The Magnificent MysteriansChapter 9 free porn video

JOHN

There is not too much to say about History and English. Not with what happened after the latter.

Susan had just waded into the usual sea of hands (and other body parts) outside the door, and Bridget and I had made our inconspicuous exit, when one of the guys from Track came running up to me. He was out of breath, but told me about Emily being locked in the bathroom with the four thugs. The three of us took off in that general direction. As we ran, I thought about it. With the doors locked (and probably covered by the crowd), they wouldn't be getting out that way. "The Window!" They followed me to the side door and out. As I opened the door, we heard the whistle, then the shriek. We went tearing around the corner, and saw a crowd gathering at the window.

Just as we got there, a boy started trying to go out the window. He was about a third of the way out, when a girl with a baseball bat in her hands, poised and ready to strike brought him up short with "Please! Give me an excuse!" He jerked his head upward, looked at her, and slumped in defeat. There was a loud thump from inside, like a door being slammed into something, and then it was all over.

By the time we could get around to the bathroom door, it was long since over. A custodian was throwing some pink powder on what looked (and smelled) like vomit, just outside that door. Someone told us that one of the boys had done the ralphing, after the VP punched him in the gut. He also told us that the four boys and the girl were taken to the nurse.

On the way to the nurse's office, I found out some interesting things. The girl with the bat had "allegedly" been raped by the same four boys during her week in the program. They gave each other alibis, with the help of of a couple of friends. In fact, they had pulled the same thing with at least two other girls. She really had wanted an excuse to beat him with that bat. Nobody knew how Emily was, but she had walked to the nurse's office under her own power.

Bridget had to get to class, but I had a few extra minutes. With the nurse's note, I wouldn't be "dressing" for track, anyway. I headed for the nurse's office.

When I got there, she looked pretty busy. She turned and asked whether I was hurt again, and I responded with a no. I asked her about Emily, and she said that she was apparently alright, except for a bruise and a small cut. She also told me she was being interviewed by the VP, and was under orders to rest after that. She could probably see me at lunch, as usual.

I headed out to the track, and gave Coach Firestone the note from the nurse. Even though he already knew about it, he flinched. He directed me to go to the PE office and get a clipboard and stopwatch. I would help time the others, and watch for problems.

When I got back out to the track, I noticed that the assistant from yesterday was not there. I asked the coach about it, and he told me he was not at school today. Nothing to do with yesterday. Sometimes, things really are a coincidence.

We were doing the longer distances today, so I really didn't have much to do. I was assigned some of the runners in each group, and noted their lap times and final time on the form I was given. Other than that, I was just another pair of eyes watching the runners for signs of problems or the like. The closest thing I spotted was one boy who hadn't noticed one of his shoes had come untied. Ah, yes, disaster averted and all that. Yawn!

About three years later, we were done. I didn't need to shower or change, so when the class went in I turned in the clipboard and stopwatch and headed for the nurse's office. When I got there, I found out that Emily had gone to the last part of her class. I went toward our usual meeting place, so we could talk on our way to lunch.

As we ate our lunch, she told me about what happened.

"It was really strange. I was so deep in my safe place that it didn't seem at all real. It was like I was somewhere else, telling this robot body what to do and say. I knew they might try to hurt that body, but they couldn't reach the real me. I was too deep, too protected. I wasn't even very afraid or angry. It just wasn't real enough for that." She chewed on her food for a moment, winced, then went on.

"I didn't even notice the cut until the nurse said something about it. I think it must have happened when he knocked the whistle out of my mouth. I knew they wouldn't risk seriously injuring me, and I knew that this week people would respond to the whistle. And if they tried to rape me, they would get a really nasty surprise. But more than that. I somehow knew that even if they seemed to get away with it, something very bad would happen to them because of it."

"The recorder?" I asked, around a mouthful of fries.

