a great many tricks. Let me show you one of my favorites.�
The raven-haired dyke grinned as she pulled up the frills of her black skirt. Her moist pussy was clearly visible through the sheer fabric, which was interspersed with opaque black flowers. Gradually, however, the flesh just above Onyx�s sex began to stir. As Angel watched in fascination, Onyx�s skin distended and coalesced into a small cylinder. The organ grew and grew, stretching the fabric forward, then poking out over the top. By the time it was finished growing. Onyx was the proud owner of a pulsating cock over a foot long, veined but delicate, looking as natural as any except for the fact that she still had a vagina where testicles normally went.
�Holy shit,� breathed Angel, her voice starting to return. She giggled. �Can I have a taste?�
�Please do.� Onyx discarded her panties, then scooted to the edge of the bed, allowing Angel to kneel diagonally from her. Angel leaned forward as Onyx traced the contours of her face and wavy blonde locks with her cock before returning to Angel�s soft lips, still smeared with Onyx�s lipstick. Angel enveloped her owner�s girlshaft slowly, smoothly, savoring the dark lime taste of her flesh. Before long, she was reduced to a more passive role, as Onyx roughly hammered her cock well past her the point where she would normally gag. But Angel�s throat seemed to reshape itself to accommodate her mistress�s thrusts, enabling a greater pleasure than before.
�Ungh . . . thanks, I needed this. It�s been too long. Ahh! . . . Enjoy your mistress�s gift, and sleep well.�
With that, Onyx pulled back into Angel�s mouth and released a torrent of girlspunk. It was warm, and tasted like lime, raspberries, and coffee. There wasn�t the slightest hint of the salt and grime that Angel associated with boys� cum, from her few encounters. She doubted she�d ever go back. Soon, Onyx pulled in for a kiss, sharing in her own spunk with unsated voracity. Long after all the cum was gone, they kept kissing, wrapped in each others� arms, Onyx�s warm cock pressed against Angel�s naked leg. More relaxed and content than she had ever been, Angel quickly fell asleep in Onyx�s strong embrace.
When she was sure Angel was asleep, Onyx disentangled herself, slipped out of the room, cast one lingering glance back at the girl, sighed, and softly shut the door behind her.