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Note: the author encourages unauthorised reposting, sequels, and blatant plagiarism of this work VENGEANCE By Wyrdey Even by the standards of funerals, the girl's had been quiet and sombre. Not too many had been in attendance - she had been far from popular, and no-one had gone out of their way to circulate the details to her fellow students. The priest had intoned with the requisite solemn dullness, and the eulogy had been short and flat with that first, still-unbroken wave of shock. Suicide is a wrenching form of death for those left behind, Teen suicide particularly so. There is a stigma, a guilt, a kind of silence noticeable in its wake that is absent from all other collective mourning. But, in this instance, there was something in addition even to that. Perhaps an eagle-eyed observer would have been able to spot it in the way that the audience's eyes remained sympathetically, yet curiously, attentive to the mother's words as she stumbled through the scribbled prepared lines of her careful eulogy, in the whisperings in quiet corners before and after the ceremony, in the quizzical frowns and vague glances. Everyone present had heard rumours, even before the girl's death. Fragmentary, murmured pieces about what had been done to the girl by some, and what others had done to hide it. No-one present knew the full story, nor would they ever, but its aftershocks were present in the uneasy silence of that room. ...But there was more than even that. People shivered involuntarily. A few glanced over their shoulder. All left as soon as possible, leaving that place with only a few oddly wilted flowers to show that they had ever been. Everyone could, on some level deeper than sane, waking thought, feel something that they could not name. Death is a greater trauma even than we suspect. We are like the butterfly which emerges from the cocoon only to be instantly captured by a spider web. The inexplicable, noumenous forces that comprise the mind can, in fact, as many believe, survive the death of the body. To them, physicality is only a shell, a limitation which is better cast off... or so it would seem. In fact, the smallness, the imperfection of the body, is the soul's safe harbour. Like a microscope, it makes the petty seem vast and thus screens the transcendental self from an awareness of the true nature of things. When a soul emerges from its shell, it is finally free of the constructs placed on its perception, free to observe and fill itself with all that is, has ever been, or ever will be. Nothing could ever be more cruel than that absurd, leering, infinity. Nothing could ever be more horrifying. When the mind truly grasps a world inhuman, meaningless, and infinite - a mind that will never be able to conceive infinity suddenly witnessing it - only one result is possible. An instant madness, a shattering, a destruction of all that once defined it. That is the true Death and Hell - that inevitable death of the soul which follows the death of the body. It is worse because, in that final cataclysmic instant, the individual realises that their death is a mercy, the only true mercy. Nothing can or should ever live in such a world as we blindly and unknowingly inhabit. It is only that blindness that prevents us from seeing that we are abominations in an abomination, and that our lives are a joke that we should crave to abolish. But a few souls last through this destruction, at least momentarily. A few - one in tens of millions, one in hundreds of millions - are driven by something that can laugh in the face of the abyss, if only for an instant. Love is not such a force, nor is duty, nor hope, nor fear, nor hate. The only force that can shield a hopelessly damaged, insane soul from its merciful oblivion is the strongest emotional force of them all - Vengeance. Vengeance of a refined purity and strength all but never experienced in the long history of man... To the supernatural wielder of such a vengeance, everything is possible. 1. - The Principal Martin sighed. Gary was a troublemaker, that was why he was in his office... again. He'd been caught smoking again, and - what was worse - there was good evidence that he'd been getting up to all sorts of improprieties with several naive young girls. The janitor was tired of the messes that they were leaving in the broom closet. It was only first thing in the morning, but already Martin felt old and tired. It was kids like Gary that made him hate being a Principal. The kid even looked like the stereotypical parent's worst nightmare: that stubborn, willful look on his petulant face, his shaved head, the variety of piercings, the skulls that decorated his black clothes... He'd even heard it rumoured that he had several tattoos. What could any fresh young thing possibly see in a delinquent like Gary...? Somewhere within, yet outside, the confines of the room, something watched... and smiled slightly to itself. This time he was going to give it to the kid. A solid chewing out and a least a month's suspension. He was going to call this lout's parents and let them have a piece of his mind. Maybe he could scare the kid straight... and, if not, it would at least feel good to finally vent his rage. "Now listen!" he actually yelled. "I am SO damn tired of your face! This school has hundreds of students and I've seen you in here more than any ten of them combined!" The kid just stared at the ground, his face sullen, his lip curled contemptuously. Martin didn't let that put him off - he had to hope he was affecting him on at least SOME level... "Now, I'm gonna call your parents and let them know exactly what's been going on here. The smoking, the drinking, the swearing at teachers, the fighting... the things that you've been getting up to with those girls..." He dropped the last one in there casually. That was his ace- in-the-whole: Gary didn't know they even knew about that, and there wasn't a parent alive who wouldn't be horrified at the thought that their kid might soon be slapped with a dozen paternity suits. Even Gary would know that. Martin stared at the student's face, watching for his reaction, and as he did, he felt a momentarily touch of chill - like a poke from an icicle - on the back of his head. He blinked for a moment, but didn't let a touch of migraine interfere with his staring down this kid. "...What do you think they'll have to say about that...?" he demanded, daring the kid to raise his eyes from the carpet and meet his gaze. Gary looked slowly up at him with those icy blue eyes and, holding his gaze totally steady, answered only with a barely noticeable twitch right at the very edge of his smirk. It was at that moment that Martin realised that Gary honestly and totally didn't care what anyone else thought or did. He couldn't believe it, it just seemed so... cool. Martin, still staring deep into those lazy, unwinking eyes, felt an odd flutter deep in his stomach. "Ah... Uh, yes, well, I... Ah..." he flustered, trying to recover from that unexpected episode. "Um... well, you've been very, like, um..." Despite all his floundering, Gary's stare was as icily still and steady as ever. For just a moment, as Martin clumsily fumbled for words, he found himself wondering where Gary's tattoos were... and what they were of. For just a brief glimmering of time, the image flicked through the recesses of his mind of Gary totally naked, staring intensely at him just as he was now, a red dragon gliding down one firm bicep, while a black ink skull grinned liplessly at him from a muscular chest just beginning to sprout a downy coating of hair... That fluttering was back, worse. It felt like his stomach was full of quivering cement. Not quite knowing why, he dropped his eyes from Gary's, yielding his gaze. He felt a furious blush suffusing his features, leaving his skin feeling strangely warm and tingly. He dropped his eyes further, though still feeling Gary's burning into him, down to where... It was such a small detail. A barely noticeable lump in the front of a pair of loose-fitting jeans. So why did it make him feel so... Martin's mouth was suddenly totally dry. He couldn't take his eyes off it. 