Lucian, Ch. 8. free porn video

Lucian, Chapter Eight. Why think you're a woman when all you have are her moves and her make up? And why think you're a man when even your balls have gone? Lucian Gaines inhaled the sweet spring air. It wafted in through an open window making his nose wrinkle as he closed his eyes. His ears caught birdsong and distant voices. Opening them again, Lucia Gaines looked around. Her room was impeccable - from the pale-pink flowery covers on the double bed to the crystal vase she'd filled with white-and-yellow daffodils. Everything felt warm and welcome. He ran a light hand over her bed to brush away an invisible wrinkle. Then she sat down with a sigh, stretching his legs and massaging them slowly. Her smooth skin and firm long muscles slid through his fingers. Running practice had slowed down to three times a week since his graduation. But she'd run all through winter, often ten miles or more. He picked up a silver scrunchie from her side table. Gathering his long curly hair with an expert twist of her hand, he created an ash-blond ponytail and let it dance on her shoulder blades. Everyone loved his hair, just like they loved Charlie's. Lucia looked at the second pillow on the bed. It still showed the slight dent where Charlie's sleeping head had been resting. They shared the room - she and he; he and she. It was an unusual settlement at Norton's Academy of Excellence, but amongst all the unusual things that had happened, this was maybe the least remarkable. Lucian's mind refused to go back to those horrible autumn days anymore. It was the only way to stop her reoccurring nightmares. But sometimes it just didn't work. Seeing a drop of blood could make him retch; the mere picture of a male cock in erection sent bile up her throat. That awful night the girls whisked him away, after mercifully injecting a sedative. Thank God the limousine never left. Charlie held him all the way home. Nico told him later that she'd cleaned his blood-splattered face and body with her dress soaked in champagne from the car's bar. He woke up the next morning, close to noon. Charlie was still there, sleeping in a chair beside his hospital bed. The bloodstained dress stuck to her pale skin; her hair looked a mess and her make up was in ruins. Lucian felt dizzy, but he knew where he was and why. Horrible images returned - even sounds and smells - and the sickening taste of blood; his father's blood. His hand crawled from under his blanket until it rested on the girl's knee. Her eyes flew open. "Luce," she croaked. "You're awake." Jumping to her feet she leant over the bed and grabbed his head - kissing him deeply. "Thank God," she panted, her violet eyes dancing up and down as she took him in. "How do you feel?" His heart raced from the sudden attack. "I'm fine," he said - or rather tried to say through his parched throat. "Water!" she cried out and fetched a glass, filling it from the tap. He drank as she watched with an ever-bigger smile. "What happened?" he asked after emptying the glass. "You... you almost bit his cock off!" she said in awe. "There was so much blood - and screaming." He shook his head. "I know that," he said. "But what happened after? Are the police here?" She looked confused. "I don't know," she said. "Should they? I've been with you all the time - in the limo and here. I was so afraid." He looked at her. She was a child, a lost child with raccoon eyes from her smudged make up. "How did you get me here?" he went on asking. "In the limo," she said. "Thank God it waited for us. Nico gave you a shot and the driver carried you. You looked dead, covered in blood and vomit and things..." Her voice petered out as her eyes stared into the awful memory. They shone with moisture. "I was so afraid," she murmured, covering his hand with hers. Then her awareness returned and she jumped to her feet again. "I'll call Dr. Kurtz!" she exclaimed, turning to the door. "Charlie," he said. She stopped. "Thank you." Her smile washed away the pale tiredness. "I love you," she said. He held her gaze - the sweet wide-open eyes and the smiling mouth. "Take a shower and go to bed," he finally said. "I'm fine. Really." *** She loved him, she'd said. Lucian recalled Charlie saying she loved him on the way to the embassy - and later, as she walked him across the hallway to the horrible room. She loved him and yet she'd prepared him and led him like a lamb to be slaughtered - leaving him alone with the asshole. Ah well, love - what did he know about love? Remembering as she lie on the bed in his room, hearing the sounds of spring through the window, Lucian wondered what really happened during that silly charade they called her graduation. If one ever could be ready for an ordeal like that, she was sure he hadn't been. Even now, months later, his identity kept shifting. Was he Lucia, or was she Lucian? And did he have to choose? Or was it just social pressure urging her to decide? How do you decide you're female or male if you feel you're both - or none at all? Charlie loved him - or did she just love the her in him? They'd talked about who she thought he/she was, but the girl hated the topic. She said she didn't care, it wasn't important. Lucia or Lucian, she loved him she said... or her. Maybe she was right. Maybe the whole gender thing only mattered in the outside world, where you were pressured to choose - or rather: where people chose for you. Maybe out there you needed an identity. Here at Norton's they all knew who they were, whatever they were - and so did he... she. He was the tall thin blond creature that knew how to run and jump a gym horse, do a split or make a summersault. Like all the others he knew where to put his feet and how to graciously bend his wrist. Sometimes he wore her war paint and was the one with the decadent eyes and the red, greedy mouth - the one with the silver cascade of hair, the never-ending legs and the albino skin. They photographed him as her - and he'd learned to love the lights and the fuzz, the dressing up and the pampering hands. Sometimes she posed with Charlie, acting outrageously, just having fun. He was one half of the famous Ice Queen couple. Lucia chuckled at the nickname the Bobs and Barbs gave her and Charlie. "We might look like ice, but it's a smoking hot ice, indeed," he murmured, feeling a moist heat build in her crotch. Damn, Charlie, where are you? You're late today. Being alone had become awkward after living at the Bobs' dorm, and after all that had happened later. It felt awkward now. He, once the champion of solitary life, felt lonesome and incomplete when Charlie wasn't around. Lying in bed alone caused restless nights and repetitive dreams. They were dreams of hard meat and splattering blood, choking throats and pushing hands. The ones you wake up from bathing in sweat. Norton's didn't believe in shrinks. Dr. Kurtz told him so a long time ago. They believed in going on; in discipline and repetition - and in doing as told, of course. But Lucia knew it wasn't true; there were many shrinks at Norton's: her fellow-students. Their cure was practical and hands-on. His time at the Bobs' dorm had saved him, just as being with Charlie kept him sane right now. She was hardly ever late. He hated it when she was. Being alone made Lucia think; and when she did that, his brain ran in circles, starting from the incredible accident of meeting her father like that, then going on to Parker's explanation and from there to the question how to go on. After waking up from his sedation, he told no one whose cock he'd almost tore off - that it was his fucking father's. He didn't tell Charlie, nor did he tell Dr. Kurtz when she came by