The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

May 31th, 2024 — Prom Night. Bonnie Kellerman.

Prom was going to be absolutely wintastic. All of ‘Dope’ Bonnie Kellerman’s ducks were in a line. Sure, she’d had to swallow a mouthful of Dwight Pendelaro’s stinky cum to get there, but it was worth it! Rich Bonnie had gotten her the most amazing prom dress — a low-cut, deep navy Jovani original. It was, in DB’s opinion, even nicer than Rich Bonnie’s own. Pink was over. Girls like RB just couldn’t understand that looking like a Disney Princess — even a very svelte Disney Princess with bare ankles and a fluted dress — just didn’t play in 2024.

And that was before Rich Bonnie shot herself in the face by wearing her purple cheerleader sneakers to the prom. Dope Bonnie almost didn’t want to hang with her, but she knew she’d better anyway. She had some nudes of Rich Bonnie being very drunk and impressively stupid even by her high standards. She didn’t hesitate to use these for leverage — but she also wanted to keep the relationship cordial.

It seemed like RB almost treated her as a friend at times, forgetting the blackmail and just hanging out. That was really good. If RB felt oppressed, Dope Bonnie would worry — not that she’d try to defy her, but that she wasn’t a good enough actor to conceal the situation from others. There might even be a trace of hero worship in there — it wasn’t hard, Dope Bonnie thought, to be caught up in the aura and mystique of a girl as complex as she was.

Still, DB couldn’t resist poking fun at Rich Bonnie’s retarded fashion choice when she first saw her in the limo.

“But I can’t dance in high heels! They’re all wibbly-wobbly and stuff!”

“You could have at least gotten low flat pumps, then.”

Rich Bonnie shrugged, less perturbed then Dope Bonnie was. “But it’s prom, Dopey! We only get one! I just wanna have fun dancing, and traction’s good for that. I guess I just decided I care more about that than looking good.”

God, what a smooth brain! If she wasn’t rich, she’d be total scrub tier in the MWA hierarchy. But she didn’t say anything out loud.

“Besides, I heard Brett Tollard is hoping to bring me home anyway. You don’t really think sneakers will dissuade him, do you? He’s already been bragging about it...”

“So how are you gonna ditch him?”

She looked surprised by the question. “I... I mean, it’s prom. Brett’s like, rilly rilly hot too! You’re allowed to do something special on prom night, if it’s with someone who matters to you. And safely, of course.”

Jesus, she’s a degenerate too. “Sweetie, never give men sex unless you get something in return — something big.”

“He’s got something big, though! At least, so I heard...”

“Not that, you idiot! I mean something practical like a job or an essay or a vote or something. What do you expect to get out of sleeping with Brett, anyway?”

“Sex?”

DB glared at her.

“Rilly good sex? Like, with-an-orgasm good?”

“Don’t be such a slut if you wanna hang with me.”

She looked crestfallen. “Sorry.”

“Listen, RB. Sex appeal is good. It opens doors. Sex itself, however, is bad. It fucks up your reputation, appeal and psychology. So tease, but don’t please. Teasers become Hollywood actresses, or business women that use their sex appeal to manipulate men and get rich. Pleasers get treated like the whores they are, and then they become crack addicts, get syphilis, go crazy, scream at clouds and die slowly in a sanitarium. And to top it all off: sex itself just isn’t all that much fun. So, Bonnie Lowenthal, are you a teaser or a pleaser?”

“I’m a teaser. Ma’am.”

“Good girl. Have I ever told you the story of how I got my breasts?”

“Yes. Twice now.”

“This’ll be the third, then. My parents were initially horrified at the concept of me having cosmetic surgery at sixteen. You know how I bent them to accept it? I said that with these, I can stay a teaser all the way. Without, I might need to be a pleaser sometimes. Well, once I put it that way they were more than willing to help me out with both the consent forms and the actual financing. Funny how that works out, don’t you think? I promised to stay a technical virgin until I turn 21, and in exchange I got a pair of lovely boobies out of the deal. It just goes to show the same basic principle I was explaining before: teasers win, pleasers die ugly. It’s just how the world works.”

Rich Bonnie was quiet for the rest of the limo ride, which was good. Jen was always quiet, and had a cheaper dress too, even if she had a nice new hairdo. Dope Bonnie was glad she had friends that were easy to manage, even if they needed fixing-up in some other areas. The trio looked passably spectacular together, Dope Bonnie had to admit as they got to the venue. She’d had her hair and eyebrows re-dyed, and her pixie cut was carefully askew — bangs hanging just over her eyes teasingly with that tousled look. Meticulously chaotic, she might as well have stepped off the pages of Teen Vogue.

It was a really nice dancehall, very luxurious. The Stallions’ dads had chipped in most of the dough, she’d heard. It had a bit of a palatial Edwardian motif — three stories with a row of catwalks and balconies on the third story. There was even a big crystal chandelier. Crimson and gold silk draperies hung from the ceiling, and crimson pennants with the school crest hung down on opposite sides of the big central balcony. That huge crimson wedding cake was over on a feast table in the center of the room, along with a fair bit of other fine catered food.

It was all surprisingly opulent for a high school prom. Then again, it was a company town, and lots of parents were executives with the company. It ended up looking almost... royal. Bonnie approved. I’ll look great on that ornate balcony with my deep navy dress contrasting all the ivory and gold panelwork — looking down on all the other promgoers to give my big acceptance speech.

They went around meeting and greeting people they mostly already knew, as you do at such an event. They met up with Janet Virmire and played who-haven’t-you-talked-to-so-far. “And Georgie, and Dave, and Laura, and whoever that hipster douchebag is who’s wearing a touque at our formal prom. The fuck?”

“I’m the Nathead,” said douchebag interjected.

“I’m sure you are.”

Christ, why do guys like him even bother coming to prom? It’s a shame the students can’t match the level of class the furnishings pull off.

Her best fashion competitor so far was Toshia, in a maroon crushed-velvet furled dress, tinted spectacles and pearl necklace ensemble and what looked like some weird kind of brass wristlets. It made her look like a 1930s lounge singer — and a weirdo. But it didn’t matter. It’s not like she was a real competitor. She can dress as nice as she wants; she’s still a dickgirl.

And then Julie Lambert strode in with her clique of Angels, wearing some fancy-frilled, slit-skirted lavender number with a diaphanous demi-train and an ornate knot below her bare back. Dope Bonnie’s hand instinctively clenched, crushing the plastic cup she was holding and spilling mango juice at her feet. How could she possibly even afford something like that? The dress wasn’t more expensive than DB’s own — not by a long shot — but hers was your garden-variety mermaid-style satin prom dress. A lot of other girls wore something similar — even if hers was the best, it was still in a way generic. No one wore anything like what Julie wore, even without the white nail polish and fancy hairdo, so she commanded attention.

Dope Bonnie walked out into the crowd and forcefully grabbed Troy. “I was dancing with Rachel,” he complained.

“Now you’re dancing with me,” she explained. He didn’t argue.

Lorcan saw Julie and grinned. “Nice dress.”

She smiled back warmly. “I know, right! Isn’t it just to die for? A good friend helped me design it, and I owe him a big debt for that...”

He winked at her, and she seemed to find it very charming in a roguish way. Dope Bonnie was perplexed. Why does he even think he can talk to her? He might be handsome all fancied-up, but he still spent the rest of the school year as a scruffy rebel!

They’d change up the music soon. It was a school tradition at MWA that the prom committee picked really sedate, romantic slow-dance music, and the jocks would bring in something wilder — usually a mix of 50s swing tunes and modern dance-pop — bribe the DJ with liquor and set up their own unauthorized sound system. It was all very ceremonial at this point. So as soon as Fatboy Slim’s Rockafeller Skank started playing, Dope Bonnie caught Julie’s gaze with a challenging stare before dragging Troy out to the center of the hall. Dance duel, bitches!

Julie took up the gauntlet, asking Duke to dance with her — a request he cheerfully granted. It didn’t go as well as DB might have hoped. Both girls could really dance — they were cheerleaders, after all — and soon they had the whole student body (or at least the ones most confident in their dance skills) busting some wicked synchro moves on the dance floor like they were in a sexy music video. Julie’s agility and precision were just unearthly, though; Dope Bonnie struggled to keep up on a technical level.

And then Julie started to make it sexy — well, sexier — pivoting her hips, closing her eyes, mouth open slightly almost as if miming a moan. She swung her head back and forth, her long lustrous hair flying about like she was at a glamour-girl photo shoot. All the guys were staring at her — and a bunch of the girls too. Fatboy Slim wrapped up and Katy Perry’s California Gurls started playing.

Julie’d turned so her back was to Duke, and she encouraged him to run his hands over her body from behind — which he was happy to do — as she sighed sensually and pivoted her hips. Guys drooled. Determined to sex it up herself, Dope Bonnie took up a set of cheerleading-based moves designed to repeatedly thrust out her chest. It got some lascivious attention, but the tone was different. People were in awe of Julie. There was respect there. Guys looked at DB and just wanted to feel up her tits. Christ, Julie is such a slut! I hate her more than words can express!

Dope Bonnie was losing the contest she’d started in front of everyone. She could feel it. Her movements got angrier and stiffer. She never messed up the steps — she’d never admit she messed up the steps — and then Troy stepped on her foot. She screamed and stumbled, just as the Perry song was wrapping up. She was furious in her humiliation, and bitch-slapped Troy hard across the face. “You incompetent oaf! Watch your fucking feet!”

Troy looked abashed. The prom hall descended into a moment of silence. Everyone was looking at Dope Bonnie, now — just not for the reasons she wanted.

May 31th, 2024 — Prom Night. Julie Lambert.

The official prom slow-dance music had come back after the abrupt end of Decepticon Bonnie’s impromptu dance-duel. Julie and Duke danced to Ed Sheeran’s Perfect, and whispered to each other very quietly as the student body looked on in admiration and the shippers chattered eagerly at each other. Strangely, though, the topic of their conversation wasn’t romantic.

“Julie... I wanted to say thank you. So very much, from the bottom of my heart. I know what you did with the DEO, and I know what it cost you. Lots of people do — I made sure of that. They would have expelled us, you know. Probably also stalked us on the Internet to ruin any hopes for our future careers. All for sharing our fantasies about you. To make an example.”

“Our whole world is going to hell,” Julie said slowly. “Fantasies are one of the only things we have left that make it still worth living in. I wouldn’t want to take that away from anyone.”

“I want you to know,” Duke continued softly, “I don’t disrespect you. No one disrespects you, even if the dreams seemed disrespectful. I will treasure the dream we had for all my life.”

“I understand that completely. Hearing you guys talk about your dreams was actually weirdly hot. It made me feel wanted...”

Her platitude trailed off as the shrewdly political side of Julie’s mind shoved the insurgent sentimental bits back into their usual dungeon. An icy shiver ran up her spine. “Wait. What do you mean, ‘the dream we had’?”

A lot of different expressions played over Duke’s face, in fairly rapid succession. He looked into those steely green eyes, and knew he couldn’t deny it. He’d never get a lie past her, and it would just make her more paranoid. “I’m so sorry, Julie. I know. I mean, I don’t know how, but I know it happened. Maybe just one of those Fortean synchronicity events Donny talks about. I’m the only one who knows. You’re brilliant, but you did slip up here and there. I’d never heard of Dixon Hill until you mentioned him in my dream. You also called Marvin Dorn once by mistake, back in April — I convinced him it was a trick of his mind, but this was before he told anyone about his dream. And the wood chipper thing... sounded a lot more like something you’d dream than Rajveer Datta.”

Damn it! Foiled by the hot guys not watching Star Trek! But this was no time for jokes. She kept a reasonable poker face with her augmented composure, but inwardly Julie was terrified. This was terrible. She had been so reckless. Supernatural exposure brought consequences best not even thought about for the stability of one’s own mind. Julie hugged Duke, rubbing her body sensually against his. “Duke, baby, if you can keep this between us, I will make you very, very happy. You know, using my tongue, and... other things.”

He shook his head. “It’s our secret. I give you my sworn oath, I will never tell a soul. It’s not like I can prove anything anyway. And I don’t want anything from you. You’ve already sacrificed more than enough for me, and all the boys’, well-being. I just want you to be happy, and to believe that your secret is secure.”

She nodded slowly, finding she did actually believe him. Duke was a man of his word. Her heart rate slowly started to return to normal. “Thank you. Really.”

The bond between them was built not on love, or even lust, but on the kind of intense mutual gratitude that eludes mere words.

“It’s probably not as fun in real life, anyway,” Duke said.

“No kidding,” Julie laughed. “If I ever figure out the whole return visits thing, though, you’re definitely on my list. You’ll be a regular.”

“You don’t have to...”

“Purely selfish reasons. Cross my heart.”

They both laughed softly, then danced in silence. Julie looked out as they moved, watching for her immediate circle of fellow seniors. Rich Bonnie was dancing with Brett Tollard. 80s-hair Bonnie was doing a very sensual solo dance, eye-flirting with various jocks. Pink Highlights Bonnie was circulating and chatting with people. Julie hadn’t seen Marvin — it was a bit naive to expect him to show up at an elective social event after all the trauma and public humiliation he’d suffered this year. Guys in the nerd clique only attended prom intermittently, anyway — not their scene. Donny had a very pretty date, though, and even ‘wallflower’ Jen was out on the dance floor with a cute guy. Deon was dancing with Marjorie Watkins, though he didn’t seem to have a regular partner. He looked spectacular — he was wearing a sleek black satin suit-jacket embossed with a stylized golden dragon pattern almost like a kimono. Pretty hip.

Decepticon Bonnie wasn’t having as much luck. After she tore a strip out of Troy, no one else really prestigious seemed to want to dance with her. She was stuck dancing with Scott Yarborough, the tall, ginger e-sports dork who could beat the newest Metroid in seventy-eight minutes (which was fine), and thought people in real life ought to care about this (which wasn’t). He still hadn’t gotten the message that Twitch celebrity doesn’t quite translate into real life celebrity. He was subtly feeling her up, and she was putting up with it.

Julie was surprised to see Lorcan and Toshia dancing together, staring into each other’s eyes. It was a moment for them, Julie could tell, not just a lark — there were real feelings there. Tosh’s dating prospects were not exactly expansive at MWA, so Julie was delighted the shy girl had snared herself a handsome stud as a boyfriend. After surviving the social tension this semester, she really deserved it! Based on what he’d said at the Five-and-Ten, it was apparently a thing he was taking somewhat seriously, too.

Chinese Bonnie and Nora stood together on the sidelines, whispering energetically to each other and subtly holding hands. Julie felt sure there was a relationship forming there, too. She felt a momentary pang of yearning for the road not travelled. To Julie Lambert and Bonnie Kellerman, the prom was a popularity contest. To most of the other students, though, the popularity was second to the opportunity for romance.

In a year stuffed full of hot dream-sex, she hadn’t really developed a strong romantic tie to any of her myriad lovers. She wasn’t a romantic person by temperament, but she still felt its absence in that moment. There were real opportunities here. She could see herself dating Duke; he was nice, and he knew part of her secret already. Amed had a certain vulnerable charm, and he wasn’t dancing exclusively with anyone the way Lorcan and Toshia were. And there was her best friend, Nora Alders, who she knew from the dream was wildly into both her and Chinese Bonnie. She could grab her before CB did, before their relationship was fixed — or even try for some weird poly thing with both Nora and CB.

But no — her rationale for not forming those kinds of bonds was still as strong as it had been when she went out shopping with Nora. She was an Adept. She couldn’t be truly honest and open with anyone without sharing that, and doing so put them in danger. So she wasn’t serious dating material. Besides, she deeply loved the dream-sex and saw no reason for it to end after graduation. It was something between actual sex and sexual fantasy, but she didn’t feel she could be an honest romantic partner to anyone while doing it — and she didn’t really want to stop, either. Besides, she doubted that poly shit actually worked long-term in real life anyway.

So she watched Nora and CB deepen their emerging relationship. She blew Duke off after the third dance, nudging him toward 80s-hair Bonnie. She had often called him a total snack, and seemed deeply enthusiastic about dancing with him. I’m not here to be prom queen, and I’m not here for romance. I’m here to punch Cyclopean pendulums until they stop moving and chew bubblegum, and I’ve always thought chewing gum made my cheeks look puffy anyway. So where exactly is the Coordinator?

Twenty minutes later, she made her appearance on the high balcony, flanked by the DJ, Janet Virmire, the acting principal and a few prom chaperones. She was wearing a flowery beige top and a matching loose, long navy skirt — and she had clearly visible bra-straps on her shoulders. Well, that just made sense after what had happened at the privilege walk. She probably didn’t know what triggered it, though.

The DJ announced that it was time to appoint the prom court. Everyone cheered, and gathered beneath the balcony. Of course, there would be speeches first. The acting principal made a boring speech about academic achievements. The DJ told some jokes. Then the Coordinator took the forefront and launched into long, rambling and sanctimonious speech with social justice themes. Julie watched her carefully. She was clearly getting worked up — you could see it if you looked for it. Her skin gleamed with sweat, and her voice got unusually breathy. Her legs even seemed to tremble at times, and she had to grip the railing now and then. Best of all, she was tenting again, so hard that it was clearly visible even through her bra! In spite of this, though, she never lost her composure and said anything really outré in the career-destroying manner Julie was hoping for.