'God! Don't stare!' he pleaded with himself, but he just couldn't help it. The tingling, the fluttering, the lump in his stomach was back, and it was worse than ever. He heard a ringing in his ears as they blushed an even deeper red. Oh God! What must Gary think? He had to... He had to find a way to stop thinking about... to stop imagining... He licked his lips. In his mind's eye, Gary stood there, naked. His gaze was commanding, though it made Martin melt before him. That cock bared and proud before him, so long and hard and... Gary cleared his throat. Martin finally managed to glance away, blushing furiously. "I... Um... I just..." he stammered, his voice squeaking pathetically, not daring to look his student in the eye. "I... I... I..." He suddenly realised that he had an erection more intense than he would have believed himself still capable of. His dick was threatening to bust his fly. He gave a little gasp and tried to cross his legs and scoot closer to the desk. Thank God the desk was there, otherwise he would have seen! He might STILL see... Martin's aching wood was just refusing to be hidden. "I... I... I... think you should go..." Martin managed to squeak, trying desperately to clear his throat. Gary gave the furiously blushing man a brief quizzical look - the closest thing to an expression since he had arrived - and stood up to leave. "Um... thanks for coming though... I'll, like, see you again soon..." Martin babbled as he sat there, desperately trying to conceal the incredible hard-on that this kid was giving him. He finally bit his lip as Gary walked out the door, his eyes hypnotically following every movement of the young rebel's ass. His fingers unconsciously stroked at his swollen tip, and, his eyes still swaying after the boy's buttocks, he gasped as he came explosively in his pants. Martin splashed cold water on his face. He was standing one of the school bathrooms, not wanting risk dashing into the staffroom and running the gauntlet of secretaries while he had noticeably jizz-stained pants. Fortunately, class was in and this bathroom was quiet enough for him to surreptitiously clean himself up. He stared hard at his face in the mirror. What had just happened? He'd been happily married for 23 years, he'd certainly never... Just the thought of being turned on by a student, let alone a male student, let alone THAT male student, made him feel physically ill. And yet... He desperately ran through every erotic memory, every sexy image, every previously favourite fantasy, and pretended to himself that they still turned him on at least a little bit. That they had at least contributed to his still-raging boner, that they had not somehow been eternally and irrevocably displaced by that one image of a Bad Boy with a tasty little prick. His mouth watered as the image of a deeply veined and knobbly cock danced through his head, Gary grinning down at him... His hand caressed his erection once again. He wanted so badly to run to a stall and just beat off to the thought of Gary's cock. He wanted it so bad that it hurt. God, he hated himself for that. He knew that he could squeal forever at that one image, rubbing himself raw endlessly and just imagining Gary laughing and jizzing on his happy face... He snapped, turned and dashed to a stall, his hand already thrashing around down the front of his pants. His face was turned heavenwards in bliss, his tongue forked its way over his lips as he moaned softly, his hand fapping hard in his lap. Several people had entered and left the room, but he hadn't bothered to stop for even an instant. Gary's cock had almost certainly been bared in this very room, perhaps even knocked against the front of this filthy toiletbowl... He slathered his lips at the thought. He wondered so many things - he didn't even know if Gary had been circumcised. How obvious were the purple veins under the flesh? Was his cock even big? He murmured and fantasised about Gary dropping his pants to reveal an uncut monster, marbled with thick, rippling veins, just enough knobbles to taste good coming in and out of... He suddenly gasped and became slightly more aware of himself. He was being watched. He could feel it. He looked up in horror - though not enough to stop loudly fapping - was one of his students peeking over the partition? He glanced about, his eyes red and wild, his tongue still playing hungrily across his lips. There was no one here. It was as quiet as the grave. But, no! He could FEEL that gaze burning into him, getting stronger and... He made an odd little gasping sound as it took him. The world itself seemed to move in around him in notes of crystal sound and light... Pulling him away, above, everything that was before... He tried to scream, or to flail, but was frozen there, the world so near yet infinitely far, a crouched little balding man, squatting with his cum-stained pants around his ankles as one hand grabbed at his cock like a throttle. [Do you want it?] a voice that was not a voice asked. He could not answer, but somehow already knew what it was offering him. [Would you like a shot at getting impaled on Gary's cock...?] He knew what it was teasing him with, the possibility that it was mockingly dangling before him, already knowing what his answer would be. [It would cost you... Everything] Visions of his wife, his family, his friends, his... LIFE... flittered through his tormented mind. [Would you do it? Give up all this... Just for that...?] ...And then came a mouth-watering flash of an image... Martin wanted to scream to stop himself, to demand that the shapeless, taunting thing leave him, but - with a horror beyond description - he knew that his decision would always go that way - his life, his loves, his very self on one end of the scales... being eternally outweighed by the wonders of Gary's cock. It seemed to laugh, and, with a crystalline ripple of satisfaction, he felt it move in, burning, twisting him. He felt it in the agony and ecstasy... changing him... All that he was or had ever been... The cubicle door swung open slowly. The tiny slip of a girl who wandered out had a strange, lost, yet somehow exultant look on her face. Her hands vaguely and unconsciously moved across her budding body, her girlish clothing. She stared hard at herself in the mirror, examining herself, thinking of the changes that would have to be made... A week later, and she's smoking behind the bikesheds. Or - at least - trying to smoke. It still burns her lungs and makes her cough and feel ill, but she has to keep up the image. She