Chapter 1: Old School Building

There were many members better suited for this task, but the assignment had fallen unhappily into your lap during the final minutes of today’s meeting. The president herself had locked eyes with yours across the long stretch of polished marble that made up the student council's conference table, pointedly ignoring a dozen other veteran faces, and made a direct request. No one in the student body would have refused her then, least of all the newest recruit looking to impress.

Thus, on a late Monday afternoon, you find yourself pushing through the rusting double doors leading into the west wing. Beyond this threshold was the “old school building”– a decades-old relic kept upright solely by one of the school's main contributors. That man held an immovable tenderness for his formative years spent within those walls, and he intended to keep them around until the elements weathered the building to mulch. Looking at the sorry state of decay, a quick demolition may have made a more respectful burial.

You walk inside and leave the pleasant glow of modern architecture behind. Paint flecks off the dull ivory walls and piles up on the floor like small anthills. Corpses of burnt-out fluorescent lights hang solemnly overhead, some dipped low to one side where the supporting wires gave out. Your walk down the empty halls is unnervingly quiet, save for the occasional snap of bone-dry plaster breaking underfoot.

Voices carry faintly from up the staircase on your right. Though muffled, the energy of girlish, excited screams is unmistakable.

You climb the stairs and reach the source of the voices at the end of a hallway partially barricaded by upturned desks and torn streams of caution tape. A beat up door, marred by a cluster of small scratches and a sizable dent near the hinges, sits opposite a pair of broken windows. Your hand closes around the cool iron doorknob, tightening anxiously. How is an underclassman supposed to announce themselves to a tight-knit group of strangers? Especially when intruding on their private sanctum?

There’s not much to be done, you figure. A good first impression would crumble the moment they learn what you’re here for anyway. You adjust your tie, straighten your back, and swing open the door.

A powerful wave of humidity rushes in to greet you, softly ruffling your hair in the sudden slipstream. Sweat flashes onto your face and neck. A chokingly thick feminine musk, swirling with potent body odor and hints of flowery shampoo, floods your nostrils like a punctured barrel of stale perfume. On the verge of gagging, you quickly slap your tie over your nose as a makeshift gas mask. An acute light-headedness rocks your body and nearly stumbles your seizing body right back out the door.

After three deep, stabilizing breaths, you turn your eyes up to whatever stink-filled wasteland you’d just unearthed.

The room before you takes up about half the space of a standard classroom, though a good deal more narrow. Black bookshelves loom on both flanks from floor to ceiling. Their interiors are jammed up with comics and small PVC figures, some of the latter pushed out dangerously close to the edge. Larger, more expensive figures sit proudly on the window sill at the back of the room and hog the only source of natural light.

Three girls (all seniors, if you remember correctly) sit around a cheap foldout table covered in a colorful spill of junk food and uneven stacks of manga. A rectangular slant of yellow-orange sunlight drapes over the table’s center, bobbing up and down the landscape of shiny, torn up candy wrappers.

Their expressions flicker unsteadily between surprise and duly pissed off.

“The hell? You lost or something?” growls the one closest to the door. She’s turned towards you and looks about ready to toss you through a window.

“Sorry, just give me a minute to, uh, catch my breath.” Still huffing your tie-turned-air-filter, you fumble for the folder tucked under your arm and quickly confirm their identities.

The one who spoke up earlier was Mori Calliope. Tall, contrarian, a well known disruptor of the peace for whatever class she decided to show up for that day. Her long, lustrous pink hair is tied back in a ponytail that hangs over her chair and reaches past her hips. You note her enormous chest, likely the largest in her year, and recall certain male students throwing out crass nicknames like “cow tits” and “milk bags” during P.E. The top four buttons of her shirt are not only undone, but completely removed, thread and all. She probably got tired of trying to pull her uniform around those things every morning. The remaining buttons struggle valiantly to contain her heft and dig short furrows into the fabric. It takes a concentrated effort not to stare into the deep canyon of pale cleavage that dominates the majority of her chest. Her red eyes gleam at you like a cornered alley cat.

Sitting opposite of her, amidst a pile of explicit doujinshi definitively not cleared for an academic setting, was IRyS. (That was the official spelling. Faculty pushed back on the obvious typo during enrollment, but IRyS’ father was another one of those absurdly wealthy donors the school was keen to cater towards, so his daughter enjoyed the same treatment.) She was a daddy’s girl through and through, somehow kept perfectly sheltered from the glut of this world’s harsher realities. Hunger, sadness, and any discomfort more intense than stubbing a toe were foreign to her. She was also a constant academic underperformer. Or, more bluntly, a complete and utter bimbo. There was a time in history class when, with the same starry-eyed wonder a child muses about Santa’s journey across the world, she had asked how it was possible that humans had been around for over one thousand years. But what do smarts matter when your body can do the talking? Her build was well-balanced with long model legs, a prominent bouncy chest, and glossy, magenta hair weaved intricately in two wide twintails. The most generous thing you could say about her uniform is that she had “tried her best”; the tie was sloppily strung around her neck, her skirt was half off, and she was very clearly wearing two different socks.

The final member, looking small in the corner, was Hakos Baelz. Those close to her called her Bae. She was something of an outlier in this cohort of delinquents considering her grades were respectable and her athletic prowess should have garnered plenty of friends and social success. It was likely her otaku tendencies that led her down this path, seeing as most conversations couldn’t begin or end without bringing up some overseas idol to gush over. Your chest tightens a bit when breathing in her figure. She was patently gorgeous, and her proportions were especially potent when applied to such a short stature. Large, squeezable tits, wide hips with a thick ass and powerful thighs to match…it was as if there was too much sex appeal for her small frame and it started overflowing. She’s been twiddling her thumbs and looking down since the moment you barged in.

Satisfied, you try to get this conversation back on script. “This is the Cultural Studies Club, yeah?”

“Who wants to know?” Mori spits. She seems to be the most talkative of the group. Or at least the one most comfortable with confrontation.

“The student council. They sent me to check up on your club activities.” You glance at the manga resting in their hands. “Or lack thereof.”

Mori taps her book on the table and smirks. “Huh. You guys must be getting pretty bored if you’re sending goons all the way out here. But yeah, that’s us. You want a fuckin’ tour or what?”

“I do, actually. If you can justify your need for both this space and the council’s budget, then I’ll be on my way.” You step towards the bookshelves full of otaku merch. Rows of miniature plastic magical girls with colorful frilly skirts stare back. “Otherwise, if it’s determined to be a waste, we’ll ask you to leave.”

The old table legs shriek across the floor as IRyS jumps to her feet. Half of her face remains hidden behind the seventh volume of [Orange Love Summer]. “Wait, you’re really gonna shut us down? But it’s so nice here…”

“And I’m sure all the other students would love a private room to hang out in after school, but this is a matter of resources.”

“Bullshit.” Mori counters. “This place is a dump, none of those prissy trust fund leeches would want to use this space. And we’re not using any of your precious budget. You council types just want to swing your dick around.”

“Hey, c’mon guys, let’s settle down,” Bae offers from the corner. “We don’t have to fight about this.”

You shrug. “I’m just relaying what the president said. If you’d rather escalate this, I can let her know.”

Bae shrinks down with a small squeak, unwillingly to press further.

Mori tosses her manga to the table with a hearty whump. “Fine, bossman. We’ll do it your way.” She grabs a fourth chair that was leaning against the far wall, unfolds it, and slams it down at the table’s last empty side. She looks at you impatiently. “You wanted to see what we do here? Then sit down. We’ll show you.”

You roll your eyes. All four of you know that the club’s “activities” were laid out the moment you opened the door. This was a space to goof off in and shirk the responsibilities of a productive human being. Nothing that happens from now until sundown would change your mind on this conclave of fujo debauchery…but you have to do this by the book. The president would want it this way.

With a dull creak, you settle down at the table. The chairs were thinly padded things, the kind doled out in the hundreds for assemblies. They left you constantly adjusting yourself in search of a more comfortable position that simply didn’t exist. And the awful heat crowding your airspace didn’t make this experience any better.

Comics, candy wrappers, and pens clatter against each other as you sweep your arm across the table’s surface to make room for your own materials. There’s plenty of council work you can catch up on while you’re here, provided these girls don’t gab as loudly as they did earlier.

Happily, there is no loud gabbing. Or any audible conversation at all. Instead, the dull tapping of thumbs on phone screens ping pong across the table. A long, apparently hilarious conversation is playing out beneath your nose. IRyS reads the latest message, peeks at you, and turns away in a fit of giggles.

A curious chill alights on your neck, almost refreshing in the heat. You nervously adjust your tie. It dawns on you that you’re deep inside an abandoned building surrounded by a group of strangers with very good reason to hate you. If they were to try something, (something to save the club you’re explicitly looking to demolish, for example), you’re three grades lower than them and significantly outnumbered.

Mori regards you from the top of her reading material, a faint smile in her eye.

It’s only three hours, you assure yourself, and hunker back down into your paperwork. You can handle it.

– – – – – –
– – – – – –

Two hours later and the heat has only gotten more stifling. Electricity hasn’t run through the wires here in decades, meaning your skin was left untempered by the hand of modern A/C, desk fans, or even the minimal ambient cooling from an open mini fridge. Instead of cold sodas or ice cream, you were stuck fending off hunger with chips and soft chocolate bars.

You tug your collar. “Is it always like this?”

“Like what?” Mori asks, chomping down on another chocolate wafer.

“Hot. Humid. You guys seriously just power through this?”

“Eh. For certain months, yeah. You get used to it.”

So she says. But her body tells a different story. In fact, all three girls seem to be melting in the summer sun to one degree or another. Their bangs are slick and matted to their foreheads. Light gray puddles pattern their shirts where sweat has built up past the point of being discreetly absorbed. The underboob and armpit areas are the greatest casualties, the color there diving into a deeper slate gray, and you’re thankful none of them found a reason to raise their arms in the time since your arrival.