“Remember,” she finally finished, “silence is violence! You can either stand in solidarity with the oppressed, or you can stand alone and get crushed!”

She thrust her fist triumphantly into the air above her, using the ‘raised fist salute’ symbolic of black power and political solidarity. Unfortunately, given recent dream-events the gesture had rather different connotations to Nora — and, after a brief struggle to contain it, she burst out into a fit of giggles, shattering the pious silence.

The Coordinator fixed her with an absolutely withering stare. “I can see one of our students find the suffering and struggles of... of... of those less privileged than herself to be very, ah... very amusing. How very, ah, heteronormative...”

Nora looked terrified. The Coordinator, conversely, was in the middle of a struggle to figure out why her ladybits refused to share her current mood and weren’t willing to get back in line. She shook a finger sternly at Nora, but was forced to bite her lower lip to stifle a shout of ecstasy. She said nothing more.

Julie stepped behind Nora, using body language to back her subtly. She was a bit surprised, then, when row by row a substantial portion of the student body in turn similarly aligned themselves behind her and Nora. The Coordinator looked like she wanted to scream at everyone, but didn’t dare open her mouth out of fear that the shouts that came out would be of the wrong sort.

May 31th, 2024 — Prom Night. Bonnie Kellerman.

They announced the prom king first — nobody cared that much about prom king. It wasn’t as big a thing for boys as it was for girls. Duke Stangrove got it, as Dope Bonnie had suspected her would. He gave a drab acceptance speech about balancing academic and athletic life. That meant Julie had already had a slow dance with the prom king. Damn it! But there was no point in being worried. She had this all locked down. Even if her evening had been mediocre so far, it was about to take a sharp turn for the better.

The DJ took out the prom queen envelope and called Bonnie Kellerman’s name. The crowd cheered, though DB felt it might have been a bit muted compared to Duke’s cheer. Because of the way the dance hall was built, she had to leave through a fire door and scurry up staircases to reach the balcony. She hoped she wouldn’t be sweaty when she got there. She looked down on everyone below her. They put the coveted sash on her. The principal handed her a large bouquet of flowers, then set that coveted tiara upon her brow.

Her acceptance speech was cordial and heartfelt, and flowed naturally — to her ears, at least. It started with all the normal vacuous thanks, community service ideals and woke posturings — but it gradually veered into a bitter discussion of the difficulty of facing a rival who flirts her way into popularity and success. She was subtle and tasteful about it, of course — she never mentioned who the rival was. It was about a third of the way into her speech that she started using increasingly aggressive air quotes whenever she said “flirts” — just in case people weren’t understanding what she actually meant.

From there she went on to mention some of the rumors she had heard about her nameless rival — the stories of restroom anal hookups, of arranging high school lipstick parties for visiting foreign dignitaries, of the trips her rival took into Hobbs State Park late at night and the rumored acts of bestiality involving antelopes and iguanas. She even, ever so lightly, made creative use of some of the stories Donny Broekner had told her, implying her nameless rival’s involvement in the assassinations of Jeffrey Epstein, John F. Kennedy and Ariana Grande. (Wait, the puzzled DJ kibitzed — wasn’t Kennedy killed before your class was born? And isn’t Ariana still alive?)

When she finished her speech, the crowd’s applause was decidedly muted. That was strange — it had sounded so eloquent to her; she was sure she’d nailed it. She glanced over, and Miss Dikscheide caught her gaze. Her face was a mask of panicked desperation, horror and utter bafflement.

“Is... is there anything else you wanted to mention?” Dikscheide asked Dope Bonnie softly, her arms trembling.

DB paused to think about it for a second, then flashed her a sunny smile. “Nope!”

Then the newly-minted prom queen walked off the podium jauntily, ready for her ceremonial dance with the prom king — confident that there was fuck and all Alison Dikscheide could do to enforce the deal they made. After all, what was she going to do — shout out, “I fixed the prom court vote for you?”

DB wasn’t dumb. There was no way in hell she was going to let the student body think she was a dyke! She’d talked to the prom committee, using the aura of innocence that had served her so well in the past. They’d admitted Miss Dikscheide had nudged them to fix the ballot — and her smart phone had quietly recorded it all. She had leverage on the DEO now. If Dikscheide tried to retaliate against her betrayal, well, she was pretty sure she could dissuade her of that intent. That’s why people called her Dope Bonnie, after all.

The prom court and chaperones left the balcony as a unit, going back to the dance floor by an elevator DB hadn’t known about. Wow, I feel stupid. What a faux pas!

The whole ballroom was tense when she got back down. She couldn’t figure out why — they couldn’t know about her deal with the DEO, could they? Dikscheide looked like she wanted to speak to her, but DB was careful not to be caught alone with her. She looked totally crushed, but she was also looking at DB in a way that felt distinctly skeevy.

Dope Bonnie and Duke got their ceremonial king/queen dance. For some reason, the DJ gave them Leanna Crawford’s Mean Girls. Duke was really stiff and formal dancing with her. Fuck. She’d screwed something up and couldn’t figure out what. She leaned in to kiss him, and he backed away. She hissed in his ear, quietly enough so no one else could hear her. “For god sakes, Duke, this is the big prom ceremonial dance! Is it too much to ask for you to show a little affection?”

He shrugged indifferently. A second later, she felt his hands slide down her body and grip the cheeks of her ass, firmly and lecherously. She jolted — probably more than she should have, honestly; a little rub-and-tickle heat would be a lot better than the cold shoulder. But when she looked in his eyes she saw only sardonic amusement.

And then Dikscheide grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him around. His eyes went wide, not expecting her to be on the dance floor to see him cop a feel. “I saw that, young man! I saw what you just did to Miss Kellerman, and it won’t be tolerated!”

Fuck! Well, so much for the ceremonial dance. People were staring at them now. Dikscheide grabbed Duke by the wrist like she was going to escort him out of the prom, but never made it. She fell over, and she started moaning. It was weird. Like, sexual-weird. People were staring at her. She managed to get back to her feet and leave the dance hall.

The next half an hour was hell on Earth for Bonnie Kellerman. Duke made himself scarce. No one wanted to dance with her, not even Scott Yarborough. This was terrible! She was a wallflower with a sash and tiara! Okay. New strategy. Sexy solo dancing to lure guys to you! I’m still one of the hottest girls at MWA, after all! But she needed a moment to fix her makeup and get her equilibrium back. Time for a restroom stop.

Thus it was that Alison Dikscheide caught Dope Bonnie alone in a deserted corridor of a luxury hotel, shoving her up against a gold-enameled wall and getting way inside her personal space. She looked like she was about to have a nervous breakdown and an orgasm at the same time.

“You treacherous little cunt! We had a deal and you went off script! And for what? Were you trying to gain popularity? Everyone knows what you did! They like that Lambert shitstain, and they all heard you slut-shaming her! You would be popular right now if you’d stayed on script and come out like you’d promised to. And... and even beyond that, the shit you were saying was absolutely bugfuck insane! Where the hell did you... I mean, what could possibly make you think... Ariana Grande?! What the fuck is even wrong with you?!”

DB was absolutely stunned by the rant. She went back over her speech in her mind, and her rationalizations for the logic of what she had said started to fall apart. She was trying to figure out what to say and do next, but the Coordinator was right up in her face, her lips inches from her own. There was a scent in the air like cinnamon, and Dikscheide’s nipples were crazy stiff again even through her bra, and her chest was heaving up and down, and DB’s pussy was tingling, and god damn Dikscheide had an impressive chest...

Suddenly their lips locked together, and the Coordinator’s tongue probed aggressively into the young prom queen’s throat. She didn’t pull back, even when Alison’s hands reached up to squeeze and knead her big breasts. When they finally pulled away, Dikscheide’s expression wasn’t aggressive, though — it was desperate, yearning and begging. And so very, very horny. “Please,” Dikscheide begged her. “Please. I need you.”

Dope Bonnie smiled. Whatever else was going on here, she believed in Alison Dikscheide’s absolute sexual desperation in that one moment — and that meant she had leverage. She’d caused that expression on a number of boys’ faces throughout her life, and it was always a sign that she effectively owned them going forward. She’d never done it with a girl, though — not until now, at least. Am I willing to... to do things with a woman to try to fix my rep? She felt uncertain, but ultimately she knew the answer. And a part of her thrilled — some things had gone very wrong, but there was still hope here; not just hope, but a chance to win big!

“Yeah,” she said. “We can hook up. I’ve never tried it before, but if I’m gonna come out I might as well get the full experience, right? Just give me two minutes to find some suitable place for us — I’ll be right back, I promise.”

Of course! A place where I can set up my smart phone and get some juicy leverage on you! The instincts that had earned DB her Decepticon nickname kicked in; glee surged in her heart and a wicked smile curled around her face. Here was the most feared member of the school’s faculty, all but begging to get into a student’s pants... Own the Coordinator, own the school!

May 31th, 2024 — Prom Night. Alison Dikscheide.

Alison felt like she was in a trance — a carnal trance. She struggled to wait without looking like a cat in heat. She sure felt like a cat in heat. Odd scents taunted her — a cinnamon haze, and beneath that something subtle and faintly unclean, almost like rotting flesh. But she thought little of this sensory oddity.

Somewhere, in the back of her mind, she knew that her worldview was in crisis. All the approved fantasies, the feminist erotica, subversive genderpunk and consent-affirming play-spaces at BDSM clubs — she’d told herself it worked for her because she needed her sexuality to match her politics. It didn’t, though. She hadn’t been getting what she really wanted for years now. The truth is, she was a slave to one of the most conventional (and most forbidden) sex symbols of all time: the petite, barely legal bottle-blonde cheerleader, as innocent as she was busty. She’d just endangered her whole career hitting on a student. It was unthinkable. It worked, though, apparently — the teen vixen wanted to try things with her.

She was just beginning to wonder if Kellerman had ditched her in a moment of gay anxiety when the curvaceous little pixie returned, leading her through the winding corridors. She was trembling with nervousness by the time they reached the insanely opulent women’s restroom. The floor was tiled, the sinks were green-veined marble, backlit circular mirrors hung above each sink and there were avant-garde framed paintings on the walls. Though there were towels in baroque brass hangers on the walls, there was no restroom attendant and it seemed deserted. There was a different restroom nearer the dancehall MWA had rented — maybe this section wasn’t in use right now. There was some kind of large, gross and sticky stain on much of the floor, like someone emptied out (or vomited up) a two-liter soda pop — so maybe it was closed for cleanup.

Alison stared into that round, cherubic face framed by a textured, low-hanging platinum blonde pixie cut. The short hair made her head look tiny, complimenting her delicate features. It was the first time she’d looked at Kellerman so closely — at least, that way. Bubblegum pink lipstick and eyeshadow highlighted baby blue eyes focused on Alison’s own chest, likely for reasons other than just their height differential. Alison reached out a hand and stroked her head. Kellerman blushed. She looked so adorable, so vulnerable — so young. Alison was only twenty-eight, but that decade made a big difference. Kellerman moved in to kiss her before she could cross that taboo chasm herself. The cheerleader tasted like mint — sharp, clean and faintly astringent.

Alison’s whole body shivered with a primal need. There was some part at the back of her mind that kept shouting that this was all a terrible, terrible mistake — but she also knew there was no way she was ever going to listen to it at this point. She wanted Bonnie Kellerman too much. She was going to do unspeakable things to the naive young teen, right here in this avant-garde marble restroom. They kissed again, wetly, tongues exploring each other. She was so cute, aroused yet faintly scared — it was clearly her first time with a girl, and possibly even her first time overall. Alison slid the spaghetti straps of her low-cut navy designer prom dress over her smooth white shoulders slowly, teasingly, enjoying the mix of vulnerability and desire on her face.

Kellerman slid her arms out of the straps and held them above her head, gripping a rail light-fixture. She smiled sweetly up at Alison. Her figure, already impressive for a teen, looked breath-takingly obscene with her hands up like that. The navy dress clung to her curves, sequins glittering glamourously in the track lighting of the ritzy restroom. Her huge breasts were crushed up against the elegant curve of the dress’s semi-sweetheart neckline, showing off spectacularly enticing upthrust cleavage. She didn’t seem offended, either, as Alison’s eyes roamed her body. “You like my dress, don’t you?”

“Oh, god, yes,” Alison whispered. “It’s breath-taking. I like what’s poured into it even more, though.”

Inwardly, Alison flinched, feeling a surge of shame at the objectifying language that poured out of her mouth. Kellerman positively beamed, though, delighted at the words. She preened, turning a full three sixty degrees, the dress’s sweep-train twisting after her and tightening as it stuck to the floor — showing off her hourglass curves and tight, athletic bubble butt. Alison stared — and far from angering the teen, it seemed to fulfill some deep need within her.

Alison reached forward and squeezed Kellerman’s breasts with both hands through the glistening satin — perhaps a bit roughly in her excitement. Kellerman didn’t protest — she closed her eyes and moaned in pleasure. Alison gasped as her own nipples, already crazy-hard, scraped against the inside of her bra. She fumbled with the zipper on the back of Kellerman’s dress and finally got it undone. Kellerman swung her body back and forth without moving her feet in that uniquely erotic way only a trained cheerleader or femme fatale could manage, and the satin dress fell to the sticky floor at her feet.

The delectable Lolita wore only a lacy white lingerie bra-and-panties set. They were definitely racy — the strapless bra was translucent enough that Alison could make out fat pink nipples amidst the flowery lace, and the thin satin of the panties cupped her teenage vulva adoringly. Her breasts were almost as large as Alison’s own; that made her feel a strange sense of kinship to the teen, as the attention her own chest drew had been an early source of Alison’s feminist rage — she hated the way men looked at it. Of course, it wasn’t the same with two women — they could adore each other’s bodies without the gender power differential making it an act of degrading subjugation. And Alison certainly did adore Kellerman’s firm, pert breasts. She unhooked the bra and tossed it aside, cupping them in her hands, feeling their warmth, kneeling down to bury her face in them, to lick and suckle the glorious little pink nubs.

Kellerman didn’t respond to that as much as Alison expected, like she had weak sensation in them. Odd — Alison’s own breasts were pretty crazy. She could get herself off just playing with the nipples some nights, if she had a good fantasy. She quickly stripped off her own blouse and the industrial-strength 38F beige support bra she wore. Her own breasts hung down slightly, and the cool air on her long nipples thrilled her. Kellerman’s hands flicking and teasing her nipples thrilled her exponentially more, however, and she moaned so loudly she had a moment of panic at the idea of attracting attention. Kellerman knelt down to lick and suckle her nipples as she undid her skirt and slid down her own panties. She clearly hadn’t suckled a woman’s breasts before, and seemed pleasantly amazed at how enjoyable it could be.

Alison wasn’t sure how long she was lost in the mindless haze of breast play, wide-eyed teenage innocence and cinnamon-scented illicit lust. It wasn’t too long, however, before her legs started to buckle.

“Let’s go to a stall,” Kellerman suggested. “Have you ever had a lap dance? Guys love those.”

“Gaah,” Alison replied.

The aloof teenage temptress led her to the center toilet stall like a dog — desperate panting included. Alison thought of Kellerman as being so innocent. She wasn’t — that much was clear at this point — but it caused her cognitive dissonance to try to process that. Besides, she wasn’t in a thinking mood anyway, and she didn’t want to let go of the fetishistic image she had of the girl that was turning her crank so very hard. Kellerman sat her down on the toilet seat and forcibly spread Alison’s legs with her hands. She wanted to protest — something about predatory body language and respecting boundaries — but she couldn’t. Her pussy had sewn her mouth shut. She could clearly still gasp and moan, though.

Kellerman grabbed the upper edges of the stall with her hands and hefted her slight frame up, pull-up style, so her slender legs dangled in the air. They eventually found purchase against the sides of the stall. The student’s crotch was inches from Alison’s face. She pivoted and thrust her hips enticingly. Alison could make out the stitching and seams on her lacy white good-girl panties, and could see the outline of her moist, puffy pussy lips beneath them.

“Tear them off,” Kellerman said.

Habit brought to her mind a snide comment about the dangerous subtexts of symbolic sexual violence, but when she tried to speak it her own pussy transmuted the words into a guttural moan. Angry, desperate and eager, she grabbed the panties with both hands and tore them apart. Kellerman giggled triumphantly. She was indeed a bottle blonde, having a curly, neatly-trimmed black bush.

“Eat me,” Kellerman commanded, and Alison could do nothing but obey.

The tight teenage pussy tasted metallic, with only a faint tang of sweat. Alison tranced the secret valleys of her labia minoris with the tip of her tongue for half a minute, but her own sexual need would not permit her an extended tease — she needed to feel this innocent young cheerleader squirm and twist under her ministrations. So she edged back Kellerman’s clitoral hood with her thumbs and eagerly lapped at her swollen little nub, stroke after stroke after stroke. It didn’t take long for her thighs to start shivering. She ground her wet cunt all over Alison’s face as she came, smearing the Coordinator’s makeup with the juices of her delight.

Kellerman’s arms finally gave out and she lowered herself into Alison’s lap, kissing her again. One hand slid between Alison’s own legs, squeezing her teasingly from the outside once and making her squeal with delight before two perfectly manicured fingernails slid awkwardly, exploratorily into Alison’s ravenous cunt. The teenager slid slowly down her body, firm hard breasts rubbing against her face intoxicatingly, before her head reached Alison’s own chest and her lips locked around one nipple as her left hand teased and tugged the other. The fingers on her right hand, conversely, kept pumping back and forth, in and out, within Alison. She arched her own body as she came, desperate for anything to increase the sensation, to drive it higher, harder and deeper.