"Maybe that was part of it. But there was something else. Something in the background, that I don't understand. But it is just a feeling. I've had it before, but usually it was about someone who I didn't want anything bad to happen to. This time I felt they were digging their own grave." She shuddered, then shrugged. "Strange. Then, when it was all over, I didn't really care all that much. It was like 'Ok, I knew this would end like this, and now it has. I hope I can get to class before I'm too late.'"

"It wasn't like shock. I've been there and done that, and this was different. And there was no adrenalin crash afterward. I think that's what got to the nurse. I was acting sort of like I was in shock, because I was so deep in my safe place. But no shivers, no eye stuff, none of what she expected. She kept me for a while, and when it was long enough that it was clear I wasn't going to have problems, she let me go to the end of class."

Our audience at the table were shaking their heads, and quietly discussing it among themselves. Somehow they managed to convey that they were there for us, especially for her, but they weren't going to push themselves on us.

She went on to tell me about Perry's request for the flashpots and confetti cannons, and showed me the slip of paper from that class. I told her I wished I could be there to see what happened.

We finished lunch, and then sat there for a moment contemplating our next move. The rules said we had to be in public parts of the building and generally "available" from the time we finished eating, and if we went anywhere we had to walk in an available way. That pretty much left out all the things we usually did after lunch. Emily decided that they had probably finished downloading the file from her recorder by now, so we decided to walk to the office and retrieve it.

This walk was different than the earlier ones. Some people stared at Emily's face, and others turned away, looking embarrassed. And some looked angry, but I think they were angry because of what happened rather than angry at us. We were symbols again, rather than people. Especially Emily.

In an odd way, that helped. The attention was impersonal, not really directed at us. It was directed at our bruises, her injury, our condition, the attack, the Program... but not us.

Then we turned the corner near the office, and saw quite a crowd walking our way. They were talking about something exciting that they disapproved of, and I concluded that they had been watching the attackers being led away in handcuffs. Someone near the front of the crowd spotted us and word rippled back through the crowd. A wide path opened up in front of us. But then another path opened up from the back of the crowd. When the two met, we saw two senior boys walking toward us. They were dressed similarly to the attackers, and seemed associated in some way. They regarded the crowd with some apprehension, as though afraid of an attack or something. Then they saw us. One turned white. The other looked at Emily's face and gulped. After a second, they moved aside (and the onlookers moved to give them room), clearing our path to the office.

When we got close to the office door, a girl stepped out and blocked our way. We stopped and looked at her. I didn't recognize her, but she looked like a junior or senior. Overall, she was fairly pretty, but there was something about the way she carried herself.

"Thank you," she started, in an emotional voice. She pulled her hair aside, showing a scar at the edge of her face. "When those bastards did that to me and left me with this, those slimes," she waved toward the two seniors, "helped them get away with it. But not this time!" There was an answering growl from the crowd, with many looking angrily at the two boys. "So thank you. They'll finally get what they deserve!"

She stuck out her hand to Emily, who shook it. Then she shook my hand, and went to confront the boys. We didn't stay to hear what she said. Instead, we ducked into the office.

We warned them about the confrontation in the hall, and they said they would keep an eye on it. Then we asked about the recorder. One of them called someone (Principal Murrow, we found out), said we were here, and asked about the recorder. She nodded and acknowledged something and then hung up.

"Please have a seat over there. Principal Murrow will be with you in just a moment." She got a bit of a twinkle in her eye. "You know, two more visits and you will qualify for reserved seating." We shared their chuckle at that, then lapsed comfortably back into our safe places.

A moment later, the door opened and Dr. Pruitt walked out. He asked Emily how she was doing and, with her reassurances, went to his office. Then Mr. Murrow asked Emily to come in. He asked me to wait outside his office, adding that he was sure I understood. I was pretty sure I did. Now Dr. Pruitt was under the microscope, probably for the punch to the boy's stomach.

I settled in to wait.

EMILY

I met John at our usual place and we headed to lunch together. He asked how I was, and apologized that he didn't get there in time to help me. But I reminded him that it was over fairly quickly, and there was not much that he could have done.

