Barford File 3 - The Sandbergs - Chapters V And VI free porn video

V: Intentions and Detentions For the longest time, the door to Peter Sandberg's room was never locked for any reason. There was trust, after all, between Peter, his mother, and his brother. They never had reason to intrude upon each other's private spaces unless the situation was important enough. Even for the occasional moments of sibling rivalry between him and Dave growing up, they respected each other's spaces. They had also lived in Bullchester ever since Mildred Kastner and Louis Sandberg got married, although the wedding was in their Vermont hometown. After Mildred Sandberg gave birth to Peter and David, the decision they mutually agreed on was that they wanted to raise their boys in the safest possible environment. As the crime rate had been dropping there, they chose Bullchester. It was while Peter and David were in their late infancy that Louis made the mistake of crossing the Sisterhood, although he had wanted to protect a business...a benign one which had no misogynistic inclinations... which Agatha wanted out of the way. The Sisterhood's mind-bending enforcers...which they referred to as Angels...conveniently and harmlessly erased the concerns of Mildred and her children, while the increasingly stressed and scared Louis...effectively isolated from his family...slowly became Louise, and she was given a benign and saccharine life which amounted to her becoming a timid housekeeper. The angels erased all knowledge of their involvement from the minds of Mildred, Peter, and David as well, leaving Mildred with the fabricated knowledge of being a single mom in the wake of her husband leaving the family "because he could not keep up with the finances." In the present day, however, Peter Sandberg had a bit of work to do, and considering his recent inclinations, it had to be done. On the way home from a quiet day at work, he stopped at a hardware store and purchased a kit containing a gold-plated doorknob. He also picked up the tools necessary to install it. The kit contained the keys necessary to unlock it as well. As Mildred's consciousness was absorbed by 24-hour news channels, the young office worker was never disturbed as he began removing his existing doorknob, which was clearly old and worn, upon returning home. As he began installing the new doorknob, however, Peter heard his mother call out to him. "Something wrong with your door?" Lie. Peter's id advised him. Just lie. Don't give yourself added grief. "Uhhh...yeah, mom," Peter called back as he worked. "Knob's feeling funny when you, uh...twist it. Probably loose or something." A bit of silence followed, and he hoped that would be the end of it, but... "So just tighten the screws, no?" Mildred reasoned. "Doorknob's old, mom," Peter replied as he settled the new golden doorknob in place, and screwed it in. "I have to replace it." Don't ask me to give you a key. Peter's mind pleaded as he tested what turned out to be a fully-functional doorknob. PLEASE don't make me give you a key! "Well...it's...your room, I guess." Mildred then went quiet, letting more news reports on the flatscreen TV take hold of her consciousness. Thank you. Peter heaved a discreet sigh of relief. Oh Goddess, thank you. And there it was again, manifesting in his consciousness. He had been invoking divinity in the feminine aspect ever since he started seeing Venetia. For whatever reason, he could not see the almighty any other way, no matter how hard he tried. This concern was minor, however, compared to his need for a more secure bedroom where he could truly have assured privacy. He could seal his door, and he would be the only one who had the key. There was only one window in the room, but he could pull an installed blinder down. The blinder was worn, but functional. After a long and thankfully benign day at work, one of the few in which Lt. Drucker was on paid leave, Peter needed to unwind a bit. With the door to his room secure, with both of the gold-plated keys included with the kit in his pocket, and with the blinder down, he began to remove his clothes until his hairless body was completely naked. From beneath his bed, he pulled out a plastic bag, being careful not to make too much noise in so doing. The store advertised on the bag...Snug Fittings...was the nightclub outfits store at Rubie's Mall he had secretly visited not too long ago, in the wake of his first session with Venetia. After stepping into the stretchy fabric of the one-piece lycra garment, he crouched down and grabbed its upper rib so he could pull the soft material up his body, feeling it hug tightly against his slim figure as he did. The garment hugged his body even tighter once he managed to reach back and pull up the outfit's zipper. He then stepped in front of his room's full-length mirror, next to which was his dresser. Near the edge of the top surface, right next to where the mirror was, was a glass of water with a long comb submerged within it. Pulling it out, he began to run it through his short head of hair, combing it back. For the next fifteen minutes, he just stared at his more effeminate image, and began to consciously daydream vivid images that Venetia Foerst had seeded in his mind. Images that would trigger upon seeing himself in the dress, with his hair combed back. Still wearing the dress, he stepped over to his computer, booted it up, and checked for any new e-mails he might have received. Sure enough, Venetia had sent him another .zip file full of very arousing images of shemale sex for him to masturbate to, and he was all too eager to pull up his tight dress far enough for him to access his own male organ, and vigorously pump away at it. To his relief, he remained undisturbed the entire time. * * * David was quick to notice the golden doorknob on the closed door of his brother's room as he left his own private space. Seeing illumination creep along the outlining of the door betrayed the fact that the room was occupied, but he deemed the new development too trivial to tease his brother about as he left the Sandberg household with a mission on his mind. He had been texting Brooke Vandervelde about her day in school, and she had messaged about the openly-warned possibility of Mr. Patterson springing a pop quiz on his students at any time during the week, and he wanted them to be prepared for it. Brooke wanted to be able to study up on her lessons so that she could be prepared for it. But she also messaged that she wanted to see David again. Her room did have a window, but there was no balcony. She envisioned David ascending to the balcony from the ground floor to slip quietly into her room so they could make love. She described this fantasy in enough detail for him to start contemplating an impromptu stunt. As he had been to the Vandervelde house, he knew that the house had a second floor, and that Brooke's room was the rightmost window overlooking the street below. A trio of wooden steps led to a veranda, with columns to support the overhanging roof portion above, which he imagined could support his weight. Upon approaching the house, it was his current determination to climb up to Brooke's bedroom window and surprise her, while at the same time fulfilling her fantasy. A cacophony of crickets droned in the clear evening's idleness as David silently stepped up to the house to put his plan into action. The platform of the veranda was made of aged wood, with flaking dried sky blue paint fragments in places, so he needed to keep his steps light. The Living Room light, after all, was on, and a glow indicative of an active TV could also be seen. The windows, however, were closed. David chose the right-side support column as his means of ascent, but the problem was that there were no convenient hand-holds. The possibility existed that he would make enough noise in his efforts to make it to the roof area to attract the attention of whoever it was that was in the Living Room. He had no tools. No implements to make his ascent easier. All he had was his raw determination. It didn't help that the house was old in its appearance, and that was the way the Vanderveldes apparently wanted to keep it. Seeing a stack of bundled newspapers near the front door, he couldn't help but be concerned about an intruder...other than himself...wanting to unwisely set a lighted match to this bundle. He figured the entire house would erupt in flames if it happened during the night while they were sleeping. Discarding the concern for the moment, Dave carefully stepped up on the waist-high wooden fence that decorated the veranda. Fortunately, it supported his weight, but not without betraying a few muted creaks as he carefully balanced his way over to the column. A slight jump, a grab to the column, and then an attempt to grab onto the edge of the roof. He quietly surmised. Don't fuck this up! Angling his head upwards, he bent his legs, and then vaulted himself up as high as he could. Slightly lower than his highest elevation, he grabbed the column. He heard a distinct crack below him as he vaulted up. A crack which made his blood run cold. David couldn't see the damage, and he had no time to assess, as he could already feel himself slipping in his tight grip on the column. He could already feel sweat forming on his brow as he gritted his teeth. Gravity became his worst enemy in his current situation. Glancing up, he was slightly less than a full arm's reach of the edge of the roof. He needed to get up higher on the column. He tried the best climbing effort he could manage on the faded white column given his predicament. He could not help but envision the next crack being that of the column cracking backwards a bit from his weight... ...but, to his relief, the column held fast! His ascending attempts were no different from what he had learned in gym class in climbing a rope. His legs wrapped around it as tight as possible, while his arms would make the attempt to pull up his body weight so his legs could establish a higher grip. First attempt...successful. He was closer to the roof's edge. Sweat drops ran down the sides of his head. Second attempt... ...successful! All he needed was to reach up and get a good handhold, while relying on his weak arm and his legs to keep him where he was. He knew his muscles would be sore in the morning. Gritting his teeth in his determination, he was barely able to get a handhold, which was not perfectly firm, but he hoped that the condition of the old house would not betray his effort. His other arm shot up for an attempt at the roof's edge...and in the next moment, David Sandberg's feet were dangling as they came away from the column. Chin-ups! David desperately reminded himself. You've done chin-ups, asshole! PULL YOURSELF UP!! Up was all he wanted to do in that moment's shot of raw determination. Pain reliever would handle the muscle strain, he reasoned. He figured one big surge would get him on the old roof tiles above. His first effort didn't work, although he still hung to the side of the roof. All other concerns in his mind needed to go. Doubts would kill his raw resolve. His second effort also failed, and one of his hands slipped from the roof's edge. His strong arm, too. He had to rely on his weak arm in that moment. Fortunately, he was able to get his free hand back on the roof's edge. After taking a few deep breaths, his third attempt got him up high enough to be able to finally roll himself onto the roof... ...but at the expense of a couple of loose roof tiles which fell to the ground below. David froze, expecting to hear the front door open...or worse, Brooke's window would open, blowing the surprise he wanted so badly. The moment of silence gave him time to recover. Fortunately, there was no responding activity below in the three minutes of silence that passed before David resumed his progress towards Brooke's bedroom window. He chose to crawl towards the closed window as slowly as possible, keeping an eye on the roof tiles, making sure to be careful around ones which looked loose or unstable. He couldn't help but entertain a mental image of Spider-Man doing his typical wall-crawling as he approached the window. Peering into the window, he saw that Brooke was facing away from the window, and was at her desk. She was indeed going over schoolbooks. His smile was short-lived, however, as he heard a voice loud enough for him to pick up on it, and fill him with dread. "See ya tomorrow, Ramona!" Once again, David froze. He heard footsteps approaching the front door from below, and he waited until Brooke's sister went into the house before acting on his next impulse, which was to tap at the window, and get Brooke's attention. She remained focused on her studies, however, compelling David to tap louder in his next attempt. This time, her head rose up from the book she had in front of her, and she turned around. David grinned, giving her a wave. Brooke remained wary as she approached the window, but as she got closer to it, her eyes grew wide as she realized who was there. Once her hands dropped away from her mouth in her astonished surprise, she brought them to the edge of the window and slid it upward so David could enter her room, and once he was inside, their lips immediately pressed together. When their lips finally pulled apart, Brooke was shaking her head. "Tonight is