One might say she was maddened with lust, and in truth she was — but this did not change her ultimate nature as a person. In spite of being able to deliver a fiery and impassioning lecture on the virtues of teaching empathy, Alison Dikscheide was simply not the type of person that ever put others’ needs or feelings above her own. Thus as she came, she magnified her own thrill by grabbing the petite blonde, crushing her body hard against her own and shoving three fingers roughly and unexpectedly inside her tight little slit.

Kellerman screamed in a mixture of panic, pain and pleasure, and this thrilled Alison immensely. She eventually forced the hand out of her cunt, though, and struggled to focus, an ambivalent look on her face.

Alison held up her fingers, surprised to see them smeared with blood. Amused, she showed them to Kellerman. “Oh, my little baby girl, I never would have guessed. You really were innocent!”

The blonde looked stunned. “Was... was this worth it?” she mumbled, more to herself than Alison.

“Baby, expanding your sexual horizons is always worth it. You’re not shackled to the whims of the Patriarchy any more — you have choices now — amazing, sensual and progressive choices. This kind of exploration is the salvation of our age —”

Alison’s own speech did something to her, thrilling her pussy, maddening her mind with lust. It overcame her so much she completely missed Kellerman rolling her eyes at the speech. I just fucked a student; how can I still be so horny? How does that make sense? She looked up at the tiny blonde fucktoy in her lap, and wondered what she wanted to do to her next...

May 31th, 2024 — Prom Night. Bonnie Lowenthal.

Someone had spiked the mango punch. It was pretty mild, just some whiskey. People got loquacious, though, and everyone was talking about Dopey’s acceptance speech like she was some kind of headcase. That annoyed Rich Bonnie — in spite of everything, she liked Dope Bonnie. She was cool, and she wanted RB to be cool too. Well, maybe. Kinda. RB wasn’t sure. Julie Lambert and Chinese Bonnie seemed nice too, but Dopey expected her not to hang out with them — and she always felt like Chinese Bonnie was laughing at her under the politeness. People were rilly hard to figure out, sometimes.

Brett wanted to dance with other girls. He said it wasn’t just cause she stepped on his foot and kept getting tangled in the train of her own dress. He’s a stud and a stud’s got to be seen playing the field. Besides, they’re not going steady, right? RB didn’t want Brett to dance with other girls, not on the night she was gonna go all the way with him. She also didn’t want everyone to trash her best bud, though — and she didn’t know how to refute what they were saying, either. When you talked about it, some of the things Dopey had said — about Julie in her acceptance speech, and about Chinese Bonnie earlier, and at other times in general — were pretty out there. RB told people it was just hyperbole and satire, being pleased she remembered the big words from English class — but she wasn’t sure that was selling.

Brett had to go take a dump. He told her he’d be back in fifteen. This was her chance! Rich Bonnie needed to find Dopey and get her back out on the floor to do damage control stat! Fortunately, they had friended each other’s phones, so she could just use the locater app to find her. DB wanted to be able to track Rich Bonnie down at any time, so she had her install it. That was actually a bit creepy, but she put up with it. She navigated her way out of the prom area and toward the quieter eastern wing of the hotel, following the little GPS arrows on her phone-screen.

She wondered what she was doing, honestly. She should be out on the dance floor keeping her man honest! What did she owe DB, anyway? Resentment, habitual duty and the fear of being alone warred in her mind. She came to a pair of washrooms, and heard grunting sounds coming from inside. The phone said Dopey was directly in between the ladies and men’s, but that was obviously off by a bit — she’d be in the ladies. So that’s where RB went — and stopped in shock when she got inside.

The first thing her eyes fixed on was that beautiful navy prom gown cast aside haphazardly on the grimy, stained washroom floor. It was a relatively small thing, but also a massive psychological catalyst for RB. They’d bought the dresses together, after all. Dopey got the nicer one. RB felt they really bonded that day. Dopey was rilly nice to her, at least. To see it tossed aside like that...

RB ran up and tried to pick up the dress — and heard it tear as it stuck to the sticky floor. This made bile rise in her throat and rage fill her heart. The dresses were, in a way, a symbol of their friendship. Now, for the first time, she clearly understood what that friendship actually meant to Bonnie Kellerman.

She looked around. The farthest bathroom stall had its door pinned wide open. She couldn’t see inside from this angle, but she could see legs. Was Dopey having a hookup in there? Right now, RB didn’t care. “Dopey! That’s a four grand dress! My parents bought it for you! How dare you just toss it on this filthy restroom floor!”

She ran up to the open stall — and her eyes opened wide in shock. Dopey was naked and lewdly spread-eagled, hands and feet gripping the four corners where the stall door normally went. Her body was glistening with sweat, and her eyes had the glassy look of deep lust. She’d frozen the second RB entered the room in an effort at stealth. The person behind her hadn’t stopped, though. She was kneeling, and had fingers from one hand shoved deep into Dopey’s bum while fingers from the other probed into her cunny and massaged her love nub. Dopey bit down on her upper lip, struggling not to cry out in pleasure.

What really made Rich Bonnie’s eyes go wide with shock, though, was the glimpse of neon red hair. Only one person in all of MWA had hair like that. “Dopey! Omigod! I thought you wanted to spend the evening with Duke! You... you said no one else was worth your time! And... are you really supposed to be doing that with a teacher? And... and... you’re gay?! I mean, that’s rilly cool and stuff, I just didn’t know —”

Anger obscured lust on Dopey’s face. “I’m not a goddamn dyke!”

Behind her, the woke school counselor lady was understandably offended. “That language is unacceptable! Homopho—oh, god, oh, god, I’m coming, I’m coming! I’ll rape you with my fingers, you sniveling blonde bimbo!”

It was like the counselor lady went sexually berserk mid-sentence, and got a lot rougher on Dopey’s swimsuit parts. Dopey screamed, in both agony and pleasure, and lost her grip. She careened forward, faceplanting onto the sticky floor, and pulled the neon-haired counselor down with her. Said counselor proceeded to climb on top of Dopey and grind her pussy against Dopey’s upthrust bum-bum, psychotically desperate to ride out an orgasm.

Rich Bonnie’s mind whirled, trying to process what she was seeing. She knew she was often thought of as stupid. She talked like an eight-year-old, after all, and had poor grades. But she could think shrewdly when she really needed to, when she forced herself to — like right now. DB fucking the counselor lady in a bathroom stall. The door jammed all the way open. That beautiful dress on the floor by the sinks. She remembered how Dopey took pics of her, and how she used them. She glanced down at her phone. The locater arrow did not point at Dopey — it pointed at the mirrored wall.

RB ran over to the sink adjacent to the open stall. It only took a few seconds of searching before she was able to pull Dopey’s cell phone out from behind the big round mirror where it had been carefully positioned so only the tip with the camera lens would be visible. She grabbed it, happy to see that it was unlocked. That meant she could finally delete her own nudes! Dopey really didn’t seem like an off-site backup kind of person, after all.

“Dopey! You were trying to blackmail the counselor lady just like you did me!”

“Revenge porn will absolutely not be tol—gaah! Oh, god, fuck me, fuck me, FUCK ME!”

“And you, Miss Weird-German-Name-I-Can’t-Pronounce! You’re acting rilly rilly weird! You’re supposed to be our school counselor! You’re supposed to set an example! I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to make whoopie with the students! You... you poopy-heads, both of you! I’m telling on you!”

And with that, Rich Bonnie spun on the heels of her sneakers and raced out of the restroom, dual-wielding the most powerful and indiscriminately destructive weapons of her era.

Stark horror managed to briefly penetrate the haze of cinnamon-scented lust possessing Bonnie Kellerman and Alison Dikscheide. Their gazes met as they contemplated the implications of what had just happened to their respective futures.

“Shit!” they said, in perfect unison, with feeling.

The lust-crazed duo scrambled to their feet. Dope Bonnie screamed as the sticky tiles tore free of her flesh. “We’ve got to get that phone back!”

“Yeah,” Alison agreed. “Quickly!”

They raced out after Rich Bonnie. Fortunately, the corridors were largely empty as they were both buck naked save for their heels. The chase went as well as it usually does when women in fancy heels try to chase a woman in sneakers. Rich Bonnie heard crashing, screaming and cursing in the distance behind her as the counselor lady and Dopey broke heels, knocked over potted plants, tripped each other and, apparently, collided with a vending machine hard enough to knock it fully over. Apparently, they also ended up in a somewhat amusing position...

“Omigod! Your face is in my —”

“Keep it there!”

“Allie, we don’t have time for this right now!”

Sigh. “You’re right. Sorry.”

Rich Bonnie was so tempted to stop and listen, but she knew she couldn’t. She just had to find a quiet place to lock herself away so she could hunt through Dopey’s phone and delete the nudes. She spotted what looked like an unused staff cafeteria, tried the doorknob and stepped inside when it turned. She had chosen poorly, however — it was clearly in active use; just not by the people it was meant for. After seeing her best friend fucking the school counselor, Rich Bonnie assumed nothing she could ever see would be more surreal or shocking than that.

As it turned out, she was wrong.

The cafeteria was full of terrorists clad in hamster fur-suits modified with punk regalia, bearing weapons and political banners. Rich Bonnie blinked. Did... did that protest sign actually say “Cannibalism Empowers Women”? That... that was a thing. Their obese leader leveled an AK-47 at RB, and she raised her hands in terrified bafflement. “Uh, um... hi, guys! I’m Bonnie Lowenthal! I’m, uh... pleased to meet you all?”

“Death to the Hamster Patriarchy!”

May 31th, 2024 — Prom Night. Bonnie Kellerman.

Dope Bonnie and Dikscheide came to a t-bend in the last corridor they’d seen Rich Bonnie vanish into. They’d shed their heels, at least, after the vending machine incident. A caterer handling a food cart stared wide-eyed at the two gorgeous, buck naked ladies, a goofy lecherous grin spreading across his face. Dope Bonnie screamed and ducked down, trying to cover her intimates.

“No time to worry about him,” Dikscheide hissed. “We’ve got to get that phone back, for both our sakes! You take left, I’ll take right!”

Dope Bonnie nodded, steeling herself and running past the gross caterer as quickly as she could. Eager to get out of his line of sight, she raced right through the heavy, deep crimson curtains covering an Edwardian arch — and abruptly froze, transfixed like a deer in headlights. She was standing on the third floor east balcony, overlooking the prom dance hall. The whole student body turned to stare at her — buck naked, body glistening with sweat, makeup smeared and hair tangled in a way that just screamed “I just got rode hard and put away wet.” Everyone had gone silent, staring up at her in delighted awe.

“You see?” the Nathead finally said conversationally to his date. “I told you all she was a bottle blonde, and now we’ve all got proof.”

That snapped DB out of her shock. She screamed, covering her exposed breasts and curly black bush with her hands desperately. The crowd broke out in a rousing cheer, hooting and hollering as one. Smart phones flashed hungrily. DB felt her cheeks burn with a furious blush. The dumbstruck grins of sixty-some male students confirmed that even in 2024, any prom where the newly-minted prom queen does full frontal for the whole class was still considered a mad dank W. Boys never change.

Bonnie raced back through the curtains into the corridor, furious and humiliated. The caterer was covering his mouth trying not to laugh. Dikscheide sprinted up to her — naked, terrified and wildly bouncy. Some vain part of her wished hers bounced like that. “That’s a dead end! I can’t find Lowenthal or the phone anywhere! We’re screwed!”

Now, Bonnie Kellerman’s mind worked in a very specific way, especially when she felt her dignity or station were threatened — and her prom night misadventure definitely qualified on those grounds! Everything was about her, and everything was intentional. Whenever something bad happened to her, it was clearly someone else’s doing, someone trying to undermine her. That merited retaliation. It wasn’t an especially rational way to think, but it was a depressingly common one none the less.

DB’s face twisted into a rage. “The dance hall is just through that curtain. You... you tricked me into going out there! Like this! And they all saw me naked!”

Dikscheide giggled in spite of herself. “Never mind that; we have to find that phone!”

“I was exposed to the whole senior class and you tell me to never mind it?! You... you... let’s see how you like it!”

DB raced up behind Miss Dikscheide, grabbing a fistful of her neon red hair in one hand and anchoring the other firmly and roughly between her legs. Alison yelped. “My dear child, what do you think you’re doing?!”

DB may have been of a petite build, but as a trained athlete she was also strong for her size — and the Coordinator was tall, but also fairly thin. With a rather unladylike grunt, DB hefted the stark-naked Dikscheide above her head like a trophy. “Let’s see how you like it when they all see you naked!”

“Kellerman, no! Those are my students! They can’t see me naked — I’ll lose my job! It will cause all sorts of problems!”

But the furious blonde wasn’t listening. She charged back through the red satin booth curtain, holding Alison Dikscheide aloft above her head as she went. The crowd cheered her re-appearance, yet also looked truly perplexed at the sudden shift into naked pro wrestling. It was around this time that Dope Bonnie realized this was actually probably a really bad idea after all. Dikscheide screamed in fury, kicking her legs around in the air. She stumbled about haphazardly, the carpet bunching up under her sweaty, bare feet, and finally staggered into the ornate brass railing at the edge of the balcony.

It was only when she heard the crowd gasp that she realized she was on the verge of tossing Alison Dikscheide right off the balcony to an ugly death! That isn’t what she wanted to do at all, and she leaned back against the railing to try and lower the thrashing Coordinator to the ground. There was a horrible creaking sound, however, as the railing gave way and snapped under the two women’s weight. Bonnie’s world spun, and she felt Dikscheide cling to her.

The railing ended up laying flat but hideously unstable, and Dope Bonnie lay atop it. Dikscheide, conversely, dangled off it precariously, clutching at Bonnie to avoid a sickening plummet to the hard marble dance floor below. The clutching was understandable, given the situation, but it was also pinning Bonnie’s arms.

“Let go of me!”

“No! Help me up or I’ll pull you down with me!”

“I can’t do anything when you’re holding me like that! You have to let go!”

“No way! I don’t trust you! Help me first!”

The railing tore fully out of its mounting on one side and swung about, and the two terrified, naked girls dangling off it swung to and fro right along with it.

May 31th, 2024 — Prom Night. Julie Lambert.

Half an hour earlier, Julie had been trying to balance her gleeful schadenfreude at Decepticon Bonnie’s acceptance speech downfall with her more serious concern about the Coordinator’s disappearance. She had circulated the prom for the last thirty minutes. Everyone was talking about DB’s batshit acceptance speech. Some people thought the person she really was inside was finally coming out, while others thought she just needed a glass a milk, a role model and a psychiatric evaluation. People had noticed the Coordinator being weird and collapsing, but weren’t paying too much attention to it in light of the bonkers prom queen.

This actually led Julie to a fairly complex philosophical revelation. The moral of the story, she had decided, was that symbols do not define reality — they only reflect it. Euphemisms and Newspeak could conceal evil, but they couldn’t actually fight it, and a title is only as trusted as the authority that grants it. Julie’s own popularity seemed quite intact — ascendant, even — and because the DEO meddled with the prom committee, the once-golden tiara turned to worthless clay the second it settled on DB’s brow. The crazy speech had only been gravy — the Coordinator’s own arrogance, her absolute faith in the power of her own social engineering, had destroyed the value of the prize Julie and DB fought over even before the dance hall had first opened.

Only in the occult world did controlling a symbol control the reality it represented. The mundanes who echoed that activity — the woke activists trying to control reality by manipulating symbols, language and rituals — were just superstitionists instinctively imitating occult rituals. They had the magical thinking down, perceiving the microcosm-macrocosm link on some intuitive level, but lacked the centering, humility and self-discipline to actually self-initiate and perform magick.

Also, they were total dorks.

Julie knew the Vox reporter had snuck in and was out there in the crowd. She’d seen her earlier, looking not so different from any of the chaperones save for the tiny scratch marks on her shoulders and that magnificent blonde perm. Julie had dropped her an anonymous tip that there would be an example of the DEO overstepping its bounds happening at the prom. She hadn’t been sure if the lady would show up after her hamster-induced ordeal, but she had. She did seem to have a steely determination to her, under that fluffy blonde bimbo image.

Julie had no illusions about the right-wing media. They were necessary. They would report on stories that MSDNC would bury without thinking. But they were also predators in their own way — often as eager as people like Dikscheide to use others’ lives and tragedies as grist to advance their own political narrative, and just as willing to twist the truth to do so. Still, if Julie wanted to humiliate the Coordinator and destroy her power-base, Vox was definitely the outlet that needed to be on-site when it went down. Just remember she’s an ally of convenience, a pawn — not your friend and not trustworthy. Nice boobies, though. Julie had to grin at the memory.

The Coordinator. Julie wondered about her. She’d expected to have to goad her, to try to engage her in some kind of ideological debate in front of the student body. It would be a fitting downfall in her eyes, given how the woke authorities fixed debates in their favor by muzzling any opposing voices. It had surprised Julie that the Coordinator had gone up to scold Duke for groping DB when her self-control was clearly slipping. Had she not yet figured out the causal link between scolding people and her own arousal? Or was it such an ingrained instinct to her that she couldn’t stop lecturing and making accusations even if she was aware they were making her lose it?