After we got our food (his usual cholesterol fest, and my usual chef's salad, plus fruit, drink, and desert for both), we went to our usual table. As we ate, I described the events, then my reactions. It was funny, the whole thing was so unreal and I was so deep in my safe place, that I wasn't even very upset about it. It was a bad thing, and I am glad that the sons of toads who did it will be locked up for a long time, but it almost feels like it happened to someone else.

When I told John that I had been sure that something bad would happen to them, he took it in a shallow way. He asked whether that was because of the recorder, and I said I didn't think so. It was something else, something from deep inside of me. Something very powerful.

I know I wasn't in shock. Been there, done that. By now, I should have had the shakes and the whole thing would be making itself known to me. There was nothing. As far as I could see, it hadn't even affected my appetite.

After all that, I told him about Perry asking for the flashpots with more oomph, and the cannons. He agreed there would be no problem.

We decided to go to the office to get my recorder back. I figured they were done with it by now. Besides, we needed to do something with the rest of lunch period. The walk there was different. People were looking at me. But it was my face they looked at and reacted to, not my stark raving naked body. And it was hard to read their reactions.

We got a weird reaction from a crowd near the office. The split open like we were gunfighters in an old western. At the other end of the open space were two thugs, as far as I could see. They reminded me of the four in the bathroom. They looked nervous at first. Then they saw us, and got out of the way in a hurry. A girl stepped out of the crowd and confronted us. Her attention was very uncomfortable. So was the way that people were watching the three of us.

She thanked me for taking out the garbage. She showed me a scar they had left her with. She was angry at them, and their two friends in the hall, but looked at me like I was some kind of superhero. We acknowledged her speech, then, as she turned to go after the two thugs, we beat a hasty retreat into the office.

We warned them about the possible lynching out in the hall, and asked about my recorder. We ended up in the chairs outside the principal's office again. One of the office ladies made a joke about how often we had been in those same chairs.

The door opened and Dr. Pruitt came out of the office. Mr. Murrow invited me into the office, but made John wait outside. Like before, but with our roles reversed. I guessed it was about what the VP did at the door, because he would have let John in for just about anything else.

After inviting me to sit, he told me that we were being recorded. For the sake of form, I asked him why John had to wait outside, and what this was about. He told me it was policy that the interview be individual (and recorded), and that it was about what happened in the bathroom. Or rather, what happened at the end of that event. He asked whether I was feeling well enough to do this, and I assured him I was.

He had me recount the events in the bathroom. When I got to the part about the voice through the door, he stopped me and asked about the voice. Did I recognize it? I thought I did, as the VP, but it was distorted by the door. Did he sound angry? No, but he was using the "command voice" you all use sometimes. Then what happened?

I told him about the taunts, the key sound, the barricade, and the dash for the window. Then I got to the part I suspected he wanted, the rush and collapse. I admitted that my view of the contact was blocked by the boy's body. I told how he charged at the VP, sort of tucked in the position football players use when going through the other team's line. I said that it looked like he slammed into the VP, then folded over. He asked me whether I had actually seen him make contact with the VP, and I said no, my direct view was blocked. But the VP's clothes moved like he had been hit in the chest, just before the boy folded over. We went over details for a couple of minutes, then went on.

The teachers taking the thug away to the nurse's office. The two others trying to blame me, then escorted to the office. Did he do anything to them? No, just ordered them to go. Two teachers took charge of them. Two each? No, one each. Did they do anything to those boys? Not that I saw. Him asking how I was, then sending me to the nurse.

What happened next? As I was leaving, he asked the boy in the window whether he was hurt. A voice outside answering "Not yet!" His voice? No, a female voice. What happened then? I don't know, I was in the hall by then and on my way to the nurse.

Anything I want to add? I'm happy he got there when he did. Things had gotten ugly and were getting worse. Those thugs bragged about the other girls they had done that to, and I hope they get the book thrown at them.