not the time to impress me, David." The smiling young man shrugged. "I couldn't help it. I had to see you again." He makes me feel so...desired. Brooke thought to herself as they once again kissed deeply. I can't turn him away...and I think I've done enough studying anyway. Their long, lingering kiss lapsed into a tight hug. "My Romeo...come to save me from my studies." She openly giggled at this thought. Staring into each other's eyes in the next moment, their expressions reflected their genuine, mutual affections. "Anytime," David softly responded. Unbeknownst to either David or Brooke, the door to her room...the walls of which were painted in the style of a serene blue sky, within which billowing white clouds hung idly...was open by a crack big enough for spying eyes to look into, this a consequence of a brief bathroom break the beautiful young girl had taken during her study binge. Brooke guided her surprise visitor to her nearby bed, where they continued their romantic inclinations. A hand gently rubbed at the side of her face as they kissed, while Brooke's hand slowly slid through his head of short, soft brown hair. Staring into each other's eyes, Brooke reached over to David's sweat- moistened shirt so she could pull it up, and off of him. She then slowly placed her hands on his wrists, grasping them with gentle grips, and pulled them over to the bottom half of her blouse. Brooke smiled. "My turn to strip," she sarcastically noted as David began carefully pulling Brooke's blouse up and off of her. David then stepped in close with a more concerned expression. "If I do anything, anything at all, that makes you feel uncomfortable, just say so," he earnestly advised. Brooke, however, was already unfastening the button at his jeans, and pulling down the zipper beneath it. "You're doing fine so far," she softly assured. They continued slowly removing a portion of each other's clothing as they spoke. "Did you want me to help you study?" he offered. Brooke shook his head as she had David undo the clasp on her bra. "I've done enough studying for tonight." Once they were both naked, Brooke placed an index finger gently upon his lips. She then stepped in and wrapped her arms around him, holding him tight. "Now put your arms around me, David," she then instructed. He naturally obliged, holding her just as tightly as she was holding him. "My Aunt Clarice once told me that if you just hold each other in a long hug, it's just as arousing as sex," Brooke softly remarked. "I wanna try it." David nodded, and after a long and quiet moment in which they remained in their embrace, he closed his eyes and let his tactile senses take over. His hands gently rubbed at Brooke's skin in generous circles. Brooke snuggled into her new boyfriend's arms as their hug lingered, letting out small, quiet moans of satisfaction as she steadily breathed. Feeling her warm breath on his bare skin was enough to send a rush of excitement to his phallic organ. He could feel it becoming erect. She, too, had her eyes closed in that long moment, roaming her hands along his well-toned body, which was partially moist from the sweat of his efforts in his secret ascent to the roof. A part of her wished that it was a Friday night, so the grace of the weekend would allow them to dance together at the Mall's nightclub once again. Ever since they had met, she revisited that night, and their time together. She was happy that the handsome young man she had met turned out to be a courteous one, given his behavior thus far. He never forced himself upon her. She saw nothing ugly about him. At least, not yet. She chose not to dwell on any doubts during their embrace in her room in the here and now. Taking another suggestion from her Aunt Clarice, she began to rub her thigh against his as she began to pant a little more audibly. The feel of their warm bodies gently rubbing against each other was sensually primal. She could hear David's chest rise and fall just as rhythmically as hers was. Aside from their gentle caresses, they made no other movements. And, in so doing, they were, indeed, mutually aroused. Their eyes remained shut as they let their hands explore each other's bodies as gently as possible. Their backs, their arms, their chests, their necks, their faces, and their hair. When he felt Brooke's fingertips at his lips, David kissed at them. A slight smile was on Brooke's face as she slid the middle finger of one of those hands between his lips so David could suck upon it. She pulled her finger in and out slowly. She did the same with his middle finger when his fingers passed over her face. They had spent so much time pleasuring each other that they had literally lost track of time, and they had eventually fallen asleep in each other's arms. Their mutual warmth had made them drowsy enough to lapse into a deep sleep. Fortunately, they had come to their senses early enough to realize that it was the early morning, and they had about two hours to get ready for school. In their desperation, they both chose to skip breakfast and hurry over to school wearing the very same clothes they had unexpectedly slept in. They were able to evade Louise's notice, although David was curious about the moment in which Brooke acknowledged her father from behind a closed door. The weary voice he heard in response didn't sound the least bit masculine. In their journey to school, Dave's curiosity got the better of him. "Uh...if you don't mind my asking, is your father sick?" Brooke's smiling face went serious for a moment as she seemed to contemplate how to answer that question. "My Dad's fine," was the answer he received. "He just...he...has a cold." David knew, from the sound of Brooke's voice, that this was a less-than- convincing excuse. "How long has he been bedridden?" "David...you asked me if I mind your asking," Brooke quickly countered. "Well...I do mind. My Dad's fine. Let's just...leave it at that, okay?" David raised his hands in restraint, letting the matter drop despite his lingering curiosity. "Sure, sure." After a couple of minutes of tense silence, David added "Sorry, I...I didn't mean to hit a sensitive subject." Brooke nodded, seemingly lost in thought. "S'alright," she assured. Both Brooke and David yawned constantly throughout the school day. Both were even caught napping during certain classes. On a mere three hours of sleep, the both of them went through the day like zombies. They had to struggle to keep their eyes open, particularly through Mr. Patterson's class. As fate would have it, Patterson put the class Brooke was a part of through a pop quiz. During the test, however, Brooke fell asleep. She was barely awake when she received her quiz, but as she began reading the first question, her eyelids began to droop, and her head bobbed down. She tried widening her eyes and keeping her head raised, but her eyes and her head drooped back down. The dull silence of the room only served to hasten her impromptu nap. It took Mr. Patterson shaking her shoulder to bring her out of it. "Good morning," the educator sarcastically began. "I just wanted to let you know that I'm counting your blank quiz paper as your submission." He had to stop a moment to clear his throat, as his voice seemed to be cracking as his other hand rubbed at his chest as if it were itchy. "I suggest you fix your sleep habits, Miss Vandervelde," he tersely added, loud enough for the entire class to hear. When he was out of earshot, Brooke silently cursed under her breath. This was obviously the lowest grade she had ever received on the pop quizzes she had been given thus far in Mr. Patterson's class. David was a bit more lucid during Mr. Patterson's computer class, although he, too, struggled to stay awake. The young Senior also noticed peculiarities in the teacher's behavior. In addition to his voice breaking whenever he spoke, and moments in which he was rubbing at his chest as if he had a rash there, he also seemed to be sitting and posturing in a less masculine manner. His hair also looked slightly longer than it usually did. Upon spotting David nodding off, Mr. Patterson sighed loudly and irritably as he leveled an angry gaze to the Senior student. Grabbing something from his desk, he frumpily approached David's desk and slammed what turned out to be a Hall Pass on it. "Go and throw some cold water on your face!" he growled. Shaking his head in an effort to come out of his drowsiness, David raised a hand, nodding, and picked up the Hall Pass as he rose to leave the classroom. The faces of amused students watched him go. As he drifted towards the male bathroom, however, a group of students he knew to be Seniors had emerged through the mid-hall swinging doors. They were moving with, and apparently surrounding, a single female student who was trying to ignore them. Among these Senior classmen were David's friends Jerome and Edmund. The female student, however, turned out to be Brooke Vandervelde. "You shouldn't fall asleep during class!" Edmund chided, in a bullying tone. "Betcha gonna get expelled," a female Senior added. "She couldn't even do a pop quiz." "Leave me alone!" Brooke finally wailed, turning to her tormentors. "Not on Freshman Day, kid!" Jerome taunted. "Once you in the hall during classes, it's take no prisoners!" "Tell ya what," another Senior boy offered. "You let us dump ice water over you, and we'll leave you alone." The offer was followed by a round of merciless, mocking laughter. "Fuck you!" Brooke defiantly spat back. Upon turning around, she failed to notice that a leg had been positioned behind her walking feet. Losing her balance, she crashed down to the ground as the bullying Seniors surrounded her. "Wow! Such a pottymouth!" Edmund taunted as the other Seniors cruelly grinned. "If you can't respect your betters, you owe us 20 push-ups on your knuckles. Get started!" "Yeah!" Jerome growled. "Get started, bitch!" Edmund, however, felt a hand angrily slap onto his shoulder. He was then turned to face the man who had stepped up behind him. Before Ed realized who it was, a hard fist crunched right into his nose. Twice. The second shot sent him staggering to the side wall of the hallway. Blood streamed out his nose. David grabbed Jerome next and slammed him to the wall on the other side. He then spun him around and sent his fist into the brown-skinned student's face as hard as he could in his anger. Once. Twice. Three times. One of the female Seniors loudly rebuked David, but he was far too angry to listen as an open-handed slap sent the bullying female to the ground. Still flush with rage, David stepped over to Edmund and began mercilessly stomping down at the young man's body. Jerome was able to fight through the haze of the unexpected beating and he grabbed David from behind, pinning his arms to his sides in so doing. After a bit of struggling, David brought his head down, and then snapped it back. The rear head butt caught Jerome in the nose once again. Loosening his hold on David, Jerome staggered back against the wall and slid down to a sitting position, lost in a senseless haze. The head butt made his face look like a bloody mess. His nose continued to stream blood from the visible damage David had inflicted. Seeing Edmund writhing on the ground in agony from David's punishing blows, Dave's eyes went to where he thought Brooke was lying, but she wasn't there. The hallway, however, was now loaded with gawking, hollering students eager to see more fighting. David was finally able to spot Brooke, who fearfully looked back at him, and he began to approach her... ...but another pair of far stronger arms once again pinned his arms to his sides and slammed him against the wall. Turning David around, he saw that it was a school security guard who had him pressed against the wall. "Don't move, kid!" the burly guard commanded. Two teachers checked on Edmund and Jerome, who were still lost in their respective hazes, as the girl who was slapped spoke to a second security guard, explaining the situation. The teacher checking Jerome had a very alarmed look on her face. "Get an ambulance! NOW!! CALL 911!!" she called out to the surrounding students. She then rose to her feet and approached where David was being held. "You better hope this young man can be saved, Sandberg. As it is, he's hanging by a THREAD!!" she angrily hollered. She then looked to the security guard. "Go put him someplace where he can't hurt anyone!" she commanded. David felt the need to rebuke this woman even as the guard was pulling him away. "This wouldn't have happened if it weren't for your fuckin' FRESHMAN DAY!!" he spitefully roared. David was silent as he was tugged towards one of the guard stations in the school, each of which had a small office with an overhead lamp, a table, a chair, and nothing else. Once the guard shoved David into this small room, he closed and locked the secure steel door. In the long, idle moment David was forced to sit through, he fell asleep. One thought was on his mind before he lapsed into unconsciousness, however. I warned you assholes. He griped to himself, thinking of Edmund and Jerome. I fucking WARNED you. * * * - PaulV67328 '< : Who is this? - SpicNSpan '< : Oh, thank the Goddess you haven't changed your handle. Your name is Paul Vandervelde, right? You were the Attorney for a man named Louis Sandberg a few months ago? - PaulV67328 '< : Yes? Who is this? - SpicNSpan '< : It's Louis Sandberg, Paul. - SpicNSpan '< : Well...I USED to be Louis Sandberg. I'm Louise Osterman now. - PaulV67328 '< : Louise? So you were at the Bottom of the 9th that night too? I didn't see you there! - SpicNSpan '< : No. I didn't go. I was already screwed. That's why you haven't heard from me. I think I was made to forget everything, but it's all coming back to me now. I don't know why, but it is. - PaulV67328 '< : Forget what? What are you talking about, Lou? - SpicNSpan '< : You mentioned the Bottom of the 9th. You were there on that night they were talking about on the news? You must have been affected by that bad beer. - SpicNSpan '< : Paul? - SpicNSpan '< : Please talk to me. - PaulV67328 '< : What happened to you? Why am I calling you Louise? And why the handle? - SpicNSpan '< : Handle? - PaulV67328 '< : SpicNSpan - SpicNSpan '< : Oh. That's a long story, but it's also the reason I never got back to you after telling you I was going to slap a subpoena on Irene Moore. The last thing I remember was seeing two complete strangers pay my house a visit. I'm trying to remember everything else, but so far, I'm drawing a blank. - PaulV67328 '< : So you're posing as a crossdresser to avoid notice? - SpicNSpan '< : I'm not a crossdresser, Paul. They turned me into this! I'm a she-male now. - SpicNSpan '< : A woman with a dick. - PaulV67328 '< : I know what a she-male is! - SpicNSpan '< : The same thing is happening to you, isn't it? - SpicNSpan '< : Paul? - PaulV67328 '< : I don't know how much longer I can pretend to be sick. My youngest daughter Ramona is the only one who has seen me, and only when I have errands for her to run. She's been blackmailing me into giving her a bonus on her allowance, too. - SpicNSpan '< : I dimly recall what you look like. What do you look like now? - SpicNSpan '< : Paul? - PaulV67328 '< : I have breasts. They really grew. - SpicNSpan '< : Does your voice sound weird? Like...higher? - PaulV67328 '< : Yes - SpicNSpan '< : What about your hair? - PaulV67328 '< : Long - PaulV67328 '< : Soft - SpicNSpan '< : How long? - PaulV67328 '< : Shoulder-length - PaulV67328 '< : Someone sent me an e-mail with an attachment with a weird video. I have to send Ramona out to get me hair curlers. - PaulV67328 '< : Last you saw me, I was in good fitness, wasn't I? - PaulV67328 '< : Lou? - SpicNSpan '< : Please...it's Louise, dear. Yes, I remember you being in shape. - PaulV67328 '< : I don't know what happened! I'm BIGGER now! I've got the kind of body of one of those old stay-at-home suburban housewives! I'm horribly out of shape! I'm watching TV all day! - SpicNSpan '< : Are you still living in the same house? Is your wife still with you? - PaulV67328 '< : Why are you asking? - SpicNSpan '< : Well...married life with Bill just doesn't interest me anymore. He's an accountant and he's a good man, but I just feel like there's something missing and if I can't talk to someone about it, I feel like I'll just go bust. He's one of those "pass the salt" kind of men. Nice, but all boring and routine. You know, like a couch potato. There's no excitement. Nothing interesting. - SpicNSpan '< : After a day of cooking and cleaning and polishing and mopping and shopping...I'm so glad they had that sale on Finicky Floor Wax, too. I was afraid I couldn't budget that one, but I was able to get two just to have surplus. I'm kicking myself for not buying one of the tuna casserole ingredients, and I think I need that new no-stick pot that I saw during a Wild Passions commercial break, that would make cleaning SO much easier...but anyway, I don't want to break dear old Bill's heart by being blunt, and it's always good to talk about things with someone you know, and besides, I was thinking about you anyway. - SpicNSpan '< : So are you still living in the same house? Is your wife still with you? - PaulV67328 '< : Yes and yes, but I only want to see people when there's no one in the house. I can let you in the back door, but we have to hurry back over to my bedroom. - PaulV67328 '< : You'll be the only one I know that is gonna see me like this. - SpicNSpan '< : But I have the same problem, Paul. We're on the same level. We'll just, you know, talk. Maybe watch Wild Passions together. - PaulV67328 '< : But I don't watch - PaulV67328 '< : Wild Passions? - SpicNSpan '< : Yes. I think Jock is finally gonna pop the big question to Alannah. - PaulV67328 '< : I was HOPING he would! After all that hemming and hawing. I kept saying to myself, how dense is this guy? When is he just going to admit that just because she wanted him to wear a half-slip to bed every night doesn't mean she thinks any less of him! - SpicNSpan '< : He probably still has Vanessa on his mind. - PaulV67328 '< : Oh, don't get me started with that stuck-up little hussy. She's always been bad news since the day that naughty little tramp was born! Antonio needs to put a leash on that slut! - SpicNSpan '< : Antonio's torn on his feelings for Chad. - PaulV67328 '< : BECAUSE VANESSA MANIPULATED HIM! - SpicNSpan '< : I'm sure we'll find out more tomorrow. What time should I arrive? - PaulV67328 '< : 10 am. I'll be waiting at the back door. Louise should be gone by then. - SpicNSpan '< : Louise is your wife's name? Goddess, I hope I don't start confusing you! - PaulV67328 '< : LOL! I'll see you tomorrow. I have to go. Ramona's pounding on my door again. - SpicNSpan '< : See you tomorrow then. Buh-bye, sweetie. ----===*CHAT TERMINATED*===---- * * * The sound of a door slamming loudly roused David from his hourlong, impromptu nap in the small room the security guard had put him into following the hallway fight. When his eyes regained focus on the real world, he found himself staring up into the more severe gaze of a dark-haired woman with arched eyebrows, and a considerably humorless expression. She had a folder in her hands, and a single pen in the breast pocket of a tight black blouse. "You shouldn't be sleeping anywhere in school unless you're in the infirmary, young man," the woman scolded as she stood in front of David's slouched posture in the seat. "My name is Tanya Yurcik. The regular school counselor is out today, so I will be filling in. I have some questions to ask you about the hallway incident. Could you sit up straight, please?" David complied, rubbing one hand over the soreness that came from striking the young men he had warned against tormenting his girlfriend. Great. He mused to himself. I'm about to be grilled by Ilsa the She- Devil. "Try to stay awake for these questions as well, Mr. Sandberg. If I noticed you're copping Zs on me, I'm recommending that you be expelled," Tanya coldly warned. "First off, why did you start the fight in the first place? Was it because of this..." She squinted at her written notes. "...'Freshman Day'?" David nodded. "Yes. Brooke Vandervelde...the girl they were bullying...is my girlfriend. I had warned them not to pick on her, but I saw them do that in the hallway when Mr. Patterson sent me out to throw cold water on my face." Tanya nodded in acknowledgement. "We did see a hall pass on the floor. Okay...and you say you warned them? Did you give a specific threat of physical violence?" The Senior student shook his head. "I just told them to stay away from her." Another nod from Tanya. "Did they do anything to Brooke? Did they...hit her, or anything?" "They tripped her," David answered. "I saw her fall to the floor. They said they wanted her to do push-ups on her knuckles." Tanya shook her head in disgust. "Men..." she disgustedly growled. "...did you know any of the students you struck down?" "Two of them were friends of mine. Ed and Jerome." "What about the girl you smacked?" Tanya asked. David shook his head. "Well...here's what you're looking at over what you did today, Dave." Tanya leaned forward. "Edmund is in the infirmary here at the school. Mild concussion, I think, so he should recover quickly." "And Jerome?" Tanya's expression darkened. "He was taken to Bullchester Hospital. He was having trouble breathing, seeing as how you hit him right in his nose more than once. I wonder if you realize that if you hit someone like that, a fragment of broken bone could lodge in his brain?" David sighed irritably. "He was bullying my girlfriend!" "I don't care if he was bullying your fucking mother, Mr. Sandberg!" Tanya angrily spat back, fixing a glare upon him so intimidating that he had to recoil. "Jerome's father is already playing the race card over his hospitalization. He wants the school to expel you over what you did to his son, and if he takes this matter to court? He'll have grounds to sue your ass if he can't have you removed from Kemp. However..." Tanya's expression then softened as she slowly pulled away from David to sit casually in her chair. "...there is a mitigating factor here, and that's this 'Freshman Day'. Do you know how long this has been going on?" "Since before I got here," David answered, looking a little puzzled at the sudden change in the dark-haired woman's approach to the interrogation. "They usually go after Freshmen who are in the halls during classes, and during lunch periods." Tanya nodded. "Were you ever hazed?" David shook his head. "I guess I was one of the lucky ones." "Whoopee fucking doo," Tanya sassed as she continued writing notes on her lined, yellow-paged notepad. After finishing, she rose to her feet and let out a relaxed sigh. "Did you hurt your hands hitting those boys?" David shrugged. "They're a little sore." "Well, stop by the infirmary if it gets worse," Tanya advised, pulling out her smartphone and touching its screen a few times as she spoke. "I've been told to let you off with a warning, David... but don't you dare cause another scene like you did today. No more starting fights. If you do..." She then showed David an image on her smartphone which made his blood run cold. It was an image from the "goth girl fashion" photo shoot he did with Rita Noble. His widened eyes saw himself quite convincingly crossdressed, effeminately posed, and made over in the gothic style. "...your life could radically change," Tanya finished, stowing away her smartphone afterwards. "You may go now." The shocked Senior student rose up from his seat quickly, fixing an angry gaze of his own on the dark-haired woman. "Could you please delete that photo?" he sternly asked. Tanya's eyes flared. "No, and I don't care how angry you want to be with me. It's not negotiable, and apes like you don't scare me at all. Now get to your next class." David, however, didn't want to let this go just yet, but he tried a less direct attempt, hoping to earn sympathy points. "Tanya, please, please erase that photo," he pleaded. But Tanya just glared back at him. "I could put the word out that you're a racist, seeing as how you broke the nose of a black man..." She then tilted her head to the side. "...or you can get the hell out of this room right now, and plant your ass in an empty seat in time for your next class." David sighed aloud. Fuuuuuuuuck. He griped to himself. With the expression of a condemned man, David passed Tanya and disappeared into the school halls. Tanya pulled her smartphone back out and tapped out a number, placing the phone to an ear. "Lady Agatha? It's Stella Primrose," the dark-haired woman began. "I have another Freshman Day-related incident to share with you, if you have a minute." * * * Another idle day in the 124 Room of the 19th Precinct became a little more interesting for Peter Sandberg as he came back from his lunch break. A part of him expected to see someone from Mistresses pay him another visit, but the lunch break came and went quietly despite his going to the very same place where he had his unexpected conversation with Olivia Tench. One of the female police officers cracked open the door to the 124 Room and looked to Peter. "Got a woman here who wants to file a complaint. She's askin' for you by name." The refueled Police Administrative Aide nodded, pulling a blank complaint sheet. "No problem. I'll take it," he replied. At the same time, he wondered if it was going to be another complaint from Cuddles, or perhaps even from Olivia herself. While he was on the right track, however, it turned out to be someone he had seen once before at that very same business. It was a dark-haired latino woman, sporting a pair of DD-cup breasts that jiggled in the tight spandex dress she was wearing beneath her partially-opened coat, that walked in with a sober expression, and settled her plush posterior upon the seat next to the large table near Peter's workstation where the office worker was sitting, ready to write up her complaint. He remembered this woman from his first visit to Mistresses. She was the exotic dancer that had caught her eye before he was diverted to Venetia Foerst. He even remembered her name. It was Zelene. She flipped her straight tassle of long black hair over her shoulder as she fixed her sultry gaze upon the clerical aide. "Hola," she began, her latino accent thick. "Madame Olivia told me to come to you if I have complaint. You take it?" Peter shrugged, smiling meekly. "Sure. I just need to take down some of your personal information first." The latino dancer's identity...the name Peter knew her as...turned out to be a stage name, as he handwrote out the performer's true name: Lupita