And then she vanished. Julie feared she’d actually had the common sense to just do the logical thing when one gets too aroused to be dignified, and gone home for the evening. It would be a shame — prom was the perfect chance to humiliate her, and it needed to happen soon if expulsions were to be reversed before final exams. But Julie was also innately patient and cautious, and did not want to be publicly involved in the Coordinator’s downfall. The curse box was clearly working — everything else would take care of itself.

And then Bonnie Kellerman strode out on the balcony naked. Julie couldn’t help but grin. She had no idea what was going on, but she knew that if Decepticon Bonnie was slightly toasted before, well, she was fully cooked now! She was just savoring her victory when DB came back holding a naked Coordinator above her like she was a WWE star. Julie watched the two caper about, cautious now, aware of the danger in the situation long before DB herself was. Her hand probed into her purse until it found a very familiar knotted cord, and she focused on Kether to channel and evoke her mystic energies.

The railing broke. Decepticon Bonnie and the Coordinator dangled, bitching at each other. They were going to fall to the ground — it seemed certain. The fall might kill them. DB, as mean as she was, didn’t deserve to die. Julie had already decided not to murder the Coordinator — and she wasn’t weak-minded enough to engage in Batman Begins style moral semantics either. She pulled the cord in her purse, undoing the knots, and whispered an incantation. “Magna Zephyri, cape lapsos et defer in salutem!”

A mighty (and mightily inexplicable) surge of wind caught up the two dangling women, seizing them and pulling them sideways to avoid a brutal and potentially fatal landing on the hard marble floor. Clutching each other, they swooped through the room on a cushion of air and plunged, face-first, directly into the huge, tiered crimson cake at the center of the dancehall. Well, I just said ‘salutem,’ or ‘safety’... but I kinda like how that turned out!

The table holding the cake buckled and collapsed to the floor with a loud crash. Julie looked around the crowd. Everyone was laughing at the pratfall the two ladies had taken, but no one looked awed or baffled. The Haze — the worldwide perceptual shroud created by the collective magick of the True Lodges to conceal supernatural events from the eyes of mundanes — prevented them from recognizing the unnatural wind that swept the duo into the cake. The cell phone footage of their flight would all be glitched, even if the events before and after were caught with crystal clarity.

Julie would pay the price, though, as any Adept whose actions the Haze had to cover would. That was just how the ritual used to create it worked. Julie felt the numbing cold of spellburn flow through her body, sapping her lifeforce to power the Haze itself. It was... far more mild than she expected it to be. Figures. Whether due to lust or schadenfreude, all the students are a lot more interested in ogling the naked girls on the cake than in figuring out how they got there!

Julie was interested too, honestly.

Decepticon Bonnie squealed and slid down the side of the cake, crimson icing smeared all over her back, left breast and hair. She stared around herself in a panic, covering her breasts and pussy with cake-plastered hands. It was apparently a red velvet cake with yellow custard layers inside, to match the school’s crimson-and-gold colors. The Coordinator was not as lucky as DB — she plunged into the cake dead-center from above, ending up embedded upside down. Her legs, only slightly smeared with icing, kicked about wildly — and she didn’t manage to keep them fully shut, either. Everyone was holding up their phones, and simply on numbers alone Julie had a feeling someone would end up with a very explicit shot of the Coordinator’s womanly treasures. For her part, Julie was forced to admit the Coordinator had a fairly nice, toned ass — surprisingly athletic for a bureaucrat. Not as nice as DB’s perfect teenage bubble butt, but still decent.

The Coordinator did manage to pull herself out of the cake and end up right-side up. From the belly up she looked like a muckman from a horror movie, plastered with the very triple-layered icing her demands had made necessary to the point that her features were obscured. Well, her facial features anyway; even a thick layer of icing could do nothing to conceal those jumbo-sized titties and long erect nipples. Hee — titties! It’s like I’m fourteen again! For some reason, Julie loved using that word for the Coordinator’s breasts — probably specifically because she’d hate it so much.

The Coordinator spat out a mouthful of icing, then wiped as much off her face and out of her eyes as she could before opening them to look around — and be greeted with jeers and an armada of upheld phones. Her face twisted into a mask of rage. “How dare you sexualize me without my explicit consen—GNNAAAH! Ohgodyeah! Ohgodyeah!”

She had lost her goddamn mind. Letting out a guttural, pornographic moan, she spread her legs and straddled the cake, sitting directly atop it as she ground her pussy against it. Her hands reached up to knead her breasts and tug at her nipples roughly. DB stared up at her activity in a mix of horror, fascination and perverse longing. Her ass cheeks looked fantastic, clenching and squirming as she ground her cunt against the cake in a mindless, instinctive quest for pussy stimulation.

Soft nervous laughter spread through the crowd. More and more people were filming what was happening as they realized the Coordinator clearly wasn’t still going to be a meaningful authority figure after this. Her vigorous back-and-forth pumping motion caused her to sink gradually deeper and deeper into the cake, bisecting it. Decepticon Bonnie watched her, likely unaware that her hand had crept between her legs to massage her own wet vulva. There was such a contrast between the two — the Coordinator had large, dangling labia flaps and a clearly visible brass clit ring, while DB’s innie slit was subtle, almost concealed by her black bush.

Her spell had clearly exceeded its original parameters, Julie realized. But how? DB and the Coordinator didn’t seem to be compelled to do things against their volition. Indeed, there seemed to be a twisted but visceral attraction between the two deeply manipulative girls. Obviously, they were both getting insanely, unnaturally horny whenever the Coordinator said anything castigatory, but it went beyond that. No matter how horny they were, they’d never do this in public — they were both among the few people Julie considered even more status-conscious than she herself was. DB, furthermore, had always seemed actively homophobic.

The two curses were mingling, Julie figured, bleeding over somehow. The same dweomer that prevented DB from discerning credible lies from fabulous ones was now obscuring both of their perceptions of the appropriate. It’s like the spell had inflicted some kind of perceptual delusion on them that made them blind to social norms and the likely consequences of their lurid actions.

Put more simply, this was going to be both hilarious and hot — and it’s not like Julie could do anything about it at this point anyway, even if she wanted to. She wasn’t usually sadistic, but she’d make an exception just this once. DB and the Coordinator had both more than earned it.

Julie could see Lorcan and Toshia near the back of the crowd, cuddling each other and grinning like maniacs. That made sense — Julie knew from intimate experience how into sexual humiliation Lorcan was, so this must be just wickedly hot to him. Tosh also had reasons to loathe the Coordinator, given her efforts to avoid the spotlight and the ambush-interview getting her on the national news. Lorcan met Julie’s gaze for a second and just nodded at her in respect; she grinned back. Then she looked away, not wanting to emphasize their ties in front of the crowd.

“Holy shit!” Brett laughed. “I mean, we all knew Dikscheide was stacked and psycho, but...”

Troy grinned. “Well, you know what they say — hot air doesn’t always go to your head! There’s a reason they call ’em gasbags, after all!”

The Coordinator bucked wildly atop the giant cake, looking like an infinitely more desirable, live-action version of the very naughty ornaments she had worked so hard to censor. Yellow liquid custard sprayed out of the center of the cake as the Coordinator’s body-weight crushed it. DB took the brunt of the blast, screaming in surprise as sugary goop squirted all over her naked body and trying to deflect it with her hands. Cute students close to the cake also got lightly splattered. They barely even noticed, transfixed by the tableaux unfolding before them. The Coordinator’s eyes were closed as her hips rocked back and forth, desperate to expel the building erotic pressure consuming her body. She grunted and moaned, tugging and twisting her own nipples as she sank further and further down into the cake.

Having ground her way to the bottom of the cake but still desperate for more, the Coordinator’s eyes alighted on the petite blonde at her feet. She roughly grabbed DB by the throat and forced the pixie-cut cutie’s head between her own flushed thighs. Surprisingly — to Julie, at least — DB was apparently a somewhat proficient pussy eater. She licked the Coordinator vigorously, teased her clit ring with her teeth and even pinched and tugged the small tuft of neon red pubic hair directly above her pussy. The Coordinator apparently liked things rough, as she thrust her whole body up in an arch at that, howling and crushing her massive, floppy tits.

Holy SHIT! This is going way too far! There’s a student fucking a faculty member right in the middle of our prom! It would attract a metric fuckton of media attention even if I hadn’t lured Vox here! Julie’s heart was thundering, but there was nothing she could do about it now other than ride it out. The curse-box under her sink was going to do its thing; it would take a good half hour to get home and safely dismantle it. The absolute worst thing she could do was anything that would set her apart from the crowd — that would make anyone investigating this later think she was in any way notable or involved. So don’t do that.

Adults should be stopping this, Julie knew. They weren’t, though. All the teachers and chaperones looked terrified. The Coordinator had built up such a cult of personality over the last few years that everyone was afraid to confront her. They comprehended what was happening on a physical level even if they couldn’t begin to imagine the reasons or motives behind it — but no one wanted to be the first one to make a move to restrain or castigate Dikscheide, let alone touch her while she was naked. For all they knew, this was some kind of surreal, avant-garde protest action. It’s such delicious poetic justice that their inaction is giving the Coordinator the rope to hang herself with, given what went down with Marvin at the start of the year!

It was Troy that started the “make out” chant, but soon a sizable portion of the boys were doing it. The Coordinator pulled DB’s face up to her own — she yowled in pain, but also slid easily over the Coordinator’s icing-slicked body. Their lips locked together in a carnal, rough open mouth kiss as they ground their messy bodies against each other. Even in this, though, there was conflict — not a refusal of the act itself, but a struggle for dominance within it. They rolled around in the growing blob of crushed cake-mess on the floor as each strove to get on top of the other. Asses ground and clenched as the two women struggled toward an awkward form of tribadism.

Eventually DB got forcibly shoved on her belly on the ground so the Coordinator could grind her pussy all over that tight little bubble butt until she reached a screaming orgasm, one hand shoving cake scraped off her own body into DB’s shocked mouth for that extra little humiliating touch. Their bodies ended up sheathed in a thin layer of crushed cake that only served to highlight their over-the-top figures — and to dye their normally pale white skin a darker red-brown shade. The Coordinator’s titties flapped and swung every which way as she rode the pinned cheerleader like a rodeo champ.

“Wow,” Chinese Bonnie whispered to Nora. “Bet you never thought you’d see Dikscheide in redface, huh?”

Nora giggled, but was too embarrassed to reply.

Thinking the Coordinator exhausted, DB struggled out from under her. She wasn’t getting away that easily, though. The Coordinator wrapped one arm around her belly, and used the other to shove two fingers roughly into that tight teenage slit. DB’s eyes went very wide in sudden shock.

“Omigod!” Decepticon Bonnie wailed in a moment of panic. “Our school’s Diversity Coordinator is putting her fingers inside me, and they’re covered with cake! I am so gonna get a yeast infection!”

DB protested, but made no real effort to get away. It was obvious she, or at least her libido, was way more into it then her conscious mind would admit. Then her own curse-box kicked in. “Or gonorrhea! Or monkeypox! Or spinal meningitis! Or brain cancer! Or the goddamn genophage!”

Everyone laughed. It was like pantomime — it was hard to take a line like that seriously. DB looked desperate, though. She’s cute when she’s desperate, Julie thought, then considered that for a second. Wow, that’s dark even for me. The Coordinator, however, possessed an infinite capacity to be offended by any imaginable thing, and a pathological addiction to voicing that sentiment. For the past few years, it had sucked for everyone around her. Now, on this one special night, it would suck for her instead.

“Stop stigmatizing women’s sexual health iss—GAAH!” the Coordinator shouted, losing her reason mid-sentence. She spread her legs wide and thrust her groin upward in a crab-walk position, pumping her cunt into the air uncontrollably.

Nora looked baffled. “Is she... I mean, uh, is she...”

“Yup,” Chinese Bonnie, ever the snarker, replied. “I think she really is trying to fuck Pazuzu.”

“I was actually thinking epilepsy.”

One of the caterers — a heavier-built black man — had come up to the Coordinator with a blanket to escort her out. She grabbed him by the belt and dragged him to the ground forcibly, trying to tear open his slacks with brute strength alone. “Give me your big black cock, you magnificent bull!”

Chinese Bonnie grinned. “Epilepsy doesn’t make you talk like that.”

Nora frowned. “Epilepsy and Tourettes together?”

“Per Occam’s Razor, I still say Pazuzu’s more credible.”

DB soon figured out she could get in a dominant role by exploiting the Coordinator’s nipples. Her own fake breasts weren’t that sensitive, but the Coordinator’s sure were! She teased those nipples with her hands until the Coordinator was left squirming and writhing helplessly, then went over and sat on her face. People were paying attention to her! A whole crowd was hooting and cheering for her! That’s what she’d wanted more than anything, right? Something seemed off about that, but she couldn’t put her finger on what. Alison could put her tongue on DB’s clit quite nicely, though, and that quickly made her forget the passing concern.

In reality, the crowd was far more focused on the Coordinator than DB. We’ve all lived in constant mortal terror of this woman for so long now. So much relentless anxiety, so much primal fear, so many attacks on our basic identities and senses of self-worth. Every bit of it just makes watching DB use her as a glorified sex toy all the more satisfying! Troy, Duke, Brett, Amed and the other Stallions were obviously near the front of the crowd — grinning like absolute maniacs. Julie scanned for a different face, though, and quickly found it — Pink Highlights Bonnie’s eyes looked impossibly wide, and she had to keep her mouth covered with a hand to avoid drawing attention to herself laughing. Seeing that look of impish delight on her friend’s face seemed to soothe a kind of subtle ache that had been growing for weeks in Julie’s own soul.

The cheerleader’s taut body shivered as the Coordinator worked her slit with a skillful tongue, gripping her cake-smeared ass cheeks with both hands. DB would occasionally pull the Coordinator’s hair to sharpen her pace, but mostly her hands stroked up and down her own torso, massaging the silky-feeling icing into her smooth skin, teasing her own breasts and coming to rest behind her head, rubbing at the secret parts of her neck that always made her the most aroused. DB sighed softly; for a second she looked innocent even to Julie’s jaded eyes, as raw sensory delight was literally the only thing occupying her mind at the moment. Someone else had a more sardonic observation, however.

“Did she just go cross-eyed?” the Nathead asked, staring at DB. “I thought people only did that in cartoons.”

As DB began to orgasm under the Coordinator’s tongue, even Julie had to admit she was cute and had a damn fine body — very fake, like everything else about DB, but still fantastic as eye candy, especially with her hands behind her head and her chest thrust out like that. I can at least be gracious enough to grant her that, given how generous she’s being in sharing it with everyone here for our entertainment. Beats going to a strip club any day of the week! DB’s nipples were very hard on her firm, perfectly globular hemisphere tits, and there were smears of colorful red icing and yellow custard all over her flared hips, taut athletic stomach and cherubic facial features. A glob lodged in her hair could almost pass for a stylish hair accessory.

The facial expressions she made while getting off were nasty and carnal, though, and the way they shattered her normal aura of pristine innocence only made them all the more exciting to the onlookers. She slapped and tugged at the Coordinator’s breasts roughly, and even spanked her pussy — all with the light of a competitive, malicious glee etched on her normally sacrosanct face.

Dikscheide eventually shoved DB off her while she was distracted by an orgasm. The two girls began tussling with their arms, throwing handfuls of cake at each other and engaging in a silly slap-fight. They both sunk their hands into the remains of the cake and grabbed big, sticky handfuls — then turned to each other and smeared them aggressively over each other’s bodies, never missing the opportunity to grope each other roughly when their hands came to inviting areas. They seemed to be trying to deface each other’s appearance. The sticky glop could make a girl like PHB or Rich Bonnie less attractive, Julie pondered, but the Coordinator and DB did not have subtle figures. A layer of cake-mess made them look nastier, but not necessarily any less erotic. That it was such a fine example of gender-stereotypical behavior only made it kinkier. Hee! I really dirtied them up with my spell, metaphorically and literally!

Libidos eventually conquered competitive spirits, and the two girls again began grinding their bodies against each other sensually. The Coordinator managed to pin DB by the shoulders, and leaned forward to lick icing off her earlobe teasingly, making her giggle and blush. Eventually her tongue found its way to DB’s mouth and they began gently making out. It was tense, but also weirdly playful — almost tender. “Who’s my dirty little fuckslut? Yes, yes you are you naughty teenage whore! I own you so hard I need to have you branded with my initials. God, that would be so hot!”

Julie doubted the Coordinator would be overly proud of those words in the future. DB giggled though, and nodded in eager acceptance. Then she started licking icing off the Coordinator’s throat playfully — earning sensual, breathy moans for her efforts. Julie’s heart leapt in sheer transgressive awe as she realized what was happening — the debauched duo were aware of the crowd of watchers but unable to perceive their significance, and thus were basically acting as if they were in private. This included the weirdly intimate moments within any good bout of sex. It was the very height of voyeuristic violation to witness it, and if it was happening to anyone else Julie probably would have been able to feel bad instead of merely thrilled.

Finishing with her neck, DB licked streaks of icing off the Coordinator’s long legs, while waving her similarly streaked legs at her suggestively. The Coordinator grabbed a big chunk of cake and rubbed it all over her vulva, encouraging Decepticon Bonnie to chow down. The duo maneuvered into the sixty-nine position. Right before DB got to work, though, a brief look of deep-seated worry crossed her face. “You... you don’t think this will make people think I’m gay, do you?”