The sweat spots also give quick insight into each girl’s brasserie of choice. Bae’s is black, IRyS is sporting a lighter pink, and Mori…is clearly braless. No real surprise there given how weighty and freely her breasts had been hanging beneath her shirt. Maybe she couldn't find a store with her size in stock.

Within the heat, there was another hazard slowly ratcheting up in intensity, like a boiler with no release valve. One much more unbearable, the one you’ve been keeping to yourself out of a sense of basic social decency. The smell. Christ, it was like an entire women’s volleyball team just came back from a day-long tournament and dumped their used gear on your face. The stench of girl sweat hung heavily in the poorly ventilated box masquerading as a clubroom and essentially baked you in its essence. Multiple times you had stood up to wander the tiny floor plan, pretending to look at the titles lining the shelves, while actively searching for a reservoir of clean air. You had plenty of questions for these girls (when was the last time you took a shower, do any of you know what a washing machine is) but those would wait until the end of this painful charade, when you were halfway down the hallway and safe from any retaliation.

The girls themselves, unfortunately, were immune to their own stench and held no reservations when it came to airing out their bodies. Every ten or so minutes, Mori or IRyS would lazily flap their skirts in your direction, tactlessly updating you on the smell collecting between their thighs. If there was a way for your body to acclimate to their odor, it hasn’t happened yet.

Suddenly, Mori leans back in her chair with a satisfied moan, raises her arms above her head, and pushes her chest forward to stretch out her back. Her enormous milktanks basically overflow her cleavage window and the poor middle-set button taking the brunt of the assault almost disappears underneath all the bulging tit flesh. You half expect the threading to snap and blast the button off her shirt like a champagne cork. The stench of her aired-out armpits hits you hard and you once again reach for your tie. It’s not as effective as you remember.

“By the way,” she says, ignoring your discomfort, “is this your first year here?”

“Yeah. My dad got a new job in the area, so we moved out here last fall.”

“Thought so.” She pauses. “You got a girlfriend yet, council boy?”

The question takes you somewhat off guard. This group of loners would be the last people you’d expect to have an interest in other people’s relationships. “Nah. I haven’t had a lot of time to meet people yet.” For some reason you feel compelled to follow up with a question of your own, though it feels rhetorical and more than a little cruel. “What about you guys?”

No one speaks. Mori looks put off and clicks her tongue. Then, as if rehearsed, the girls speak up in turn.

“Pshh. Like I would ever date one of these losers.”

“I wouldn’t have enough time to keep up with this seasons’ anime if I was dating, so…”

“I’m just too busy with school and studying and stuff.”

Their excuses are nicely lined up, like they were reciting to the teacher why their group couldn’t turn in the class project on time. Maybe if they practiced the barest of hygiene they’d have a better shot.

Mori waves her hand dismissively. “Well, whatever. Relationships are a joke anyway.” Eager to change the subject, she continues, “By the way, you want something to drink? You’re looking kinda dried up.”

Dried up was putting it very mildly; the heat was making you almost delirious. “Yeah, actually. That’d be great.”

“Cool. Yo, IRyS?” Mori looks at her friend and does an unusual pinching motion with her hand.

IRyS hesitates. “Are you sure? I only have one of those…”

“It’s fine. Just do it.”

“Okay! Coming right up!” She gets up and crouches over a bookbag in the corner. A collection of chunky zippers rip open and shut as she fumbles through its contents.

“I’m guessing it’s not cold?” you ask, excitement waning. There was no way any beverage was going to be below boiling in this climate.

“Don’t worry, she’s got a thermos. Pretty much the only way to drink something cool out here.”

A thick metallic cap unscrews. Four glasses are poured behind IRyS’ back on a small end table layered with anime mouse pads. She hums to herself on the way over to the table and carefully sets down a glass for each of her friends, then you. Small tremors run through her hand while placing your drink.

Your hand wraps around the cup and brings it to your mouth, pausing before the liquid hits your lips. There’s that feeling again; those girls are tracking you from the edges of their vision. Not full on staring, but keeping you in their line of sight and highly invested in your next move. Well, whatever they’re planning, being dehydrated won’t help you. You throw the glass back and finish it in under four swallows, glad to be tasting something other than their aerosolized body odor.

IRyS gasps. Bae does the same. A faint smile pulls at Mori’s lips and her arms cross over her chest.

There’s a lot of unresolved tension filling the air for a simple swig of water. “I needed that. Thanks again, IRyS.”

“Of course! No problem!” She fidgets. “So…how are ya feeling?”

“I’m feeling like I could go for five more of those, but it’ll keep me going for the rest of the tour.”

Mori leans in. “No, she means are you feeling any different than usual?”

“Maybe a little woozy?” IRyS adds, licking her lips. All three of them have moved to the literal edge of their seats. They look like they just launched a firework into the night and are waiting on the sky-cracking detonation.

“Alright, seriously, what’s up with you guys?” you ask, voice shaking. A warmth suddenly tunnels through your body, starting at your stomach and creeping up into your skull. The room feels too small and much too large at the same time. “What…did…you…?”

The words are crawling out of your mouth now. They feel solid and heavy on your tongue, as though they have to queue up before leaving.

“Is it working?” IRyS asks in a giddy, nervous whisper.

Bae shrugs. “Why’re you asking me? I’ve never used this stuff!”

“Girls, relax. Just give it some time.”

Panic triphammers your chest. Your body’s warning bells blare, prepping your legs to activate and bolt you out the door. But nothing is working. All the electric signals have transformed into slow, viscous liquids pouring down your nerves, unhurried to reach your muscles and shock them into action.

Mori stares deep into your eyes. Part of her abrasive delinquent persona falls away and reveals the flustered, inexperienced girl beneath. “S-so…if he’s in love with us now, shouldn’t he be confessing or something? He looks kinda pissed off.”

IRyS lowers her head as though she’s thinking great thoughts. You can hear the cogs grinding into one another in her brain. “That’s what I thought…but now I’m not so sure. We could try giving him some fanservice, that might help speed things up.” She looks at Mori’s chest. “He was staring at your boobs all day, do something with those!”

“Oh yeah, he was. Worth a shot.”

Helplessly, you hear Mori’s chair creak against the floor. The scent of her natural musk grows thick enough to taste as her hips bump against your chair. With one hand, she tilts your head back until your face is level, stuck looking up at the shadowed underside of her imposing, sweat-soaked rack. Blushing heavily, she leans down and unceremoniously slaps the full weight of her G-cup melons on your face like you were nothing more than a convenient shelf.

“Phew! Oh man, that’s so much better,” Mori sighs from above. “These girls are killer on my shoulders…”

Your neck strains against her weighty tits and you get the closest thing to empathy for her burden of lugging those around all day.

She sways her upper body, letting her heavy tits smear across your features. Depending on how she moves, your face trades being smothered by her sodden shirt for her bare, sweaty skin. All the movement soon dislodges one her massive breasts from its flimsy cloth prison, spilling out on your mouth and slipping her nipple between your lips. If Mori’s embarrassed by this slip up, she hasn't vocalized it yet.

“Don’t knock him out already!” Bae chides.

“Calm down, I can still feel him breathing.” Mori brings her elbows together and presses down even harder, her massive torpedo tits muffling all sense of the world outside. Humming to herself, she keeps you smothered under there for another minute or so, loathe to give up the relief of her newest boob rest. Only when your breath starts to weaken does she stand up and unclog your airways.

“How was that?” Mori asks, frustratingly demure considering what she just put you through.

In between gasps of air, you try to vocalize a few damning words or ball your hands into a fist, but those simple functions elude you. The furrow of your brow and angry darting of your eyes tells them everything they need to know.

IRyS adopts her thinking pose once more. “Maybe he’s not a boob guy… Oh, wait! Bae!”

“Yeah?” Bae recoils in her chair. She did not like the look in IRyS’ eye.

“Your last period of the day was gym, right?”

“Yeees…”

“And you rushed over here without taking a shower?”

Bae crosses her arms indignantly. “Hey! I…yeah, that’s true, but only because the showers were all being used by the swim team! I don’t usually skip that part!”

“No, no, it’s perfect,” Mori says. “Your pits must be super rank. Trying shoving them in his face, some dudes are into that.”

“That’s disgusting, who would…?” Bae trails off. There’s more she could say, but she doesn’t have the energy to argue. “Fine,” she relents, “but only for a little bit.”

Refusing to make eye contact, Bae slowly raises her arm and lets her ripe underarm stench bathe the area. The smell is powerful, enough to make you wince and take your breath away. The fabric around her armpit area is a damp, blotting mess of gray stains that spills down a good portion of her ribcage. Before the sweat from Mori’s bountiful underboob has a chance to dry, Bae grips the back of your skull and shoves you headlong into the second warm, musky crevice of the day. Your nose unluckily zeroes in on the dead center of her armpit. The pillowy mass of her sideboob squishes in on your temple while she holds you close.

“L-like this?” She starts scrubbing you up and down like a stick of deodorant, opening with rough, short strokes then moving into slower drags so your olfactories can fully appreciate the filth resulting from hours of intensive cardio. The tissue-thin shirt separating your nose from her bare armpit might as well not exist, allowing the speckling of Bae’s armpit stubble to noticeably tickle the fringes of your nostrils on every pass.

The pressure increases. She clamps down fully with her arm, using the other to pull it tight, and mercilessly squeezes your head. Salty drops of pit sweat cascade warmly over your mouth.

Bae’s reeking pits begin to strong-arm you into a coma. Your feet tap frantically on the ground, but, on the verge of fully blacking out, Bae yanks you free.

A fine mask of pit sweat drips down your face as your mouth gapes and greedily sucks air back into your lungs. Your nostrils are still burning from the salty, onion-y miasma forced upon them.

“Bro, are you sure he likes this?” Bae asks, watching you sputter pathetically.

Mori shakes her and ushers the girls close. “Time out, ladies. Let’s slow down and talk this through.”