is almost unrecognisable from the sweet little girl of only a few days earlier. Adults and children alike stare and whisper as she walks past. Her former friends are shocked. She doesn't care. She has her eyes on the prize and so chose her new look. It doesn't look any more natural than her smoking does, however. Her dark make-up is childishly applied, her lack of experience obvious. Her clothes scream forced trashiness - the teensy top that shows off her slightly-too-girlish bra, the ridiculous hoop earrings that weigh down dainty ears, the oh-so-short skirt that gives all an easy glimpse of where her big, soft ass bulges through the large holes of her fishnet stockings. The way that she's always so obviously unsteady on her platform heels... She was aiming for trashiness, for wanton sluttiness, but didn't quite succeed. No one would believe for an instant that this little teenybopping kid had any kind of sexual experience beyond playing 'Doctor' in the playground a few years earlier. Even to a filthy-minded pervert, she'd just come across as a whiny, snotty-nosed little brat who apparently aspired to be a slut. A little girl playing dress-ups in a hooker's clothes. She was trying not to cough from the reeking cigarette smoke when suddenly HE was there... She quickly dropped the still-smouldering stub to the ground and awkwardly crushed it beneath one of her big heels, hoping that she looked all worldly and sophisticated. Oh God! Why did the butterflies in her belly have get so bad when she saw him...? Gary lit up his own cigarette and, after a moment, glanced over at the girl who was obviously desperately trying to seem nonchalant. "Have I seen you around?" he eventually asked in that cool, calm voice of his as he leant casually back against a wall. She tingled so much at just the sound of it. "Um, yes!... I mean - Yeah..." she said in her squeaky little voice, first gushing with enthusiasm, then trying to pull it back to match his level of calmness "My name's Tina" she ended lamely. "Gary", he replied, turning to stare off into the sky. God! - He was just SSOOOOOOOO cool! As the silence grew longer, she stood there, biting at one of her crudely lipsticked lips, trying to get up the courage to do what she'd rehearsed in her mind for her every waking (and sleeping) moment for the past week. The butterflies were getting steadily worse. "Um... I... I just... I... I mean... Could... Could I...?" she finally blurted out, her heart fluttering. He turned to look at her, a silent, questioning look on his face as he went for another puff. She swallowed heavily and hated herself for being just such a stupid nerd - she'd wanted him to think she was cool, but now he was probably thinking what a dumb little baby she was... She swallowed again and finally managed to squeak it out. "Can I... Suck your cock...?" she asked, and then gazed down, blushing furiously. God! She was SUCH a retard! He probably HATED her! He was probably just gonna LAUGH in her face, and she'd deserve it for being such a dumb little... "Okay" Gary said, taking another puff. She actually gasped and, still blushing, looked back up into his face. He looked quizzical, curious, but not disgusted... He reached down and slowly lowered his fly, while staring at her appraisingly, as if daring her to go through with it. She felt a cold, metallic hand squeezing hard at the pit of her stomach. Oh God! Was... Was he...? Was it...?!? ...And there it was! She gaped, speechless at the sight of her God. "Well, bitch," Gary drawled mockingly, "Suck it" She bit hard on her trembling lip as she moved closer, unable to wrench her eyes away from what was poking from his jeans... ready FOR HER! She had to actually slurp saliva back, her mouth watered so much. She dropped to her knees before him, breathless, feeling faint. It was RIGHT there! And just as perfect as she had ever dreamed! She ran a little tongue across her suddenly dry-feeling lips. She could do it now! Right now! Just lean forward and put it in her mouth! And suck and slurp and feel ever bump, every veiny ridge on her tongue! Fill her belly with his jizz! That cold feeling in the pit of her stomach was getting worse. She could hear the explosive pulsing if her heart in her ears, she was trying to hold back tears of joy, and she leaned forward... forward to take... She vomited explosively. She knelt for an instant in shock while Gary screamed an obscenity, she caught a brief glimpse of the thick gunk covering his shoes. Her heart still pounding in her ears, she glanced up, a warm trail of sick dribbling off her chin. Gary stared down at her in furious disgust as he zipped his pants back up and stomped off, trying to clean the foul-smelling sludge off him as he went. She just knelt there. She couldn't believe it. SO close and... and... She had never even imagined that it was possible to hate anything as much as she hated herself at that moment. But time cures all things - a year or so later, she did indeed become Gary's enthusiastic personal cumdumpster while he was bored over summer. He was slightly unnerved by her actually worshipful fixation on his cock, but she was fun to fuck anyway. She squealed like no-one outside of a porn film. Of course, he skipped town after hearing that he'd knocked her up. Triplets. She proved to be an adequate mother, at least by teenage drop-out trailer-trash standards, but her children grew up knowing that her mind was elsewhere. Her every free moment for the rest of her squalid little life was spent rubbing herself raw as she filled volume after volume with drawings, poetry, magazine pictures... moaning and fingerfucking herself at the merest memory of that perfect, impossible cock... 2. - The Guilty Paul Williams, the head of the school board, was at his desk filling out paperwork when it hit him. He shuddered unconsciously for a moment, as if a cold draft had just blown across the back of his neck. For a brief moment he looked up from his work. He almost felt as if he was being watched, watched by something which... He shook his head for a moment and glanced back down. That was when he almost thought he heard the distant slip of laughter, just for an instant. His pen worked it's way across the form, signing this, checking that... It paused at a line. He knew that he'd completed this form countless times before, but somehow he couldn't recall what he was supposed to do here. He rubbed at his eyes. It was very simple of course, this was where he... He glanced up at the header. Suddenly he couldn't even remember what this form was for. He read the opening description over and over, trying to jog some faint recollection, but the sentences just seemed to be a confusing jumble that become more and more of a blur as he read them. He had to stop at one word on his seventh read-through. What did that mean again? He tried too sound it out in his mind: f...fu...func... It was too difficult for him, and now... now, all the other words suddenly seemed to be becoming meaningless swiggles as well. Panic swelled in his chest - could he be having a stroke...? He grabbed blindly for the intercom on his desk, trying to summon his secretary, but found himself just staring at it, stupidly. He couldn't remember how to use it... In fact, what did it even do...? That unearthly chuckle seemed come again then, louder. Paul just sat there, white knuckles