The crowd laughed uproariously.

“Don’t use ‘gay’ pejorativ—GAAAAAA!”

Any dialogue beyond that point ceased as raw sapphic desire overwhelmed both women’s minds and they went to town voraciously devouring each other’s icing-smeared delicacies, moaning and twisting sinuously.

A heftier, pink-haired male student looked glum as he watched the mad spectacle. “We’re gonna end up on Carlson again, aren’t we?”

His ideological compatriot nodded. “Seems likely, yeah.”

But there was something else happening, distinct from this carnal carnival. The hairs on the back of Julie’s neck rose. Her mystic danger sense was going off. Real danger, physical, possibly lethal, about four minutes in the future...

Danger! As entertaining as the live sex show was, Julie reasoned, she probably ought to investigate that. No one was paying any attention to her, so she slid to the back of the crowd. She walked around, tracing the walls of the dance hall, trying to get a feeling of where the danger was strongest. When she felt she had it, she put an ear to a wall and listened. Footsteps, boots. She pocketed a steak knife from a snack table, then scampered down to a door, waited until the source of the noise passed that door, then opened it and slid out, trying to stay stealthy and still get a look at the threat. It wasn’t hard to spot — it really stood out.

Furry terrorists, about a dozen of them — the Anarcho-Feminist Hamster Uprising. Their leader was an obese woman with an AK-47 in a hamster fursuit with a toxic green skunk-stripe spray-painted down the back and twin “2 + 2 = Die!” placards sticking up from her back like the Monkey King’s banners. Next in line was an anthro-hamster in a latex dominatrix costume with a bullwhip and fake blood smeared around her mouth, bearing a “Cannibalism Empowers Women!” placard. She had a big duffel bag slung over her shoulder and filed-down cannibal-teeth glued into a discordantly friendly-looking cartoon fur-face — the overall effect was macabre. At her side was a protester in a Rescue Rangers fursuit wielding a fireaxe and a “Boys Can’t Touch My Gadget!” protest sign. At the back was a hamster with a samurai sword, wearing a giant purple novelty strap-on and bearing a “Peg the Hamster Patriarchy!” banner.

Julie struggled not to giggle and scrutinized them more closely. They weren’t even real furries, she realized. The fursuits were all ill-fitted — they probably bought them on eBay for this protest. The one up front was Tana — Julie recognized her from the girth and build, even though her face was obscured by a big hamster-head. They were marching Rich Bonnie with them; her hands were bound behind her back with duct tape, and another strip covered her mouth. They probably thought of themselves as protesters, not terrorists, given the placards. Guns and hostages meant terrorists, though — at least to Julie.

Julie had a fairly good idea what this was about — she’d gotten the full story out of PHB a while back, though furry terrorists were definitely a new and unexpected twist in the whole deranged saga.

It had all started, as so many teenage misadventures do, with a geek trying to impress a cheerleader. In this particular case, the cheerleader was the smarter of the two — but that didn’t really matter. Julie didn’t think PHB instigated it on purpose using Marvin as a catspaw — they just talked. They were friends. He was crushing on her, because of course he was. She didn’t honestly know how involved her friend was in the whole matter, but she didn’t see PHB as a user. Hopefully. Regardless, PHB did chat with Marvin, and likely did express the exact same social theories she had expressed to the cheerleaders in the cafeteria. Maybe she was just venting — but it gave Marvin a plan, one he thought would make him more popular, strike a blow against the social agenda terrorizing the school and win the heart of the girl of his dreams.

It was, obviously, a dumb plan, because the plans teenage boys come up with in that situation are always dumb plans. It was at least creative, though — Marvin was nothing if not creative. He’d decided that, for his Biology 30 class project, he was going to disprove the idea that gender was a social construct — and he was going to do it using hamsters!

He spent a lot of time and money on it, and kept his thesis very secret until the big class presentation. He actually got clearance from Mr. Garris to use a spare classroom to set it all up back in December — he didn’t mention the controversial premise until his presentation, obviously. He built two industrial-size hamster habitats on opposite sides of the room, calling one the Nursery and the other the Jungle. Each had dozens of separate fenced sub-habitats for individual hamsters, so they could see each other but not physically interact. He also set up a number of webcams to observe the hamster behavior in both habitats 24/7. After the D&D clique imploded thanks to DB’s influence, he found he had a ton of spare time on his hands to take on a project like this.

He sourced eight Roborovski hamsters from a pet store in Tulsa, and put them together in the Nursery. (He chose Roborovskis because their dawn-and-dusk activity cycle made the observation and analysis element of the experiment remotely viable for a full-time student like Marvin; he used computer-timed soft light lamps to control that activity cycle.) Each time a female bore a litter of pups, he removed the pups immediately from her care and placed them in habitats the Jungle, after checking their sex. He anointed the male hamsters with a scentless light blue dye, and the females with a scentless pink dye, so they could easily be told apart. As hamsters are colorblind, they couldn’t see the dye themselves. He included a chemical abortifacient in the food pellets he gave to all the hamsters he did not want to breed.

Marvin may not have been the smartest student, but he was certainly methodical in his research and seemed to care deeply about the project, spending hours after school (and occasionally deserting classes) to tend to his subjects in the “hamster observatory”. Julie thought that, while he wasn’t likely to be a brilliant scientist, he did have a possibly profitable career ahead of him as a meticulously organized lab technician with a solid work ethic. As long as there was no algebra involved, anyway.

The hypothesis he was testing was simple: he believed that the male and female hamsters would exhibit gender role behaviors despite having no cultural continuity with the previous generation of hamsters before them. In this situation, any gendered behavior could only be sourced to their neurology or the natural consequences of hamster bodily sexual dimorphism. And indeed, a new generation of hamsters carefully isolated from any contact with the previous one did demonstrate the expected gender dynamics.

The gender roles of hamsters are not closely akin to those of humans — the females can be very aggressive and dominant. None the less, some basic dynamics still applied — the females built nests and protected and nurtured their neonates, while the males staked out larger territories, fought each other to establish dominance hierarchies, competed for desirable mates and defended their mate from other males. When the female was in estrus, male and female hamsters fucked aggressively. At all other times, they fought like cats and dogs. When Marvin put male hamsters together, their social play took on masculine forms. When females were placed together, their play had a distinctly different style. When males and females were put together, the males pursued the females as mates.

Marvin captured all this on cam. He was able to demonstrate, in clear pink and blue, that gendered behavior existed independently of social constructs. Now, one might say his experiment demonstrated a shallow understanding of social constructionism, or that hamster gender dynamics are too unlike human ones for the experiment to be sociologically meaningful. Indeed, there are many possible critiques of his experiment. But the woke are not interested in debating their pet social theories — they want them to be treated as inerrant received wisdom. Merely questioning them was sin enough. The only possible motive for doing so was a sly display of bigotry.

It wasn’t really an experiment, obviously. It was a dissent. He set out to prove something everyone knows is true — gendered behavior exists in the animal kingdom and doesn’t source itself to culture — in order to make a point about those denying reality in the human sphere. It was provocative and rhetorical — albeit also methodical. Then again, how many Bio 30 students are really doing cutting-edge research in their fields? Having had books stacked on his back two years in a row, and having made formal, coerced apologies for his own gender twice now, one might forgive Marvin for a bit of snark on the topic. Julie could relate.

Her own biggest issue with social constructionism of gender was the assumption of oppression rather than voluntary participation. Any culture, by its very nature, had cultural norms. Erasing those norms erased the culture. To all those who embraced the gender binary, efforts to smash it played as a form of cultural genocide — or at least, cultural vandalism. Nor did she feel any oppression was inherent to voluntary norms. One does not have to support gender role enforcement because one aspires to a gender role, after all. It was just as credible they existed because people gravitated to them naturally as opposed to being some kind of sinister hegemon — and even more credible that historical patriarchal societies diminished or caricatured the feminine role as opposed to creating it whole-cloth.

As a young lady who had just enjoyed the hell out of being fisted by her BFF for the first time, Julie found the idea of a homophobic world repellent and grotesque — and yet struggled to raise up any rancor at the concept of a heteronormative one. What’s so bad about there being a norm and some people deviating from it, anyway? As long as they don’t hate us for it, it just makes us INTERESTING! Mediocrity was the definitive norm, after all, and intelligence and ambition the deviations. It wasn’t like any Adept was ever going to be overly normal anyway!

To the radicals, however, they were one and the same. The mere existence of norms — for gender or anything else — was a form of oppression to rage against. Taken to its logical extreme, it was a call to destroy every aspect of the existing culture in favor of an unending, anarchic revolutionary fervor — and indeed, that is exactly what Chairman Mao had tried to do some sixty years ago, and what the woke crowd likely sought today (even if they would not consciously admit it). The rage-based status economy would always find a new norm to target, a new aspect of tradition to tear down. Eternal Revolution.

It surprised her that it had been Marvin who conducted the satirical experiment. Julie, after all, profited a great deal from her femininity. She was pretty, popular and veritably reveled in her sexuality; the institution of cheerleading fit her like a glove. Marvin, conversely, was hardly a perfect specimen of rugged masculinity. As a plump, shy nerd he suffered for the cultural norms of masculinity.

It would in some ways have been easy for him to get on the woke train and fight to burn it all down. But he didn’t — he’d rather fight for the masculinity he had, imperfect though it may be, than let a radical movement dictate new expectations to him from on high. Even the vain aspiration and fantasy of machismo he’d shared with Julie meant more to him than the enforced equity offered by the woke. And for all his physical and social failings, Julie had to credit him this: he spoke up at a time when everyone else was scared to. If that wasn’t traditional masculinity, what was?

Still, Julie thought, his choices were hardly wise when judged in practical terms. His class presentation had been crushing. It was amusing, in a black comedy sense, how utterly a sufficiently motivated high school science teacher could destroy a science project, merely by applying the level of rigor one normally applies to a peer reviewed PhD thesis dissertation to a Bio 30 student. Mr. Garris was nothing short of merciless in tearing down his work and demanding aggressive retests. He had to be, obviously — Julie was pretty sure the Coordinator had told him his job depended on it.

He couldn’t do retests, though. Two days after his class presentation back in February, a radical student activist clique forcibly occupied his observatory with the tacit endorsement of the DEO. They called themselves the Anarcho-Feminist Hamster Uprising. They weren’t methodical at all, but they were far more ideologically correct, so who cares? They set out an ‘experiment’ of their own, aiming to test the idea that with hope, love and tolerance they could teach the hamsters to live in a radically egalitarian post-gender vegan society. “We can do it! We can train hamsters to be feminists and toss aside the shackles of the Hamster Patriarchy!”

They put them all together in a big, unrestricted open-concept habitat and disposed of Marvin’s grotesque, unsustainable factory food — instead feeding the hamsters fresh vegetables one of the activists grew in his rooftop garden. They replaced Marvin’s ‘oppressive’ black cloth backdrop with a colorful painted rainbow pride mural in street-art style. Herb Jeffries was going to knit them cute little rainbow flag hamster-sweaters, but it turned out he couldn’t make them small enough for the fast, tiny rodents. The AFHU even set up a big flat-screen TV to loop a collection of Sophie Xeon and Dorian Electra music videos for the hamsters — to give them positive role models.

When Marvin tried to get back in the lab, Flair, Odyssey and Herb caught him. They beat him mercilessly; Flair gave him the black eye. They stripped him to his underwear and dragged him through the school corridors, publicly emasculating him, mocking the “champion of traditional masculinity” — a title he never did (nor would) claim. Odyssey punched him in the gut so hard he vomited. Then they left him in the main annex, curled over in a fetal position with the words “bitch” and “bigot” written on his back in Sharpie, arms bound to the railing with zip-ties like an especially pathetic Messiah.

He hung there for three hours before Duke cut him down. There were other Stallions with Duke, so the AFHU didn’t pick a fight over it. Coach Larkin drove him home, gave him a sick note for the next two days and some words of succor and male wisdom. The viciousness of it had shocked Julie, when she heard about it. No other adults intervened. They were too afraid. They just pretended they didn’t notice it, or that it was routine. No one was punished. Julie had expected at least a token gesture — if not discipline, then at least the pretext of discipline.

But nobody stopped woke activists from shouting down an endless parade of conservative speakers on campuses across America, did they? No one charged and prosecuted the anarchists who planned and set up an autonomous zone in the middle of Portland, even when it got innocent residents raped and killed. Yvette Felarca got caught on film beating the shit out of a right wing agitator, bragged about forcing her students to perform left-wing activism on record and kept her job teaching middle school to this day — convicted, but sentenced only to brief community service. No one stopped that drag queen teaching a six year old to pole dance, or student activists from driving Bret Weinstein off Evergreen campus, or Kayla Lemieux from wearing giant fake prosthetic breasts to teach a Junior High shop class. What had happened to Marvin wasn’t exceptional — it was the new normal.

Julie’s first inclination had been to laugh at how counter-productive it all was. We will crush our enemies, see them driven before us, hear the lamentations of their menfolk... and then we will build a stable democratic nation in peaceful cooperation with them as half our voting population! Yeah, great plan guys. What could possibly go wrong? But her dream with Marvin created a complex personal connection that made it far more disquieting to her in the days after, and PHB’s growing anxiety only heightened that.

Julie knew activists did shit like that, of course, abstractly, from news articles and YouTube videos — but it was always elsewhere, blending into the background noise of a polarized society. What happened to Marvin back in January was the first time something like that happened in her personal sphere, and watching the faculty react (or not-react) to it was the first time she realized her school was seriously off its rails. Shit from the cable news had just come to squat on the fringes of her everyday life.

Marvin might fairly have been accused of not having done enough background reading — about both hamsters and social constructionism — when planning his experiment. The AFHU, conversely, did none. As such, they learned some interesting things about hamsters during their custody of the observatory. For example, female hamsters can become cannibals if they get stressed, devouring their own children and mates. They never really figured out that loud noises and bright colors stress them out, though.

The cannibalism caused a sizable degree of psychic trauma to some of the activists — as much as they might have considered themselves outside of and unbound by the gender binary, some feminine-leaning ones demonstrated some very stereotypical gender behaviors themselves as regards teen girls and cute fluffy animals. This caused a schism in the group. Odyssey thought the cannibalism was empowering, a sign of nascent feminist rebellion against a socially-enforced motherhood role. Flair, conversely, thought it must be attributable to Marvin’s toxic patriarchal influence over the hamsters while they were in his custody. Still others saw it as an opportunity for self-interrogation, wondering if their own unconscious biases had allowed toxic behaviors to creep into their model utopia.

There were other hamster characteristics that quickly proved more salient, however. Roborovski hamster are very timid and stealthy, but they are also very fast runners, and they bite hard. They are fertile at five weeks of age, have a gestation period of three weeks and breed in litters of four to eight. A female can birth a new litter monthly. The AFHU was ideologically opposed to any form of gender segregation or discrimination as a core tenet of their beliefs, so they had decided not to separate the male and female hamsters. To be fair, they couldn’t really tell the newer pups apart even if they wanted to — it takes a bit of zoology lore to accurately discern hamster sex. Over the time the AFHU had custody over the observatory, the hamster population swelled from an initial size of thirty to around four hundred. Well, probably — no one took an exact count.

The school authorities were reluctant to interfere with the AFHU occupation, but the lightning-fast Robos started escaping to nest in empty classrooms and scavenge in the cafeteria at night. Tana sucked up a well-deserved animal cruelty charge for trying to organize a hamster-stomping contest, leaving everybody else reluctant to kill the little buggers. Not that anyone could, anyway — Robos are fast little bastards. Eventually someone called the health inspector, who discovered the situation and ordered all the hamsters put down.

Determined to save their furious furry feminist friends, the AFHU became an organized resistance movement. When the school called in a fumigator, an assault by ‘peaceful’ masked student protesters armed with bear spray, tear gas grenades and faeces bombs forced the fumigators to flee the site and other companies refused to take up the contract in their place.

Tensions were very high within the AFHU at this point, though, as the cannibalism, explosive breeding and generally mean, feral nature of the latest hamster generation caused an ideological schism in their community. The sincere activists quietly snuck out, leaving narcissists to adopt and defend more and more radical and dogmatic positions. This ultimately led to Odyssey and Herb having a brawl in the hamster observatory, knocking over the huge table containing the jungle. Well over four hundred Robos escaped into the corridors, crannies and air vents of MWA that day, leading to — among other things — one Vox newscaster having a terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad day at the school assembly.

By the time of the prom, the MWA building was home to an estimated population of just under two thousand Robos. This caused the AFHU to come under no small amount of quiet disdain by the more mainstream parts of the student body after repeated hamster-bite incidents, despite the DEO’s efforts to hush up the outcome of their activities.

The AFHU activists would be the first to viciously mock the popularity contests that students like Julie Lambert and Bonnie Kellerman so devoted themselves to. Yet, in spite of their contempt, they were locked into an ironically very similar struggle of their own — just one aligned with a subversive, counterculture status economy rather than the mainstream status economy Julie and DB struggled over. The Coordinator had praised Liz Fendermann for her pig’s blood stunt, yet made every effort to bury the AFHU. Julie understood that — Fendermann’s protest was telegenic in a grotesque way, while the AFHU’s antics had bad optics by virtue of bordering on self-parody — but she doubted the AFHU saw it that way, and even before this she suspected they felt increasingly desperate in their own mirror-universe popularity contest: Dikscheide-senpai refused to notice them!