The three girls huddle up and trade whispers. They’re moving their hands, looking over their shoulder, and laughing. This is just the beginning, you realize. If you don’t wrest control of your body right now, you’ll be their plaything until sundown.

Whether by coincidence or force of will, sensation radiates back into your limbs. You leap to your feet as though pulled by a string from heaven and slam against the wall. Comics tumble from the shelves over your shoulders and splay along the floor. The girls look back, all at once wide-eyed and tense.

“Stay away from me!” Your voice carries well, no hint of slurring or weakness to belie your fear. Part of you wants to grill them further, maybe figure out exactly what was forced into your bloodstream, but getting out of this clubroom was the top priority. “I’m leaving. Don’t move.”

No response. Their faces are frozen. Bae shrinks behind Mori and clutches weakly at her arm like a timid child.

“Okay, good. Just like that.” You feel along the bookcase and drag yourself towards the door.

Wait, drag? No, you can walk now. Your legs are a bit wobbly but that’s just the adrenaline wearing out. You’re fine. You’re fine.

All your strength drains away into the floor. Your arms fall limply at your sides. You manage one more pathetic hobble towards the exit before collapsing entirely, taking a few figures down to earth with you. The plastic crunching only vaguely registers in your ringing ears.

Mori releases the breath she’d been holding since you stood up. “Okay…” Then, a pivot to IRyS. “IRyS, what the hell, man? Was that supposed to happen?”

“I-I don’t know! It can be kinda spotty in the first few minutes. It should be fine now...”

Mori grabs your ankles and drags your limp frame into the center of the room. “Then we’re back on track. IRyS, you’re up.”

“Oh! Yes!” She’s a lot less reserved than the other girls when it comes to taking her turn. That doesn’t bode well.

IRyS places both feet on either side of your head, then pulls up her skirt, revealing a sad pair of (formerly) white panties that have surely seen better days. The stitching is frayed, small holes run along the waistband where the elastic bites into her wide hips, and there’s a dark discoloration over her lower lips that continues all the way down between her thighs. It’s unlikely a pair of underwear has suffered more than the ones wrapped around IRyS’ waist.

Bae leans down for a better view, then plugs her nose and turns away. “Blech! Are those the same panties you’ve had since the beginning of highschool?”

“I mean, yeah. And I do wear them three or four times per week.” IRyS drops to a squat, knees spread apart, and lowers her crotch just above your mouth. “But I obviously still wash them…occasionally.” The last last word is whispered in a guilty tone as IRyS slams her plump, unwashed pussy over your lips. The stench is unreal. The baked-in odor of hundreds of days of sweat and musk and who-knows-what-else fills your nostrils to the brim and brings hot tears to the corners of your eyes. Your first breath bottoms out your lungs with that heavy cloud of fujo musk, tinging the length of your throat on the way down. You gag and sputter, but your floundering mouth movements can only buzz weakly against IRyS’ mound.

She leans back and rocks her hips forward, bulldozing your nose under her fat lower lips and introducing her stuffy taint to the intense sampling of odors crowding your nasal cavity. Everything down here is warm, slick, and drenched in IRyS’ most intimate scents. Above, you hear stifled moans of satisfaction, and the wetness of her arousal mingles seamlessly with the layers of sweat already coating your face.

Mori and Bae watch the raw display of lust in silence, the latter pretending to look off into a vacant corner while IRyS’ moans pulse against her ear drums. Eventually, Mori breaks their paralysis and kneels by your waist, clumsily popping open your belt buckle.

“What are you doing?” Bae asks in a frantic whisper.

Mori pulls your belt through the loops and sends it zipping behind her. “Normal boyfriend-girlfriend stuff! Come on, we can’t just sit here the whole time.”

She tugs down your pants and fishes your cock out from your boxers, holding its limp length in one hand. Mori’s tough girl mannerisms have all but evaporated, leaving her red hot in the face and pawing anxiously at her skirt with her free hand. Her warm, unsteady breath caresses your dick while she psyches herself up for the next move.

With a huff, Bae plops down next to Mori, close enough for their busts to press firmly against each other, and grasps your balls in her small hands. A little too tight for comfort. “Whoa! I can’t believe all of this is s-semen!”

Mori sighs. “What? Bro, that’s not how it… Alright, listen up.” Mori slides a single slender digit from the head of your cock down to your sack, tapping it lightly.

“So, there’s actually two balls in here. In this sack, I mean. They look kinda like eggs? And the sperm is produced, uh, here in the testicles but a lot of the fluid for e…ejaculation comes from somewhere else… I think.” Her thumbs knead into your balls, running over the wrinkled surface, and bouncing them in her hand. Your legs squirm as unwilling arousal throbs up your shaft.

“Whoa! There’s actual balls in there?” Bae wheezes a short laugh. Her small hands take over and cup your sack diligently, pianoing her dainty fingers along the surface, pushing and prodding like she was working dough. From her stupefied giggles, she’s enjoying herself.

“And what’s this thing?” she asks, pausing her thumb over your epididymis and rubbing it gently. “There’s some kind of weird bump here…”

“I don’t know, man! I didn’t bring my sex ed book with me today! Look, you keep that up and I’ll…uh…take care of this part.” Mori hesitates before brushing her hair behind her ear and lowering her mouth over your dick, instantly swallowing a good four inches. The hot, wet confines of Mori’s mouth slobber sparks a rapid erection that grows painfully hard under her care.

Bae looks on at the performance aghast, squeezing your nuts in surprise. “Y-you can suck on that part, too?”

Mori glares at her and mumbles something exasperated around your cock, temporarily unsheathing you from her throat pussy. “Mhhm, you gotta make shure there’sh a lot of shaliva on it first,” she says while dragging the flat of her tongue all the way up your twitching shaft then back down, leaving a thick shine of spittle in its wake. She takes your cock back in her mouth, then dips lower, now truly throating you, and braces herself on your thighs for support.

Caught up in their shared cocklust, Bae decides her mouth would do a better job of pampering your sack than her hands. Her small curious tongue flits out and explores the wrinkle of your package, then covers each ball in warm, loving licks. Bae’s face nuzzles with Mori’s when the pink-haired girl reaches the bottom of your shaft, unintentionally trading spit in the middle of their amateurish oral worship

You’d cry out, but your mouth is currently occupied.

“Oh…this feels…!” IRyS grabs your hair and bears down even harder with her hips, humping your face into the floor. Her motions drag her leaking cunt all the way from the bottom of your chin up to the top of your brow, fully rubbing her scent on you like an animal in heat. In the brief glimpses you’re afforded behind a curtain of drenched panties, you see her heterochromatic eyes glowing dimly with lust. She’s close to going over the edge.

Her panting pitches up. “I’m gonna…fuck!” You’d never heard her swear before, but her vulgarity rang out unmistakably through the room’s four walls. She yanks your face as deep into her crotch as she can and squirts a heavy dose of femcum into her sodden panties. Your climaxes line up with near perfect timing as you simultaneously thrust your hips up into Mori’s sloppy mouth onahole and pump out a cheek-filling load for her efforts, drowning her tongue under several thick spurts of warm jizz. Mori yelps in surprise at the sheer volume filling her mouth.

IRyS' clear love juices soak through her underwear and seep down your nostrils, nearly waterboarding you with her cream. Your abused nostrils flare furiously to take a breath and find only more concentrated IRyS musk.

IRyS is indifferent to your slow suffocation beneath her smelly cunt, instead lazily riding out the afterglow of her strongest orgasm in years by grinding further into your face. A full minute later, with a dreamy sigh that would have slotted perfectly in an AV, IRyS finally removes her dripping snatch from your mouth. Thin glistening strands of female ejaculate connect her slit to your lips.

“Oh my gosh!” IRyS exclaims, now sitting beside your head. “That was incredible!” Her legs are splayed wide open without a hint of modesty, letting you stare unobstructed into the sopping, needy pussy that smothered your oxygen supply for the last few minutes. Likewise, she’s staring at the area just below your belt currently surrounded by her two friends.

Mori still hasn’t removed your dick from her mouth. She looks pissed and a little confused. Glaring at you from the corner of her eye, she finally pops your dick free from her pillowy lips and sits irritably with a fresh mouthful of your sperm.

“Wait, lemme see!” Bae sputters.

“Me, too!” IRyS adds from the sidelines.

Her face glowing pink, Mori begrudgingly opens her mouth, careful not to let any of your ejaculate spill over the sides. A fat load of smelly, pearly white cum wobbles ever so slightly within her mouth, her tongue somewhere underneath. The other girls seem awestruck.

“Ah uh guhd?” Mori tilts her head back and swallows twice in succession. “Guh! …God, that’s bitter.”

“I wanna try!” IRyS says and crawls to your knees. “Calli, you can take his face this time!”

“You girls…you’re gonna break him, you know?” Mori shakes her head as IRyS takes her spot, looming hungrily over your crotch. “Then again, I read a male's refractory period is, like, 30 seconds or something. A few more rounds wouldn’t hurt.”

– – – – – –
– – – – – –

Your eyes snap open. A dull headache pushes at your temples. Ten feet above, fuzzy bronze rectangles slowly sharpen into the ceiling’s plain wooden boards. There’s nothing disturbing the dead silence of night aside from the intermittent chirping of crickets and your own labored breath. Bringing a hand to your face, you feel a thin, slimy substance smear your palm. It smells faintly fishy.

Your entire body aches like you’d just been thrown down a flight of stairs. But more pressing than the complete physical exhaustion was the black spot of memory voiding out everything that happened since IRyS stood up from her seat. Disembodied images float behind your eyelids showing wide smiles, pale limbs, and washed out collages of purple, pink, and red. They don’t make any sense. Slowly, any imminent significance they held fade down into your subconscious, swallowed up like the remnants of a waking dream.

Right, it’s coming back now. IRyS got up to stretch her legs. You dozed off from the heat and got some drool on your face. You must have fallen to the floor and no one bothered waking you up. Kind of a dick move on their part, but hey, you weren’t friends by any stretch.