And may I please have my recorder back? He smiled, and typed something on his computer. Then he handed me my recorder and thanked me for my help. He asked whether I wanted to have the attackers prosecuted, and my answer was an enthusiastic "You bet your ass I do!"

He admonished me about my language, but accepted the answer. He looked at the time, and apologized for making us late to class. He wrote late slips for both of us, and gave them to me. He walked me to his door as the bell was ringing, and thanked me for my help.

I gave John his late slip, made sure he saw me starting my recorder and dropping it in its pocket in my bag, and started off toward the hall. As we walked down the hall, I asked what he saw outside the window. He told me about the girl with the bat and the attitude. Then we came to the place where we went in different directions; him to chemistry and me to Aerobics.

Deep in my safe place again, I hurried into the boys' locker room, and went to my locker. I quickly changed shoes and socks, and hurried to class. My attention was drawn to the fact that everyone was giving me plenty of space. I acknowledged it, but let it be.

I got to class and gave the late slip to Ms. Morris. The class was just getting into position, so I took my place and joined in the warmups. There was a bit of tension in the air, which I figured was about the incident in the bathroom. But once we got moving, there was no time for such side issues.

By the end of the workout, my face was kind of throbbing and my lip hurt a little. When I wiped the sweat off my face, there were a few drops of blood on the towel. Apparently, my lip opened up again. I reached up and touched it, and the sweat on my finger made my lip sting. Still, I obviously wasn't bleeding much. I could see if I needed something after my shower.

I went in to shower. After getting my towels, and puting my stuff in the locker, I headed for the shower. I stepped in, to the apparent disinterest of all the boys there, and went to the corner shower. I stepped under the water and started rinsing off, when I heard a voice behind me. A girl's voice. I turned to see who it was.

It was Mary Reilly, one of Bridget's Irish dancers. She didn't have a PE class this period that I know of, but there she was. "I have a request," she was saying. I noticed a bottle of body wash and a scrubber in her hand. I looked at her, and waited.

"May I wash your face? I can see where the damage is, so I don't have to go by feel."

I couldn't think of anything unreasonable about it, so I nodded. As she got the scrubber nice and foamy, she leaned in and said "Thank you for what you did. That girl outside the window was a friend of mine, and she heard and saw some of it." She started gently washing my cheeks, then encouraged me to close my eyes. "Those bastards left her with a nasty scar on her face, and a worse one on her soul." She was doing my forehead, then around and down to the neck. "Thanks to you, they'll pay for what they did. In your quiet way, you've been helping all of us, all week. Thank you for that. Rinse." I put my face under the water, rinsing the suds off my face.

"If you want to use this for the rest, you're welcome to. I can get it back at the rehearsal." I nodded, and she handed the bottle and scrubber to me, stepped briefly under the shower next to mine, then left. Hey, the body wash was a lot nicer than the crud they give us for soap here. I quickly finished washing, and stepped out to dry off. As I walked back to my locker, I noticed that the row was empty. That was a bit odd. There were usually at least a few boys there. I briefly flashed back to the bathroom, but there were a lot of boys and a couple of other Program girls in the room, and most of them seemed to still be here. Just in case, I was extra careful when opening my locker. Nothing was wrong there, though.

I "dressed" in my shoes and whistle, grabbed my bag and the borrowed supplies, and walked toward the door. I got a strange vibe from the room, as my dad would say. Some people were just ignoring me, a few openly looked at my face, but I somehow got a feeling of support from most of them. Strange. But I'll take it.

Once I was out the door, I walked to my locker and put away the borrowed things. Grabbing my books, I walked toward French class. Nobody bothered me on the way. Nobody turned a cold shoulder, either. Some looked at my face, some even smiled at me as I went by. But nobody said anything. And even those who smiled did so in passing.

I made it to French well before the bell. For all that, the class was remarkably unremarkable. More words and phrases, more exercises, nothing unusual. Not even a flash of the scissors. Then it was over, and I left.