Aquino. Taking down more of her information, Peter found that she was a resident of the southern portion of the Barford suburbs, which used to be a hotspot for rowdy latino gangs. The nature of her complaint was a harassment-related incident involving a large, short-haired woman who ranted about something called the "Sacred Feminine." Apparently, this zealot had been spouting hateful racist rhetoric at her whenever Lupita came within close proximity of her house two doors down from where the exotic dancer lived, and she even suspected this woman of being the cause of vandalism on Lupita's sports car. At one point while he was writing, Peter noticed Lt. Drucker gazing curiously into the 124 Room with a stony gaze. He then hurried out of the precinct. Lupita brought her lips close to Peter's ear to speak in confidence. Her spicy perfume was a particularly pleasing scent as she softly spoke. "That was Lieutenant Fucker, right?" Peter looked up to the dark-haired dancer with a curious expression. "You know him?" "Oh, madre de dios. We all know about that culo," Lupita responded, keeping her tone quiet. "I could tell you things about that guy. Always like to say he's this big angel of God with a badge. He's full of mierda, though. I feel sorry for his wife an' kid." At this point, Patrolman Sutcliffe stepped into the Complaint Room and stepped towards Peter, gesturing towards the complaint report. "Is that the latest, Pete?" The PAA nodded. "I just finished it. I was gonna start typing it up." "Naah, don't bother. I'll take it." Edgar reached for the page, which Peter handed to him, smiling gratefully. With a slight smile on his face, Edgar left the room, closing the door behind him. Lupita had her eyes on Peter the whole time. She was now smiling. At the same time, Peter noticed that Lt. Drucker had come back into the station house, but it seemed like he was hurrying back to his office. The exotic dancer was briefly diverted to this, but she just smirked and shook her head. She then turned her head back to Peter. "Ju know his wife hates him? I could tell you stories. He even pulled his gun on her once." The PAA frowned, looking skeptical. "How would you know that?" Lupita giggled. "We get all kinds of people in our club, novia. A lot of 'em are cops." "Which districts?" She shrugged. A hand went to his hair, rubbing it gently. "North..." The hand went to the bulge at his crotch, giving it a firm squeeze. "...south..." The hand went to his right shoulder, giving that area a squeeze. "...east..." her other hand did the same with his left shoulder. "...west..." She stepped back in front of him, settling the cushion of her butt against the edge of the table. "...lot of 'em talk about that Lt. Fucker. They say when he transfer out, they breathe a sigh of relief. I think they even celebrate after their tour, too." Peter definitely looked amused over this last part. Hell, I'd celebrate if someone could get rid of him. He mused to himself. Placing her hands on his shoulders, she bent her upper body down towards him, bringing her face inches from his as he just stared up at her. "Is funny. That cop who told me about Spencer pulling his gun on his wife? He told me to keep it a secret. Just him an' me knew about it...an' now, ju know, too." Peter smirked. "Broke your promise, eh?" Lupita shrugged. "I can't help it. I'm such a baaaad girl." She teasingly ran the tip of her tongue around her lips sensually after saying this. "I need to be cuffed. Spanked. I need to be all...tied...up." Peter swallowed audibly, and then smiled meekly, his gaze going between Lupita's face, and the exposed valleys of her cleavage. A slight smile was now on her ruby red lips. "Ju thinkin' about Madame Olivia's job offer, meng?" "Huh? Oh...uhh, yeah," Peter replied, feeling inescapably flustered. "I...haven't made up my mind yet." The sexy latino nodded slowly. "Take your time. We not goin' anywhere." She then flashed a full grin. "Thank you, baby. Ju come by the club sometime. I owe you a table dance." With a sultry wink, Lupita turned and swayed towards the door to the 124 Room, and stepped out. Many eyes followed her as she approached the front doors of the command, and disappeared behind them. "Wow..." Peter whispered to himself. Slipping a hand beneath his pants, he confirmed a moist, sticky spot where his bulge was. A couple of minutes after Lupita had left, Lt. Drucker re-emerged from his office and approached Anita, a desk-bound officer, with a task he apparently wanted her to do. Peter got to work filing away the department copy of the Complaint Form as the ICO turned to the Complaint Room and entered. Peter kept his eyes on his work as Drucker paced slowly behind him. "We really shouldn't be taking complaints from those tramps. Someday, God's just gonna wash 'em all away in a big flood, and we won't have to bother with those sluts anymore." The office worker just ignored him despite the Lieutenant being as close as he was. A long moment of silence followed. "You know it's illegal for a Police Department employee to buy a lapdance," Drucker reminded as he followed Peter to the file cabinet where all of the complaint reports were located. The ICO brought his lips close to Peter's to finish his warning. "You could lose your job." "I know, sir," was Peter's only response, emotionless as it was, as he went back to his workstation. Drucker followed him as he spoke. "By the way...tomorrow morning, I'm gonna need you to..." Continuing to ignore him, Peter grabbed another Complaint Report and got ready to type it out... ...but Drucker's hand slammed on the bare desk space in front of him, making him jump in his seat. "LOOK at me, Sandberg!!" he angrily yelled. Clearly intimidated, despite himself, Peter attempted a defiant glare, but he couldn't manage it. "Tomorrow morning, I'm gonna need you to run the plates on everyone in the command," Drucker informed. "We need to renew them for the next year. Run everything. Make, model, the whole thing. I want printouts, too." Peter's response was tinged with a fear he could not conceal. "Y-yes sir." "Can you do overtime?" Drucker then asked. "No, sir." Drucker, of course, had heard that Sandberg never extended his tour. He just liked working his regular hours on his tour, and that was it. This was clearly a button Spencer liked to press in his continued and deliberate torment of what he deemed a wimpy civilian worker. "Why not?" Drucker wondered aloud. "You don't want the extra money? The extra annual leave? Have you even tried to..." "I know you can't make me do overtime, sir," Peter defiantly interjected. "I'll do what you want, but I will not be working any hours more than my regular tour." This put a clearly sour expression on Drucker's face as he backed away. Seeing the ICO do this, he turned back to his work... ...but not before Drucker shot back with a gripe. "Y'know, if this were a real job? You'd be fired on the spot," His tone turned nasty. "On the frickin' spot!!" Peter needed a moment to recover from the intimidation. He was definitely fuming inside. As he resumed his work, he daydreamed about being able to lash out more at the Lieutenant. Being able to burst out of his seat and put him in a sleeper hold until the larger man passed out. Or until he heard the bones in Drucker's neck fatally crack. * * * In the long stretch of time following the final school bell of the day, Lou Drummond had wanted to get back home to his wife and his two children and crack open a beer while lounging in a chair in front of a Stock Market program, but Lloyd Kemp's Dean needed to take a meeting with Gemma Schultz, and a second woman she was bringing with her. This request came straight from the upper echelons of the Bullchester Department of Education. The look on Lou's face was visibly dark. Once again, he would likely hear more about the ridiculous and fabricated "sacred feminine" dogma Gemma was always torturing him with from time to time. He wanted to confront the Principal about it, but he had never seized the opportunity. Inevitably, there was a knock on the door of his office. Glancing to the window on the upper half of the door, he could see some of Gemma Schultz's head. "Come in," Lou grumpily announced. Gemma had the appearance of a schoolteacher as she walked in, smiling to Lou. Behind her was the second woman that was mentioned. She wore dark sunglasses and had a head of short black hair. A gauzy purple blouse, and a set of matching purple undergarments, adorned her otherwise bare body. She remained standing behind Gemma as the former Jed Schaffner settled into the seat facing Lou on the other side of the desk. Lou was already frowning. "I don't suppose we could talk about something other than your 'divine feminine', Miss..." Lou's gaze then went to the other woman, and his eyes widened. "...Schultz?" Gemma turned her head to her companion, basking in the distinction of somehow having the upper hand. "You've seen this man before, haven't you, Lady Agatha?" An insidious smile formed on the dark-haired woman's face as she slowly removed her glasses. "I have." "Well, he seems to think that our long-held religious beliefs are fabricated," Gemma explained, turning her gaze, accusingly, back to the Dean. Agatha raised an eyebrow. "Does he?" Lou's anger once again intensified. "Lady...I don't know who you are, or who you're connected to..." "Are you wearing the pretty panties I told you to wear?" Agatha amusedly interjected. "YES I AM!!" he hollered. In the next second, he looked shocked, seeing Gemma's alarmed expression. "I-I mean...YES! I mean..." Agatha snapped her fingers sharply. "Let's see them." Lou's gaze turned fearful as he found himself rising from his seat. Stepping out from behind his desk, his shaking hands unfastened the restraints on his pants and he pulled them down. Not only were his legs clean-shaven, but he was indeed wearing a pair of white, clearly feminine panties which were covered with red polka-dots. Gemma gasped in feigned shock. "How sacrilegious!" Her hands went to her mouth, visibly aghast. "This school is clearly in dire need of our influence!" Lou desperately wanted to be able to pull his pants back up, but all he could do was stand there, rooted to his spot, while two women were gazing at the feminine undergarment he had been pre-conditioned to wear beneath his pants. Lou's voice sounded significantly weaker now as he shook where he stood. They could see signs of perspiration on his bare skin. "Please...I...could I...p-pull my pants up??" Agatha seemed to ignore this as she stepped over to where Lou was sitting and settled herself into the seat. She then pulled a file out of a side pack that was slung across her slim body and opened it up. "We've been assessing various incidents that have occurred here in this school, all of them related to an annual and unofficial rite-of-passage being conducted by your Senior students in the hallways. Seems they prowl the halls looking for Freshmen to torment. Similar things have happened during lunch periods, and yet, the faculty seems to look the other way. Why is that, Lou?" "What y-yyyou mean that...that...'Freshman Day' thing??" the humiliated Dean fearfully remarked. "We don't condone that at all! If we...if we see any kind of bullying, even on this 'Freshman Day', the students doing the..." he stopped a moment to swallow audibly. "...doing the bullying face susss-suspension!" "Which tells me that your school has a spirituality problem," Gemma concluded, her eyes going between Lou's frightened face and his polka- dotted panties. "The Lady Agatha and I agree that this school needs to be re-purposed." "I might also add that the Mayoress is in full support of this intiative as well," Agatha added. "We're also transferring a couple of your teachers to Feetham's, as well." "But...b-but, but Feetham's..." Sweat was now rolling down his face as Lou's eyes continued to boggle fearfully. "...that...that's a girl's school, isn't it??" "Why would that concern you, Mr. Drummond?" Gemma asked, gesturing to the panties he was wearing as she slowly stepped towards him. "Seeing as how you yourself have crossdressing habits?" Stopping behind him, she spoke alluringly into one of his sweaty ears. "Do you want to be a girl, LouAnn? Hmm?" His mind screamed the answer that he was clearly preventing from letting his mouth repeat. Oh, yes! YES! I so very much WANT to be a girl! Miss Aggie told me I could be a GOOD girly with the cutest, perky little titties! Say it! Say it! Agatha shook her head amusedly, making a 'tut-tut' noise as she did. "You should really come out and admit it, girl...or do we have to reveal the other undergarment you're wearing right now?" "Oh no...no, no...p-pleeease don't...!" Once again, Agatha snapped her fingers loudly. "Let's see them." And off came his dress jacket, his button-down shirt, and his tie, effectively exposing a matching bra. His upper body was similarly hairless. Gemma infectiously and mockingly laughed. "He should start wearing pantyhose, too!" Agatha smirked at this. "That's the next step." All Lou could do was to drop to his knees before the dark-haired woman. His pleading expression lingered as he looked up to her. "Please...I...I can't let...anyone see me like this!!" As Lou whimpered, Agatha casually pulled out her smartphone and began snapping pictures of the half-naked, hairless