grasping hard at his chair, gaping, feeling it on some level as the pace intensified and every single piece of book learning he'd ever had was slurped from his mind. He forgot the name of his country... What 2+2 was... What WWII had been... What money looked like... That the Earth was round... What the Alphabet was... Soon Paul was the most profoundly pig-ignorant moron in the history of the world - utterly illiterate, unable even to count on his fingers. ...And then new knowledge spurted into his largely-empty brain... He suddenly knew how to keep a straight seam while wearing stockings... How a lady should demurely cross her legs when sitting in a skirt... Every detail of how to cook, and clean, and sew... How to mother children... How to pleasure your man after he comes home from a long, tiring day at work... Paul felt his new knowledge filling up his mind. He soon knew everything that a perfectly airheaded 1950s Housewife should know. ...And that was all... He stared around in horror, his throat constricted by panic until he could barely breathe. His work, his life, lay around him and... and... It was all too confusing for him to ever understand. He knew from his memories - so strange they seemed to him now - that he worked in a 'school'... whatever that was... though it seemed to be filled with frowny little darlings who just needed a good mother to... He almost screamed. His new, encyclopedic, knowledge would come in handy of course - and it would have to, because he'd never be able to add to it - after he lost his job and his wife had to become the breadwinner, his amazing domestic skills would make her very happy indeed. She'd come home daily to find him in her frilly apron, pulling homebaked bread from the oven, but always with that blank, dead look on his face... Jack Harrison threw himself at the ball. As usual, he was dominating football practice. He raised at foot to kick it and... That dizziness. That touch of ice. That sense of mocking laughter. He suddenly stared at the ball before him. His foot was raised, ready for a kick... but... He just couldn't seem to remember how. He hesitated comically in the pose of a man going for a punt for so long that he lost his balance and fell over. The ball was kicked away... the coach's voice was angry... His friends laughed... There was something wrong. Suddenly he realised that he couldn't even remember what he was trying to do... The rules, even the aim of football seemed to shrink away from him... It was a good thing that he'd always spent such little time studying - he lost it all in that instant anyway. Sitting up, eyes bulging with the realisation that something vast had been taken from him, his eyes fell on the sidelines and... That was the moment. He felt his new knowledge gushing into him. Suddenly, he knew how to really work a pair of pom-poms, how to ensure that his skirt flicked up just enough to give the crowd a glimpse, the ins and outs of every cheerleading routine in the state. ...But it didn't stop there... Sitting dazed on that muddy pitch, he suddenly became an excellent go-go dancer... with just the right wiggle of his hips, he could make his tiny tassel-skirt work magic... And he could work a pole with the best of them... and make those nipple tassels spin like pinwheels in any direction he wanted... and cage dance like a dream... and wiggle his ass and shimmy his chest to put Beyonce and Britney to shame... effortlessly pull off the sluttiest moves of any kind of dance imaginable... He gasped, his head now filled with an expert knowledge of erotic dance going back so far that he could do the Dance of the Seven Veils with a sensuousness that would have any straight man creaming his pants. He could do the shameless dances that slavegirls did for their masters in Ancient Babylon. He stared back and forth in confusion and horror... what was everyone else doing? How had it all seemed so easy to understand only moments before...? He felt the questioning glances of his friends boring into him. Exploding into tears, he ran off the pitch, the querying cries of his friends and the yells of his Coach ringing in his ears... He would be back on the field before long - cheering his former teammates from the sidelines. His inability to perform anything other than the female parts of the routine would be a problem, though... After his shocking ignorance became apparent and he failed highschool, he was forced to put his incredible talents to a different use... God, that ass was talented. Dylan Klyman was finishing up his homework. Despite his easy good looks and universal popularity, Dylan was also the smartest guy in his class - perhaps the school. It was a fact that drove the nerds mad with envy. He never studied, and was always head of the class. His store of knowledge was incredible... ...and that just made it taste even better... He glanced up as a breath of air blew a loose paper from his desk. Why did he feel that? Like something... He glanced back down at his work and... His face screwed up. What was this even talking about? He tried to read the title. CH... CHEM... CHEMIST... He shook his head. Gibberish! How could he have been working through this all this time and not noticed that it was all a misprint? He glanced over at his writing. Also gibberish. He felt the first pang of fear. Something wasn't right here... He glanced around, wondering who could have switched his book with this dummy full of meaningless scratchings. He turned back through the pages... this looked a lot like his handwriting... and it even had the same doodles in the margins... Someone had made an excellent copy of his... His forehead creased. What class was this for? He could remember the room, the other students, but whenever he tried to visualise a book or what was on the board, he only saw a blur. His hand shaking slightly, he moved to write something on one of the pages. if it turned out to be just another of those squiggles, then... His hand froze, hovering over the page. He couldn't remember... he couldn't remember how to... It was at that moment that something like loud, mocking laughter echoed through his mind. ...and suddenly his hand began to move again... He glanced down fearfully at these new words. They looked very different from the rest of his handwriting. Their style was totally distinct: all large and flowery and bubbly. He tried to read them. i... i... He sounded it out, out loud. i... i.. There was a big, cartoony loveheart above the 'i'. That seemed right somehow. i... i... i LU... i LLLLLUV.... i LLLLLLLLLUV U... They sort of seemed like words. It felt like a good thing to write, anyway. Why did he feel like the letters should be pink, though? ...And then the filling of his mind intensified... Dylan suddenly realised that he was a wiz with makeup - pink, glossy makeup... and big, sexy hair... and plucking his eyebrows... and shaving his legs... and waxing his snatch... and shopping... and pouting... and talking in cute widdle baby tones... and moving his hands carefully when he had superlong, sexy pink nails... and finding just the right thing to go with that sexy skirt... and instantly squirming in and out of the sluttiest little lingerie sets... and wiggling his ass just right under a tiny skirt... and leaning just perfectly to give boys a glance down his skimpy top... He murmured slightly, vaguely