The soft panic drumming your chest subsides now that the mystery was solved.

You get up, careful to see if your tired muscles would fail on you, and stretch. The sun has long since set and you needed to be home hours ago. Surely the president wouldn’t mind if you turned in your report tomorrow.

On the way out the door, your tongue runs across a strange intrusion in your mouth along your gums. Frowning, you reach inside and pluck it out, holding it delicately in the faint beams of blue moonlight.

A wiry, magenta pubic hair glistens between your fingers.

– – – – – –
– – – – – –

Chapter 2: On Command

Hands crossed neatly behind your back, you stand in front of the student council president’s desk. It was a massive hunk of polished dark oak that was rumored to cost more than some teacher’s monthly salary.

Fourteen hours had passed since your excursion into the old school building. A bright new Tuesday awaits. Your uniform is freshly laundered and ironed. Your teeth had been brushed over four times since the previous night in a compulsive hygienic frenzy. Strangely, both the toothpaste and mouthwash tasted expired in some way. It’s hard to describe, but the usual refreshing tones of cool mint soured on your tongue.

“I was waiting for you yesterday evening. They must have given you some trouble,” the president says, weaving a ballpoint pen between the fingers on her right hand. A neat stack of administrative paperwork lies flush with the corner of her desk in a short metal basket.

“Those girls are delinquents. They weren't going to give up their hangout space without a fight.”

“But no physical violence, I hope?” Her face glinted with genuine concern. Not a common expression for her to wear. “Mori in particular has a record of trading blows with other students when she’s not getting her way.”

“No, no violence. But they did string me along for a full club meeting to see if I would change my mind. Their activities were as frivolous as you…well, as all of us thought they were. I wrote everything down here.” You pass over the thin black folder containing your official report. Some of the words had been shaky and uneven when writing them last night, but remained legible.

The president smiles and wags the folder in hand. “Good work. I’ll review this after my one o’clock. Now, you know things don’t move fast in this school– changing the flowers in the front plaza took four meetings and a written appeal to the principal– but I’ll get the wheels turning for their eviction. Call it two weeks.”

“Thank you. If there’s nothing else, I’ll be on my way.” You turn to leave, your hand unconsciously groping at your temple.

“Wait.”

“Yes, Ms. President?”

“Are you alright?“ Again, that rare expression of concern. Twice in one day.

“I didn’t get much sleep last night. Exams are coming up, this usually happens with stressful things like that.” You smile without any warmth.

The president leans forward, concentrating. Her lips are a thin line. For a moment, you can feel her staring through your empty words, reaching past the white bone of your skull, and clutching at the dark sludge contaminating your memory. She’s shifting it through it now, turning over stones and bushwhacking through chest-high poisonous weeds to see why her eager, bright-eyed rookie is plodding inside her office with a head hung low enough to scrape the ground. Something happened, she says without words, something happened last night that took away a part of you.

“Academics always come first!” She smiles and reclines in her seat. The intimidating aura dissipates just like that. “Take care of yourself. And if the stress from the…exams gets too much, my door is always open.”

You thank her and leave. Of course, you would not ever need to take her up on the offer. Because you were convinced that you would never see those girls again.

– – – – – –
– – – – – –

Up on the school’s rooftop, you find an empty bench to settle down on for lunch. The sky is clear and blue. The wind sighs across the rooftop in long, easy breaths and there’s no other students around to break up the natural ambiance. It’s enough to almost fully eradicate the memories of last night.

But still…why is there a briar of unease in your stomach? Something important is hiding itself away in your subconscious. You pick listlessly at the sandwich in your lap (it tastes off in the same way the toothpaste and mouthwash did) and thumb over the square impression in your pocket. Inside was a small notepad you brought just in case you get a burst of insight and need to quickly scribble down your thoughts. Your phone could work too, but between unlocking it, navigating to the word app, and contending with auto-correct, this felt like a better choice.

The door thirty feet to your right bangs open. Before you can even see the intruders, the breeze carries a familiar scent over to your seat. Walking onto the roof are Mori, Bae, and IRyS, hands held over their foreheads to blot out the sunshine. Being pulled away from the domain of their clubroom gives them a meek impression.

They stop halfway to your bench and remain still, awkwardly shuffling their feet. A minute passes. Instead of fielding their stares for your entire lunch period, you make the first move. “Can I help you?”

“Uh, yeah, we were just wondering…” Mori mumbles, “You don’t hate us or anything, right?”

“...No? Why would I?”

For whatever reason that answer sends them into an excited fit. Highfives slap across their hands. Mori is especially bolstered by the response and stands taller, shoulders back, her long ponytail flapping in the wind.

She probes further. “You don’t think what we did last night was weird?”

“I think reading comics all day is a waste of school resources,” you say, “but I don’t know if I’d call it weird.”

Mori nods along. “Good, good. Now, tell me your favorite color.”

“Blue.”

“Tell me your biggest fear.”

“Drowning.”

“Tell me how many times you jack off per week.”

“Depends on the week. Three or four times on average.” Wait, did you really just say that? And nevermind the vulgarity of that last question, why did all your responses come so immediately?

The mood changes. Happily, the three girls invite themselves into your company. IRyS takes a seat on your right while Mori and Bae fill in closely on the left. The bench, though built to comfortably seat five students, is feeling cramped. Their thighs rub firmly against yours. Just being in their proximity is raising your blood pressure and forcing sweat from your palms. The once soothing summer breeze feels muted and far away.

Three pairs of eyes bore into you. Mori smiles and throws an arm around your shoulder, her sizable chest presses warmly against you. “Yo, gimme some of that sandwich.”

“What? No, I brought this myself. There’s plenty of food in the cafeteria. It tastes better, too.”

“Thanks, dude!” She takes a big bite of the sandwich you graciously offered up to her mouth.

Bewildered, you look down the length of your extended arm and jerk it backs towards your chest. A low ringing hums around your ears. “What did you just-?”

“Oh, and can I get some of your water? It’s a real scorcher out here.” Bae chimes in.

“And some of your chips?” IRyS asks. “I haven’t tried that flavor before!”

Like a stop-motion film missing half its frames, your lunch is passed out to each of the girls, slowly dwindling down to a light dusting of chip crumbs at the bottom of the bag and one sip of bottled water. It feels like you haven’t taken a full breath since Mori's first question.

“See? I told you,” Mori says, addressing her friends smugly.

“That thing is so powerful! How does it work anyway?” Bae asks.

“Don’t sweat the science-y shit. He does what we want and doesn’t rat us out. What else do you need to know?”

“So, he’ll do anything we ask?”

“Pretty much. Let’s double-check.”

Mori leans forward and props her elbows on her knees. She looks as if the next words out of her mouth will be of great importance.

“IRyS, throw your pen on the ground.”

“Hm? Okay…” IRyS digs into her pocket and pulls out a mechanical pencil. She flicks it onto the ground where it scutters briefly across the sun-soaked roof.

Mori brings her face close to yours and lowers her voice. “Pick that up. Then get on one knee and give it back to IRyS. Make sure to say ‘Here you are, my Princess,’ while you’re down there.”

Bubbly giggles vibrate through the trio of girls.

Your knees straighten. Each subsequent action falls into place like a machine-punched instruction card. Move forward. Bend down. Grasp pencil. Return to IRyS. As decreed, you get to one knee, and cradle the pen in your open palm with great ceremony. “Here you are, my Princess.”

“Holy shit! It totally works!” Mori yells. She turns towards her friends who are in similar states of ecstatic surprise.

“Yeah, we can use him whenever. Wherever,” Bae agrees, whispering in disbelief.

IRyS rubs her thighs together. “Give me a kiss, too! Right here!” She spreads her legs and points to a spot not two centimeters away from her pantyline.

Your face draws near and you note, with visible disgust, that these are the exact same pair she was wearing last night, (Last night? When did you see her panties last night?) and the smell hasn’t gotten any better. You plant your lips as ordered then withdraw, frozen in your pose.

Mori grins. “Okay, there’s still ten minutes before the next bell, I wanna try something more intense. IRyS, take your shoes off. Let your dogs air out in front of his face.”

The school issue loafers slip off IRyS’ dainty foot, exuding a powerful aroma. She wiggles her bare feet in front of your face.

“You didn’t wear socks today? In this kind of heat?” Bae asks.

IRyS pouts and presses the sole of her foot onto your face. “What, that’s not weird or anything! Lots of girls do that! I honestly think my feet sweat less without socks.”

You groan as the sharp odor of her soles soak into your pores. No amount of fresh summer air can diffuse the miasma that’s been brewing in the dampness of her shoes.

“Get to work,” Mori says, and kicks your thigh. “The princess needs a foot massage after a long day.”

You reach out with your hands but Mori swiftly slaps them away. “Rude! She’s royalty, remember? Use your tongue!”

– – – – – –
– – – – – –

When cognizance slips back into your body, you find yourself sitting on the same bench, in the same seat, slouched over with your hands limply in your lap. A small black ant is busy scaling the tip of your shoe. Your tongue feels dry and raw, like you were rubbing it against a salt lick for the last couple of hours.

A whining headache raps your skull, sending a blurry film reel of information careening and flickering by. Laughter, flapping skirts, five round shapes eclipsing the sun. They didn’t form into any one narrative.

It’s happened again, you realize. These are the same feelings that confronted you last night when you awoke to a dark room and wrestled with the strange certainty that you had been violated. But every time you try to arrange the pieces, a throbbing red wall of pain locks you up.

All you can say for certain is that those three girls are involved somehow, which leaves you with two questions: What are they doing to you, and why are they doing it?

Robbery would be an easy motive, but there’s no way anyone in this school is pressed for money. And you don’t carry anything else of value on your person. Further, nothing’s been missing from your pockets when you wake up.