Dean. Gemma also had her smartphone out and was likewise clicking away with her phone's photo app. "If you wish to absolve yourself of your sins, I will need you to sign a few release forms," Agatha explained as she stowed away her phone. "We already have the Principal's signatures. Once we have yours, we'll just let this semester finish out, and then begin the repurposing process during the summer break. Any students or faculty that does not wish to remain will be transferred. For the moment, you should arrange for substitute teachers to take over for the teachers we'll be extracting by the week's end." Lou frowned a bit. "Which...which ones are you taking??" Agatha pulled out another file, which contained two folders. "Philip Patterson, aaaand...Ronald Fontaine." The frightened Dean tilted his head to the side. "Th-the...our computers and math teacher, and...and our music teacher??" "We prefer hymns to Mozart," Gemma teased at locks of his balding hair. "You need to grow some more of this, girl." "You don't mind...do you, LouAnn?" Agatha asked, leaning forward. She slipped a pantyhose-covered foot out of one of her high-heeled shoes and brought the unpleasantly-scented sole up to rub against Lou's sweaty cheek. "If you don't give us any trouble, I can set you up for an appointment at the Beauty Salon, where they will undo all the nasty things I've done to you when I met you in the aisles at Gourmandizer's last weekend, and you'll come out a new man." "I...I met you..." Lou struggled to try and remember, but he was drawing a blank. "...at the supermarket?? I don't...I-I don't..." "Shhhhh. Don't think about that now," Agatha kept her voice tender and nurturing as she spoke, still rubbing her foot against the Dean's head. "Just sign these release forms, and I'll have Gemma take you to the Beauty Salon where they'll make you feel as right as rain." Lou could feel Gemma's hand rubbing gently at his sweaty head. "You're such a good little girl, LouAnn. I'm sorry we got off on the wrong...foot." Between the smell of Agatha's foot and the rubbing, Lou Drummond's resistance seemed to snap. "Okay...okay...okayokayokayokay..." he spoke softly as he whined. "...just t-tell me where to sign." As he was kneeling on a tiled floor, Gemma dropped a pen down while Agatha dropped the documents on the ground so Lou could sign them. Gemma also slipped a foot out of her shoe and gently planted it on the Dean's bare back as he applied his signature to the waiting blank lines. Once they were all signed, Agatha hand him gather up the files, keeping him on his knees, and had him hand the documents back to her. Looking down at the once feisty Dean, Agatha contemplated Drummond's fate. Once the dermis machine at the Salon provided him with the foundations of femininity, the next few baths he would take in the foaming pink chemical water that she would have routed to his Barford home would reduce his age to the point where the newborn LouAnn would ironically become one of the first enrolled students of Bullchester's newest parochial school. Agatha also made a mental note to reprogram the new girl's mind to that of an unpleasantly radical 'teacher's pet' mentality. Gemma helped Lou off the floor, slipping her stockinged foot back into her shoe. She then led the broken man to the door of his own office. "Come now, sweetie," she adopted a nurturing tone as they neared the door. "Let's go pay the Mall a visit. Maybe we'll run into that nice Mr. Fontaine while we're there! Wouldn't that be a blessed thing, dearie?" Lou nodded slowly. "Y-yes...yes." "Blessed be the Divine Feminine," Gemma gently praised as they disappeared into the hall. Agatha checked her watch, hoping that Ron Fontaine's own appointment would be finished by the time Lou Drummond arrived. * * * At the Butterfly Salon, an asian woman named Suki stepped up behind Donna Brent as the latter attendant lowered the lid on the dermis machine. "I heard there was some excitement with this one." "No. Not here," Donna replied. "Cops brought Mr. Fontaine here. Apparently, his wife walked in on him as he tried to do something...drastic." "Really?" Suki tilted her head to the side in her curiosity. "What happened?" Donna sighed. "He tried to hang himself. Kept going on about how 'his body was betraying him'. It's a good thing his wife works with Crescent Moon. She gave him something to calm his nerves while the intervening officers were cuffing him." Suki looked aghast. "I hope his children didn't...?" Donna shook her head. "Nope. They were still in school." The asian woman nodded, feeling a little more relieved. Their heads then turned to the machine's latest occupant, which was a mullet-haired, green-eyed, slim-bodied man with perky nipples, and a fuzz of brown hair on his tanned chest, arms, and legs. Suki curiously checked the data on Ron. "Hmm...music teacher. Smoker...? Donna? Are you aware that this man is a pot-smoker?" Donna nodded. "I already measured his content. All green. He checked out. No hallucinatory intrusions. His wife had already confiscated his stash." Suki nodded back. "Hope this man's son doesn't freak out too much," she wondered aloud. "He's a Behemongers player," Donna responded. "I hear Loris is doing something special with their newest batches of cards. Maybe we'll see Richie in here sometime soon." * * * Within the dermis machine, merciless machine tones were assaulting Ron Fontaine's brain, feeding him the mind-bending programming that would factor into the new life the Sisterhood had crafted for him. His mind feverishly sought to resist what was happening as he whispered fearfully. "MynameisRonFontaineMynameisRonFontaineMynameisRonFontaineMynameisRonFon taineMynameisRonFontaine..." He stopped a moment to swallow nervously. ".. .MynameisRonFontaineMynameisRonFontaineMynameisRonFontaineMynameisRonFon taineMynameisRonFontaine..." Ron wondered if there was going to be any pain associated with what was going to happen in this machine. He quietly hoped that if he was to feel any agony that it would be strong enough to conveniently kill him. Pink vapors began to cover the terrified, 25 year old educator's body. Aside from a few dull aches around his chest, he felt a sharp, but brief constriction at his throat. A severe soreness that only lasted about five seconds before he was able to breathe again. His whispering voice began to shake uncontrollably as he kept his eyes squeezed shut. With what the vapors were doing to him, the machine tones were able to sink deeper into his subconscious mind. "...M-mmm- mynameisRonFontaineMynameisRonFonta-fff-fonnntainai...ff...font- tell...fffontainaina...omigodomigodomigod...I...IIII...ammmm...R- Ronneeeeiiinnne...." He could feel whatever technological witchcraft was assaulting his brain cut through his increasingly meager resistance like a hot knife through butter, and yet, he still struggled to fight through it to the last. "Mmmmmmm....mmmuuuhh....mmmmmuuhhhhhhh....Ronnneeeeiiiii... .Ronnnnneeeeeiiiii....Rennnneeeeeeiiiiiifffffeeeeeeeiiiiiii....fffffff. ...ffnnnnntnnnnnnelllll...." A new name...a new identity...mercilessly began to form on his mind, practically warping every little memory he had naturally held onto and shaping them into something far, far different. Ron's head...which now had long strands of curly red hair, some of it drenched in the sweat that was collecting on his face...jerked to the right and the left in his masculine mind's wild desperation to keep from being completely reprogrammed. His moans and his pants now sounded feminine. He could feel some of his strength diminish. The demands of the machine to keep him calm were the only thing he was able to fight as he found the strength to form words once again, whispering in a higher voice. "Myname...myname...Rennnn...Renfffff...." He could feel the tickle of more curly hair on his sweat-moistened shoulders. He swallowed nervously, his higher voice still shaky. "Reneeee....Fontanelle...Renee...F-Fontanelle...yes...yes...th-that's me...R-Renee...Fontanelle..." The machine tones...the subtle, mind-bending voices within those tones...the thick, vision-obscuring pink mists...then began to recede, the vapors apparently being sucked into side vents as Renee Fontanelle breathed shaky, light breaths. Her softened mind became much less stressed as she relaxed. The ordeal was over, and she could get on with her educator's life. And yet, the dying consciousness of Ron Fontaine still felt compelled to lift an arm and bring it before her color-changed blue eyes. The hairless skin on the arm was pale, slim, and freckled. Her hands went to her head to feel the fullness of the curly red hair that had grown in abundance during the procedure. A flare of light forced Renee to squint as the lid of the machine was lifted up. The arm she had examined now shielded her eyes as Donna smiled down at the machine's latest victim. Both she and Suki helped the curly red-haired woman, whose chest had now split into a pair of perky A-cups, out of the machine. They felt her body trembling, no doubt a sign that Ron was trying to resist what the machine was doing to him. "There, there," Donna cooed. "That didn't hurt, did it? Listen...our computers are being a bit flukey. I know I entered your name, but it seems to have cleared. What was your name again, girl?" After a few gasps of calming breath, the redhead looked to the attractive attendant. "Renee," the former Ron Fontaine softly announced. Her voice no longer quivered. "My name is Renee Fontanelle." "Ahhh, right. Renee. I'll have Suki here fix the file then," The asian attendant stepped away. This was a lie, of course, as the computers were fine, but this was also standard procedure when it was feared that a subject might resist imposed programming. "Ohhh, Goddess." Donna scanned over the pale-skinned and freckled body of Feetham University's newest Music Teacher. "I love that hair! You look so beautiful, Renee." A full smile formed on Renee's lips as Ron Fontaine's memories permanently disintegrated in that moment. She gently placed a hand on Donna's chest as she spoke. "Thank you, dear." "Oh...and there was one other thing," This was another necessary step in the recovery process. One last test of the freshly-laid programming. "Someone was looking for somebody while you were in the machine. Do you know a Ron Fontaine?" Donna asked. Renee looked away for a moment, running a hand through her beautifully thick and curly red hair...much of it moist with sweat...as she tried to make some kind of a connection. The educator's eyes returned to Donna's. "I'm sorry, dear," The tone of her voice was soft and whispery. "I have no idea who that is. Is he a student at Feetham's?" Donna shrugged, smiling meekly. "Beats me!" VI: Immaculate Conceptions "Good morning, 'Kempers.'" Gemma Schultz began as she addressed the first batch of students gathered in the school auditorium, most of them watching the Sisterhood advocate with lazy, bored eyes. "Your Dean is unfortunately...indisposed for the moment, but he was kind enough to ask me to gather you all so I can share an important announcement regarding this very school." Among the lazy-eyed students watching were Brooke Vandervelde and David Sandberg, both of whom had once again shared another romantic evening encounter that lasted until 4 a.m., giving them a paltry three hours of sleep. They sat next to each other, fighting their own respective ability to keep their eyes open. Well-rested Faculty members, on the other hand, looked more than a little curious as Gemma continued. The parochially-inclined former man then read from a document she had laid out on the podium in front of her. To give her more of a teacherly appearance, she slipped on a pair of glasses before she started reading. "The Lloyd Harrison Kemp High School, Designation 069B in the Municipal Zone Divisions, has suffered from a number of incidents involving misconduct and misogynistic behavior, in addition to sub-par educational standards which do not reflect the changing social landscape of the Bullchester communities. Particular attention in this regard has been given to its unchecked legacy of an apparently unofficial and annual occurrence which has subjected new students to unjust and cruel treatment at the hands of Seniors, a wanton hazing ordeal known to the student body as 'Freshman Day'." David perked up a bit at the mention of this, although at the same time, he continued to fight the urge to fall asleep. His eyelids lowered, and then opened wide, in his efforts to keep conscious. "The perpetrators and tormentors of the previous 'Day'..." She looked up for a moment. "...which, I'm told, was yesterday..." Gemma resumed reading. "...have been identified and are being questioned. Suspension and expulsion are among the punishments they face for their unjust actions. As for this school, it has become clear that radical steps must be taken to repurpose it, the cosmetic alterations of which will commence during the summer break. Current Freshmen, Sophomores, and Juniors will be given the option to transfer to another school within the Bullchester municipality during the aforementioned summer break, while the incoming proprietors and educators arrange lesson plans owing to Kemp's transformation..." she paused a moment for effect, looking back up at the students as she dropped the