to examine him. The doctor told him that the man was all right; or at least as all right as could be expected. He might even fuck again. They hadn't taken him to a hospital - the embassy ran a small medical facility. But when Lucian asked her about possible charges and police involvement, she told him nothing - just to rest and trust that everything was fine. He was save, she said, and gave him a shot before leaving. He sank into a slumber that was like bobbing on a warm water lake - sinking down and rising up. Memories about that time were vague and spotty; there were people around his bed - Kurtz of course, and the Barb nurses; sometimes Charlie, smiling. Things were done to him. They washed and massaged him, and when he was really awake they fed him liquids through a straw. His crotch was tended to as well. When he finally woke up, he saw that the metal plate had gone. He wore a tight latex thong now, and when he peeled it aside all he saw was a wide Band-Aid under his penis. The sight of it made his anger return - but it was a powerless, sedated anger, dripping away when he focused on it. The next evening he'd been released, but they wouldn't let him return to the Bobs' dorm. Instead they took him to a four-bed room where Charlie and Nico welcomed him. All his clothes and things were there, and Charlie fuzzed over him until he was properly installed. The next morning he insisted on seeing Parker, but they told him she was away on business. Charlie took him to the Barbs' breakfast room instead, where he found six other girls. They welcomed him with hugs and a lot of questions about his health and wellbeing. It felt as if they meant it. Next to his plate laid an array of pills in a new spectrum of colors. He picked them up and put them in his small purse, ignoring the surprised looks of the girls. His next stop was Mamselle. He learned that she would be his counselor until his next graduation. He'd obviously made his first one. "You might use me as your tutor as far as your studies go," she said, sounding much less French than she did in class. "But you should know that my role might be bigger, if needed." Her smile had always been subtler than the Smile. And her dark eyes never took part in it. But her small white hand was on his, suggesting a hint of a squeeze. "I have a question," Lucian said. "Of course," she said, smiling and leaning back. "I hope you have many." "I think my graduation has been rushed," he said. "Compared to other Barbs I'm not nearly ready." Mamselle's smile evaporated. "Why would you think that?" she asked. "Look in the mirror, ch?rie. You are the most beautiful second grade girl we had in ages." Her answer should disappoint him for its shallowness, but he knew it was more than that. It was a ruse to evade a real answer. Which of course was disappointing by itself. He rose. "You're leaving?" she asked, rising with him. "But we haven't even started." He shrugged. "If this is your counsel," he said, "I think we can save us a lot of time this coming year." She blinked. "Je suis d?sol?," she murmured, offering her excuses. "You're right; you deserve more. Please don't leave yet." After they sat down again the petite woman fuzzed for a minute with the perfect hem of her immaculate skirt. "Lucien," she finally said, "you must be aware of the battle that is going on over your head - a battle between Ms. Parker and your parents." "About my tuition," he said. She stared for a bit before going on. "That too," she said. "There is more?" he asked. She hesitated before going on. "Much more," she finally offered. "But it is not for me to tell you, even if I would know all the details - which I don't. You should talk with the headmistress." "She's out," he said. "She'll be back tomorrow and she'll see you. But please," she said, while rising. "Take your pills - no need to risk your health just because of empty principles." *** Next morning he sat opposite Parker. Everything was as always - the desk, the white blouse and the severe suit. The owlish glasses were in place too, their dark rims circling abundantly made up eyes. He remembered reading in Beauty class how spectacles make your eyes smaller, and how make up helps. She certainly compensated, he thought. "That was quite an adventure, Lucian dear," Parker started, her Smile in place. "I'm sorry you had to go through that without warning." An odd way to put it, he thought, considering he just followed her orders. Why would she be sorry about something she made him do - warning or no warning? She'd never been sorry about that before, had she? Then the answer clicked. "You knew he was my father," he said. "It was no accident. You sent me there because he was there. I didn't know and he wouldn't either. But you knew." She looked straight at him, her eyes in the middle of her glasses. "If so," she said, "why would I do that? Why would I set you up? For what purpose, you suppose?" As a typically egocentric adolescent it was hard for Lucian to see others as the possible target of her manipulations. It must be about him. So why did she take the risk of maneuvering him into a position to be deflowered by his father? Why his father - any guy with a cock would have sufficed, wouldn't he? "I don't know," he finally said, feeling on guard. "Because you're sick?" Parker grimaced. "I am quite sane, thank you," she said, slipping some ice into her voice. She let her words follow by an awkward silence. "Honey," she then went on, "would you ever even consider that I might have done it for your benefit?" She was right of course - he would never consider any of her actions to be to his advantage. Why would he? And why would she? From the very first time he met Parker he'd seen her as his enemy, in league with his mother. Everything she did was to her own advantage - or Norton's, obviously. "Why would you?" he asked, aware of how flat his voice fell into the silence. She sighed. "I hear that often, darling. It must be something in my attitude." She grimaced ironically. "But please believe me: everything I did this time was for your benefit - and Norton's. You see: when your parents broke their contract, they duped you, because leaving this school will kill you. Your mother knows that. The outside world will eat you alive, and I can never allow that to happen." He watched in silence, his eyes fixed on her moving lips. What she said was true, probably, but why would he believe her? By sheer fixation he missed part of her next line. "...not just you they dupe," she said. "We have eight students who could never afford this Academy, but who would - like you - be without a chance in the outside world. So we finance part of their tuition from our paying students." While talking, Parker rose from her chair. Walking around her desk she approached Lucian. Her suit was impeccable, he thought - such a pity of her legs. She stopped in front of him. "Part of your money, Lucian, has been used for Drew and Harper's tuition. Of course they had to work in addition, but without your money it would never have been enough." Again, was she telling the truth? Did she ever tell the truth, and did it matter? He knew what Drew's own contributions had been, and he was sure they were forced upon her. What about Harper, and who else? Nico, Mac and Honor were working students too. What chores did they do - just waitressing and hair styling, tending the grounds? He remembered the amount of his tuition mentioned in this same room - two hundred thousand dollars. There were more paying students like him, and still Drew had to whore herself out. Maybe Mackenzie did too, and Nico? When he thought of little Honor, he couldn't avoid Charlie coming to mind - and the blowjob she gave on the lawn, at the party. But her parents paid for her, didn't they? "I owe you an explanation," Parker then said, folding her arms before her chest and looking down on him. "My lawyers assured me we had a good case, but it would take years to make your father pay. Norton's and all our work would be destroyed by then." The woman sounded... upset, Lucian thought. She sounded angry and passionate. Cool, arrogant Parker had a heart? Or was it just another show? She turned and walked to the window, looking out over the grounds. Then her gaze turned back to him, lights flashing from her glasses. "Nobody destroys my work," she hissed. "Nobody." The new Parker scared him even more than the old one had. "So I used you to make your father pay," she said. "I apologize for not informing you or asking your consent; there was no other way." She apologized, he thought - she apologized again. Why? She used him without asking, but what was new about that? Why feel sorry now? "We filmed what he did to you," she said. "Your father. And what you did to him." A quick smile touched her face. "We never expected you would bite him like that, honey. I guess we keep underestimating you. But it didn't hurt our plan - to the contrary." A plan? "You blackmailed him with the video," he said. She came closer, wanting to cup his face with her pale soft hands, but he withdrew. "Your daddy, Lucian," she said, stepping back, "doesn't deserve your loyalty. He is the sickest version of any sick macho you might ever meet: a frustrated homophobe who really is a closet homosexual himself - a hypocrite caught in the strings of his upbringing, his profession and his social circles. I'd pity him if he weren't taking it all out on you - and us." Lucian recalled how his father took him to a strip joint with his friends, pushing banknotes between fake boobs and cheering as the girls gave him a lap dance. He remembered his blunt flirting with women anywhere. And he remembered the screams from his mother's bedroom. They'd been from passion, hadn't they - from making love, for sure? "But he can't be a homo, he hated them," he objected; there was hesitation in his voice. "He bullied me into calling them faggots too, and all kinds of other names. He beat me if I wasn't enthusiastic enough. And he beat me for not being like him - not being macho enough, cruel and aggressive. And when he was home, he always made love to my mother. I know - I heard them." Parker stared at him. "Love?" she said in a whisper. "Really? Well, whatever; our plan worked: your tuition has been paid in full; even more than full. You'll never ever have to fear him again." 'What about fearing you?' he asked himself. Then he rose, pleased again to see he was taller than she. "You got what you wanted by using me, and putting me in harm's way," he said, waving away her protest. "I still have nightmares. I want compensation." Her eyes narrowed. "I can't let you go," she said. "I told you; it will kill you." He laughed and saw it confused her. "I won't leave," he said. "I stay. But I stay on my conditions." "You want your old room back?" she asked, producing a careful shadow of the Smile. "And stop doing chores? That's fine with me. I guess you earned it." He mirrored her Smile. "Didn't you just say that you keep underestimating me?" he asked, shaking his curls and bending a wrist as he bit a fingernail. Parker looked puzzled now. "I'll make my own schedule," he said. "No more Grace classes. And no more fucking French." Parker shrugged. "Talk with Ms. Fontaine," she said. "And I want Charlie in my room - permanently." He added. Then he leant into the woman. "And no chores for her." *** Charlie moved in and she was like a twirling Tinkerbelle, showering pinkish dust on every niche and crack of the room and its furniture. They kissed and made love on the bed, on the floor and in the shower. And then they started on the bed again. The girl was insatiable. Everywhere she touched and licked and prodded him, he got charged - and every little charge kept adding up until he screamed from overload. She taught him where he lived - taking him to secret niches that hid new treasures. Of course he knew that after each glorious come another chip of his 'him' would go missing. But he had no intention to go look for it. Part of his deal with Parker was a deal with Kurtz. Nothing would ever be done to him anymore without asking, and explaining the nature of the planned medication and its effect. He always had the right to refuse. Of course she could betray him whenever she wanted - his medical knowledge was non-existent. But just having the talk gave him the necessary illusion of having a grip on his fate. It was more than he ever had in his entire life, wasn't it? Back at his room, tired of waiting for Charlie, Lucia discarded her shirt and peeled the tight top off his chest. Running a slow finger down her ribcage he savored the softness of her skin. He was still as lean as ever, but the ribs' contours had softened, as had the flatness of his belly. Pulling down his shorts, she cupped her shrunken penis, resting manicured nails on the smooth, tight skin below. All Barbs had what she'd once thought was exclusive to Drew: no visible testicles and a tightened scrotum - smooth and spotless. The seam where they'd stitched his skin could only be seen up close - or felt when you ran your fingertip along it. It was a feeling that made her shiver. Becoming a Barb ushered in new triggers of sensuality, it seemed. It also came with a new set of esthetics. Most Barbs loved their clean, tight underbelly - and to show it off. They might gossip and giggle about giant male penises and huge hairy balls hanging down in wrinkled sacs. But they would recoil in horror at the thought of having those themselves. Lucia remembered Harper's wailing over his three-inch cock - calling it an elephant's trunk as he tramped around the Bobs' dorm waving his arm in front of his crotch as if it were a swaying trunk. Lucian chuckled. Then she wondered when the boy would ever graduate. Of course he saw him often, but she'd love to have him for a real - well - sister. Shedding her ballet shoes, he stepped into the shower. The water was hot and sweet, cascading over him as her slow hands kneaded the shampoo into his hair. She loved to shower, letting his hands move over her firm, slick body. Dr. Kurtz had explained how the right combination of pills and injections, diet and gymnastics gave her this body. Every student had his own schedule, safely stored into her computer. And, she'd said, touching his arm, there was a turning point in her treatment after which it would be unhealthy to stop - even risky. It came as no surprise to Lucian that he'd passed that moment, and without warning. "So you did it again," he'd said. "Turning me into a girl without asking." Kurtz had shaken her head at that. Most boys, she said, wanted to become girls. But it was her heart- breaking duty to tell them they could never become real women. They should be proud, though, of what they could become: a unique and gracious gender that was often envied by women - and admired by men. 