Even more mystifying is the “how”. Pulling up your sleeves, you confirm that there’s no wounds or bruises on your body. They’re not knocking you out or hurting you in any physical way, at least not in a way seen by the naked eye. It’s like you fall asleep whenever they show up.

Something crumples in your left hand. It’s a sheet torn off your notepad with a line of frantic scribbles, as though the author was immensely pressed for time. You flatten out the paper and squint. To the best of your ability, the chicken scratch spells out a single word:

Hypnosis.

– – – – – –
– – – – – –

The note had provided a satisfying flash of insight, but as you descend the rooftop stairs and enter the seventh floor hallway, you realize there’s not much to go off with that alone.

Your Honor, these girls have been hypnotizing me. How? I don’t know. For what reason? No idea. Proof that they’re doing it? I’ll get back to you.

A vivid memory of the president's soft smile appears. She’s currently tied up in council matters (speech team drama, was it?), but you’ll see her at the end of the day. Maybe she can figure this out. At the very least, it will be nice to get the viewpoint of someone outside your own head. In the meantime, you resolve to avoid those girls at all costs; whatever room they enter, you leave. Simple as that.

You push through the double-wide doors into the bustling cafeteria to find a replacement for your stolen lunch. Throngs of chattering students bustle about the area’s food stations, mulling over which high-class cuisine to indulge in today. For all the bureaucracy and pompousness of the academy, no one faulted the quality of their catering.

You select one of the cheaper meals, a medium-rare ribeye with potato wedges and grilled, salted vegetables, and locate an empty table pushed away from the general raucous commune.

Objectively, you know the food alighting your tongue is good. The meat is cooked perfectly with a slight sear to seal in the flavor without turning into a coat of charcoal. The chefs here are among the best in the state, some had done national TV spots before. Yet you can’t bring yourself to clear more than a third of your plate. The remains of your dish sit there, looking lumpy and gray, like all flavor had been covertly siphoned out before serving.

You choke down what you can and tip the rest into the trash. On the way out, you stop by a dessert parlor and purchase a 22-ounce vanilla milkshake, hoping the abundance of sugar would make up for whatever is deadening your tastebuds. The sweetness hits a little harder but remains disappointingly muted.

The cafeteria doors swing shut behind you and lock out the cheery ambience of the lunch crowd. Ahead is a long, lonely hallway uncrowded by any passing students. The emptiness reminds you a bit of the old school building. You slip in your earbuds and start walking.

Your body drifts to the right with sudden urgency, as though pulled by an impatient, invisible arm. You look up to see Bae and IRyS flagging you down into a small supply closet. They usher you inside and, after a quick peek to make sure no one saw you come in, shut the door behind you. The room is sparse. It houses only a rack of barren metal shelves, a torn open packet of paper towels, and a single ratty mop propped against the corner.

“I know we just met up, but I couldn’t wait any longer,” IRyS says, stepping forward to take your hand.

“Imma just say, this was all IRyS’ idea and-” Bae pauses and takes a closer look at you. She frowns. “You don’t look so good, bro. What’s up?”

Unsurprisingly, your voice starts up without your consent. “I haven’t been eating much. Nothing tastes right anymore…it’s all bland and cardboard.”

IRyS’ lust temporarily simmers down as she looks at your half-emptied milkshake. “Really? I thought they had, like, top-of-the-line chefs here.”

“I didn’t have this problem before. I don’t know, it’s missing some kind of spice, I guess.”

”Hmm…” IRyS pauses, then turns to Bae. She cups her hand around Bae’s ear and whispers. You can’t see her mouth, but IRyS is clearly smiling behind her hand.

Bae’s face heats up. “Whoa! I am not ready for that!”

“No, not that! Let me finish.” IRyS leans in with another unintelligible string of whispers.

The clarification didn’t help. “That’s still super gross, IRyS. Will he even want to…you know…after we’re finished?”

But IRyS was already disrobing. She kicks her skirt and underwear to the side, standing proudly with the regulation school uniform on top and absolutely nothing below the waist except her shiny black loafers. The measurements of her hips were quite impressive when bared fully.

The sight of her friend’s unabashed nudity frazzles Bae for a moment, but she soon hangs her head and starts undressing as well. The two bottomless girls close in on you until they’re standing hip-to-hip.

“Okay, now…get on your knees and hold out your glass,” IRyS commands. There’s a deep, sultry quality to her words.

Your knees hit the floor, followed by your arm extending until the lip of the milkshake sits below their two warm, wet cunts like a beer glass offered up to the tap. Bae’s snatch is nicely shaved with only a scant layer of stubble, while IRyS is far more unkempt. A thick patch of sweaty magenta pubic hair smothers her crotch, nearly bridging one inner thigh to the other, and concentrated hikki-musk pours off in steady waves. Like her favorite pair of panties, it seems this part of her body has remained unwashed for quite some time.

“Now, just follow my lead…” IRyS moans as her fingers dive into her slit, digging deep through the tangle of pubes and rubbing roughly.

Bae’s hands are hovering over her own sex but she’s unable to follow through. IRyS smiles and takes the initiative, roughly inserting her free hand in between Bae’s thighs. The smaller girl yelps and jumps to her toes.

“C’mon, Bae, you nervous or what?” IRyS asks teasingly, the question scored to the wet sound of her schlicking two pussies at once.

Bae glares at her and counters with her own set of fingers deftly plunging into IRyS’ warm folds, quickly resolving into an aggressive bout of obscene finger-blasting. “Oi! How d’you like this then,” she huffs with a victorious smirk.

IRyS moans and tries to keep up with her partner’s onslaught. Her hand moves faster, and so does Bae’s. Neither is willing to back down. Both girls are working themselves into a shuddering, melting mess of pleasure, hips bucking into their partner’s hands. Clear drops of pussy juice flick onto your neck and unblinking face. The thick smell of sex quickly saturates the limited airspace.

“N-not so tough now, huh?” Bae gasps, cheeks awash in blush. “I can’t believe you dragged me here for this…no wonder you always keep your nails so short!”

IRyS pistons her fingers further and draws a high-pitched yelp from her friend. “Shut up! You do the same thing, and don’t try to tell me it’s for sports reasons! Hurry up and cum, dummy!”

They reach an electrifying climax in perfect unison. Heads thrown back, they gush a thick spray of femcum over each other’s fingers. Stray squirts of their combined juices splash past the glass’ rim and soak the back of your hand, but the majority blasts right into your defenseless, unfinished milkshake. The beverage feels heavy and intensely warm in your hands.

“Hahh…hahh..” Taken by their orgasmic bliss, they lean against each other and regard the fruits of their teamwork.

Bae removes her grool-coated fingers and tries to flick them clean. A garnish of magenta pubes stick to the rim of your milkshake like salt on a margarita, and three more float lazily on top.

“D-drink up,” Bae whispers.

“While it’s still warm!” IRyS adds with a wink.

The glass is already upturned and pouring its contents down your throat. The tiny base flavoring of vanilla is almost fully smothered by the taste of their love juice, and your throat struggles to push it down. Miraculously, you empty the glass, and stare blankly back at them with a full, slightly queasy stomach. Of all the ways that could have gone, you’re thankful that at least you didn’t have to swallow their piss.

IRyS steps into her panties and pulls on her skirt. She looks refreshed. “Well, that was fun. Bae, do you wanna get something to eat? I’m actually still hungry.”

“Oh…sure. I’ll meet you there.”

“Eh? But you said you were free all afternoon. Why would you need-”

“I’ll catch up! Just go!” Bae’s practically dancing in place, her thick thighs sliding against each other.

“Ohhh, that’s what you mean. Well, good luck! For his sake, I hope you drank plenty of water.”

“Shut up!” Bae tosses a roll of paper towels at IRyS as she ducks out the door.

Left alone, Bae turns on her heels and looks down on you, face glowing with shame.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she says, walking closer. “I’m only doing this because I’m not sure if I'd make it to the bathroom in time.”

Each footfall jiggles her fat tits from under her shirt; even restrained by her bra, they have plenty of movement. From your low kneeling angle, you can also see a good portion of her thick ass cheeks wobbling from behind her thighs.

“Lean your head back against the wall and open your mouth. It’ll be quick.”

You do as you're told. Bae turns around and hitches her shirt up to make sure nothing gets in the way. Your eyes widen taking in the erotic proportions of her lower body; a shapely pair of thighs lead up into a heavenly ass with just the right mix of muscle and fat, looking firm and spankable. You could easily imagine slapping your hand across her cheeks and watching them ripple.

Slowly, Bae backs her full, perfect bubble butt onto your face until her toned cheeks are centimeters from touching yours and her recently abused cunt is dribbling trace amounts of femcum into your open mouth. Her athletic body has no trouble locking her half-squat pose in place. Considering how built her thighs are, she could probably hold this position for the rest of the lunch. Or do one hundred reps of slamming her muff on your face without feeling the strain. Being so close to her crotch, the warmth coming off her skin is palpable.

Your nose twitches, picking up the strong stink of sweat clinging to her skin, especially potent around her ass crack. She was by far the most active of the three. When she wasn’t ninja-running in gym class or dancing to anime OPs below the bleachers, she was power walking through the halls and bouncing around the classroom with inexhaustible energy. It’s little wonder there was so much sweat collecting between her cheeks.

Bae takes out her phone. “I’m going now. Don’t do anything weird down there!” With a soft sigh, she relaxes her body.

A thick beam of bright yellow piss splits her plump lower lips and fires directly into your waiting maw, hosing down the back of your throat. Bae’s acrid ambrosia bloats your cheeks before you can fully register the taste, and swiftly surges against the back of your front teeth. It’s either drink or drown. Your throat moves desperately, gulping down unending mouthfuls while Bae continues blasting against the rapidly refilling pool of piss in your mouth, churning small bubbles where her beam hits the surface.