Now, it might take a bit of a mental leap to get from “protect the hamsters” to “assault the prom” — but Julie got it. The AFHU was angry at being ignored and mocked. They probably read the Coordinator’s editorials on the Stallions, the Angels and the prom itself as gender-normative symbology. They were stock-model narcissist-activists — they saw drawing attention to themselves as the sole measure of success in activism, not actually winning a debate, or even a battle for hearts and minds.

It reminded Julie of the new generation of abortion rights activists she saw on cable news — the freaks dressed in white with the mutilated baby dolls and the crotch blood, running about torching crisis centers. They didn’t care that they were plastering imagery beneficial to the theocrats all over the evening news. They had no interest in changing minds, only grabbing attention and screaming in rage at the world. What do you mean, this protest is actually harming the cause, making it less likely a consensus opinion will accept abortion? Our protest is going great — just lookkit all the views I’m getting on Insta!

What baffled Julie at first was Tana’s presence. The AFHU wasn’t likely to be on good terms with her. But then it clicked — they needed patsies. Lots of members of outcast cliques probably wanted to wreck the prom out of jealousy toward the popular kids. After Marvin’s crucifixion, they probably figured that if they used a social justice rationale they wouldn’t face any punishment for getting some payback against the popular kids for being popular. The activists likely lead them on with this, thinking of them as useful idiots for their movement. So the AFHU recruited people like Tana, probably promising them (through implications and weasel words) impunity and planning to get them to commit the actual crimes and suck up any legal consequences that may or may not manifest. Tana — the maladjust who literally couldn’t tell woke politics from alt-right politics — would be their ultimate useful idiot.

The one perplexing bit was the AK-47 — from everything Julie had ever seen, woke radicals were intensely opposed to actual firearms of any kind, even if they were willing to gloss a wide variety of other violent and criminal activities under a new definition of ‘peaceful’ protest that tended to involve bike locks. Right now, though, it mattered less why it was here than the simple fact that it was here.

Julie crouched against an arch as she watched the protesters pass. Am I going to intervene in this? Behind her, the corridor was empty. She could make her way there and lock herself in a storage closet, or just get out of the building. But she knew she wasn’t going to do that. Her friends were in the dance hall, after all, and to some extent she knew the majority of the student body — at least in passing. She could call the police, but the freaks were right by the dance hall — they wouldn’t get here in time. She was an Adept. There was no one more qualified to intervene. It really was on her, now.

She didn’t want to attack the protesters from behind, though. Tana was in front with the gun, the only ranged weapon — Julie needed to hit her first, take her out quickly. Once the AK-47 was out of play, everything got a lot less dangerous. She slipped back into the dance hall full of oblivious students and navigated down to the main double doors to the dancehall. She stayed about fifteen feet from the door, pressed in an alcove in the wall. All the other students were watching Dikscheide, clustered near the center of the room. She knew the terrorists’ fursuits would give them a really limited field of vision, and wanted to exploit that by hitting them from the side.

She performed the Qabalistic Cross and balanced herself to the elements. Air — inhale. Earth — hold. Fire — exhale. Water — hold. She slid off her pumps, leaving her feet bare against the marble floor, and attuned herself to it. The double doors were kicked violently open and Tana led the furry terrorists into the dance hall. As soon as Tana no longer had the doors for cover Julie charged — running at Tana from the side, outside her restricted field of vision. Attuned to the marble, her footfalls were eerily silent. One hand shoved Tana’s shoulder, putting the hefty girl off balance, while the other grabbed the barrel of the rifle, angling it away from the crowd. Tana was stunned and off balance. Julie tore the gun from her hands and spun around. She pivoted full circle in a pirouette, swinging the rifle around to smash Tana in the mouth with the stock.

She didn’t crumple, but she did stagger back, fall on her ass and clutch her cheek. Julie pulled the banana clip out of the rifle, looked around and finally tossed it across the room into a bowl of fruit punch to neutralize it. Then she grabbed the rifle by stock and barrel with both hands and brought up her knee as forcefully as she could. It didn’t break, but it bent ever so slightly and she deemed it likely unusable. Fuck, though, if that wasn’t gonna leave one heck of a bruise on her knee!

As least Tana seemed to be hurting worse. “Ow. Owww! I mean, seriously, ow! I think you chipped my tooth! What the fuck! How did you... I mean, you... you hit me! Who said you were allowed to hit me?! Who the hell do you think you are, you smug elitist cunt?!”

Julie tossed the bent rifle at Tana’s feet, then reached down inside her fursuit and ripped the switchblade off its chain around her neck. “I’m a cheerleader, motherfucker.”

Then she glanced around. Nobody even cared about the confrontation between Tana and Julie — they were still transfixed by the Coordinator at the center of the hall. I just punched out a terrorist with her own gun, and nobody noticed — not even the Vox reporter! They’re supposed to love that kind of thing! Wounded ego aside, though, it really was better for people not to pay attention to her intervention.

She ran back and circled around, hoping to take the fireaxe hamster and the cannibal dominatrix from the rear. She kicked ‘Gadget’ in the back, causing her to stumble and drop the fireaxe. The cannibal swung around, though, and tried to crack the bullwhip. Julie was waiting for that, and ducked. She didn’t seem to know how to use a whip effectively, anyway, and once it landed Julie stepped on it, pinning the whip to the ground with her elementally-attuned bare feet.

The dominatrix — Julie was pretty sure it was Odyssey — tried to pull it back for another crack, but Julie’s stance held firm and the whip’s handle tore out of her grip. Julie then slammed the stock of the bent rifle into the dominatrix’s gut, causing her to double over. She tore off the fursuit mask — yeah, it was Odyssey Olusange. She grabbed the stocky black girl by the neck of her fursuit to prevent her ducking or dodging and landed a brutal haymaker against her left cheek, causing her to crumple down stunned. “That one’s for Marvin, you deranged piece of shit!”

Julie swung around, ready to dodge an awkward fur-suited fireaxe-swing, but didn’t have to — its bearer left it alone, and Julie kicked it aside. She ran right at the crowd of protesters, shoving them into one another and trying to trip them up in the awkward fursuits. Whenever she could, she tore off masks. As soon as they were unmasked, their anonymity lost, they seemed to lose the will to fight as well. Once they were subdued, Julie ran up and tore the duct tape off Rich Bonnie’s mouth and arms.

“Julie! Cannibal Fangirl over there brought fireworks! They’re going to set them off in here to disrupt the prom! Also, Fuck-Me Gadget has two cell phones on her that she took from me! Please get them back to me! It’s rilly rilly important! I’m... I’m so sorry I didn’t trust you before now! I get it, okay? I know that Dopey was using me, and I’m sorry. But please get those phones back! It’s my future on the line!”

“Don’t worry, RB. I’ll get it done.”

It was less dramatic than Rich Bonnie probably expected. After all, the AFHU kids had seen how Tana and Odyssey had gone down. Julie walked up to the strap-on bearer and tore off his fursuit mask. Flair Garrett wasn’t a hard kid to recognize — man-bun, chin piercings and spiky, gelled-up cyan hair. His presence really didn’t surprise Julie. He raised his hands, terrified, folding like a little bitch with Tana and Odyssey down. ‘Gadget’ turned out to be Kaylee Albescu. I knew she was bitter and felt a bit alienated from the popular crowd, but she always seemed nice and well-adjusted too. It’s a bit of a shock, and a disappointment, to find her in this crowd. I wonder if she’s gay or was just given the costume. “Give me both phones or get punched out.”

Kaylee glanced down at Tana and obeyed. Julie handed both phones to Rich Bonnie, then pulled out her own phone and called the police. She took the duffel bag full of fireworks, unzipped it and emptied it into the same punch bowl the banana clip had gone in. RB ran to a quiet corner of the hall clutching her precious phones. Julie went into the corridor and forced the remaining terrorists into the dance-hall, tearing off their fursuit heads and confiscating their weapons. A bunch in the back had fled into the hotel corridors, but she caught about eight of them. There was no way they’d all stay mum about who the others were when the police arrived.

There was no fight in them at all. They were all quick to swear to her that Tana brought the gun, and that was never part of their plan. Julie believed that, honestly. The samurai sword had no edge — it was a prop from the school’s drama club. They didn’t want anyone to get hurt. They just wanted to disrupt the prom. With fireworks, apparently. Tana was psycho — they were just protesters! Honest, Officer Krupke!

The furry terrorists were perplexed that everyone was ignoring them. Stripped of their weapons and masks, they looked so utterly pitiful. Julie left them to their own devices until the police arrived. She followed them as they mingled into the huge crowd clustered around the center of the room.

DB had escaped from the Coordinator’s clutches at some point. Julie saw her, wrapped in what looked like a blanket, sitting and looking miserable in the corner of the room. Dikscheide was still going strong, though. She was getting reamed in the ass by a really buff, macho-looking dude — probably one of the hotel’s lower-paid staff who didn’t care too much about his job, since his real calling clearly involved bodybuilding. Even this wasn’t enough for her, though. Her mind seemed totally melted by lust. “Cock! I want more! Fuck me! Fuck me! I need your cocks!”

One student actually had the stones to take her up on the offer. Troy walked right up to her, and she grabbed his belt aggressively, tearing at his dress slacks. “Wait,” he said. “Before we can do this, we need to establish explicit consent. Do you explicitly consent to suck my cock on your hands and knees?”

If any part of her perceived the mockery of her ideology, it never reached her face. “Yes! Yes!”

“And do you consent to let me slap you around a bit like the dirty little whore you are?”

“Oh, god, yes, do it! Do it! I need it rough!”

“And do you consent to receive a big sticky load of creamy goodness all over your face?”

“Yes! Yes! Now! Gimme-gimme-gimme!”

So Troy, ever the joker, picked up a big chunk of cake covered with custard filling, grabbed the Coordinator by her hair and smeared the cake all over her face. Sweat and exertion had cleaned her face and body somewhat, but this undid that, leaving her features again obscured by sticky yellow custard and chunks of cake. Julie laughed in spite of herself. So did everyone else. It was a legit funny gag, and probably what Troy had set out to do. He grinned and bowed like a standup comedian.

Flair Garrett looked like he was going to cry, if he could just stop being confounded long enough to do so. It was a bit psycho that this was still going on, and no adults were putting a stop to it. The wiseass running the renegade sound system had cued up Ride of the Valkyries.

The Coordinator didn’t seem to care that Troy had caked her. She was still desperately pawing at his fly, mad with sexual need. Julie could see the indecision on his face — this was all fun, payback and jock status games, but there were still dozens of students filming this. Hormones and ego won out, though. He unzipped his fly, and the Coordinator’s hot, needy mouth wrapped around his half-chub, pumping eagerly up and down on it until it was a full flagstaff. Julie wondered if Troy was ruining his life, but ultimately didn’t care too much. He made her laugh on occasion, but he could also be a real jackass at times. She sure thought it was hot, though. Troy glanced out across the crowd, taking in their shock and admiration and making a grandiose “yeah, I’m doing it” kind of gesture like a stripper pumping up a crowd.

It was clear the Coordinator really knew how to polish a cock. The asexual thing must have been a total brazen lie, even before her spell came into play. That made sense to Julie, honestly. The Coordinator had come off as a bit of a closet pervert to her before — stroking her hair during their confrontation in her office, stacking books on the backs of kneeling boys in their boxers, intentionally intimidating students with her sexuality. Her ideology allowed her to be overtly sexual, but it didn’t permit (or at least didn’t encourage) conventional sexuality. She was supposed to loathe the kind of sex appeal the Stallions and Angels represented — but she very clearly didn’t, and as any sexologist could tell you no amount of ideological zeal is capable of altering the basic nature of one’s sexuality. That applies, as it happens, just as much to conventional or majority sexualities as it does to more minority or niche ones.

Flair Garrett shoved his way forward, reaching out to the Coordinator. It may have been chivalric — an effort to protect his icon from something she would have loudly decried as degrading at any other time. But there was something jealous, desperate and Freudian mixed in there as well. He reached Troy and shoved him in the gut with both hands, making his cock pop out of her mouth as he staggered back in surprise. “Get away from her! She deserves better than an uncouth ape like you!”

Flair wrapped an arm protectively around Dikscheide. “Come on, Miss Dikscheide. We need to get you out of here.”

She shoved him aside roughly. “Leave me alone, you sniveling little twerp! You have no idea how many problems you and your inane little freakshow have caused me, and you think I want you? I need a real man!”

And with that, Troy stepped back in place so the Coordinator could get back to being righteously double-teamed. That actually looks really fun, Julie thought. Assuming you’re not setting fire to your entire career and reputation to fuck your students on film, obviously. But still, in dreams...

Flair just stared at his political mentor, moaning on her knees as she took two cocks at the same time — neither of them his — and started sobbing softly. Julie would have more sympathy if she hadn’t just thwarted his boldly progressive plot to blow up the prom.

Troy didn’t last too long — what man would, under the circumstances? He pulled out of Dikscheide’s mouth and, holding her head up by a fistful of neon red hair, sprayed a load of fresh, hot baby batter directly into her right eye. She yelped and grunted at the stinging pain even as her other lover continued to drill her. Troy grinned, still holding up the Coordinator’s cum-streaked head by the hair with one hand even as he made grandiose gestures to the audience with the other. “Bullseye, motherfuckers! Perfect aim! Do I know how to handle a hoe or what?”

The Coordinator looked exhausted beyond reason at this point, but even still her ingrained reaction still kicked in. “Subtextual sexual violence will not be toler—MMPH!”

Her whole body tensed in involuntary, mid-sentence orgasm. The staffer ass-fucking her had presumably learned to put up with her apparent lunacy, as he just kept his hands on her hips and kept pumping. Troy didn’t stop coming — unleashing two years of accumulated resentment and tension in fifteen seconds, he painted a white clinging spiderweb all over the Coordinator’s face. Then he grinned like the buffoon he was and waved to the crowd. “Hey, anyone wanna guess my favorite superhero?”

The crowd laughed and jeered, almost drowning out the shocking twist that came next. Honest words tumbled unconsidered out of Alison Dikscheide’s mouth mid-orgasm — the long-repressed, shameful personal truth that had deformed her whole psyche for over a decade now, begetting so many warped and convoluted rationalizations. “Subtextual sexual violence is really fucking hot,” she gasped.

A few people laughed, mostly at how humiliating those words would be to the Coordinator later — but they struck Julie like a freight train. It was true, she realized, even if it was anything but woke. How much consensual sex had its eroticism driven at the very core by a non-consensual or violent fantasy, separated by as many layers of subtext and indirection as the participants found to be the most comfortable? Even beyond the realm of non-con and violence, was anyone’s true sexuality capable of being politically correct? There was an almost palpable sterility and impotence around the concept, Julie felt, and that was even before one started talking about “oppressive standards of beauty” and such.

Lorcan’s dream had proven it was true for Julie, at least. She suspected it was true for a lot of other girls as well. It was why the feminists hated Twilight and Fifty Shades and 365 Days and so many others — not because they were in any way innovative or shocking but because in the Panopticon Age where everything was tracked and measured by Big Data they became a public barometer of how popular certain unacceptable fantasies were with women. In so doing they left the whole feminist movement with egg on their faces. Julie glanced down at the Coordinator and snorted. Well, if not egg then at least something white and sticky...

Cameras flashed, and the Coordinator moaned and shivered as her orgasm rippled through her body. The stud drilling her ass pulled out and emptied his own load onto her bare back. And then, after well over ten orgasms in one evening, physiology finally took its toll. Her head drooped and reeled as post-orgasmic fatigue set in and she collapsed to the food-splattered floor like a sack of potatoes — passed out stone cold from over-exertion.

The furry terrorists were utterly morose, ideologically broken. Julie did allow herself to take some pleasure in the ultimate downfall of the AFHU. They had put so much effort into the bizarre costumes, vulgar placards and elaborate scheme; they had commit criminal acts under the assumption they possessed impunity that the evening’s events had thrown into serious doubt. All these sacrifices they had made to grab attention, and they still had to accept the fact that their little stunt hadn’t even cracked the top five list of the most interesting things to happen at prom this year. Their fellow students simply didn’t care that much about them, their protest, their cause or their failure.

With the Coordinator unconscious, it was like her hold on the faculty was broken. The adults struggled to restore order to an increasingly raucous crowd. Rich Bonnie deleted her own nudes, then mailed the blackmail video of DB and the Coordinator fucking in the restroom to everyone on DB’s friends list. The police arrived soon after. They arrested Tana, Flair Garret and Odyssey Olusange, and ID’d the other furry terrorists for questioning later after taking a statement from Julie. They viewed video of Dikscheide fucking her students from many, many available sources and decided to take her into protective custody as well, especially as she was unconscious. They asked Decepticon Bonnie if she wanted to file a report or lay any charges. She didn’t. Then the officers declared the prom to be over and ushered the MWA students out of the hotel.

The prom wasn’t over, though. Everyone was wired, and the students didn’t want to go home — they wanted to party! As it happens, the jocks had brought their own sound system in accord with the tradition, and set up ghetto blasters in a wide-open green area a few blocks from the hotel. An informal outdoor rave began. The dancing was wild, free and ebullient — everyone had figured out that the Coordinator was not going to be a tyrannical power in their lives after this night, and they felt liberated. Well, many of them. The portion of the student body more aligned with social justice quickly fled, well aware that jocks actively resented them and they might no longer be protected. A shadow had been lifted from Magnolia West Academy, and everyone could feel it in their bones.