'And hated, humiliated and ridiculed by most others,' he thought. He told Kurtz that he didn't want to be a woman. She nodded and said she knew. She apologized for having ignored his wants and needs. His mother had been very clear, and they'd supposed she knew best. "I guess we followed too eagerly," she said, smiling her crooked smile. And I guess the money played a big role too, he thought, reflecting her smile. Running his slippery hands over puffy nipples Lucia recalled Kurtz's short lecture on enhanced sexuality. "You see," she'd explained while he lie naked on her examination table, "to be a happy human being you need an active and successful sexual life. Most people think black-and-white about sexual gratification. They think men can only be happy having this huge apparatus that fills with blood to get hard and penetrate women's vagina's, where they spew as much creamy stuff as they can." She smiled while flopping his limp little member with her latex-clad fingers. "Women, on the other hand," she went on, " should have a wet, slippery entrance. It should always be tight, but easily accommodate the giant intruder. If they are lucky, they climax before the man does, but in many cultures he won't wait for that." While talking, her fingers wandered down Lucia's new absent scrotum, and slipped into his anus where she slowly fucked her sensitive walls. "We at Norton's," she proceeded, never stopping her ministrations, "know that you don't have to despair when your penis can't be a hard pulsing spear." She smiled at the word and pressed deeper. "We also know that you don't need a woman's vagina to get well-fucked and come a lot." She hit the spot he knew was his enhanced prostate; and he saw her penis jerk and gush a glob of sperm. Closing his eyes Lucian felt a wave shake her body; he gasped, and Kurtz chuckled, slowing down her prodding. "I could do this for hours, you know," she said. "And you'd never stop climaxing." She chuckled again. "But I bet you know that by now." Her finger once again tickled his prostate, making her penis weep some more. "In truth you can be a more perfect pleasure-creature than most women or men could ever be," she said, pulling her fingers out and cleaning them on a paper towel. "But you have to change mentally and physically to appreciate it." Back in the shower Lucian let a curtain of hot water cover her face. He rinsed out her hair and showered the soap off his body. The intense memories, combined with the way Lucia caressed and fondled his body left her hot and aroused. Drying her skin with a huge fluffy towel brought other, more anxious feelings. Why wasn't Charlie back yet? She needed her. He longed for her soft lips and expert fingers; her sweet body, her wonderful smile. Dressed in a satin robe, he blow-dried his hair while she brushed it. The girl was an hour late now. Grabbing a thong and slippers he dressed and went out into the hallway. The corridors were empty, she saw; most students would be in their dorms and rooms, or maybe to the dining hall already. That's where Lucian went, but all she found were two Barbs dressing the tables. No, they hadn't seen Chuck. It was a nickname, chosen because it so funnily contrasted with petite, quicksilver Charlie. Lucia visited the Barbies' dorm, only to find Nico. "An hour?" she asked, frowning - then she smiled. "Ah well, where can she go? Maybe she's back already and you missed each other?" Nico had become a friend; well, almost. Her sarcasm seemed to have evaporated, and even though he could never forget what happened that Halloween, now a year and a half ago, the memory had lost its bitter edge. What helped soothing his anger was his own active role as a fresh Barb at this year's festivities, punishing party-crashing Bobs. After all, it was just a tradition, wasn't it - a rough kind of initiation, he guessed. Walking back to his room Lucia wondered why he worried so much about Charlie being late. Nico was right, where could she go? What could she run into? And then she heard her. The vaulted hallways and rooms of the academy's old building had a peculiar knack to distort sounds, making some voices carry, while muffling others. Charlie's voice penetrated it all - clear and silvery. By now Lucian knew her well enough to understand the exclamations for what they were. She'd heard them too often to be wrong: the girl came - and then she came again. The effect on him was immediate. A rush of hot blood flared up her chest, hitting his throat. The air around her seemed to thicken, making his ears buzz. Charlie was with another lover. Lucian looked around, trying to fish new sounds out of the humming soup, and distill a direction from it. She turned left into a corridor with quite a few closed doors. Back down the hallway was the library, he knew. Most of the other rooms were empty, or filled with discarded furniture. Another cry pierced the air, and it seemed to come from a door on the right. Lucia walked closer and put his ear against the wood. She knew he was at the right place - realizing everything was wrong, very wrong. The sounds she heard were Charlie's all right, and they were the exact mixture of his fondest memories - fast, almost breathless gasps, punctured by high-pitched moans that came faster, ever faster until they peaked into a birdlike cry. He pushed against the door; it creaked, but she didn't care. The room was dark, but for a small shaded lamp next to a bed. It turned the bodies on the mattress into gold-lined silhouettes. As they moved frantically it was hard to distinguish one body from the other - what he saw was a many-limbed creature lost in the throes of aggressive fornication. The upper part of the creature carried a crown of sparkling silver, swaying back and forth as its owner pumped up and down, seated on the lower, darker body of its counterpart. Lucia recognized the face, thrown back on an arched throat. He recognized the wide-open mouth and even its contorted bliss. "Charlie," he whispered, but the name drowned in a new wave of moans and cries. A sleek spine bent back like a bow, holding perfectly still as a repetition of spasms ran up and down. The golden outline sparkled with moisture. Lucian smelled a mixture of sweat, perfume and sex. It was all too familiar. He stepped back, and as she closed the door, the upper body crumpled on the lower one. "Oh God, so good," a girly voice sang. "Oh God, God.. please give me more." *** Lucian lifted his head from his soaked pillow, moving it in vain to find a drier part. All kinds of haphazard thoughts cartwheeled through his mind, some trying to clutter into a real sentence, but unable to pierce the fat cotton balls that filled his brain. Some thoughts began with 'why,' but many more already found an answer to that. There were 'what's' too, like in 'what had he been thinking?' Or 'what are you going to do?' How could he have allowed himself to end up this vulnerable - assuming someone would love him, or at least care enough not to hurt him? Didn't he know better? Shouldn't he? Then the door opened. Charlie looked her usual energetic self. Her silver curls were damp from showering, and her porcelain face was fresh, scrubbed clean of any make up. Her pale blue shirt looked wrinkled, though, and there was a loose ribbon on her left foot. She dived on the bed, crying out her greetings, but Lucian rolled away, leaving her to fall face-first into the soaked pillow. Looking up her violet eyes searched for his. "Is something wrong?" she asked. "You... you cried. You cried?" Lucian sat up against the headboard. "I saw you," he said. It was all he said, allowing his silence to confuse the girl. "I saw you getting yourself fucked in a room by the library hallway," he then went on, his voice flat. Charlie blushed, but she didn't look away. "Yes," she said, nodding. "It was on short notice; sorry, you must have been worried." He stared at her innocent face, rendered speechless by the irrelevance of her words. She was sorry for not telling him she'd be late? Puzzlement changed Charlie's wide-open eyes to a darker shade. "It... it was just that, honest," she muttered. "Just a chore. Mac got sick and..." Still too shocked to respond Lucian