“You know other girls make fun of me for how fast my bathroom breaks are,” Bae says, typing away at her phone as the steam rising from her piss languishes around the bottom of her thighs. “They joke that I must not wear panties or wash my hands. Like, bruh.” Bae goes on into another topic you didn’t have the mental energy to follow, all the while keeping her firehose aimed down your throat. Her stream sometimes wanes in power and sprinkles a wide cone of piss on your nose and forehead, but a quick wiggle of her hips concentrates the spread once more. It’s a full forty seconds of chugging Bae’s urine before her bathroom break comes to close. Bae finishes sending a text, then puts her phone away.

She frowns and flexes her abs, splashing a few more droplets into the amber pool collecting in your mouth. With Bae’s bladder emptied, you can now fully drain your mouth of her personal lemonade. Finally, the taste of fresh-

Whap! She drops her hips on your face and mashes her smooth, tight cunt firmly against your lips. With both hands on her knees, she rubs her crotch in small circles, then bounces a few times to shake out any remaining droplets of piss in her folds. The movement lightly claps her cheeks. Just to make extra sure, she drops her hips lower still and finishes with a deep swipe across your lips.

“What? I’m not just gonna walk out without wiping.”

The paper towels stored here probably could have done in a pinch, you think to yourself.

“But yeah, thanks for the help.” She dresses herself, taking a moment to check for any wetness on her panties, and reaches for the door. She turns back after lingering in the exit. “And seriously, don’t tell any of the girls that we did this. I just know IRyS wouldn’t let me hear the end of it.”

The door closes, leaving you propped up in the darkness with the fading taste of Bae’s refuse in your mouth.

Your relationship with those girls had crossed another line today. And so quickly after having your first proper introduction the night before. Given how readily they employed you as a human urinal, the thought of where they were willing to take this terrifies you.

You run your tongue along the roof of your mouth. It occurs to you, complete with all manner of disturbing implications, that your body had decided that chugging IRyS and Bae’s cum and piss was much more flavorful than anything you’ve eaten the past couple days.

– – – – – –
– – – – – –

The rendezvous in that supply closet was the introduction to your new normal for the rest of the day. A group of degenerates harboring that kind of power and libido weren’t satisfied with a one-off fling on the rooftops or a quickie after lunch, no, they smothered you in affection all hours of the day. “Affection” lent itself to many interpretations; jacking you off with their used panties, dunking your head in a pile of their dirty gym socks, taking turns spitting in your mouth and asking you to identify whose saliva coated your tongue on taste alone. Their treatment was as perverted as it was exhaustive.

The incessant abuse of your mind and body tore away at your short and long term memory. The moment to moment experience of life was trending slowly into sleepwalking: reacting to external stimuli, but never making conscious choices. Experiences were getting harder to recognize as actual events or assumed ones.

For example, you think you had made it to the president's office later that day to air your concerns, but the whole meeting was spotty. You had brought up your recent mysterious fainting episodes (careful not to mention the girls’ involvement until you had more evidence), and she had asked if you had a history of narcolepsy or some kind of anemia. When you responded negatively, the only thing you remember was her mouth floating in a blank void whispering “common factor”. Everything else fell into an incomprehensible mirage of white walls and black bars.

“Hello? You okay, man?”

You blink into the (afternoon?) sunlight at a classmate waving his hand in front of your eyes. He’s doing his best not to let his concern show.

“Hey. I’m fine, sorry. I haven’t been getting a lot of sleep.” That was becoming the go-to excuse for these situations.

“Geez, had me thinking you died in your chair or something. Anyway, you want my notes for the exam next Monday? I still have to pay you back for bailing me out of chemistry.”

You scrub at your weary eyes. “Yeah. Sure. I’ll pick them up in a few days after I get some rest.”

“Uh…they’re not gonna be that helpful by then.”

“What do you mean?”

He cocks his head like he’s missing the joke. “I mean that today’s Friday.”

A plume of anxiety rises in your stomach. The dull ringing returns to your ears, louder than ever, and the desk under your elbows warps like soft clay. Wetting your lips, you reply: “C’mon, you don’t need to scare me like…that…” You check your phone. Friday, April 17th glows back at you from your locked screen.

He drops the notes on your desk and shakes his head. “Yeah, you weren’t kidding about needing sleep. Hang in there.”

You put your phone away and stand up from your desk, legs trembling. Memory-holing three full days is well beyond exhaustion or some over the counter sleeping drug. Those girls did something severe to your body. You need to leave– call in sick, get suspended, anything to put distance between you and this school. And those girls. Above all else, you need to never set foot in the clubroom again.

You grab your backpack and hurry out the door, slamming your thigh hard against a desk in the front row. The pain doesn’t reach your brain.

– – – – – –
– – – – – –

Chapter 3: Shatter

Later that same day, a high-pressure system had crawled along your school grounds, bringing with it a horribly oppressive heat wave on a magnitude that neither the school nor the greater township had seen in decades. Then came the storm. Thick sheets of rain had battered the school to the point of partially flooding the lower level parking lot, leaving a balmy, muggy climate to steam off the blacktop. It was the kind of weather that bullied most people into crowding under the A/C vents like a reverse campfire.

These effects would be brutally magnified when focused inside the crucible of a small clubroom. Especially if said clubroom was poorly ventilated and filled with three sweaty fujoshi unbothered by their abysmal hygiene.

“Fuck it’s hot in here,” Mori gasps, fanning both hands at her slick nape and cleavage. Sweat traces down her swan-like neck and collects between her breasts like a raintrap. She had completely sweat through her uniform five hours ago and her drenched shirt now hugs her enormous, braless jugs like plastic wrap. Her top is so plainly transparent that one could easily color match the exact pale pinkness of her areola.

Every inch of her hourglass frame is dripping in perspiration. What can’t be absorbed by her clothing simply continues traveling down her body. Steady plips and plaps of excess sweat drip off the edges of the cheap folding chair she’s seated on and wets the floor below.

“Bro…you sure you don’t want to go home and run a quick bath?” Bae asks. They’d only been here for a little over an hour, but the fumes radiating off her taller friend are so strong that even her acquired nose-blindness is starting to pick up on it. In this hellhole of a climate, Mori’s aroma was in a league of its own.

“Eh, I’m good. Actually, now that I think about it,” Mori pauses to wiggle her ass into the seat, prompting a pained creak from the chair legs bound to hold her weight. “I haven’t taken a shower since Monday morning. I mean, it doesn’t seem necessary anymore.”

Bae cringes internally. Five full days of building up slick layers of filth, yikes. That would explain why Mori left a shallow sweat-filled crater in whatever seat she took these days. Be it plush library chairs or plastic bleachers, anything exposed to her rear was going to be marked by a damp imprint in the shape of her bountiful heart-shaped ass cheeks that stuck around hours after she left.

But Mori’s nothing if not stubborn, so Bae lets it go. “If you say so… Oh, by the way, I picked this up on my way home last night. You were looking for volume three, yeah?”

“Oh, nice! Thanks, Bae!” Mori leans forward off her chair to reach across the table, her fat, sweaty, dumptruck ass unsticking from the poor cushion she’d been using with an audible schllrrp and revealing your reddened, glistening face in her shadow below. Streams of ass sweat run down the sides of your face, tickling your ears and wetting your hair, and your nose slowly reforms from its slightly flattened profile. You cough wetly and work your burning lungs to bring in as much air as possible, knowing this respite is on a strict timer. You’d been serving as Mori’s seat cushion for forty straight agonizing minutes, ever since today’s club meeting started, and you’d felt every bounce and gyration from your stacked “girlfriend” above. While Mori’s backside was a bit less toned than Bae's, it more than made up for it in soft, suffocating mass. And, cruelly, Mori chose to go commando today.

“Wait…was it volume three of four?” Mori turns the 200-page softcover comic over in her hands, swaying her massive, plump butt precariously over your face. A few pearls of sweat collect at the bottom of her bouncing cheeks and shake loose onto your face, though most of it remains trapped within her sweltering ass crack or caught soaking lazily into her ever-thickening bush. Her shaving habits had divebombed since the first meeting and she now sported a dense, bushy pink forest that fully obscured her cunt, leading into a thinner trail flowing down her taint and circling her asshole with a fine lining of anal hair. Perfectly designed to capture all the sweat and musk worked up between her fat butt cheeks grinding against each other throughout the day.

“Okay, yeah, it’s definitely volume three.” Mori pushes off the table and begins sitting back in her chair. She looks over her shoulder, frowning, and grabs her right cheek, pulling it to the side to reveal the offensively musky, slightly hairy asshole buried beneath mounds of fat. “And stop moving around so much, it’s hard to concentrate.” She lowers her hips until the tip of your nose pushes helplessly into her asshole’s slick steamy center then drops her full weight onto the chair, letting her ass meat jiggle on impact. She smiles, quite pleased with the clubroom’s latest furniture upgrade, and grinds down a bit further to make sure you're positioned correctly in her crack.

While her hairy pussy muzzled your mouth, your nose was once again left snorting her pure, unfiltered ass musk straight from the source. Your nostrils had basically memorized the number and density of the wrinkles on her asshole after being plugged against it all this time.

You groan weakly into her ass. The difference between the clubroom air, tainted as it is, and Mori’s backside is incomparable. You’re genuinely unsure if your mind can take snorting up her aroma for another two hours.

Hesitantly, IRyS speaks up. “Do you even need him as a cushion? I think your ass-...your apple is big enough to sit on anything comfortably.”

“It makes a difference. And he takes care of the sweat buildup,” Mori says matter-of-factly. “It’s unreal how bad it gets down there in the summer.”

IRyS shrugs. “As long as he can breathe. Oh, and speaking of that kind of stuff, I found something new online. Have you ever thought about…” She pauses and whips out her phone, typing up a storm of texts for Mori’s messenger. Apparently this group of deviants still has something to feel shy talking out loud about.

After reading in silence, Mori raises her eyebrows. “Wow. Is that really a thing couples do?”

“I know, it sounds kinda intense. But the tag’s been showing up more often when I’m browsing new works, so there’s gotta be something to it!”