“Check it out,” Marjorie Watkins was telling 80s-hair Bonnie and Donny Broekner. “#GetWokeGoBrokeFuckThePromCake is trending on Twitter!”

Indeed it was. Students compared views on their videos of the evening’s festivities on various social media sights, laughing and cheering. It would be deleted quickly, of course — at least, the non-PG videos, but there was enough sources and interest in the bizarre events that it would get reposted everywhere. There was no way to suppress it.

Lorcan and Toshia were also nowhere in sight, which made the victory feel a bit more ambivalent to Julie. Of course, their reasons for absconding could just as easily have been romantic instead of safety-oriented. The reporters from Vox and MSDNC made their way around the crowd, eager to figure out what had happened and what they could source. The Vox lady zeroed in on Decepticon Bonnie, who had been given jeans and a t-shirt and was waiting dejectedly for a cab home. She still had icing in her hair. Julie watched the tail end of her interview from a safe distance. “Do you think it’s possible Miss Dikscheide was in an altered state of mind at the time of the incident?”

Decepticon Bonnie shrugged, dazed by recent events, and seized on her instinct of shifting blame to others. “I don’t know. As far as I know, she’s usually not on anything harder than pot, Valium, fentanyl, Quaaludes, blotter acid, New Wave zippers, adrenochrome, synthetic Heaven and Cuban speedballs. And occasionally she also sniffs glue — or so I’ve heard.”

“Ah,” the pretty newscaster said, at a loss for words. DB just sounded so innocent, so sincere — as she always did in her slander. “I see.”

The MSDNC reporter, meanwhile, eventually found and cornered Julie. “Miss Lambert! Miss Lambert! Can I ask you a few questions?”

“I suppose.”

“Miss Lambert, I’ve talked to a lot of different people tonight, and I’ve heard from multiple sources that one student involved in tonight’s incident was also involved in a slut-shaming campaign against you. I’ve also heard that the scandal around Miss Dikscheide’s actions tonight may have emboldened reactionary elements in the student body that would be more tolerant of those attitudes. How do these things make you feel?”

What a carefully constructed question. Julie chose her response with equal care. “It’s true that I’ve had people attack me for showing overt sex appeal at school, and spread false rumors about me. I don’t really know who’s behind it, but Bonnie Kellerman’s acceptance speech may have played a role in it. And it’s true that slut-shaming has definitely made my life more difficult over this last year at school.

“But I can’t say I considered Alison Dikscheide to be a friend or ally, either, even before... whatever it was that went down tonight. Her approach to complex social problems like slut-shaming has always been to point a metaphorical gun at society and demand change — and I’m sure you know, if you’ve interviewed other students, how much resentment built up around that. Cultural authoritarianism is always a losing strategy. It hurts the people it claims to fight in the name of and ultimately only serves to benefit those seeking power for the sake of power.

“Sometimes people do, or believe, ignorant things. That’s never going to change, and trying to fight against it with harsher and harsher methods just creates new problems and deepens existing ones. If people want to call me a slut, well, fine. They actually have a right to do that, to express their opinion. I just try to find the ones that don’t, and hang out with those people. Really, they’re in the majority. It’s better than getting all angry and giving the jerks a reaction. And honestly, it works — in spite of all the rumors, I have a lot of good friends here at MWA and I’ve had a great year overall.”

“Yes, yes, so I’ve heard. Tell me — do you think the social backlash against Miss Dikscheide’s initiatives here at Magnolia may have contributed to the tragic mental breakdown she seems to have suffered tonight?”

“I’m sorry. I’m not personally acquainted enough with Miss Dikscheide to offer any speculation about the motives behind her actions or choices.”

“I see, I see. Well, thank you again for your time, Miss Lambert.”

Then Julie reached forward and pulled the audio cable out of the bottom of the microphone being thrust into her face. “One other thing. Since, as you yourself have directly stated, this story involves slut-shaming, please be aware that you explicitly do not have my consent to use my name or personal details in your story, unless you are prepared to make a case that sharing it is necessary to the public interest. Please also be aware that I know what both MRC and FAIR are, and I know how to file a complaint with either or both.”

The journalist blinked, then laughed sardonically. “Yeah, make sure you tell the Vox chick that. It’s more their style than ours.”

Funny, she said the exact same thing. But Julie just nodded placidly. “Don’t worry; I already have.”

“So, you’re interested in journalism?”

No, I just learned how to defend myself from it. But she was, as always, calm and polite. “It’s one path I’ve thought about, certainly — honestly, my college majors aren’t pinned down yet. I need to finish high school first.”

So the reporters moved on.

Julie danced. Not with anyone, just in general. It felt good. After a time, it started to rain. Everyone kept dancing. She turned up the heat just a bit, bringing out some sexier dance moves — well aware that her ostrich-feather dress was getting wet and clinging to her body. It felt good — to be wanted, to tease, to have people’s attention focused on her. It felt like victory. She brought out some steamier moves, and she realized she’d told MSDNC the truth. Well, sort of. She could just stop dancing. Why, though? Teasing people would get more people having dreams about her, and she did plan to keep up her nocturnal adventures.

And yeah, sure — some people would call her a slut. If she was being honest, they would do that even without Decepticon Bonnie to gin it all up. So what? So some people would disrespect her. Most wouldn’t care. The truth was, as long as you stayed in control being a bit slutty was fun. It was worthwhile. It made you friends, and it brought you joy. Why not do it?

Julie had thought back frequently on all the intense dream-sex she’d had over the last year of her life. It led her to a simple but inescapable and oddly profound conclusion. There is a simple magic formula that will transform the vast majority of everyday girls in the world into utter, wanton sluts in under a year. You simply take away all the negative consequences of wanton sluttery, as dreams do. Raging hormones then become the dominant incentive. Fun ensues. Well, perhaps — a lot of girls her age were more interested in romance and relationships than she was. But she wasn’t alone in adoring her sexuality — looking out at the crowd, she could see that clearly.

Other girls danced sexy too, out in the rain. A few of them had tops even more see-through than hers. Some students filmed Julie, but the other dancers kept out of the camera-eye. Their performances were more personal. Julie flirted with the lenses, gloried in teasing them, swiveling her hips. She loved the feeling of the wet grass against her bare feet. She loved attention — most cheerleaders did. By the time the last song reached its climax, she had to admit her moves had gotten really saucy. There were dozens of guys staring at her with raging boners. Well, great — more possible dreams to visit in the near future. Really, it’s not like she was going to become the scandal of the night, now, was she? She could be fairly naughty and no one would ever comment, after what Dikscheide had done.

She was still enrapt in the bliss of dance when things abruptly went political. Pink Highlights Bonnie had grabbed a microphone from the jock-DJ and got up on the roof of an old, ruined car as a kind of improvised stage. She had something to say, and she wanted people to hear it. “Listen to me, all of you! This doesn’t end with Alison Dikscheide! She’s just a symptom of a much bigger problem, and that problem is wokeness! We all have to stand up and deal with the problem!

“They think they can install a new ideology and gaslight people that it’s just ‘common sense and human decency’, when it’s neither humane, decent nor sensible! They think they can treat members of races and genders as fungible, and affix to them moral debts for crimes committed centuries before they were born! They think they can frighten their critics into silence by accusing us of bigotry! They think we can’t tell the difference between education and indoctrination! Well, we can! You who believe the promises of wokeness, consider this: racism and sexism are both literally older than written language! Did you seriously think these immemorial banes of humanity could be wiped out with ham-handed propaganda, neon hair dye, race rioting and a grass-roots surveillance state? Anyone who has studied history knows better than that! We all know what Marx and Lenin promised the working class, and what came after the October Revolution!

“We know the alchemy of idealism and outrage that ultimately built the government-by-intelligence-agency that is even now bombing innocent Ukrainian civilians in their homes! Isn’t that how it always turns out, when you give leftists unchecked power? Look at Russia, China, Venezuela, Cuba, Zimbabwe! They’ve largely abandoned their ideology, their egalitarianism, their bold dream of fighting for the working class — but the expanded state power, the witch hunts, the terror, the authoritarianism brought in under the pretext of implementing that ideology? That endures long after the dream dies and the ideology is forgotten.

“Say what you want about fascism — there’s a lot to say and it’s all really, really bad — but it burns itself out. Germany, Italy, Spain and Japan are all pretty democratic and open these days. The states that had these big populist-leftist revolutions? Not so much. I tell you now, the social justice movement champions minority groups in exactly the same sense the communists champion the working class — and with strikingly similar, and strikingly permanent, outcomes!”

Jesus, she’s a little ball of pink-streaked fury! Agree or disagree, everyone in the audience could feel PHB’s devotion to her own oratory. It was probably also the only night she’d be able to give a speech like this without being shouted down by woke students. She apparently hadn’t been keeping up with electoral politics in Italy, though — not that Julie really wanted to nitpick her. She continued, spit flecking her lips as her oratory rose to its crescendo.

“Well, we have a choice! We still now live in a free nation and I say to you this day: Reject Their Revolution! We can think! We will not be condescended to! We will not be told that racism is now anti-racist, that two plus two is five, that hamsters are patriarchal or that any of this is, or ever was, normal! Reject Their Revolution! We have a choice! We will no longer abide being gnawed at by the rabid hamsters of social justice! We can do it! Reject Their Revolution! If you are tired of living in constant fear, if you’re not sure what you are and aren’t even allowed to say anymore, if you’re wondering when things are going to go back to normal — be aware that you have to make things go back to normal! You have to Reject Their Revolution! We are Generation Z! We are set to inherit the world! We don’t have to repeat the Millennials’ mistakes! The woke only have as much power as we choose to give them! REJECT THEIR REVOLUTION!”

The whole crowd started chanting ‘Reject Their Revolution’ along with PHB. Then there was a big cheer — and then PHB stood there, suddenly a bit confused. She wasn’t quite sure what to do after the speech — there’s no script for that because it’s where a movie scene would cut. She scampered away, though, as she saw the reporters looking to corner her. At least she knew it was in her best interests not to do interviews.

Aw, Jesus, Julie flinched in sympathy. Yeah, the chick from Vox caught PHB’s firebrand speech on camera, and the MSDNC guy looks disgusted. The die, as they say, is cast. She’s gonna get double-plus extra cancelled. Still, PHB said what she said. It was her life and her choice to make. Julie sympathized with the sentiment — she just didn’t think it was tactically prudent to say it so overtly. But it was done now, and will probably change the direction of her life — for better or worse. Well... good for her, at least, for standing up for her beliefs. Whatever else might be said, there would probably never be another moment in Bonnie Díaz’s life that would be as perfect a time to deliver that monologue, before an audience so primed to consider and embrace it.

The crowd cheered aggressively, totally on PHB’s side. The DJ played Another Brick In The Wall right after her speech. Well, Julie thought, that song probably had to show up eventually. It was a fitting anthem for the last few months of their lives, even if the singer was both a leftie and a Russian sympathizer.

Chinese Bonnie elbowed Julie and whispered to her, grinning. “Workers of the world, disband! You have everything to lose — your liberty, prosperity, individuality and even your lives...”

Julie wasn’t sure if CB was mocking PHB’s speech or celebrating it — probably a bit of both. It was CB, after all.

The student body of Magnolia West Academy danced the night away, resplendent in their feeling of newfound freedom, and Julie danced with them. For once, somehow, the future actually seemed vaguely hopeful again.

June, 2024. Julie Lambert.

The Coordinator’s fall from grace was apocalyptic. Julie never again saw her in-person after prom night. As soon as she got home, though, she dismantled both curse-boxes. Both of her enemies had done more than enough to destroy themselves already — making either act irrational any longer would simply appear to give them a mental health excuse for their behavior. As it was, DB was simply a girl who couldn’t lie well, and all the Coordinator’s erratic behavior was limited to the privilege walk and the prom itself. It could be seen as a credible if extreme psychotic break in a sexually repressed person under pressure.

Journalists swarmed the school, but faculty didn’t let them inside. The Coordinator was arrested, and remanded for psychiatric evaluation (which, as the curse-box was dismantled, she passed). Media attention focused on her activities as a corrupt activist, however. It obviously came out that she’d fixed the prom for the girl she fucked very quickly — Janet Virmire gave interviews about being intimidated by her into fixing the ballots. Media notice also came to the borderline-abusive privilege walks, with the sobbing students and jocks kneeling in their underwear. Even that, though, was not the biggest scandal.

Alison Dikscheide had covered up rapes and tried to orchestrate a hate crime. She’d tried to goad Toshia Köhler into running for prom queen, while also using sockpuppets to agitate far-right students into ‘punishing her arrogance’. The plan fell apart when one of her self-selected fascists, Donny Broekner, softened his views midway through the semester. Being a paranoid conspiracy nut, he’d figured out some technical similarities between her DEO and sockpuppet postings, and brought this to the attention of her boyfriend Lorcan Flannigan. And that, as they say, was that. Lorcan and Donny gave their evidence to reporters on both sides of the fence, and Dikscheide confessed a week later.

The DEO was entirely scrapped, and the Student Services Office was quickly reinstated. The story made national news. Wokeness got a lot less popular nationally, for the duration of the current news cycle at least. Randy Beumiller and Jim Peterson had their expulsions rescinded. The Stallions were re-instated in time to play the final game of the school year. All the sensitivity training was scrapped.

There were a lot of faculty heads on the chopping block for letting the scene at the prom go on as long as it did — and for letting Dikscheide have free reign at the school even before that — but one thing the PTA, school board and City Council all agreed on was that the school year would finish normally and the students would graduate on time. After missing one year due to COVID and ‘equity,’ the parents and the powers that be simply would not tolerate another lost year under any circumstance. So Julie’s final month of school went down in a manner so normal as to be surreal, under the circumstances.

Dwight Pendelaro got outed as the locker room recorder during the investigation of the DEO, and several dads were discussing a lawsuit against his family. Brett Tollard caught up with him after graduation and beat the shit out of him. His family decided not to press charges. MWA did, indeed, make it on Carlson. Again. Repeatedly.

The scandal became a national talking point during election season due to its combination of salacious appeal, political context, mockability, labyrinthine twists and sheer bizarreness. It was like the January 6th hearings, but with hamsters, cake and titty vids instead of nerdy PowerPoint demos — which was probably why people actually paid attention to it. It affected the national discourse and seriously fucked with the Democratic primaries, as the DNC swerved to try to get a less woke candidate for president in — Julie expected them to end up with a fairly sane centrist instead of the presumptive Squad puppet, though it wasn’t clear how long it would be in court. Still, she thought it an optimistic sign for the direction of the nation when a presidential election included a viable, major-party candidate who wasn’t a deranged narcissist. There might even be two of them, depending how the Republican primaries went.

Alison Dikscheide faced a wide variety of legal charges, and pundits predicted her trials would draw national attention and help to tear down or at least retard the very social movement she had devoted her life to promoting. It was not a great time for progressive politics overall, but if there was one thing the notoriously schismatic progressives could agree on it was how much they all hated Alison Dikscheide and her utilitarian non-ethics. As a figure of national ridicule akin to Jussie Smolett, she did not have a bright career ahead of her.

Troy earned ever-lasting bro-cred and kudos from the fraternity set for getting his rod polished by the Coordinator at prom. Miraculously, he didn’t get expelled for fucking a faculty member — likely because the interim administration didn’t want to justify any expulsions while the scandal was still boiling. He was slowly realizing his act was going to define him for the rest of his life, however — he was all over the tabloids. At least he had clear verbal consent on record!

His athletic scholarship offers all dried up instantly, of course. It wasn’t clear if he’d get accepted by any university at this point, given his ‘fame’. If he did, it would probably be a party school with influential frats. That suited him, and his grades were mediocre anyway. Julie had heard rumors he was thinking of opening an OnlyFans after graduation. He was handsome and ripped enough to pull it off, but he didn’t exactly have a giant cock and even if he did those platforms weren’t as generous to hot straight guys as they were to pretty girls. But Julie didn’t think her spell influenced Troy, so his future wasn’t her top concern. Given his publicity and the scandal footage, ending up some kind of dudebro-flavored influencer might actually be his best outcome.

By the end of July, Roborovski hamsters were designated an invasive species in Hobbs State Park. By the end of August, that applied to the state of Arkansas as a whole — recent heat waves and other effects of climate change had altered the biome just enough for them to take hold explosively, as it more came to resemble their native desert habitat. This also meant everyone in Arkansas learned about Marvin’s experiment and the AFHU — and which side genuinely bore the blame. Stories of his abuse got out, and at least in Arkansas public sympathy was firmly on his side. Bringing an AK-47 to prom tends to polarize public opinion, after all — even if that was the one and only thing the actual AFHU members probably weren’t complicit in. All the TikTok videos they made describing their Utopian hamster experiment turned out not to hold up so well when viewed with interest from outside their normal ideological bubble.

After graduation, Marvin secured a very lucrative contract with the State of Arkansas for a patent on a humane chemical sterilant designed for use on hamsters. How much it was a sympathy prize could be debated, but his stuff did work. He also started getting in shape and looked better — well, somewhat — and Julie heard he and Pink Highlights Bonnie were going steady. She might still be a bit out of his league, but at this point they definitely had things in common, and she likely felt she had a debt to him as well. So maybe the kid wasn’t so dumb after all. He still sucked at algebra, though.