turned away from the girl. The sheet he pulled over his ear muffled her words. "They warned me you might respond this way," she said. "I should have known. I'm sorry." He pulled down the sheet and watched her. Her eyes had turned down to see what her fingers did - which was a nervous plucking at a button of her shirt. "They told you?" Lucian said, lifting his eyebrows. "Who are they? Does everybody know what you did?" Charlie's eyes returned to his. They shone with moisture. "Of course they do," she said. "All Barbs do it, if needed." He found no words, and it made her nervous. "I should have known you're different," she said. "That you wouldn't understand. That's why they told me not to tell you... I'm so sorry." She crawled forward to be closer, but Lucian slid off the bed and shied away from her begging hands. "You let others fuck you behind my back," he said, still trying to keep his voice steady. "What else is there to understand?" The girl cried now. "Please hold me," she sobbed, reaching out. "Please, I love you and you should love me. Don't be like this; it's just chores. They all do it. It's got nothing to do with us - you and I. Love me, Luce, please." Breaking down she added her tears to the drenched pillow. "Be out of here before I return," Lucian said, picking up his shirt and walking to the door. A muffled cry made him stop, but he didn't look back before opening the door and walking out. *** Charlie looked drawn. No, worse than that, she looked as if all tension had left the muscles of her face. Her eyes were a pale lilac, washed out against her almost translucent skin; it showed the contours of her skull. "I didn't know," she said, stretching the o into a whine. "How could I know?" Lucian hadn't seen a mirror for days, but he guessed he didn't fare much better than Charlie. Mamselle sat across from them, looking like she always did - prim and tight and exotically tasteful. "You should have known that Lucien isn't your everyday Barb, Charlie," she said, sprinkling her words with French highlights. "If anyone should know, it must be you." Charlie sighed. "I've been a fool, I guess," she said. "But it was nothing, was it? Everybody does it, and I do love only him. How can I make him believe that?" Now Mamselle did the sighing. "Is it 'him' again, now?" she asked. "Yes!" Lucian said - growling as deep as he could. Which wasn't very deep. Mamselle plucked a speck of invisible dust off her pencil skirt before looking up. "Whatever," she said, making it sound like 'whatev??r.' It sounded so silly that she had to hide a wide smile behind her manicured fingers. Incapable of checking himself Lucian chuckled and soon all three of them were laughing. Tears ran down Charlie's face, but she blushed and her eyes radiated. "Please, Luce, I'm a moron, but please forgive me," she said. "I hear you have a deal with the headmistress that I shouldn't do... chores. I didn't know. I just... helped out. It was a misunderstanding, but I should have known better. I don't want to loose you, please." She reached out, touching his knee. He didn't withdraw. "Are all Barbs whores?" he asked Mamselle, looking away from Charlie. "Alors," the petite woman said, stretching the word. Lucian knew that it was her way to win time and avoid difficult situations. He wouldn't stand for it. 'Is it...," he said. "Is it what we do? I mean, are we supposed to do it?" He knew the woman felt uncomfortable. What could she say? "We don't force anyone?" It would make Charlie look even worse - to him at least. And if she admitted that the school forced Barbs to fuck clients, it would make Norton's look pretty bad, wouldn't it? Charlie might look a bit better, though - a tiny bit. As it happened it was Charlie who saved Mamselle, in a way. "I won't lie, Luce," she whispered. "I volunteered when Mac got sick. I could say I did it because it helps our school and things, but I do it because I love to be fucked by a real, hard, big cock. Please understand, Luce; you would love it too. You really would." The silence was deafening. All relief from the earlier laughter was gone. 'I volunteered,' she'd said. 'I love to be fucked by a real, hard, big cock.' It hurt on so many levels. Ever since being at Norton's Academy Lucian had stopped worrying about things like size and other fetishes of locker room machismo. It just hadn't been a topic here - on the contrary, he thought. Being soft and small and clean was the norm; esthetically and sexually. Being a good lover meant to give and to please, not to grab and to take. It meant honing your skills, being inventive. You learned using your mouth and your tongue and your fingers; objects too, like humming vibes. You used anything to make your partner come as often as you could; elegant, gracious and sweet smelling. Had it all been just another lie? 'A real big cock,' she'd said. He'd tried to protect her, but she volunteered, cause she loved it. She also said: 'I do it because I love it - not 'I did it.' That could only mean it was a regular thing, and meant to be going on. "How long have you been doing this?" he asked. "Fucking the real hard big cocks you love?" He emphasized the 'real' and the 'hard' and the 'big.' She looked confused. Could it really be that she didn't understand why he was hurt? Her hand again touched his bare knee, but this time he moved away. "But..." was all she said. It was time for Mamselle to intervene. She had watched his emotional response to Charlie's words with mild surprise - or was it amusement? Now she leant in and placed a narrow hand on his shoulder. "I think I need to apologize on behalf of Norton's," she said, her eyes dark with gravity. "After their graduation Second Level girls are supposed to pleasure sponsors and clients to guarantee the ongoing existence of the Academy. As Ms. Parker told you: we are happy with every dollar of tuition and donation, but in relation to our ambition those will never be enough. Without other, eh, funds the school will flounder, and all protection will be lost." Lucian had never heard Mamselle use so many euphemisms strung into so many strings of political bla bla. And it seemed she wasn't done. "Lucien," she went on, "what petite Charlie did... alors, what she does... is contributing to our school to help her fellow students who are... less fortunate. I think we should admire her extra for it because she doesn't have to. Her parents already pay generously for her tuition, as do yours." A tiny smile touched her lips. It only added to the mute rage that was building inside him. 