aware that something was wrong as the obsessive details of every cute boy in school, every aspect of the lives of the current tween idols, everything that had been written about boys and makeup and clothes and... sex (a dirty word!) that had been written in Seventeen or Cosmo for the past four years spilled into his open and eager mind, replacing the last of his once encyclopedic knowledge. Being now illiterate, except for a few cute little phrases like 'lol!' and 'luv U!' and 'xxxxooox' that he would use to try to fake reading comprehension, he'd have to be satisfied with just the pictures in magazines from now on. ...and how to totally french a boy ...and how to toss his hair... and how to giggle and flirt... and... His eyes swelled with horror - he KNEW this was totally wrong... ...and be an excellent fuck... and an assfuck... and tittyfuck... and how to suck cock in a cramped space... and how not to gag when a boy popped when you had it down your throat... He knew that he should giggle at the naughtiness if a boy ever even said a bad word like 'sex', even if he was on all fours taking it up the ass when it happened. Soon Dylan had only the full, impressive skillset of a stereotypical vapid 17-year-old bimbo slut. Even his knowledge of how to talk had been washed away by exaggerated teen-speak - he was now most actually ignorant and shallow Valley Girl ever. Unfortunately, it would turn out that his impressive knowledge of clothes and makeup and Britney and Justin Beiber wouldn't help him much on his tests - how people would stare when the once smartest kid in school couldn't spell his name properly in his pink ink and flowery letters on his testpaper. Every door would slam in his face so fast when employers realised that he was as dumb as a rock and vapid as a stripper ...Not to mention his dress sense... Sooner than most would believe possible, he'd be forced to trade in on his one undeniably marketable skill. That tight little ass of his would get fucked so raw. His johns would notice the empty, teary eyes of the ridiculous dumb whore sucking so skillfully at their cocks in backalleys, but they'd never care. With those big, brainless eyes, he'd be seeing the long, jizz-splattered years of the life stretching bleakly ahead of him. 3. - The Culprit Steve stood in the cleaning supply cupboard, moaning slightly as Heather blew him. God, that girl had some talented lips! He looked down into her big, sky-blue eyes, as she stared up at him. She seemed to be looking for signs of approval... Fuck, did she not know how good she was? Most girls as accomplished as her were smug little bitches with a lot of experience who liked to lord their talents over a guy. Could Heather just be a naturally amazing cocksucker? ...And, God, she wanted his APPROVAL... He moaned slightly louder as he realised that he could milk this. "Come on, girly, get into it" he said roughly, pushing her head into his cock. She obediently began bobbing her pretty little head harder, her eyes still shyly searching for approval. Shit - the girl was a fucking virtuoso... now if he could just convince her that... [God, you're predictable, Steve] Steve's thoughts fluttered briefly at the sudden voice in his mind. [It's all about getting your rocks off, isn't it? That's why you work out, why you play football, why you even bother to come to class... I knew that you were a horny little creep, but I never knew, never imagined, that anyone could have such a one-track mind. God, it's just pathetic] Steve's attention had definitely moved away from Heather, though he continued to stare down into her eager-to-please little face. What...? - He thought - Is... is someone talking to me? He was aware of the voice, but in some strange, removed way. Like it was whispering straight into the depths of his soul, and his body couldn't react to hearing it, because the communication was too deep, too subtle, for it to understand. [Yes, Steve... and you know who I am] He had to think for a moment at that. He didn't understand what was happening, who he was speaking to, not on any conscious level... but something deep, deep within him - too deep - for him to fully understand said: Look, I wanted to apologise for... for the... The Voice laughed - an unpleasant, tinkling laugh, like wind through animal bones and shattered glass. [No apology necessary, Steve, I can't expect a rutting moron like you to ever have understood what he was doing] Heather's tongue did something particularly ingenious and Steve gasped slightly. ...That laugh again... [God, your whole life really is built around fucking, isn't it Steve? You don't have any other real interests at all. I can't believe just how many impressionable young things you've been able to bed... Not that you use a bed that often. For you, a day without a good fuck must be a day without sunshine.] Steve winced with pleasure. The Voice sounded amused. [It's very shocking to me, really. I suppose it's the double standard. I mean, if a girl had your sexual history, she'd be the most reviled slut in town] Heather had sensed that she was loosing Steve's attention, and so was now bobbing her head harder in an effort to win it back. She was good, she was very good. Steve's head reeled. [Actually] the Voice said slowly and with that thick, syrupy amusement [that's not a bad idea] Suddenly a memory leaped into the forefront of Steve's mind - so strong, every detail so vivid, that it was like he was living it again. [Remember your first kiss, Steve?] Steve's eyes were distant. He was 12, his family had been on vacation in some sunny Summer town. The family next door had had a little girl... He couldn't remember her name, but he could remember just how good she'd looked in that billowy little sundress. Prepubescent, flat as a board, but there was just something about her... He'd resented her at first, wished that there was someone better to play with. But his big sister had been too 'grown-up' and snooty, and the boy next door had been a viciously freckled pudgy little geek. They'd just circled each other for so long, he and his first love, not speaking - but totally aware of each other. It was on the last days before dreaded school started again, that they'd finally spoken. He invited her to walk with him deep into those dark, luminously green woods... It was there, far from any eyes, that he'd suddenly kissed her. He hadn't even understood the impulse, but it had just come and been so strong... She'd kissed him back, just as vigorously, just as clumsily. He'd even put his hand down her... ...That pudgy little hand had even slipped down the front of his sundress. He hadn't known why, but it had felt good - even then - to have a boy's hand rubbing around his little nipples, though they were just nubs and he was still as flat as a surfboard. Eventually, that pudgy, freckled little kid had pulled away, yanking his hand out of his dress, and just dashed off... They'd left the next day, and he'd never seen his first love again... Steve blinked. Something was wrong there. His first kiss had been with... It was blank. [No, Steve] the Voice said, laughing [It's not just the memory that's gone - it's the event. Now your first kiss was with that fat boy who lived next door] No!... Steve cried in his mind... No! [You know it was, Steve. Don't you remember?] That horrible, horrible amusement again. [...And what about the day that you lost your virginity?...] Again, the memory, so bright, so fresh... He was 14. He knew that he was an early bloomer - he was already taller and more muscular than almost any other boy in his class. Much of his body was dark with hair. He also vaguely suspected (correctly) that he was very well-endowed for his age. He more than once noticed a jealous glance at the urinal or in a locker room. It had just been him and his sister at home. She was outside, messing around with some of her friends, he was in his room. He never noticed that his door was open just that sliver... It wasn't just his body that was deeply into puberty - recently his thoughts and feelings about girls had been taken to a new level, not just interest, not just attraction. Sometimes it felt like an obsession. One of his sister's friends downstairs had really stood out for him. 