Why was I waiting for the other shoe to drop?

JOHN

The office was busy that day. People came to get or turn in paperwork. People came to meet with the VPs, clearly not by choice, and came out looking unhappy. One girl came to the office with a plate of homemade chocolate chip cookies, offering some to the ladies there. They responded by wishing her a happy birthday. She offered me one as well, and I accepted. I thanked her and wished her a happy birthday. She left a few for the principal and the VPs, playfully admonishing the ladies to actually save them for them.

Just as the bell rang, Emily came out and handed me a late slip. As we left, she verified that it had been about the VP. Then she made sure I saw her start her recorder again and put it away. She asked about what happened outside the window, and I told her about the girl with the bat.

We turned and went in different directions. She went to PE, and I went to Chemistry.

As I enjoyed the comforting feeling of being covered by my lab coat, class started. We opened our logbooks to our homework, and exchanged them with people next to us (other than our lab partners). We were to take off points if they did not record the time of day that they did the test, and if they did not describe collection or generation of the sample. Then he asked how many collected the sample then tested it, and how many simply peed on the strip. None of the girls collected the sample first. About 1/3 of the boys did.

There were some variations in the readings. A lot were between 7 and 7.5. Some were lower, some were higher. We found out that the "normal" average was 7.3, and that it usually varied somewhat over the course of the day. And varied with what we ate. He suggested that any with a reading below 6 or above 8 try the test when they got home, and if it came out that high or low, consider consulting a doctor. It could be a bad reading, or it could be an indication of something wrong.

That done, we traded back our books (with some groaning about the grades). Then we went on with class.

All too soon, it was time to rejoin the ranks of the involuntarily naked. As much as I enjoyed the coverage of that lab coat, I wondered whether it made what was coming next that much worse. I gathered my stuff and headed for Health and Humiliation.

All the talk at the beginning of class had had an effect on me, so I headed off to the nearest girls' room. I had a lot of company from class. I had to wait for a stall, and I noticed another difference from the boys' room: the line moved much more slowly. It made sense, in a way. The girls had to half undress, take care of business, clean up, and then dress again. We just had to pull it out and let loose, most of the time. I wondered if the time limit included this waiting in line. I also wondered whether I was going to make it. Maybe I shouldn't have had the extra large milk with lunch.

It was finally my turn, and I took care of things. With everyone watching, I made it a point to put the seat back down this time. I washed my hands, and headed across the hall to class.

As I walked in the door, I saw that Susan was in front of the class again, and looking unhappy about it. Or about the video camera pointed at her. Ms. Prothrow gave me the assignments from yesterday to pass out. Most people were there, so she didn't wait for the bell.

"You will notice that some of you got questions on your papers from yesterday. Please take a moment to answer them now, and turn them in by the end of class."

I finished handing out the papers just as the bell rang, and took mine back to my desk. I noticed that she had asked "But how did it make you feel?" on mine. I thought for a moment, and wrote my answer. "Some of the smells were mildly unpleasant. The visual and tactile parts helped satisfy my curiosity. It made me feel the way I do after any other reasonably good class demonstration of something."

She wasn't going to like that.

She was saying that we would be going into stimulation and arousal. She said that the most intense arousal, especially for women, required interaction between the source of the stimulation and the person becoming aroused. When both are the same person (masturbation), there are limits to the intensity of the likely arousal.

She called me forward, and nodded at the girl operating the camera. "We have a fairly unique opportunity to demonstrate the difference. You may have noticed that Susan's level of excitement has been falling off since she arrived in class, and dropped even more when I called John up. Her animosity and his apparent indifference combine to create a response that is anything but aroused. This gives us a chance to see the difference between impersonal stimulation and interactive stimulation."

I dropped my paper on her desk when I got up there. She had me stand a little to the side of Susan, facing the class. I went deeper into my safe place. She pointed out signs of Susan's tension, and directed me to stroke any part of her but her breasts, genitals, or butt. I knew what should work, in theory. And it was easy to keep it coded in my mind as something routine, uninteresting.