Mori leans back, eliciting groans from both you and the chair. “He’s our boyfriend,” she says, rapidly coming around to the suggestion, “so I’m sure he’d be open to trying new things.”

The crushing weight pressing down on your skull shifts, if only for a moment, as Mori repositions herself. She brings her hips forward, sliding across the length of your face and replacing the taste of her unshaved snatch with the bitter tones of her sweaty asshole. The intense flavor of her anus meeting your lips blows everything else you’ve experienced under the reign of these girls out of the water. Your body tries to reject it, manifesting only as a series of brief, pathetic jerks from your shoulders, but Mori simply crosses her arms and grinds tauntingly into your face.

“Hey, settle down! Damn. It’s perfectly normal to kiss your girlfriend…it just won’t be on the lips this time.”

It’s somewhat of a curse that your nose can now breathe semi-comfortably between the heated valley of her butt cheeks. You would have preferred passing out to what was now set in motion.

Tortuously slow, your lips pucker and plant a shallow kiss right next to Mori’s winking asshole. Then another. Three more follow, getting progressively more daring and intimate, tracing all around the outer rim but growing ever closer to the center. The last one is a deep, wet smack that lingers lovingly on her anus for a few seconds before leaving. Mori mews and rocks her body as she warms up to your anal worship, gripping the edge of the table. The other two girls set down their books to fully appreciate their friend’s broadening sexual horizons in real time.

“Not bad,” Mori says. “Now u-use your tongue.”

As ordered, your tongue parts your lips to lay hesitant licks on Mori’s backdoor. Making contact overwhelms your tastebuds but it’s less offensive than you feared– this may be the hypnosis rewiring your brain at work. More positive reinforcement vibrates from above, and you know that this won’t end until she gets off, so you double down on your efforts. Holding a firm, consistent pressure, you press your wet tongue flat against her asshole and swipe lasciviously from side-to-side. You’re soon wholly engaged in an audibly sloppy makeout session with her backdoor, lashing spittle along her crack and painting her musky, sweat-soaked asshole with generous coats of gooey saliva.

Mori tries to collect herself and give the next order, but you’re two steps ahead. You fold your tongue over and push through her tight outer ring to explore the deeper, more sensitive areas of her butt. Now fully lip-locked with her asshole, your thrust further inside and exhaustively tongue-bathe her tight, hot anal walls with all the strength and finesse your small muscle can offer, corkscrewing in tight circles and slurping down mouthfuls of her sweat. You strain your tongue to its limit to maximize the stimulation while Mori squirms under the effects of your utterly depraved and passionate french-kiss.

Her asshole clenches tightly around your tongue, almost enough to immobilize it, while she bucks atop your face. An idea glints in Mori’s eye. She brings both naked feet up onto your crotch and stomps your erect cock against your stomach. Nimble bare toes stroke your shaft and knead your balls in order to coax out a nice thick load. With nothing else on the ground, the full weight of her enormous ass is pressing down on your face and the throes of pleasure have leaned her back just enough to smother your nose.

The oxygen feeding into your brain is dwindling. The strong taste of rimming out Mori is numbing your tongue and the heavy musk wafting off her ass is choking your sinuses. The heat and pressure surrounding your face is becoming unbearable, but a powerful orgasm is rising through your cock all the same.

“Fuck, he’s r…really good at this!” Mori grips the table and closes her eyes. One more deep, nostril-staining inhalation of her scent is all it takes to fire off your ejaculation. Her shapely feet crush your spasming dick against your lower stomach, letting the soles of her feet feel each spurt pumping through your urethra. When the last load is shot, Mori presses down and rubs your spent, slimy member into your boxers like she was snuffing out a cigarette.

Adrenaline and dopamine crash spectacularly together as you black out, asphyxiating under Mori’s fat ass. Your tongue, as though possessed, continues working to stimulate her asshole as your consciousness fades away.

– – – – – –
– – – – – –

Your body restarts and jolts you back into the waking world. You’re still in the clubroom but now seated upright at the table. Not much time has passed considering the position of the sun…that and the taste of the earlier ass worship remains fresh on your tongue. The three girls are huddled around a bookshelf near the door, looking very intently at a double-page spread in one of the doujinshi.

“Bae should do it first. She’s the most athletic!”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

Mori pats Bae’s head. “Doing it requires a lot of stamina, especially if you’re on top. We can’t count on him putting much effort in.”

“It’s easy.” IRyS insists, and produces an intimidating foot-long dildo from behind a rack of books. She drops it on the floor where it flops down heavily like a trophy salmon. “We can practice with this. Just step over it and pretend you’re doing squats. The rest of it will…uh…go in where it needs to.”

Bae gulps. “And…which hole is it supposed to go into?”

“Hold on, let me double check.”

So that’s it then. This is their endgame, the climax of this insane week. Before the next sun rises, they’ll have taken your virginity. And you won’t even remember it.

You sit stone-faced in a prison of your own body, unable to move or form any thoughts beyond simple observation. A primal part of your brain urges you to escape, but you’re finding it harder to rationalize fighting. Maybe this fate isn’t worth struggling against. Those girls have their charm points. All of them are pretty, too. You’re sure, in time, that even their catalog of foul smells will eventually metamorphosize into something you desire. It already happened in the supply closet and while you were under Mori.

You relax in your chair and stare off into nothing as comforting eddies of nihilism take over. Shame you never figured out what was triggering their hypnosis in the end, though. So much for that sleuth work.

What’s the common factor? The president's voice echoes from within, somewhere thousands of miles away. If these “fainting” events are a recent development, was there any common factor tying them together? A location? A time of day?

Those must have been excerpts from the foggy conservation you had with her earlier in the week. But aside from the girls themselves, you couldn’t think of anything the events had in common.

The faint headache worsens into a solid hot weight between your eyes. You have everything you need, but the answer keeps flitting out of reach when you close in, as if pushed away by the mass of your observation. Goddamn it, it’s so hard to think with this heat and chatter and obnoxious fucking smell.

The world falls away as a revelation glows brightly in front of your eyes. The smell. Every encounter opened with some amount of their scent lingering in the air. The tight quarters of the clubroom. Sitting downwind of them on the school roof. Smelling Bae and IRyS in the empty hallway outside the cafeteria, even when your eyes were on the ground and headphones were blasting music in your ears. A single whiff was enough to draw you close, then, when they had you in their arms and huffing their musk directly, all free will tumbled away.

Then, how to defeat it? At first you simply stop breathing through your nose. But after a dozen shallow breaths through your mouth, nothing has changed. It’s not enough to stop taking in their scent at this point, you need something to replace it. On the table are BL books, DVDs, pastel hand towels, and a clutter of plastic packaging surrounding a bright pink box cutter. Plenty of options, but everything is hopelessly saturated in their scent. Even your own clothes, including the tie you had once used to ward off their stink, is now surely stained beyond use. Was there nothing in this room left untainted?

No, there was something.

Spurred by the promise of escape, your dormant leaden muscles creak back to life. Your thumb twitches. The digits on your hand come online, curling towards your palm like the legs of a dying spider. Amazingly, your entire hand is able to pivot atop your thigh.

Seven feet away, the girls have cajoled Bae into leading the charge. You can feel their excitement building. The only thing they have left is to decide on the exact position, something IRyS is taking great interest in. You need to move fast, but your limbs refuse to cooperate any further. You stare at your motionless hand. Move, you son of a bitch. Move!

“Okay, so we’ll keep it simple with the ‘cowgirl’ position. Let’s bring him over. Calli, clear a space on the floor. Bae, you can keep everything on except your panties.”

You’re out of time. IRyS is less than an arm's length away. Her scent is working hard against the progress you’ve been eking out. You can already feel her hoisting you off your chair and forcing you to the ground to live out the rest of the night as a catatonic meat dildo.

“I got my phone ready to record everything, too!”

Sweat beads on your forehead and drips into your eye, an angry vein pulses down your temple. Your right arm is straining against an invisible high-tension band looped around your thigh. The tendons on your underarm bulge out grotesquely like piano wire and, inside your mind, a piercing scream shreds your eardrums.

The band breaks.

Your hand crashes full speed into your face, instantly fracturing your nose in three different places. Pain explodes across your brain. A bright red gout of blood sprays past your palm and dots the white expanse of the table. Iron –warm, delicious iron– floods your sinuses and the impenetrable musk-powered fog lifts from your mind.

“Whoa, what the fuck?” Mori yells. IRyS leaps back to the safety of the other girls and clutches her hand to her breast. Bae yelps and drops to her knees.

Now on your feet, you snatch the box cutter from the table and ratchet it four clicks upward until the stubby diagonal blade glints out from the plastic base. You aim it at the trio of girls. The standoff ushers in a heavy dose of deja vu– they’re probably feeling it too. They remember the last time you pitched a rebellion at the eleventh hour, only to crumble back into helplessness seconds later. It will be different this time. It has to be.

Other memories are pouring back in now that you can look across the clubroom with a clear mind, filling in the blanks of that fateful Monday afternoon. You can see IRyS standing up, grabbing something from her bag, and fixing your drink behind the cover of her body. The drink she was so nervous to hand you.

Your hand gropes semi-blindly across the end table on your left until finding a small empty tube. You steal a glance down and confirm the package. This must be it, the drug that sent you careening down this hellhole, still sitting exactly where it had been emptied. You’ll have to thank IRyS for being ditzy enough to keep the only evidence of their crime out in the open. There’s all manner of strange warnings and chemical ingredients you can’t read. Further exploration would have to wait until you’re back home with the police writing down your account.

A great thundering crash shakes the ground, nearly fumbling the evidence from your hand. Across the room, Mori and IRyS have brought down one of the bookcases. It lies face-down in front of the room’s only exit atop a wide spill of comic books. An 80-pound barricade.

“We can’t let you leave,” Mori says, shoulders heaving from the effort. “We’re so close, you know? Lie down and we’ll pick up where we left off.” Her smile is almost manic.