bombshell. "...into the John the Baptist School for the Sacred Feminine." This sent an audible cacophony of low murmurs among not only the students, but the faculty as well. Most of them were visibly surprised, while others looked a bit shocked. The latter response was felt by most of the faculty, who were hearing this proclamation for the first time. Gemma raised her voice as she continued to speak into the available microphone. "Now I KNOW this may come as a bit of a shock to some of you..." The murmurs died down. "...but for those willing to embrace our divine path, you will be welcomed back with open arms, and on the promise that you will not only be on your best and most proper behavior, but that you are willing to promote our most vital beliefs. It is the only way that this city's legacy of rampant misogyny...and more importantly, wanton debauchery...can be permanently cleansed. We humbly ask for your understanding and, if this proclamation meets with your approval, your compliance. Signed, Julia B. Stroud, Mayoress of Bullchester." Smiling, the Sisterhood agent looked back up to the students as she turned the document around and laid it face down. "Now...are there any questions in the time we have remaining?" Social Studies teacher Tom Buchanan became the first of many raised hands that were chosen to make their inquiries. "Will it be possible for existing members of the faculty to become a part of the repurposing?" "Providing you share, and prove, your belief in the Sacred Feminine? Certainly," Gemma answered. Math teacher Allie Myerson was next. "What exactly is this...'Sacred Feminine'? Is it some kind of New Age belief?" Gemma smiled, in a somewhat ominous manner. "Without going into too much detail, Miss Myerson, it's...the future. A truly golden age. A new era of enlightenment free of instinctive aggression and irrational behavior vetted, quite frankly, by men." Science teacher Martin Larch was selected next. "So this school is going to become a breeding ground for a radical feminist ideal with no real history behind it?" Gemma giggled at this. "You're making us sound like terrorists, Marty. We don't want to blow up buildings, or orchestrate school shootings here. Are there not parochial schools for the Hebrew faith? For Christianity? Are there not Catholic Schools that you can count on more than one hand? It's not wise to question our right to exist, and to keep us from practicing our beliefs in a country like ours. Is religious freedom not a constitutional right?" "What about kidnapping?" A blond, well-coiffed and well-dressed young man in a button-down, striped white shirt and a sleeveless navy blue sweater defiantly rose up from his seat. "What about brainwashing? Are those constitutional rights?" Gemma recognized the school's current Valedictorian, an idealistic teen named Tyler Lawrence. Her expression darkened as she pointed to him. "You didn't have your hand raised, Mr. Lawrence. Sit back down," she sharply rebuked. "Not until you explain what happened to Mr. Fontaine!" Tyler shot back. He then fired a finger over to a nearby teacher. "Not until you explain what's happening to Mr. Patterson!" Philip gasped a bit, and he seemed to shrink where he stood as many eyes in the auditorium turned to him as a collective murmur...mostly from the male students and faculty...began a slow rise in volume. Patterson's arms were crossed over his chest as he glanced, meekly, to Tyler. Hilary Van Owen, who was nearby, hurried over to console the timid educator, wrapping her arms around him. Gemma was now glaring at the Valedictorian, but he just glared right back. "The school's under corporate ownership now, isn't it?" Tyler then directed his voice to the others around him. "Can you all believe it?? We're Loris International's newest acquisition! Today, athletes and scholars. Tomorrow? Nuns and fucking dogma!" "ENOUGH!!" Gemma barked into the podium's microphone, bringing the rising mutters to a halt. She needed a moment to recover from her outburst, and her rising rage, before regaining calm and bringing her eyes back to Tyler, who was still defiantly standing. After a deep breath, she gave her response. "The repurposing has nothing at all to do with Loris, young man. Did you not hear who had written and signed this proclamation? This comes straight from the Mayoress of Bullchester, which means whether you all like it or not, this WILL happen. All the necessary contractors have signed on to begin their work following the last day of the school semester, and whether you agree with what we're doing or not, you will all see just how wonderful a world the Sacred Feminine will guide us into. Thank you all for your time. You may return to your classes now," With a sweet smile and a nod, Gemma stepped away from the podium. Deep within the pious woman's mind, however, she was seething with rage over the Valedictorian's outburst. Tyler wasn't done, either. As the editor for the school newspaper, he was already planning to write a major smear article over the dangers of the apparent school takeover, but he needed to wait until he got back home to power up his computer and begin writing. Gemma already had her smartphone out as she walked backstage, and was already speaking to Agatha about Tyler. As the loudly-murmuring crowds began to head out of the auditorium, only two students remained in their seats, and only because they had both fallen asleep. They were Brooke Vandervelde, and David Sandberg. Two Security Guards had to literally pick them up and take them both to the infirmary, as they could not be roused with light taps to their cheeks. Standing idly outside of the auditorium as the sleeping bodies of David and Brooke were carried out, Gemma Schultz read over the proclamation once again, and now expressed curiosity over one particular line. 'If this proclamation meets with your approval?' she recited to herself, a puzzled expression on her face. * * * Please step into my office, Tamara. Tamara Portnoy rose from her seat at her desk, feeling her large posterior and her huge chest alluringly jiggle as she did, and swayed over to the door leading into the office of the Mayoress of Bullchester after reading her text. Upon entering, she could see that Julia Stroud was already facing her, holding a document in her hand. She had an accusing look on her face. Swallowing a bit nervously, as she was now alerted as to what this would be about, Tamara stepped over to the Mayoress, trying to look innocent. "You...wanted to see me, Your Honor?" Tamara asked. Julia turned the paper around so Tamara could see it, placing her index finger on one line. "I wanted to see if this proclamation met with your approval, Tamara." Tamara went quiet. She knew she was not going to get away with that liberty, and now it was time for the hardest part of this subtle act of defiance: dealing with the consequences. "You know I didn't recite that line," Julia chided. "The line should have read 'We humbly ask for your understanding and your compliance'. It's not like I'm ordering people to accept this, otherwise I would not have used the word 'humbly'," The Mayoress then rose from her seat and slowly approached Tamara. "When you take dictation from me, I expect you to type out every word you've written down. No embellishments, no liberties." When Julia positioned herself behind her plus-sized secretary, Tamara closed her eyes and swallowed hard. She knew what was going to come next, and she could not help but feel an inescapable sense of...excitement, which mingled with her fear. "I repeat..." Julia's hands settled upon Tamara's bare neck, turning the former Timothy Portnoy's clear thoughts into a jumbled mess. "...when you take dictation from me, I expect you to type out every single word you've written down. No embellishments, and no liberties." Tamara's exhales came out as shaky pants as her head jerked back from the effect of Julia's angel power. At the same time, she felt a gush of warmth at her posterior. Deviously smiling, Julia's hands lingered, and began to massage at her secretary's shoulders, pushing away the tight fabric of Tamara's tight white one-piece lycra dress in doing so. The lips of the Mayoress then came close to Tamara's ear as the impromptu massage continued. "And when you give me my morning coffee..." Julia added, purring her words. "...I want you to start tending to my feet every morning. I want them rubbed, and I want every toe lovingly sucked." With one hand still on Tamara's bare shoulder, Julia reached down and pulled the tight skirt area of her secretary's outfit up so she could feel at the outer surface of the pink panties Tamara was wearing. Her suspicions were confirmed when her fingers rubbed against freshly- ejaculated cum that had drenched the plus-sized woman's panties. Giggling, Julia released Tamara, whose thoughts needed a moment to restore as she began panting loudly. The Mayoress then stepped back in front of the recovering blonde, leveling an index finger at her as she spoke. "We could have both gotten in the shit over that stunt. I think even Grace...even Maggie...would have considered that unwise," Julia firmly chided. "If you wanted to suggest additions, don't keep it to yourself and go over my head. ASK me. Don't make me have to French-kiss you to lock in your loyalty to me. I know you don't want that." Tamara nodded, lowering her head regretfully. Julia was right, although there were still moments in which she doubted her trust in the Mayoress. "Yes, Your Honor." "Back to your desk, then," Julia curtly remarked, and the two women returned to their respective workstations. Tamara let out a long sigh, rubbing her head, and then resumed typing another municipal document once she was back in front of her computer terminal. As always, she could feel a thousand eyes in the office staring at her without even having to look away from the monitor. This time, the hyper-voluptuous secretary to the Mayoress copied the lengthy recitation word for word, ignoring that more naughty urge to repeat her mistake just so she could feel Julia Stroud's stimulating, mind-bending power once again. * * * Upon emerging from his last class of the day, which was his Economics class, Tyler Lawrence was eager to head over to the classroom where the school paper was published so he could hold an editorial meeting. After the assembly he had attended earlier in the morning, he was eager to get a revolution started, and perhaps even put a roadblock on the school's repurposing. As it was the end of the day for most of the other Senior classmen, there was a surge of bodies heading towards the main entrance to the school. As he made his way through, he caught sight of David Sandberg and Brooke Vandervelde in each other's arms, locked in a deep and passionate kiss even as the sea of students going in both directions was active. Heading into one of the school's two main stairwells, he made his way to the third floor, and by now, most of the students had emptied the school. Upon emerging into the stairwell, his peripheral vision caught sight of a young woman who was hurrying over to him from behind. Turning curiously to face her, he saw that she was a plain-looking, dark-haired woman in glasses, wearing a bright pink cardigan sweater and a plaid skirt. Her hair was tightly wrapped into a small bun at the back of her head, and her legs were bare and unadorned save for a pair of vintage bobby socks and a pair of black flats, and she had a small bundle of books cradled in her arms. She flashed a smile as he halted his movement and turned to her. "Hi!" the young woman perkily began. "Umm...you're the guy that protested the repurposing that they announced this morning, right? At the assembly?" Tyler nodded, glancing at the C-cup bulges at her chest. "Yeah, that was me. Who wants to know?" She held out a hand for the Valedictorian to shake. "Isabel Martinez. Nice to meet you." "Tyler," he replied. "I wish I could stay and talk, but...I have an editorial meeting to run." As Tyler resumed his journey, Isabel followed behind him as she talked. "I just came from there, actually. I figured you'd be there. Your faculty advisor cancelled that meeting." Smirking, the blond young man kept walking, unfazed and skeptical of Isabel's words. "Uh-huh. Nice try." But upon reaching the classroom that was used for editorial meetings, he found the room darkened and locked. Tyler frowned in his visible confusion before turning to Isabel, who just shrugged, smiling meekly. "Told you," she amusedly remarked. The perplexed Valedictorian immediately went for his smartphone and rang up the faculty advisor as Isabel leaned against the door, smiling strangely to him. "Hello, Mr. Cumberland? Yeah, I'm in front of the classroom right now, how come...we do this...we do this meeting every week. It's crunch time, everyone has to get their articles in by today. You know this." Isabel stood idly as Tyler continued speaking. She brought up a free hand and began to slowly run the tip of her tongue, slowly, around the top of her middle finger. She glanced to Tyler as she did this... ...but Tyler was continuing his conversation with the faculty advisor. "Why are you getting so fired up about what happened in assembly?? SOMEONE had to say something! You didn't notice how strange things have been in school as of late? Since when does some religious