Starting at her forehead, I gently caressed from the center outward. I turned my hands downward, just before the ears, and trailed them downward. I brought them forward along the jaw, and gently down the throat to the collarbone, and then out to the shoulders. I lifted my hands and returned to the temples. I went behind the ears this time, stopping briefly just under the earlobes. I could feel muscles relaxing as I went along. I went down the sides of the neck, then across to the shoulders and partway down the outside of the arms.

Ms. Prothrow kept up a quiet narration of what I was doing, reluctant to spoil the effect. I also caught her looking down my body, apparently hoping for some sign of response. Not likely.

I repeated the movement from the temples down a couple more times, then threw in a variation. Instead of just pausing behind the earlobes, I took them between my fingers and thumbs and gently rubbed and pulled them. I then released them and ran my hands down the face and across the neck just under the jaw.

That changed the nature of the game. I pulled my hands outward to the shoulders, then up the sides of the neck, pausing just behind the earlobes for an instant before going back down and out. I rotated around the shoulders, then back up again, This time, when I paused behind the earlobes, I gently rubbed the back with fingers before going back down.

On my way back up, Ms. Prothrow stopped me. I stopped about an inch below the ears. She briefly pointed out the way the relaxation had given way to a different kind of mild tension and anticipation. She also indicated the signs of early arousal, then allowed me to proceed, giving me permission for everything above the waist.

I started at the shoulders and moved across the back, then pulled down on either side of the spine. At the small of the back, I pulled my hands apart, stroking the underlying muscle. I repeated the spine and part, separating somewhat higher. Twice more, and I was doing the shoulder blades. After that stroke I kept going, around the collar bone, and down the center of the chest. At the lower ribs, I parted again. Once I got to the sides, I lifted my hands and put them lower on the sides. With a very light touch, I moved my fingers in toward the navel. When I got close, I let go with one hand and drew the other in an arc above the top of the navel. Then I established a pattern by spiraling my fingers slowly around and toward the navel.

Like any performance, it is very useful to establish and use expectations. I had established that the subject was succeptable to such patterns with the earlobe exercise. Once I had spiraled in, I dipped one finger inside and swirled it around, eliciting a small gasp.

The narration continued as I moved my hands away and up. I briefly hefted the breasts, running my fingers up the often neglected undersides. Just short of the aureole, I pulled my hands away, then returned one to the base. I traced a slow gentle spiral up the right breast, occasionally moving my thumb as though I was pinching it, but not actually catching any flesh between thumb and finger. Again, I was building expectation. This was just another trick, another show. After a moment, I started the other hand counter rotating on the other, with the same pattern but different timing. If I got this right, I should reach both nipples at the same time. By about half way up, both nipples were prominently erect, and the legs were rubbing against each other. About two thirds of the way up, the teacher stopped me again and pointed out the nipples. She looked conspicuously at my lack of any visible arousal, and then pulled the legs apart to show the signs of arousal there. She noted that, in the absence of any real feedback from me, the subject was providing some ancillary stimulation (with the legs) and some simulated feedback. She also noted the speed with which the arousal declined once my stimulation stopped.

Leaving the legs open, she directed me to continue, with no more limitations (other than the time remaining in class. This approach could easily take a couple of hours). She also promised no more stoppages.

I started with one foot, carefully stimulating each toe before moving slowly up the arch to the inside of the ankle. There, I started upward with little swirling motions interspersed with the simulated pinches. The expectation built again. Once I made it past the sensitive back of the knee and a little way up the thigh, I suddenly ran both hands quickly up the thighs, meeting at the clitoris. With this break from the expected pattern, the subject nearly jumped off the desk. I started playing around between the upper thighs and outer lips, occasionally darting in to graze the inner lips near the clitoris. I always managed to just miss the clitoris, creating a sense of tension. The inner lips had puffed up, and there were small dribbles of lubrication leaking from the vagina.