You shove the drug bottle into your back pocket and worm your fingers uneasily along the cutter’s hilt. Moving the collapsed bookcase like this would be impossible– the moment you squatted down to lift it, any one of them could grab you from behind and wrestle you to the ground. The only reason they haven’t rushed you already is the pitiful blade you’re waving in the air.

IRyS takes a timid step towards you. “It wasn’t all bad, right? We came on a little strong, I get that, but we’re still new to this relationship thing. We can make it better!”

Looking at her pleading form, there shouldn’t be anything to contemplate. They drugged you with the express intent of making you their brainwashed sex slave. They were prepping to rape you. There is no second layer to peel back here, no alternate perspective that paints them as anything other than desperate, perverted criminals.

Then why the hesitation?

Familiar smells tug at your psyche. You bring a hand to your face and notice that your nosebleed has dried up significantly. The smell of fresh blood isn’t as pronounced as before. Yes, it’s coming back, the stale scent of exertion and unwashed bodies, sweaty flesh writhing against your own while hyperproductive apocrine glands smother your higher-order brain functions in sour, acrid aromas. Your body remembers these sensations well, and now it beckons you back to their origin.

Your will weakens.

“There’s still time,” Bae agrees and lifts her skirt. Her smooth, sweaty pussy lies beneath, deliciously plump and begging to be plowed.

Voices rise in a screaming chorus within your skull. All of them insist on how obvious the choice is, yet their decision is split right down the middle. They can only shout above each other and hope to win your favor through pure volume.

At the border between two finalities, your body lies adrift and the overworked motor guiding your agency stalls out. You can’t choose. You don’t know anymore. The light fades from your eyes as you look upon the suite of temptresses and put on a wretched, lecherous smile.

The box cutter falls to the ground. IRyS takes another step forward, reaching out with open arms.

Your hand wraps around the base of one of the heavy statues lining the sill and sends it crashing facefirst through the window in a wide, looping arc, showering the uncut grass on the other side with glass shrapnel. Blessed green forest air rushes in and stimulates your lungs. You hear Mori call out to you as your right hand finds purchase on the gritty, glass-speckled sill. If you were to hesitate now, you know all would be lost. Pricks of blood erupt along your palm as you pivot your body weight onto it and toss yourself into the open night air. No matter where this fall takes you, you’ll be out of their hands.

Something snags your belt.

IRyS, using strength none of you knew she had, drives her body backward and yanks you inside. The two of you crash through the table and send droves of black and white comic pages flapping into the air. The girls descend upon your paralyzed, disorientated body with rabid glee.

“Get his arms!” Someone shouts, and two heavy, warm weights pin your hands to the ground. You swivel your head, eyes wide and desperate, to see Mori and IRyS sitting on your arms. Bae lands on your thighs to complete the trap. You’re practically immobilized now, and throwing the full strength of your muscles into their weight only rocks your torso a half inch off the ground.

Mori squirms on top of your arm and shakes the bangs from her face. “You had to make this difficult at the end, huh?” She looks at Bae. “Do it! Now!”

You hear the soft whisper of leather being pulled through your belt loops. Warm air accosts your thighs as Bae unzips your pants and pulls them down to your knees. Her face is taunt with nervousness, but a determined smile remains.

She leans down for a quick sniff of your boxers, mumbling something to herself, then yanks them down as well. Using the cum milked out from Mori’s footjob as lube, Bae’s delicate hands wrap around your shaft and quickly pump and squeeze your flaccid cock into a slick, twitching, steel rod aimed at the ceiling. An impish inner voice delights in your display of physical attraction. If you’re so afraid of them, it hisses in a nasty whisper, why is your cock so ready to split her apart?

Holding her skirt in her hands, Bae squats over your dick and kisses the head against her juicy lower lips. Her brilliant blue eyes grow wide and gleam with anticipation. Mori and IRyS clamp down hard on both of your arms to make sure there’s no sudden movements before the final curtain falls.

Your last ditch effort was admirable, all things considered. A second quicker on the draw would have dropped you onto the forest’s floor outside– bruised, bleeding, and free. But you’ve lost.

Bae drops her hips and takes the full length of your achingly erect cock in one go. Her eyes flutter, light moans escape her lips, and she leans forward to press her hands against your stomach. In the hypnotic haze clouding your vision, the wild red of her twintails seem to blaze like embers.

There is no romance or grace in her movements. Only years of repressed sexual desire billowing out in a storm of horny, cock-devouring lust. She brings her hips up, almost to the point of releasing you, and slaps right back down with all her body weight and then some, slamming into your pelvis like she was trying to press the floorboards beneath you. It’s impossible to move, to speak, to think of anything other than Bae’s incredible warm, wet, tightness sliding rhythmically over your cock. A numbing white cloud is forming in your head while she rides you for all you’re worth.

“Hey, don’t go passing out on us, idiot,” Mori says from your left with a light slap to your face. “She’s the one doing all the work!”

The two other girls, you realize, are busy making good use of the rest of your body. Mori shoves her panties to the side and grinds against your left hand, moaning softly. You don’t need to be told to recruit all five digits into fingering and thrusting into her hairy, needy pussy. IRyS meanwhile lays on the ground with your arm sandwiched between her breasts, nibbling teasingly on your ear. She whispers deeply perverted fantasies straight to your brain with a voice unbecoming of her usual air-headed nature. “This is just the start of what we’re gonna do to you,” she purrs, enunciating her intent with a sly lick of your ear.

Any lingering resistance has been beaten and smothered into dust. You stare mindlessly at the trio of girls dominating your body and feel nothing but chemical bliss pulsing through your brain stem. Your hips jerk to life and start rising in time to meet Bae on the way down. With so much unnatural power behind your thrusts, the dull slap of your balls against the underside of her toned ass join the cacophony of obscene sounds filling the room. Every muscle in your body is dead set on driving as deep into her insatiable pussy as possible, reshaping her insides like you were trying to hit her very womb. The crazed, pheromone-addled lust piloting your rock-hard erection pounds away at Bae’s slit until her thick, well-trained thighs are quivering from the overdose of stimulation.

A wild look sparks across her eyes. Bae takes your challenge head on and reasserts her role on top, bouncing on your pre-cum slathered cock with excessive fervor and more than a little sadism. Her nails, though short and maintained, dig small cuts into your abs as her grip unconsciously tightens. Sometimes she deliberately slows down and grinds against the base, throwing her hips in a circle just to tease your inevitable, rapidly building ejaculation a little longer. Everything below your waist melts into a warm mess of carnal pleasure.

Finally, after a subjective eternity of Bae mercilessly pulverizing your pelvis, you reach your limit. Your balls clench up and a violent climax rips through your body, surging up your urethra and spurting several thick, virile ropes deep inside Bae. She makes sure to stay pressed down as tight as possible to keep all your freshly extracted seed inside. She shudders feeling your warmth flood her insides and surrenders to the release, collapsing on top of your chest with her fat tits cushioning the fall.

Bae’s breath races hot and satisfied against your neck. Still fully sheathed inside her pussy, your body weakly forces out a couple more shots while her sweaty, panting body weighs down upon yours. Soon after, she rolls off you and lays spread eagle on the floor, your jelly-thick creampie oozing slowly out of her sex and pooling between her thighs.

“I gotta try that,” Mori says, visibly envious of her friend’s starry-eyed bliss.

IRyS turns her head up and pouts. “Ehh? I thought we agreed I was next.”

“No way, you said-...ugh, nevermind, we’ll settle it somehow. First, let’s get him some water before round two. And Bae, you got those zinc supplements ordered, right? Those should help out in the future.”

Still lying on her back, Bae gives a thumbs up. “I got you. I also looked online and bought some other stuff that’s supposed to help with the, uh, ‘production’.”

You’re given a moment to yourself as they prop you against the wall and tip a glass of water down your throat. Vaguely, you’re aware of IRyS and Mori playing rock-paper-scissors somewhere else in the room. A faint vibration, almost unnoticeable in your detached headspace, murmurs along your thigh. You take out your phone and bring it to your ear.

Dried blood cakes your nose and lips, your eyes stare unblinking into infinity. “Good afternoon, Ms. President,” you say with perfect composure.

“Good afternoon. I apologize for contacting you outside school hours, but I wanted to make sure everything was alright. With you, I mean. A sudden onset of fainting can be a symptom of something much more serious, after all, and it sounded like you still didn’t know the cause.”

“Don’t worry about it.” A carved smile lifts your lips. “It’s been much better recently. It hasn’t happened for days. As I thought, a good night’s sleep was all I needed.”

The president exhales. “Good. That’s good.”

Your eyes travel to the upturned bookcase and the lumpy carpet of upturned comics beneath. “Also, since we’re already talking, I'd like to retract my earlier statements on the Cultural Studies Club. There’s more to them than I thought.”

“...I’m sorry? Your report seemed quite convinced that-”

“My report was clouded by exhaustion and inexperience,” you interject. “Barging in and shutting down a club after a single bad session would be disrespectful to the years spent pulling it together. Give me, let’s say, another three months to properly make up my mind.”

A pause. “If that’s what you think is best. I won’t admonish any council member for taking time to see the job done right.” Her voice dips into something darker and more suspicious. “...Where are you right now?”

“My girlfriends’ place. Does that matter?”

“No. No, of course not. Sorry, that was rude of me. Then I’ll see you on Monday.”

You hang up and slump against the wall. You should have told her, a small voice pleads among the drifting, shimmering shards of your psyche. You should have told her where you are! To call the police and save you!

Your eyes roll lazily in their sockets as the girls finish their preparations and close in on you. They’re almost entirely naked now, their raw, brutal musk smell overwhelming your senses within seconds. Their hands lay into your chest and tear away your clothes so their slick skin can meld into yours.

A heavy– now assuredly permanent –fog envelops your brain as you stare into the ceiling, feeling lips and fingers trace hungrily across your skin. You chuckle feverishly.

Save you from what?