doctrine I've never even heard of get to take over an entire fucking school on a whim? And while we're at it, where are the underclassmen gonna go? There's not a lot of options out there, and what if they're full? What if they can't accept...SOMEONE. HAD. TO. SAY. SOMETHING. I am not gonna stand idly by while that Gemma bitch goes and...no, we have First Amendment rights to say our peace. If we can't do it on print, then we should go to the Municipal Building and...hello? Hello?? Mr. Cumberland?? HELLO??" As Tyler spoke, Isabel's moistened fingertip was now rubbing from the tip of her chin down along her bare neck to the V-neck of the striped, plain-looking peach shirt she was wearing under the cardigan sweater. She then noticed the blond student looking at her incredulously. "Hung up on you?" "He seems to think I'm some kind of terrorist now," Tyler huffed. "I just want to engage in honest discussion with the Mayoress about the need to repurpose the school. Not a lot to ask." Isabel slowly walked over to him. "Do you think she'd let you do that? The Mayoress?" Tyler smirked. "It would certainly benefit her chances of being re- elected." The dark-haired girl idly adjusted her glasses. "Well, I think it's a feasible idea, and I'm willing to help you raise an army. You're right. We need to make a stand for all those underclassmen. I mean, where are they all gonna go? Feetham's? Are they gonna need to double up on students in classrooms because of the overflow this is gonna bring about next semester? That's bullshit. We really need to confront Mayoress Stroud about this." Hearing how impassionate Isabel sounded impressed Tyler, although he had also glanced at her when she was engaging in her...unusual habits while idling. "You...are a student here, right?" Isabel nodded, smiling. Tyler nodded slowly, still a touch skeptical. "What class? Sophomore? Junior?" "Senior," Isabel answered. "In fact, I just came out of the College Advisor's office. I think you've made a supporter out of him, too, with that outburst this morning." A slight smile was now on Tyler's face. "That's promising." "We really shouldn't talk anymore right here in the hallway," Isabel candidly advised. "Let me take you somewhere that we can talk more. It's a bar that has a back room. We can spend as much time as you want. It's nice and quiet back there. They use it for private parties." Tyler frowned in his suspicion. "Do you work there?" The slim-bodied Senior shook her head. "No, but I know friends there who do, and the bouncer owes me a favor anyway." The determined Valedictorian was hesitant. This was someone he hardly knew, although she did sound like she wanted to lend her support. Isabel caught on to this hesitation. "Do you want to fight for the right to be heard or not, Tyler? It took one black woman on a bus in Alabama in the 1950s to start up a revolution, didn't it?" The blond Senior nodded. "Yeah, you...you've got a point." "Sooo? Let's go!" Isabel pulled him away from the locked classroom door. "Early bird gets the front page headlines. Maybe even a spot on the evening news." As they descended the staircase, Tyler glanced at the young woman's short plaid skirt, which seemed to flop up as they went down the steps. It flopped up enough to reveal that Isabel was not wearing any panties. * * * "David? Is that you?" Mildred Sandberg heard the door to their residence open at around the time the first of her sons usually got home. She definitely sounded upset. "Get over here!" Letting out a big yawn, David drifted over to face her mother, who had paused a program she was watching on the DVR. Despite his lazy expression, he looked curious. "What's wrong, ma?" "The school called me this morning. Saying you've been falling asleep in class." The middle-aged woman continued glaring as she continued to scold her son. "Where have you been the past couple of nights??" David rubbed the back of his neck nervously. "I...I've been...seeing a girl. We have...uh...study sessions t'gether." "Well, you can study at home. Or on the weekend," Mildred commanded. "I don't want you going out so late on a school night anymore. Do you realize this could cost you your diploma??" "Ma, she's...she's gorgeous," David protested. "I always like seeing her. I'm gonna see her tonight. More study." "Uh, no you won't," Mildred countered. "Did I stutter? You're homebound tonight. I don't want you inviting that girl over here, either. In fact, I want you in bed by a certain hour. 9pm! I'll be looking in on your bedroom to make sure, and it won't be just a peek-in. I intend to check your bed and see if your head is on that pillow even if I have to pull back the sheets!" "Maaa, come on!" David whined. "It's...it's Brooke! I have to see her again!" But Mildred raised her hands prohibitively. "I don't want to hear anymore about it. The discussion is over. Go to your room until we're ready for dinner, and no sneaking out of the house, either. If I find you out of bed during the night, I'm changing all the locks, and I'm never letting you back in the house again! You can go sleep on park benches for the rest of your life, for all I care! Don't think I won't do it, either, because I will!" Mildred sat back down and hit a button on the DVR Remote, resuming the B&W movie she was watching. David was clearly aghast, and this gave way to a building anger. He had to lash back at his mother over what he felt was an unfair punishment. "Is there anything else you want me to do, dear mother?" David shot back, in a tone laced with sarcasm. "Maybe you wanna put me in a matching maid outfit and help Peter clean up around the house? Serve you your fucking dinner? Shine your damn shoes??" This enraged Mildred enough for her to rise up and send a hard, open- handed slap to his right cheek. "GO TO YOUR ROOM!!" Mildred roared. "HOW DARE YOU TALK TO ME LIKE THAT!!" But as she lowered herself back in the couch while David stormed away, slamming the door to his room behind him, his angry son's words regarding her other son certainly reminded her of the unusually subservient manner in which Peter had been behaving as of late. She idly thought about having him see a therapist as her movie kept playing. * * * Isabel had guided Tyler to a place in the Ironworks section of Bullchester. On the window of the brick building was a neon sign prominently promoting this 'bar''s main attraction. Girls. A large black man in a business suit kept up a vigil at the front door of this place. When they were close enough to him, Isabel hurried over and whispered into the apparent bouncer's ear. He simply nodded, and then opened the door wide. Tyler, however, had stopped about a foot away from the entrance door. Isabel frowned as she stepped back over to him. "What? It's a bar, isn't it?" Tyler warily looked to the dark-haired young woman. "I wish you had told me that it was a strip club, Isabel." This made the bespectacled fellow Senior giggle cutely. "We're not gonna be in the main area, silly! I told you. We'll be in the back room. Now come on, let's go on inside and start planning our little insurrection." But...I've never been in one of these places before...! Tyler protested to himself as he was brought into the sweet-smelling, neon-lit interior of the exotic dance club. As the now nervous-looking blond student was led away from the entrance to the bar, an attractive, scantily-clad redhead with alluringly narrow eyes walked past him, giving him an alluring wink as she swayed past. His eyes also locked on to a slim black woman, idly seated at a faraway table, who had rows of braided hair with gold highlights. Hugging her curves was a tight, leopard-print lycra dress. She was talking with someone who appeared to be attempting to dress like a woman, but was doing a bad job of it. This crossdresser looked extremely nervous as the black woman scolded...him. It was obvious that this person was wearing a wig. "Over here, silly!" Isabel pulled him away from the vicinity of this scene, stopping at a table in the main area which still offered him a view of the oddly-alluring black woman. "Listen...I need to go to the bathroom and freshen up a little. You just stay here and I'll get us into that back room. Enjoy the view while you're waiting." After acknowledging Isabel with a quick nod, Tyler waited until she disappeared behind a door before his eyes returned to the black woman. She had apparently finished up her conversation with the crossdresser and was now sipping at a drink in front of her. A long moment passed as Tyler continued to wait. Patrons began to fill the spacious array of tables as the club's DJ continued to play bass- heavy music. As a dance tune modeled after the infamous Rasputin blasted out of the surrounding array of speakers, the Valedictorian felt a hand rub gently along his right shoulder, tracing over to the left before standing in front of him. He saw that it was a generously-endowed, scantily-clad woman with a wide-eyed face. She brought this smiling face close to Tyler's until it was mere inches away from the tips of their noses making contact. "You want...table dance?" she asked, with a heavy Slavic accent. "I make good table dance." Tyler raised a hand, shaking his head. "Sorry...I'm waiting for a friend to come out." She then wrapped her arms around the blond student and pressed her forehead against his. "Are you suuuuure?" Tyler smiled meekly. "Yy...yes, sorry." The dancer pulled away, her lustful expression replaced by a more neutral one, She shrugged, and then waved goodbye as she wandered away, looking for someone else more willing to accept her offer. Five minutes passed, and still, Isabel did not emerge. In that time, Tyler glanced over to the door she had gone into. He even got up and took a closer look at the shining gold plate that was on the door, expecting to find the words 'Ladies Room' engraved upon it. DRESSING ROOM What? He thought to himself. This isn't a bathroom? Feeling a little more suspicious, Tyler started walking back to his table. Glancing over to where the black woman with the leopard print bodysuit sat, he saw that the woman was no longer there. In the next moment, a handful of his hair was grabbed from behind, and pulled back. "What's wrong, bitch?" An angry female voice firmly chided. "My drinks and my girls not good enough for your bimbo ass?" "Ow...you're hurting me." Tyler reached back to try and grab the wrist of whatever hand had grabbed him. "Let me GO! I'm waiting for a friend!" "Who you waiting for?" The female voice asked, her hand quickly releasing his hair, and then gripping the back of the Valedictorian's neck as she forced him into what looked like...a dressing room. "Gimme a name, you whiny, weak-ass sissy." "Owwww...! W-will you let me go, please??" he whined, as he was shoved into a seat. "I c-came here with Isabel! Isabel Martinez! We wuh...wwwe were gonna talk in this place's back room!" She then settled herself in Tyler's lap, placing her bare hand at the back of his neck once again while straddling her legs on both sides of his waist, facing him. He could finally see that it was the same woman in the leopard-skin lycra dress that he had been staring at. "You look like some kind of momma's boy. Always needing someone to tell you what to do. How to look. How to act. Who to fuck. You can't do nothing without me telling you what to do, sissy boy." The brown-skinned woman pushed a sweet-smelling, soft pink cube into the blond Senior's slightly open mouth as she brought her lips inches from his. "Oh yeah...you didn't know? I'm your Mama now, girl. You're from that high school, right? Kemp? Well, I don't give a fuck if you're from Harvard. You're in my world now, and you're gonna be what I want you to be," As she spoke, he began chewing curiously upon the pink cube, and realized it was a fresh wad of very sweet-tasting bubble gum that somehow made him feel light-headed. "Yeah, you looooove that bubble gum. It's your favorite. You don't let a day go by without having two packs in your pocket. Every time you pop a bubble, makes you a little more dumb." She brought her lips close to Tyler's ear. "Dummmmmmb. Dummmmmmmb. Dummmmmmb," she intoned. "Mama wants you dummmmmmb. Blowing bubbles makes you dummmmmb. Taylor's such a weak, silly little airhead." All Tyler could do was to listen, and with his mind a jumbled mess, the words the black woman...'Mama'...spoke were the only ones he could comprehend. They latched onto his subconsciousness like an Eagle's talons digging into soft flesh. He was already chewing on the soft wad of bubble gum Mama had given him, and the dizzying effect it had on his brain was intensifying, dissolving his frightened expression to a wide- eyed one that made him look mentally...empty. Mama could feel the Valedictorian's body quake terribly as she lingered on his lap. She frowned, feigning disappointment, shifting her position until her body was pressing against his. Tyler's arms hung down listlessly now as she stared right into his eyes. "You must be sooooo scared. You're so worthless. You're so weak. Just a weak little wimpy- ass Mama's girl." Behind Tyler, the unnaturally-gifted woman signaled to Isabel Martinez to approach them. She had completely transformed herself. Her hair was parted down the middle, and the moist lengths ran down until they reached beneath her chin, where the ends curled