'Accumulating astonishment' would hardly cover his feelings. "She sacrifices herself?" he asked, hearing a tremor in his voice. "Are you crazy? She loved it; every second of it. She screamed and thrashed and kept coming like a fucking... fucking machine!" His words cut right through Charlie's ragged defenses. Her hands went to her blanching face, and she started wailing. Mamselle rose and embraced her until her misery toned down to mere sobbing. The French woman kept her eyes on him all the time. He tried to ignore her reproach - he was seething. He'd been right, hadn't he? "Lucien," Mamselle finally said. "Your hurt might be understandable, but if there is someone to blame it's the school, not this sweet girl. There is no need for the language you used to describe her." She lowered her head and kissed Charlie's brow. As usual Norton's was turning reality upside down, making a hero out of a fucking whore. Moreover, if the girl was the unselfish martyr for the greater good, what did that make him? A spoilt, selfish kid with no heart for his poor fellow students? Was this a guilt trip? "Is this some guilt trip?" he asked. The woman stopped stroking the girl's hair, looking up. All he could read was surprise. "Guilt?" she said, her perfect eyebrows riding high. "Please, Lucien, if anyone should know we don't do guilt at Norton's it's you. Most of our students have been tortured by guilt in the outside world - guilt for failing their parents, guilt for not measuring up, guilt for being born like they were; or for being born at all. Please, ch?rie, you hurt us with your accusations and you know it." His head reeled. He'd found the girl he loved - the girl who said she loved him - fucking a guy for money and enjoying it immensely. He kicked her out and she ran to this woman who'd told him she was his counselor, tutor whatever. And now he was to blame? The whore was a heroine, and he was a selfish bastard? The slut should be admired, and he should feel ashamed? "I've had enough," he said, rising. "Don't leave yet," Mamselle said, softly urging Charlie off her lap and rising to stop him. "At least listen to my apology." Her brown eyes were as piercing as ever, and her hand was on his chest. "Please." What could he do? Where could he go, but to his lonely room, lying down and thinking in circles? Leaving Norton's had become impossible. Blackmailing his father was a double-edged sword; it guaranteed his tuition, but it also robbed him of any perspective outside. He had no place to go. He nodded, but didn't sit down. "On behalf of Parker and Kurtz...," Mamselle started, but Lucian raised his hand. "I don't care about them," he said. "Tell me what you think." Her lashes fluttered. He'd never seen her embarrassed like this. It felt good. He smiled. She didn't. "Alors," she said, and he allowed her the time. "I find all this horrifying," she finally went on. "What we did to you wasn't right." Lucian sighed with relief: a real apology at last. His relaxing face caused a smile on hers; a smile he reflected. "You see, Lucien, we are a wonderful institution. For years we have been the last resort for girls born in the wrong bodies, boys bullied out of their right to develop their talents, beautiful creatures forced to conform to dreary realities." Most of this was awfully close to Parker's PR babble, but somehow it sounded more genuine coming from Mamselle. He nodded. "And then your mother brought you," she went on. "Financially Norton's was at its lowest, maybe a few months away from bankruptcy." He stared at her. Money? Was this yet another way to make him feel guilty for what happened? "Money came in from our stars, of course," she went on. What did she mean? Stars making money for Norton's? "The models, you know? Actresses and singers, fashion designers, musicians, acrobats; beauticians too, hair stylists; all our successful alumni. They pay us back once their careers take off. And they help at our fundraisers, remember? But it was never enough; the Academy is a very expensive operation. So we could use every penny from enrolling regular students. But there were never many of them to begin with." "Your mother wanted you here for all the wrong reasons," she went on, sitting down. "She wanted to spite your father, and also thwart his plans for you. But most of all she had to get you off her hands, so she could leave her marriage as a wealthy divorcee and stick your father with your tuition." He nodded again - he'd figured that out. Charlie had by then stopped sobbing. From behind her hands came the blotched face of a six year old. She sniffed and said: "You never wanted to be here, did you, Luce?" He studied her face, wondering about her words. Hadn't his reluctance been what they all must have felt, at least at the beginning? Maybe not Charlie or the others like Taylor and Harper, who loved it here. Had he been the only one wanting to flee? "I hated it here, but you changed my mind, Charlie," he said. "You almost did." It made her cry again. "Don't punish the girl, Lucien," Mamselle said. "It was never her fault." She was right. He reached out for Charlie, muttering an apology. She rose and threw her body against his, making him fall into his chair. She felt hot, and light as a feather. "I'm so sorry for what they did to you against your will," she breathed into his ear. "I still don't understand, but I'm sorry, sorry, sorry." The closeness of her soft body sucked all the anger out of him. He embraced her, first awkwardly and reluctantly. Then she started kissing him. Mamselle smiled. "She is the best thing that ever happened to you, Lucien Gaines," she said. He knew she was right; she even might have said it with no agenda whatsoever. But it irritated him. It wasn't her business - it somehow stained his feelings, corrupting them. Lucian gently separated his mouth from Charlie's, causing a wet sound. "Let's go," he said. "We need to talk - alone." *** "Can't we just say nothing and make love?" Charlie asked, moving up against him. "I'll make you forget. It's all so unimportant." They were on the bed again. Charlie was plucking at his top, trying to undress him, but he caught her hands and stopped them. "No, Charlie," he said, making her look at him. "I can't. Things are bad between us, and even more so because you don't think they are." Her eyes flew up, shocked. "Don't say that. They're not bad...," she objected. Then she fell silent, realizing what she just said. "See?" he asked. Charlie didn't answer. Her eyes jumped around like panicked birds, a blush rising from her throat. "I'm sorry," she muttered. "I had no idea, but I hurt you." She swallowed and went on: "I love you; you must believe me." Touched by her misery he embraced the girl, holding her against him. "Love," he said and sighed. "Sweet Charlie believe me: we don't know what that is. Just too many pills and shots - too many hours of lies and brainwash. Nothing's real - nothing's meant to be real." "You are wrong," she said, her voice muffled by his hug. "I really love you." He unfolded his arms and studied her flushed face. A fragile little smile struggled though a ruin of blotches, tears and messed up mascara. "Tell me what that means, Charlie - love?" he asked. Her lashes fluttered. She swallowed and licked her cherry lips nervously, but she didn't answer. "I'll tell you, darling," he said after waiting a moment longer. "Your love means having someone to go to after classes and chores - someone private to relax with; someone who doesn't push you, who doesn't shape you. Someone to hug and cuddle and fuck - so you can forget what's going on for a while." She kept staring at him, slowly shaking her head in denial. "It's true, Charlie," he went on. "I'd love to believe it were different. For me it's different. I don't know much about love, but I know it's about trust. I could never betray you with someone else, clients or no clients, admirable or not. If I did it would hurt me more than it would hurt you, you understand?" Her gaze was empty. "No," he went on, touching her brow to remove a fallen curl. "No, I guess you won't ever understand that." "I... I promise I won't do chores anymore," she said, her voice a whisper. "Tell me and I'll stop." Lucian sighed. "Charlie," he said. "I saw you with the man, and I heard you rave about what his big cock did to you. How could I keep you from things you so obviously love and need - things I could never give you?" New tears welled up from her eyes, and she flung her arms around him. He listened to her sobbing, feeling her body shake with them. "You promise that now, Charlie," he mumbled into her silver curls. "And in a week you'll be miserable. Your body will ache and your mind will remember. You'll be strong until you get weak, and then the lies will come - because, even if you don't understand