'Samantha' her name was. She was tall - statuesque, even - for her age, with long hair and dark eyes. Just the sight of her bugged him. She'd noticed, as girls always do. They'd talked, briefly, before his sister chased him away. She seemed to regard him somehow differently from her giggling companions. The underwear catalogue had been stealthily grabbed from the recycling a few days earlier and hadn't lost its interest quite yet. He was sitting on his bed, jeans and boxers around his ankles, jerking off madly to the sight of a girl who almost looked like... He'd never heard the door open, never heard her come in, he never even knew what made her come back into the house while her friends were outside. He'd just suddenly looked up and seen her standing above his bed. She must have walked so quietly. He'd just gaped for the longest time. He was about to try to make a grab for his pants, or at least try to cover his still-erect penis, when she'd sat down oh-so-casually next to him in bed. He'd been unable to do anything more than just stare as she picked up the catalogue and critically examined the girl that he thought looked kind of like her. "So you're interested in this kind of stuff, are you?" she'd asked in a mockingly casual tone. Her voice had been strange - sort of intense, sort of breathless, despite her apparent calmness. Her eyes had blazed. Her breasts had been nicer than the girl in the catalogue's. He'd... ...He'd still been so young despite his astonishingly developed body. Still had ribbons, and 'Hello Kitty' skirts, and cute little pink loveheart panties. His sister's boyfriend had been eager and less than gentle, but far from rough. He'd ruined his tiny pink skirt when he'd been penetrated with that first time. He'd given a little yip as his hymen tore and that thick, sticky arterial blood had trickled down his thighs and onto the pleated material flattened beneath his pert little ass. His little pink panties had been looped around one of his ankles as he lifted his legs high - his ballet lessons coming in handy finally - and made the strange sniffling, murmuring of a virgin in the process of becoming a woman. The first thrusts had hurt so bad that he'd tried to ask him to stop - but his mouth couldn't make more than a soft sigh as he'd surveyed the hard, hairy, masculine body riding him. ...Then the boy started to jerk his hips harder, the initial resistance of his conquest's tiny pussy having been overcome, and Steve had been surprised by the strange girlish sounds that came from his mouth. It sounded like he was being hurt, and - as such a tight little teenage virgin - he was, but there was that OTHER feeling as well... that feeling of... It was a miracle that no-one had come running when he squealed like that. It was that moment that changed his life. The boy had pulled roughly at Steve's cute bra - several sizes larger than anyone else in his class had, how they envied him - and popped his huge but incredibly pert and perky tits out to wobble along with every magical little thrust... WHAT!?! Steve was genuinely terrified now, but somehow couldn't show it, he couldn't do anything other than just stand there in that cupboard and get an incredible blowjob. THAT DIDN'T HAPPEN! It hadn't happened... but it had. He remembered every moment as clearly as any other incident from his life. He could no longer remember what had actually happened, but he was sure that it wasn't this. ...But it was!... He could remember curiously tracing his tiny pussy immediately afterwards, feeling how it had been changed by his deflowering. He could remember how his virgin blood had mixed with thick, oozing cum at the back of his pretty little skirt and he'd had to sneak them into the trashcan on bin night without his parents noticing. He could remember how he'd had to scrub desperately at the few spots that had spilled on his beloved unicorn bedspread. Steve 's eyes were glassy. He could feel it now - feel the thing moving forward through time, taking every sexual, romantic, or erotic memory in his mind and causing it to flare for a brief moment, like a dying star, before exchanging it for something quite different. He remembered how much he'd wanted the girls in highschool to notice him - that's why he'd worked out, and joined the football team, and... become a cheerleader, and gotten his ears and belly pierced, and bought all those clothes, and worked on his hair, and learned to strategically overuse makeup, and figured out how to wiggle his sexy little ass beneath that teensy skirt so that no male - student or teacher - could keep their eyes off it... NNNOOOOO!!! This isn't me! This isn't me! [Of course it's you, Steve. Look! - Everything's exactly the same...] A memory flashed into his mind. [You still like to jerk off...] He was sitting in the toilets, beating his cock furiously as he thought about how he'd just convinced Michelle Hudson to show him her tits behind the bikesheds. God, she'd even let him squeeze them a bit, and they'd just been SO FUCKING... ...Long and hard and veiny. He could even feel Tommy's pulse in it as he'd squeezed and caressed it with his long, vinyl nails. Mmmm - he could just imagine what a monster like that would feel like compressed and spurting between his creamy mountains of tit... He'd cum so violently that he'd covered his skirt in his cream. He'd wiped it all off as best he could with loo paper, but he'd still reeked of sex for the rest of the day. TOTALLY worth it!... NO! [You still had that little incident shortly afterwards...] Sarah was sucking him off vigorously when the guys had walked into the room. It was supposed to be empty, and he never found out why that group of their classmates had chosen that moment to return. Sarah had her back to them as they came in. She was very new to this, being such a little goody-goody until she had fallen hard for him, and was slurping and gasping and gagging as she tried to tease him into cumming. She didn't hear them as they stood there - five girls and three boys, staring goggle-eyed at the back of her bobbing head. He didn't tell her either - he was right on the edge, and kept her going until... She tried to pull back as he gushed in her mouth. She'd yanked her head back, spitting, and he'd hosed her face and cleavage and blouse down well with the remainder of his load. She'd sat there, still spitting, looking up at him. She hadn't wanted to try this and was clearly revolted at the outcome. "Thanks, Babe" he'd