inward. Heavy, dark makeup adorned her eyes, and her lips were painted a cherry red. Sensual-looking red-and-black undergarments and garters had a transparent black half-slip covering it, and her feet were covered by a pair of high-heeled, thigh-high black boots. She knowingly smiled as she sensually walked over to where Tyler was having his mind irrevocably conditioned. "You're not gonna get anywhere with anyone other than me, girl," Mama continued as she stared back at the Valedictorian's empty expression. "I am your whole damn world. I am all you think about, baby. You can't wait to come home to Mama after school. You can't wait to see me again," her lips once again came close to Tyler's ear as she began to unbutton his white shirt. "I own you. You don't have any Mama other than me. I own you," she gave the inside of his ear a sensual lick. "I own you." Once the white shirt was literally torn off, Tyler was left listlessly staring up at the ceiling as Isabel and the brown-skinned woman proceeded to strip down the young Senior until he was completely naked. As Isabel had already prepared a depilatory body wash, he was lathered from head to toe in the body hair-cleansing foam, and brought to one of the showers to rinse off not only the foam, but whatever hair had been on his body. For Tyler Lawrence, the Valedictorian of Lloyd H. Kemp High School's final Senior Class, after-school lessons in 'Bimbo 101' had just begun. * * * Brooke Vandervelde had to let out another long yawn as she stepped back into her house, making her way through the Living Room towards her mother's studio, guided by the scent of acrylics. She had obviously chosen to do some painting this early evening, this among the many artistic endeavors she cycled through on a day-to-day basis while her daughters were at school. She spotted Louise continuing work on what looked like a larger version of a photo taken of Brooke when she was 12. She had the photo in an old- school projector machine, and the image was beamed against a blank wall. Upon her worn-looking easel was the canvas the bohemian woman was painting upon, and she had begun working on the head when the appearance of Brooke's shadow interrupted her. Turning to her daughter, she smiled. "Good afternoon, dear. You look tired." Brooke shrugged as she stepped into the room, which was surrounded by completed paintings Louise had done, including some which were emulations of televised Bob Ross painting sessions that she had painted along to in her youth. "I...didn't get much sleep last night." Louise gently placed her paintbrush upon the strip of paper towel she had pulled before turning to her daughter, her hands stained with different paint colors, some of them blended. Her voice remained calm as she spoke. "Yeah, I got a call from the school. Fell asleep during assembly, did you? And during classes? What were you doing last night?" she picked up a glass of Gin and Tonic she had prepared for herself, which was resting idly by the easel, preparing to sip from it. "Is there something...or someone...I should know about?" Brooke lowered her head bashfully, smiling meekly. "It's the Romeo guy. He's been...visiting. I dunno, he...he just seems like 'the one', y' know? Every time he's here, I just feel so...desired. He thinks I'm the most beautiful girl in town, I think he's the nicest guy I've ever met." After swallowing down the mouthful of liquor, she placed the perspiring glass back down on another folded and layered paper towel. "I don't think your father would approve of your grades being at risk." Brooke nodded, having weathered his discontent over bad grades in her youth. "But what do you think? I mean, you've met him. Don't you think he's a nice guy?" Louise took a quiet moment to think on this before answering. "I thiiiink...he certainly has the potential to be a good man. Who knows? Maybe your influence...and your beauty...or your beauty...can correct any imperfections. Is he a receptive sort?" Her beautiful daughter frowned in confusion. "How do you mean?" "Is it always about what he wants, or do your wants factor into any decisions made between you?" After a moment of thought, Brooke shrugged. "A little of both, I think." A slight smile now formed on Louise's face. "Do you know what that is, in essence?" Brooke tilted her head to the side, curious to hear the answer. "Balance, sweetheart," Louise rose up from her chair and guided her daughter out of the studio. "That kind of thing is rare these days. It's a matter of whether or not you can both keep that balance that makes all the difference. That comes in time, though." Brooke nodded slowly in her understanding. "If you really do believe he's the one, then I think you made a good choice," Louise admitted as they stepped into the house's kitchen. "And...I'll admit it. I like him, too." Brooke giggled a bit. "I'm not surprised, seeing as how you were fawning all over him during rehearsals." Louise shrugged bashfully. "I have an eye for the good ones," she giggled a bit. "Besides...you looked good together in bed." This made Brooke frown in confusion. "How would you...?" Her mother just smiled as she settled into a kitchen seat. Brooke's eyes widened. "You saw us??" Louise slowly nodded. "I peeked through the door crack while you were having one of your tender moments. Felt like I needed to. I wanted to be sure he wasn't going to start getting rough with you. You don't deserve that kind of treatment." This was not the first time Brooke had heard Louise openly bring up the notion of her daughter being some manner of immaculate conception. She thought it was amusing enough to be dismissed, at first, but Brooke figured it was time for some kind of explanation. "Mom..." she carefully began. "...can I ask, um, why you...why you do that?" "What do you mean, honey?" "Well..." Brooke tried being cautious with her answer. "...sometimes, you make it seem like I'm, well, more than I am. Like I'm a gift from God, or something." "Oh, I think you are, dear," Louise soberly replied. "Any man you take an interest in should quite frankly worship the ground you stand on, if it were up to me." Brooke frowned. "But I don't want them to do that. I'd rather they just...be themselves." Louise nodded thoughtfully. "Yes...well, humility is certainly a virtue, my dearest." The young Freshman could not help but to see the disdain in her mother's face upon making this reply. She felt a need to challenge her. "Why...would you think I need to be worshipped? What makes you think I'm a step above any of the other girls in Bullchester?" This silenced Louise for about two to three minutes as she seemed to contemplate how she was going to respond to this. She eventually decided to rise from her seat, leaving her Gin and Tonic on the kitchen table as she gently grabbed her daughter's wrist, and had her follow the bohemian artist. She took Brooke to the spare studio room which had been repurposed as her personal bedroom, an alteration that Louise made after what had happened to her husband. They shared a bedroom together before he insisted, in the wake of the Bottom of the 9th incident that he was affected by, that she sleep in a separate room. Louise then pulled out a wicker chest, and opened it up. Inside were what looked like religious items, all of them feminine in appearance. Worn pages written in languages too exotic for Brooke to comprehend. Many clay figurines were in this chest, as well, and in various poses. Candles, incense sticks...all of it justification for Brooke's eyes to widen. "Before the night I made love to your father, after we conceived and gave birth to Ramona, I wanted our next child to be something special," Louise explained. She then gestured to the chest's contents, which also included books written in a language other than english. "My ancestors were priests and priestesses devoted to the worship of two greek deities. Aphrodite, the Goddess of love, passion, and beauty, and Eros, her son. Proper worship of these two deities have been passed down from generation to generation in my extended family," she closed the chest as Brooke's eyes spotted a worn-looking dagger with dried blood on the blade, and she rose up from her crouch. "Now I don't know where you stand when it comes to religion, but I wanted our second child to truly be a gift from the Gods. So, in the few hours before I was to see your father again and conceive you, I...made a shrine, so to speak, using the materials I just showed you, and I called upon Aphrodite and her son to gift our next child with as much beauty as they could possibly bestow upon a human creation." The blade with dried blood was still on her mind. "You didn't...kill anything during your, uh, rituals, did you? Like, a small animal, or something?" Louise looked grave for a moment. "Yes...had to. Your father and I still miss that dog, too." She paused, glancing to Brooke to gauge her horrified reaction, after which Louise laughed out loud. "I'm KIDDING! I didn't kill any animals at all, silly! But..." Her expression went serious once again. "...I still felt it necessary to make a sacrifice in the name of the conception, soooo..." She pulled down a sleeve of her flowery, loose-fitting blouse, revealing a long, visible scar that ran from her wrist down to her elbow. "...I gave my own blood. I had to come up with the mother of all excuses to cover for the bandaged wound, of course, but hey...at least he bought it." Brooke frowned, finding the whole notion fairly incredulous. "So...you actually think I'm a gift from the gods, or something? Mom...I'd rather be just, you know, me! If you think I'm gonna put myself up on a pedestal for anyone..." Louise was already shaking her head. "I never said you needed to be. You can live your life however you want to live it, dear. I just...wanted to be able to create something special. I wouldn't have cared if you turned out to be Ramona's twin sister. You're still my daughter and I'll still love you no matter what you want to do with your life." Her daughter, however, seemed to see through this potential lie. "Then why go to the trouble of making the request to Aphrodite and Eros to begin with? If you didn't care how I turned out, why go so far as to make...some kind of blood sacrifice?" Louise went silent. She tried to find words that she felt could defuse the admittedly awkward moment. She couldn't be blunt about how imperfect she thought Ramona was. About how...ordinary...she thought Ramona looked as she grew up. She had hoped Brooke would change the subject, but she stood there. Waiting. Louise knew she had to say something. "Brooke..." Louise began. "...remember that time I talked to you about what it means to be...bohemian? To take an unconventional approach to life? To be...different from the norm?" "More than once," Brooke replied. "And in your History classes, you've read about how other cultures of the past have engaged in similar acts of sacrifice relating to an impending birth?" Brooke nodded, but the one instance that came to her mind of a sacrifice being made so that a certain child could be born was not from a History book, but from an old movie called The Omen. A part of her wondered if she should head to the bathroom and check her scalp to see if she would find the number of the biblical Beast there. Louise shrugged, hoping to disarm her daughter's concerns. "So? That's what I was doing with your birth. I was being the bohemian you know we all are. Don't worry. I don't expect you to develop superhuman powers or anything. I mean, even I would worry if you suddenly found yourself capable of...surviving...a direct hit from a speeding car, or something." Brooke still didn't know quite how to respond to this admission. She could only hope that Ramona wasn't somehow eavesdropping on this conversation. This was usually the time she came home from school, too. She didn't want to continue the conversation any further. "I'll...let you get back to your painting," she began walking away, turning away from her mother. "Where are you off to?" Louise curiously asked. Brooke shrugged, speaking as she moved. "My room. I'm...gonna go practice using my x-ray vision." Alone in the kitchen, Louise finished the rest of her drink. This was one of those occasions where she felt less inclined to paint, and more inclined to make another personal diary entry on her desktop computer. * * * Almighty Sappho - I completely fucked up a conversation with my daughter. I would never have told her, but...she kind of put me in a corner when she found the chest in which I kept the stuff I used to create the shrine. I'm also pissed that I had forgotten to clean off the blood on the dagger I used. I know she didn't accept my pathetic attempt at an excuse. Could you have not subtly suggested better words to keep things wonderful between Brooke and I? I beseech you for wisdom, almighty Sappho. Help me. Please. Give me guidance by way of a beautiful dream, or something. ~ FIN * * * Ramona Vandervelde had once again kept out of sight during the conversation she had overheard, and she was able to avoid being seen when Brooke ended it, and stepped away. During the entire conversation, her expression darkened considerably. As deep as the jealousy ran for her sister, the words that came out of Louise's mouth had just made this already deep sense of spite so much worse.