why, you know you can't tell me. It will be lies about where you've been and with whom. And finally I'll find out. There will be more lies and sorry's, and in the end you'll start detesting me." She tore herself loose. "Never!" she cried. "I'll never detest you. I love you." "Oh, believe me," he said. "You will." "Hold me," she whispered. "I'm so afraid." They sat like that for a while more, holding each other, crying softly until they fell asleep from exhaustion. Next morning she was gone. *** Lucian walked into Grace class. He wore an old, baggy pair of jeans he'd found in a neglected closet. Over it hung a washed-out T-shirt and one of his standard men's shirts. He put his feet down with a clunk, wearing an old pair of running shoes. Beside showering and grooming his skin, he'd also skipped make up. His hair was cut roughly with a pair of scissors; he'd shorn up the back of his head with a lady-shave. He looked the perfect punker. "Lucia," Ms. Fontaine said, letting her eyes go over him. "What happened?" All faces turned his way, Charlie's too. "Lu-ci-an," he said, accentuating the male ending of his name. "And nothing happened. I just decided to be me again." He gave her what he thought was a defiant look. She just returned the Smile. "Interesting," she said, walking up to him on her elegant pumps. "So this is you?" He knew he'd wanted her angry, or irritated at least. He'd also wanted his classmates to admire what he did. They didn't have to be shocked, but they should at least be interested. They weren't. If anything at all, they seemed disgusted. Most faces soon turned away, heads pairing up to whisper. Only Charlie kept looking - and Fontaine of course. Then the teacher clapped her hands. "Please look and learn, class," she said. "Would you care to spin around for us, Lucia-n?" she asked. He refused to oblige, raging inwardly at her cool and patronizing response. "Anyway," Ms. Fontaine went on. "I do hope, Lucian that this is not an effort to look like a boy. You cut your delicious hair, which is an awful shame, but all it does is making you look like a sweet, cheeky French gamin. You might call it a tommy-boy look, but honey, you are way too girly to pull that off, didn't you know?" Someone giggled - a few others followed. "Ah, and the baggy jeans," Fontaine went on, resting one hand under her chin and the other under an elbow, leaning back to suggest she studied him with interest. "You really should have cut it in the right places, darling. And couldn't you find some proper Dr. Martens?" The air seemed to thicken and rise ten degrees in temperature. He turned away and stomped out of the classroom. Giggles sounded as he banged the door shut behind him. *** "That was pretty stupid," Parker said. "Especially the hair." He knew she was right. But wouldn't every alternative have been just as stupid? He'd wanted to show how different he was from the rest. Maybe he'd succeeded in a way, but not at all as he'd imagined. Everything he'd intended to demonstrate drowned into a sea of laughter and incomprehension. Ancient feelings of isolation and ridicule returned as he'd stood there, watching his classmates watching him, and not seeing even one instance of understanding. Or sympathy. "What point did you want to make, Lucian?" she asked, mercifully using his proper name. "That you don't belong here? Is that still it?" He again knew she was right: this whole discussion was getting old - as well as going nowhere. Had this feeble show of rudimental maleness really been the point he'd wanted to make? One glance in any mirror ought to have convinced him of its hopelessness. So why had he still done it? Maybe the remorseless macho brainwashing by his father, or his pathetic need to be part of a boys' world at high school had put a sense of maleness into his psyche - but it had always been an illusion, hadn't it? Even before Norton's. Seeing himself in the mirror after he cut his hair and put on the awful clothing disgusted him as much as his classmates' faces showed him later. Even before walking into Ms. Fontaine's class he knew his statement was a lie - this wasn't him at all; it had never been. But who was he to be if not a boy? Living alone after Charlie left hadn't been at all like the days he'd lived alone before. It was the simple difference between being alone and being lonely. His solitude gnawed at him; it left him fragile and insecure. His thoughts started to run in circles, and like every lonesome boy with no sense where to go he tended to look back and polish his past - until it shone with the brightness of make belief. Maybe that's the way it went. Trying to become that illusionary boy was an easy step after that. But of course it couldn't work: the boy never existed. He was the only one to believe in that non-existent past. But not anymore. Sitting in front of Ms. Parker's desk Lucia Gaines looked down at her knees. They were perfectly crossed below the high hem of her sky-blue dress. Her pink-tipped fingers elegantly flattened an invisible wrinkle. Lifting her upper foot she watched the pointed sky-blue nose of her high-heeled pump. Huge silver rings touched her bare neck as she moved her head forward. Mackenzie had styled her ruined hair into an even more boyish cut. It only made her look like an even younger girl. "He is a gentleman, you know," Parker said. "A very gentle man." A nervous thrill touched Lucia's throat. There was anxiety of course, the flutter of butterflies -but no panic. A sense of wrongness lingered deep inside, but it was glossed over by a new, still alien excitement. She'd felt it for days now - being aroused by nothing, her body on edge all day; all night. The feeling had no core; it was just like walking in a permanent cloud of heat, like a summer's breeze that relaxes your limbs and makes you aware of the silk touch of your clothes, the rubbing of skin on skin. There was no rebellion left, no place for bitterness or hurt. Where had it gone? He'd been so very determined, hadn't he? Cutting his hair into a mess, scrubbing his face, leaving his body unwashed, dressing in stinking rags - everything he could think of to turn himself back into a boy. And still all they'd seen was a girl. He'd upset no one, had he? His classmates giggled, his teachers didn't even blink. When he ran back to his lonely room, barricading his door with a chair and falling on the bed, he knew there was only one true lie: he himself. Reality had turned into its exact reverse. He no longer was a boy dressing and painting himself like a girl. He was the girl now, and the boyish gear had become her dress-up. Lying on the bed, smelling the rancid odor of his unwashed clothes and tasting his dirty teeth he knew he couldn't live with himself like this. It was silly. This wasn't him anymore; oh, come on: it had never been. "Lucian?" Charlie's voice was just loud enough to get through the door's panel. It repeated his name, followed by a rap of knuckles. "Lucian, please?" "Go away!" His voice was thick, and muffled by his pillow. "Please, Luce, let me in." "Why?" he yelled. "Come to gloat? Brought your giggling friends with you?" "I am alone. Please open up." There were no locks on students' rooms at Norton's. Hands pushed at the door, making the chair rattle, but it held. "I love you, Lucian, please..." The voice sounded forlorn. He was sure she cried. The urge to get up and close her in his arms was overwhelming. She loved him; he loved her. What had gone so very, very wrong that he refused to even see her? He knew what went wrong. He once again saw her contorted face like he had every night since that first glance. He heard her panting voice asking to please