said, patting her on her dripping head as he zipped up and walked to the door, receiving enthusiastic high-fives from all three guys on his way past... ...And just knelt there, watching him walking away, gaping in horror at the people staring. Staring at him like he was some kind of filthy, rotten perversion. Their eyes were liquid with utter disgust. His mouth was still streaming, so he desperately swallowed and felt the thick, bitter, mucky substance slide down, feeling it coating the edges of his throat. All the students gave a loud, half-mocking cry of revulsion as they watched him swallow his mouthful of warm jizz. He could feel it sliding down the exposed upper half of his fat tits, seeping through the filmy material of his bra and making it cling coldly to his flesh, his nipples perking up impressively from the sensation. There was a dull splat from his cleavage as a large glob fell from his hair. It was dripping in thick clods from his chin, rivulets of white stickiness worming down from his thickly coated lips. He was amazed how fast it cooled, becoming sticky, clinging, slime. Unconsciously, his pink tongue slid out and tried to clean some of it off of his lips and chin. They all cried out again. One girl, who had always been such a friend to him, put her hand over her mouth and ran from the room, retching. He lost his last friends right then, the first time he gave oral to a boy. NO! [You have quite the porn collection...] From early puberty he'd searched, first stolen magazines, then the Internet, then adult video stores, for the very best pictures of the very best... ...Cock and ripped abs. God, he had a stack of magazines a mile high hidden in his closet behind his sluttier outfits. He especially loved Gay porn - they just understood how to capture that physique and those massive, mouth-watering... He especially liked videos of two massive ripped studs going for it like bunnies, their manly faces contorted as one POUNDED that lubed-up fucktool right up the other's... God, he'd frigged himself raw more times than he count just visualising that... NO! [You like to throw yourself around at football games...] He swaggered out with the rest of the team, playing it up for the cheering crowds. He stopped by a particularly busty cheerleader and gave her a kiss, not even trying to hide the way that his hand snuck up to squeeze at her mammoth... ...Penis. He let his hand openly wander down the front of the football player's pants, lifting his protective cup and squeezing at what was hidden within. His long legs were wrapped around the player's waist as he kissed the boy that had been sauntering past. Then he releases himself and, giggling at the way the boy is now running awkwardly due to the tasty stiffy that he's sporting, Steve turned back to the crowd, his jiggling overripe body spilling from his little cheerleader uniform. He'd intentionally chosen an outfit several sizes too small, and always rolled the tiny skirt up so that there was no chance that the crowd would be unable to see just how enthusiastically he shook his ass for his team. Only the scantiest underwear would do. Sometimes he didn't even wear a bra - he liked the way his bouncing nipples rubbed against the material, other times he wore a shelf bra to increase the chances that the vast wobbling orbs of perfect breastflesh bulging from his tiny top would bounce out entirely... NOOO! [You still like to talk dirty...] The game was over, as was most of the unofficial after-party, with only a few drunken guests remaining. He had some drunken bimbo cheerleader on all fours in front of him, getting her non-existent brains fucked out. She was still in her uniform, though her panties and bra were missing, and her bare and ample breasts were swinging about wantonly with every one of his powerful thrusts. She was obviously enjoying her drunken self - moaning loudly like a total whore. "Yeah, you like that, don't you?" Steve grunted as he pounded into her. "You like that big fucking cock fucking that sloppy little pussy of yours... don't you, slut? You like it, don't you? Yes you do! Take it! That's right, slut, this cock's gonna make you squeal. I'm gonna cum in your hot little cunt..." "...cum in my hot little cunt with your big fucking cock! Yeah, Stud! Yeah! Make me squeal! Make me squeal like a dirty, dirty slut!" Steve screamed, the tits hanging from the ruins of his cheerleader uniform almost slapping him in his sexy face. "I'm being fucked like a filthy slut! Oooooooh! I'm such a dirty slut whore, aren't I? YES I AM! I like it! I LIIIIIIIIIKE it! Oh, fuck! FUCK! Fuck my sloppy pussy harder with that hard cock! HAAARDER! Yeah! I want it! You're gonna cum in me, I WANT you to cum in me! Fill me up! Filllllll me up! Fill me up with your cum..." His performance was attracting much attention from the drunken players still around. They crowded around, laughing at the cheerleader's begging... he could see cameraphones filming him... hands writhing down pants as they jerked off to the sound of him. "...God, I'm a just a shameless horny cumdumpster, aren't I? YES I AM! Fuck, I'm just a dirty, shameless whore who just loves a big fat cock filling her up! My pussy likes it! My pussy likes it! Yes it does!... Yes it doooooooooooooes!..." NOOOOOOOO! [You still enjoy threesomes...] He was in Heaven! - He couldn't believe that he'd convinced these two smoking hot girls to come home with him. They were lying there, naked, occasionally teasingly making out with each other, but more often paying attention to him. Coming in close, those achingly sexy looks on their faces, they'd... ...He was on all fours again, trying to scream his pleasure around the fat cock being thrust hard down his mouth. The incredibly muscled stud behind him pulled hard at Steve's hips as he thrust so hard into his blazing pussy. Being fucked hard AND getting a mouthful of cum at the same time! As both studs started to cum explosively, the incredible size of their balls not having lied about the quantity of jism that they could produce, Steve thanked God for this moment. Cum started spraying out around the seal between the fat, swollen cock and his soft womanhood, splattering his ass and legs - and the same time, he felt the inexpressible rapture of jizz beginning to drip from his nostrils and chin at the same time. He was in Heaven! NNNOOOOOOO! [You love quickies...] He was so glad the girl had actually followed him into the toilet. They clutched at one another, making out while tearing at each other's clothes. He couldn't even remember her name, they'd only met at the bar a half hour ago. They squeezed into a toilet cubicle, Steve leered as he popped her tits from her bra, his other hand quickly reaching down and undoing his belt. It was the anonymity that turned him on, the fact that, even though he didn't know this girl's name... ...Here he was, on his knees in front of him, blowing him in some filthy restroom. Who would do that? Only a shameless slut. He moaned loudly, his lips locked hard around the boy's cock, he thrashed his body back and forth convulsively, slamming it as far down his eager little throat as he could. His boobs wobbled energetically beneath him, his nipples as big and hard as pebbles, tingling at the thought of what an utter slut he was being. The delighted boy moaned softly, but was drowned out by Steve's constant ecstatic mewling. His ass pounded hard against the toilet door with every one of his thrusts, he could feel its stickiness against the firm, jiggling ass that popped out beneath his scanty little clubwear skirt. God, he never got off better than when he was doing some random guy in public. Hungrily slurping down some stranger's cum in a public toilet was even better than all those times at the beach, when he and his barely-legal bikini had convinced some guy to let him stick a hand down his shorts and give him a handjob behind a sand dune. NNNNNOOOO! [You love Wet T-shirt Competitions...] God, the tits on these girls were incredible! They were dressed in only that tight little white shirt and and a pair of teensy black thong panties. They giggled stupidly as the smirking MC poured water down their fronts, their... ...He giggled as he felt the freezing cold water perking up his nipples. He glanced down and cooed with exaggerated sexy delight at just how see- through his cheap little shirt had become. He pouted kittenishly at the roomful of big, sexy boys staring in disbelief at his mammoth knockers as they jiggled oh-so-attractively for their viewing pleasure. He bit at one of his fat, bubblegum glossed lips. Just the feeling of their eyes burning into his flesh was almost getting him off right then and there. He wondered if he'd be able to talk any of them into coming home with him...? He rubbed his legs together, feeling that his panties were now as wet his tiny shirt, but from a different source... NNOOOOOOOOO! [You're a horny idiot when drunk...] Steve was drunk and chuckling as he snapped shots of his erect dick on his cameraphone. He was somehow sure that all the Cheerleaders would just get SO hot when they saw... ...The photos of him squeezing his immense, creamy, bare tits for the camera, caressing them, perking up his big nipples... He giggled brainlessly to himself as he sent them off to the entire football team. NNNNOOOOOOOO! [You hate Birth Control...] "What d'ya mean it's mine?" Steve smirked. "I bet you can't even count the number of people who might have knocked you up..." ...Steve grimaced as he sat in that little clinic, legs spread wide in stirrups, disapproving glances from all present. He couldn't believe that he'd had to get ANOTHER Abortion! - That made four in the the last few years. But, still, he just LOVED the feeling of a nice bare cock just RAMMING him, you know? He hated it when guys insisted on using condoms... Steve stood there, barely a moment had passed, Heather was still sucking away at his cock as well as ever. He couldn't seem to make his body respond to the horrors that he was experiencing. He couldn't even stop himself from moaning like an idiot from Heather's efforts. A single tear fell from one glassy eye. It's a dream! It's a dream! He screamed hysterically to himself in his head. That horrible, horrible laughter again. It seemed louder now, somehow closer. [...And, most importantly..] the Voice said, somehow seeming to come in close to him. Possibly sped up by his hysteria, Steve realised that he was about to cum. [...You're just obsessed with blowjobs] ...And Steve was suddenly kneeling in a dirty closet, his fat lips locked around a vast, sweaty member that was explosively pumping hot jism into his eager little mouth. He sucked and swallowed until the boy expertly jerked his hips back and Steve's lips were yanked off the member with an audible 'pop'. Warm, sticky gunk sprayed across his face and body. The boy standing above him cleared his nose before mumbling "Thanks, Babe". the stranger zipped up and walked out, leaving the closet door swinging open behind him. Steve just knelt there. He now somehow knew that his name was 'Stacy' and he was the school - the town - slut, he knew that his hair was ass-length and tacky bleach- blonde, he knew that his tits were a flagrantly fake 'F' cup from a cheap boobjob, he knew that he had a sleazy 'tramp stamp' just above his ass, he knew that it - along with most of his ass and fake titties - was visible in every piece of clothing that he had, did, or would ever own, he knew that he'd been fucked by more men than he could remember... And he knew that he loved it all. He wanted to scream and scream and never stop screaming. But he just knelt there. The burn from between his thighs was incredible as he listened to the sound of drops of cum falling off his panting, exposed, overdeveloped body - he watched as they melted into the layer of dust and grease and dead insects that was now coating his knees. He could feel the thick stickiness of the cum dribbling down his cleavage, slowly drying on his face, soaking into his bottle-bimbo locks. He could taste its somehow perfectly-familiar stale bitterness as it sat in thick globs on his tongue. It filled up his mouth, and still drizzled from between his perfect cocksucker lips... He felt like a filthy, disease-ridden, five-dollar whore, the kind who made her living by sucking off bums in inner city backalleys. ...And that made him feel so fucking hot... A delicate little girly hand with inch-long pink vinyl nails slipped down beneath his teensy skirt and began to rub desperately at his overused cunt - brownish, loose and resembling that of of an elderly whore. If he'd been wearing panties, they'd have been soaked. As it was, slimy clods of moisture trickled down his legs. ...And sitting there, madly frigging herself, Stacy somehow felt the changes move beyond the realm of memory and into her future. That football scholarship that would have been coming Steve's way was gone now, of course. Stacy was about to receive a very different offer. The pictures that Stacy had sent the Football team of her immense, fake tits had spread like wildfire across the Internet. She was now the number one result of an image search for 'Tits', 'Boobs', 'Knockers', or even 'Melons'. That, along with a spectator's video of her cheer routine and subsequent foul-mouthed sex had - unbeknownst to her - made her quite the Internet celebrity. A lot of companies were trying to track her down - and soon one would. She would be criminally underpayed for her work, and most of what she did get would be stolen by her sleazy manager, but that wouldn't matter to her. In that first 'performance' of hers - in an even more abbreviated cheerleader costume than her high school one and pleasuring five obscenely well-hung guys at once - as she screamed and squealed orgasmically about what a filthy slut she was and begged to be fucked harder, everyone would be able to tell than she wasn't calling upon the acting skills that she didn't have... she was just living her dream. Being paid for a life of endless fucking. As Stacy began to cum, slowly and ecstatically swallowing her sticky mouthful of manhood down as she did so, she heard that all-pervasive, all-mocking laughter one last time... fading as if into an infinite distance... *********** Even the forces of Vengeance can't hold back the blackness forever. The mad, monstrous thing that had once been a sweet, wronged girl looked at what it had done, the deep tears that it had wrought on the reality of those who had raised its wrath, and it laughed. Its insane, terrifying laughter bubbled up and out of it until it became all that it was, and still cackling like a scratched record, it finally allowed itself the luxury, the ecstasy, of dying.