be fucked again. She needed to be fucked by a 'real man' with a big cock, she'd said, and it had broken his heart. Why had it hurt him so? The question surprised him. Wasn't it supposed to be obvious? Raving about men with huge cocks could only be meant to make him feel inadequate. She knew he could never compete and still she threw it into his face. Then another floor was pulled from under his feet: she never intended it as a humiliation. She couldn't, because she never compared. There was no need to: no one at Norton's wanted to be a 'real man.' Why would a cat feel hurt for not being called a dog? He had no big cock, had he? Not even close. Did he really ever even want one? So why be jealous? They say men have fragile egos. He wasn't a man, was he? So why feel hurt? "Please, Lucian?" The door rattled against the chair. She'd come running after him - and alone. Why? Shouldn't she be mocking him and giggle with the other Barbs? Making fun of that disgusting, deluded Lucian in his pathetic disguise? Lucia - the girl who still thought she was a boy? Since the break up she'd avoided him for days. Well, so had he. Those had been dismal days and even more dismal nights. No one ever told him what love really is, but by now he knew it must be the cruelest thing on earth: your lover left you, but love stayed around to torture you. The chair toppled; Charlie was in the room. She looked flushed and agitated; her eyes shone out of halos of smudged mascara. Standing next to the fallen chair she didn't move or speak. Her hands strangled her shirt. "Go away," Lucian said. She didn't. Stepping forward she climbed on the bed. "We belong together," she said, stating it like a matter of fact. "If you send me away again, I'll kill myself." Only then did he see the knife in her hand. It was long and wide; he recognized it from the kitchen. He sat up. "Don't be silly," he said. "Give me the knife." "Only if you take me back." Her little puffy mouth pouted; her eyes were almost purple. "You don't want me," he said. "I don't have a big, hard cock, remember? I'm not a real man who can make you squeal." Dark pink blushes popped up on her cheeks; eyebrows frowned at the root of her tiny nose. Her right hand curled around the knife's grip, fingers squeezing and relaxing. Then she brought the sharp edge to her wrist, denting the pale skin. Lucian dove forward, pulling back the knife. As they struggled the tip nicked his underarm, making a red pearl of blood rise up. Charlie shrieked and let go of the weapon, grabbing Lucian's arm and closing her mouth over the wound. Her curls blocked his view, but he felt her hot lips sucking, and her tongue licking. Then she looked up, her eyes wild. "A bandage," she said, panting the words. "A band aid, gauze, disinfectant." He grinned; then he laughed. "It's all right," he said. "I won't bleed out." He grabbed a tissue from the bed stand, pressing it on the tiny nick. The girl by then straddled him, her face almost touching his. "Are you all right?" she asked. "Really?" Then she kissed him; and he kissed back. Her hands tore at his stinking rags, destroying the threadbare T-shirt and pulling down his oversized jeans. "Yeggh," she cried out, pulling a face. "You stink like a man." It didn't stop her to engulf his penis with her mouth and lick its sensitive tip with her tongue. He tried to find words of protest, but soon he closed his eyes, wrapping his hands around her head. She sucked him for minutes, and prodded his magic spot with her long fingers. The feeling spread - the familiar heat that flushed into his entire body, making it arch and pulse. Then she was gone. Still panting, he opened his eyes, trying to focus on the door that just closed behind her. He was alone, she'd left. Confusion entered. He tried to sit up, but all strings and ligaments of his body seemed to have gone. Heat still throbbed inside his bowels; even his penis pulsed. Then the door re-opened and Charlie stood on the sill, naked against the outer lights. "I bring you a man, Lucia," she said with a voice as deep as she could muster. "A mean, big man with a giant cock - hard and fat and uglyyyy..." She stretched the last word until it curled into a giggle. He shirked up against the headboard, watching her approach. The front of her body was in shadows, but as she exaggerated the sway of her hips he could discern the huge dark thing that swung in front of her crotch. It was a black strap-on dildo, and it took him back to Halloween, one and a half year back. But this one seemed much thicker. There had been toys in the games Bobs played at their dorm, like vibrators and slender dildos - long prostate-ticklers. He had used them with Taylor and Charlie, but this was different. There was menace and cruelty in the thing as it swayed and danced closer, like a black Cobra - a hypnotizing snake. He couldn't avert his eyes. "I am the brute of creation," Charlie whispered now as she kneed over to him, the snake sliding over the sheets. "I am the strong giant with the monster cock that will squeeze the soul out of your body, little girl." The bulbous head on the black pole glistened; so did the ridges and veins on its shaft. His body was still limp and hot from their previous play, so, even though his brain cleared up, he didn't resist her hands lifting his ass cheeks from the bed. A pillow slid under him, and at the same time he felt a cold, thick liquid gush into his anus. He wanted to rise and see, but Charlie's open mouth engulfed his, her tongue penetrating. There was no pain when the monster entered. There was a pressure beyond anything he'd ever felt. It was an overwhelming sensation, bordering on panic - yet soothing, numbing every source of resistance. His sphincter stretched wider than ever, but it didn't hurt. He was just... persuaded. The slow, unstoppable progress was the only thing happening in the world, it seemed. It was a force aimed to conquer his very center. He was wide open; eager to be convinced. Not many thoughts were left in Lucian Gaines' mind when tiny, flower- eyed, silver curled Charlie Washinsky pushed her four inches thick and ten inches long cock up his colon. "Tell me I am your man," she breathed into his ear. "Tell me you love my huge, ugly cock; how it stretches your tight little ass. Tell me how it destroys you, but how you love it; how you want more, always mooooore..." But Lucian was hearing nothing, seeing nothing. He just felt. She just felt. And then she came. *** The phone rang on Parker's desk. She picked it up and listened. Then she nodded and said: "She's ready." She looked at Lucia Gaines in her baby-blue dress, and her trained eyes saw the final changes - how all tension slipped away, a new softness relaxing her limbs. How each of her gestures became elegant and precise, effortless and automatic. How her calm pale blue eyes reflected the smile of her weak, moist lips. There was electricity in the air around the girl. It gave her body a breathtaking quality - at once proud and yet completely... open. Yes, Gloria Parker thought, she's ready. "The car is waiting, honey," she said, adding honesty to her Smile. The moment was as magical for her as for the girl. So many things had gone wrong, so many hurdles had to be conquered, so many ugly measures had to be taken. But watching the girl rise, she knew it had all been worth it. "Thank you, Ms. Parker," Lucia said, lowering her knees in the slightest suggestion of a curtsy. Her pale, long fingers held her white clutch as she turned, moving with utter grace on slender heels. She allowed just a hint of sexiness in the sway of her tight little runner's ass. Parker's sigh filled the room when the door closed.