PHB did also get her fifteen minutes of fame. Her speech went viral, getting tens of millions of views on YouTube. She got a bunch of news interviews, a guest appearance on Gutfeld and a book deal — and stood to make a ton of money. She even got an invitation to an interview at a Chappelle comedy special. She actually rejected a Carlson appearance in spite of a five-figure payout — she couldn’t abide his attitude to the Ukraine war (among other things). Principled young lady. Tucker might say things that needed to be said at times, but he was also a cunt in a wide variety of different ways.

Still, PHB was in demand. That was good, Julie reasoned, since in the age of the smartphone words are forever and no publicly traded corporation would ever dare hire her. Her career choices were now likely limited to celebrity blogger, Vox News anchor, talk radio pundit or a constant stream of low-paying precarious jobs before the woke mob again managed to find and pressure her employer du jour to let her go. Actually, she was probably pretty well set up to be a firebrand pundit — she was pretty, wholesome, smart, politically erudite and strikingly charismatic when she wanted to be. Julie wasn’t sure how that life would affect her anxiety issues, though. Whether or not her fate was overall a positive one remained to be seen.

“I had to do it,” she confessed Julie on her last night in Bentonville. “I knew that speech wasn’t wise, but it was necessary. If I just kept thinking it and never said it, I wouldn’t be able to keep looking myself in the mirror every morning. I’d have put a bullet in my head eventually. As screwed as I realize I am on some fronts right now, I feel weirdly optimistic. It’s like a weight has been lifted from my shoulders. Whatever else happens, at least I’m not holding it all in any more.”

Julie nodded. “When one listens to a debate that transfixes society and comes to the conclusion that both sides are equally psychotic and detached from reality, it becomes a moral duty to speak out. Mere sanity becomes the most eminent of all qualifications for punditry.”

PHB grinned. “You do get it.”

“I just hope everything turns out okay for you. Get money and save it. Make contacts. Don’t get used as a puppet by the far right, and never trust anyone that says they’re your friend. There are people out there right now sitting in their homes, premeditatedly brainstorming the most effective ways to destroy your reputation, your whole life. Be careful.”

“Oh, Julie, you’re so wise, and so weird — but you’re also so cautious. We’re teenagers. Sometimes the world needs teenagers to be foolish and just seize the moment. We’re like cosmic radiation. We bend and break rules so that newer, better systems emerge in their place. Teenagers are society’s antibodies against authoritarianism.”

“You’re right, PeeBee, and at the end of the day you’re braver than I am. I salute you.”

“I owe you, though. I really do. You listen, and you point things out. That speech I made... I mean, you can probably tell I’d thought a lot of it out ahead of time. It was things I needed to say, even if I didn’t know if there’d ever be a good opportunity to say them. I was... if we didn’t each say what we did, back in the cafeteria, that speech... I would have said things harsher. Like that men are men and women are women, and anyone else thinking otherwise is fucked up and needs help. It’s easy, when your future has been fucked up by woke people, to end up leaning too far the other way. I’m glad those aren’t the words I went on public record with. It still would have sold, I think, but I wouldn’t be as proud of it.”

Julie hugged PHB. No one spoke for a minute or so. “I believe,” Julie finally said softly, “that the world will be sane again. Someday. I believe Americans will once again be one people undivided — and not under the terms of the woke, either. And I believe you brought that day closer than it otherwise would have been.”

PHB nodded. “It’s a dream worth fighting for, even if it gets you cancelled and wrecks your future. And, in the end, I do believe those things too. Optimism is good. We need more of it.”

Julie just hugged her friend. There was nothing else she left to say. PHB had jumped on a grenade for her. Without her speech, media attention might have focused far more on Julie herself and her role in thwarting the AFHU. She knew PHB had done what she couldn’t — an Adept could never attract that kind of publicity. It would make them a liability to the True Lodges. She’d have to be more distant with Bonnie Díaz in the future, to keep her out of the twilight world she lived in. She’d still keep an eye out for her, though. She owed her that, at least. Maybe I wasn’t the Mockingjay, or the protagonist in any of those other cheesy YA dystopian novels. Maybe I was just a supporting character that gives the real hero a bit of wisdom and support when she needs it most...

Julie had never intended the curse-box to lead to events as flashy and overt as what went down at her prom. It didn’t exactly violate the Praei Silentum, but it brushed the edges of it by drawing so much mundane media attention. So she underwent a period of quiet tension and fear for a few days after everything went down. Surely some other Adepts would suspect esoteric intervention in the Magnolia West Academy scandal. As it turned out, though, she needn’t have worried.

The True Lodges had a deep respect for the British monarchy dating back to Robert Boyle, Sir Francis Drake, Doctor Dee and the Royal Society. They weren’t very woke to begin with, and after the way leftist intelligentsia treated Elizabeth II — on the very day of her passing, no less — the philosophy of wokeism wasn’t going to be making any grand inroads into Hermetic circles. So Julie knew she needn’t be worried about occult retaliation — at least, not from the True Lodges proper, and she was still under their protection as a Practicus.

Lord Elkridge, Magister Templi and Imperator of the Royal Academy of Esoteric Studies, called her up to invite her to London — at his expense! — to share a few glasses of bourbon. Certainly a prestigious honor in the occult world. So she called in sick to school for three days, boarded a private Cessna Citation Longitude and took in a pub crawl Mahogany Row style beside a duo of British aristocrats with a solid five centuries of life experience between them.

The overall subtext was that people in high places were both amused by her actions, and pleased with their impact on the national political discourse. That was important, as it meant less people would want to kill her — and her political protection was very much affirmed. The True Lodges had pulled strings to keep her name and role in thwarting the AFHU downplayed in the media, for which she was grateful. She was even able to secure something of an aegis for Lorcan, who ended up on registries as a friend to the True Lodges.

The pendulum, tragically, was still swinging. Perhaps Julie and PHB had slowed it ever so slightly. That was, really, as much as any human being could hope for. They was still just two out of 8.1 billion, Adept or not. Julie knew she had no right to expect more. It looked like the Republicans were surging on culture war issues. Most of them wanted to ban drag queens and CRT in classrooms (wonderful!), criminalize social media censorship (great!) or even ban corporate diversity training in general (nifty!) — but a bunch also wanted a universal ban on gender-affirming surgery (definitely not wonderful!), and some kooks even wanted to revert gay marriage (comedically stupid as both strategy and policy). Everyone on both sides still seemed to be running the Rule of Dopamine electoral strategy.

A gubernatorial candidate in Missouri ran on the total trans-ban platform — and polls said, at the height of the Dikscheide scandal, he was set to win. Julie, being responsible for the scandal, felt a need to do something. By a complicated stratagem she obtained a sympathetic link and built a curse-box for him similar to DB’s — just making him more candid and open with his true views. It was entertaining, seeing him spontaneously explain the true and secret meaning behind the Book of Revelation during a live Vox News interview. After that, the polls certainly did not have him in a winning position. Why are these kinds of theocrats never theologically literate? Similar candidates at least dialed back their more radical rhetoric for a brief time.

She didn’t feel at all comfortable with this, though. It again risked attracting attention from other Adepts, and the ethics were deeply questionable. I’m acting like one of the Secret Masters of History, now, deciding politics with means mundanes aren’t even aware exist! It’s morally grotesque! Radicalism can not cure radicalism! If she was serious about slowing the pendulum, she reasoned, more mundane and patient methods would be called for. Over the next year she could get on Robin Hood and get together money to donate to sane and moderate politicians. That was how the system was supposed to work, right? Slowing PHB’s pendulum could become a lifetime calling, honestly. She had to think more about if that’s what she wanted from her life, and if so how she wanted to approach it.

Decepticon Bonnie’s final month of school was not an especially enjoyable one. If it went on longer than a month, Julie would have felt pretty bad. She essentially became an outcast, trying to avoid other students as much as possible. Julie never sought direct retaliation for DB’s theft of the tiara. She didn’t set anything up. She didn’t have to — she had suitors. Lots of them. She was, after all, the Dream Girl of Magnolia West Academy. Every boy in school was eager to impress her, and they all knew what DB had done — including the daring, larcenous and creative ones.

It started the week after prom. During the night, someone smuggled a live skunk into the school and hid it in Decepticon Bonnie’s locker. She took it right in the face when she went to get her first period chemistry textbook. She made use of language almost as rancid as the stench, too, as her classmates helped her to the school nurse’s office (as well as expression some rather outré ideas about skunks, chemtrails and Bolivian intelligence agencies — Julie wondered if her curse-boxes were habit-forming).

Three days later, a different enterprising prankster managed to lure an antelope out of Hobbs State Park to the east and into the swimming pool in the back yard of her family’s property. Lest anyone mistake the intent of the deed, said pranksters draped a colorful sash with the words “Affirmative Action Prom Queen” around the beast’s neck which remained there even when Animal Control arrived to contain it. Really, who would try to take such a thing off a panicked antelope?

Do you know the kind of sounds an antelope makes when unexpectedly dropped in water? Well, neither does Julie, and she’s really smart. Bonnie Kellerman does, though.

All of this was really only the lead-up, though. The pièce de résistance came a few nights before graduation. Determined not to be shown up by the previous tricksters, a trio of absolute mad lads stole a helicopter from the local news station, raided the town zoo and air-dropped a meter-long alligator adorned with a similar sash on the roof of Decepticon Bonnie’s house. It was probably just intended as a nuisance to get down. Regrettably, thanks to recent heat waves, she had made the unfortunate decision to sleep with her skylight open.

She didn’t actually get eaten. Rumor has it she did wet herself, though, and get chased through wholesome suburban streets by a somewhat lethargic reptile while clad only in her panties. She did not attend the school graduation ceremony, though she did manage to graduate. She left town very shortly after, changing her name, look and hair color in pursuit of some much-needed anonymity. Bonnie Kellerman had learned, over the period of a month, to really hate the rumor mill.

Even though she had no role in them, the pranks had elevated Julie’s own status in the town’s legendary, making her the archetypal maiden to be won by amusing masculine derring-do. Phone vids of her dancing sexy in a translucent wet dress going viral on the Internet certainly helped with that as well. That nobody won her (in the waking world, at least) didn’t dilute the potency or pathos of the stories. If anything, it made her into an unattainable ideal, and conveyed the idea that merely striving for her attention was a coming-of-age rite in itself. She had been woven into the zeitgeist of a whole generation of horny young men (and no few women). She had not managed to become a prom queen, but she had become a legend instead. It really is better to be loved than feared. It may not last as long, but when it does fade you will still have true friends at your side.

July 17th, 2024. Julie Lambert.

Julie sat in a folding chair out on the main lawn in front of MWA as the acting principal gave a boring, stodgy graduation speech. The remaining Angels — DB and Jen had dropped off the squad after prom — sat together on the left-side front row, while the Stallions sat together on the right side. All the students looked majestic in their cap and gown regalia. “And that’s why this say it’s my especial honor to usher our proud young graduates of MWA into the adult world of social responsibilities and fiscal obligations!”

The pudgy man made a grandiose gesture, and a large banner unfurled across the stage. It had apparently been tampered with, however. “Congratulations! 2024 Graduating Class of the Bentonville School of Erotic Massage!”

The principal stared, horrified. The graduates all burst out laughing. A synth-metal score underscored the outbreak of spontaneous hooting and dancing. Troy stood up and sauntered up to the acting principal, shoving him off the stage and seizing the podium. “Hey, y’all! We’re free! We made it; we survived high school in the age of plague, madness, smart phones and ball-busting bitches like Alison Dikscheide! Now that’s something to celebrate! But going out into the adult world, it’s important to have skills that are both marketable and personally satisfying to practice — and I need to say, for me personally, adult massage is at the top of the list! That’s why I’ve taken the effort to put together a little career skills presentation for all of you today that I think you’ll find pretty entertaining...”

It was a dream, obviously. Technically, it was Troy’s turn to get in a wet dream about Julie — but this one was going to be a bit different than all the others. It was what Julie thought of as a broadcast dream. She’d gotten hair clippings from many of her close friends and contacts when they went as a graduating class for complimentary haircuts, and refined and altered the dream-walking spell to create a kind of communal version. The real graduation had been very sedate and controlled, with police everywhere — the last thing MWA wanted was another formal event spiraling out of control. No student speakers were permitted due to heightened tensions and security was oppressive keeping reporters interested in the Dikscheide scandal out. It was a bit of a drag, honestly — enough so, apparently, that Troy’s fantasy was going to be a better graduation ceremony; a raunchier one.

Julie had set up some ground rules. Anyone could leave the dream any time they wanted. Everyone was under a post-hypnotic suggestion to respect the emerging couples and pairings, even though they all thought it was their own dream. Everyone also knew, on some subconscious level, that this was for fun and there were no real consequences to anything here. Everyone was more relaxed about public sexual things, too, and tended to take what was happening as normal — Julie had strengthened the octagonal mirror warding in her orrery. And no one would remember the dream — a one-time blessing from Hypnos. It had taken a lot of prep-work and mystic energy, but Julie was newly free and felt indulgent. She wanted to share her sense of joy with her friends — and she was sure they were all going to enjoy the celebration.

There were four Asian-style massage tables on stage, complete with bedstands full of towels and massage oil. It looked like props ripped from porn videos more than a real massage parlour either respectable or adult, though. It was at least upscale. Troy grinned. “I’d like to invite Bonnie Conkler, Deon LaVelle, Nora Alders, Bonnie Liu, Marvin Stockman, Bonnie Díaz, Brett Tollard and Bonnie Lowenthal to come up on stage. Yes, it’s mandatory — you should be confident in your new career skills!”

The students hooted and cheered as the selected classmates — about two-thirds of the real people actually in the dream — stepped up. RB, Nora and PHB — the ‘good girls’ — all blushed and looked a bit reluctant. They weren’t, mind you — it was just socially customary for them to act like they were. And sexy — their reluctance was more than a bit sexy to Julie. She wasn’t at all upset at not being called up herself. The dream had imagery taken from Troy’s mind and fantasies, but Julie was in essence writing the dream-script on this one. She had a decisive idea of how she wanted it to end, but she was quite willing to play voyeur for a bit before it got there.

She’d realized being in control would be essential, if she wanted to pull off a big group dream and actually have everyone have fun. Being lucid and aware, and knowing everybody involved fairly well, she trusted herself to script a dream that didn’t cross anyone else’s limits and resulted in a fun time for all. As much as she liked everyone else, she knew she couldn’t trust them that way. After all, they weren’t even aware other people were actually involved.

The students invited on stage lined up. Troy stood between Nora and 8HB to continue his parody speech. “Now, as you all know we’ve had a final year of high school full of fiery ideological debate. I don’t claim to follow these things as closely as some people, but I think the most central question is this: should high school be sexy? Is it still okay to have hot cheerleaders doing sexy dances in skimpy costumes on the football field 2024, and hot jocks railing hot cheerleaders in the parking lot after a big victory? How about you skinny nerds out there, getting way more pussy than anyone gives you credit for — like our resident GOAT Kevin Solentino, who apparently managed to tap two Angels in one night and still had time left over for cock? Anytime I hear people raggin’ on the guy, I just have to laugh. If the very tape you use to condemn him is actually accurate, he’s more of a man than any of you fuckers will ever be!”

That’s an odd sentiment from Troy, who Julie always thought of as one of the jocks more likely to be prejudiced. How much of that was just resentment of the DEO? It’s a shame he was sticking up for Kev in front of an audience he thought was real and Julie knew was imaginary, but at least the sentiment was there. “So what do you all think? Should high school be sexy, or is that inappropriate in 2024? Is the world actually full-on pussified, or are we still allowed to throw wild bingers, put spy cameras in the girls’ locker room, snort cocaine in class and smash total hotties like it’s going out of style? What do you say?”

“Fuck yeah!” the whole student body shouted back in perfect unison (absent Coach Larkin, who looked disturbed). Their agreement probably has something to do with them being imagos from Troy’s imagination, mind you. That didn’t explain Julie’s own cheer, however. Am I developing a fetish for the concept of inappropriate behavior in and of itself? Is that even possible?

“It’s a fascinating question with many different dimensions we could contemplate,” Troy continued, “but let’s all be honest here. Wouldn’t you rather contemplate these dimensions?”

In a single smooth gesture, Troy grabbed the backs of Nora and PHB’s gowns and tore them off — the garments might as well be tissue paper, for all the resistance they put up. For whatever reason, both girls had fancy lingerie on underneath. Nora had a sheer, loose-flowing white nightgown with a ruffled trim; Julie could see the shadow of her nipples and bush through the gossamer fabric. PHB had a black lacy bustier with neon pink highlights matching her money piece, sheer black stockings, a black lace garter belt and lacy wristlets. They both looked absolutely gorgeous, though of course Nora’s abundant assets stole every male gaze. The shocked and defrocked students screamed and covered themselves performatively, yet hardly seem truly traumatized.

The other students on stage laughed at the two girls’ misfortune. Brett ogled Nora’s abundant attributes, laughing, while Marvin only seemed to have eyes for PHB’s girlish frame. With a wicked smirk, 80s-hair Bonnie grabbed Brett and Marvin’s own robes and tore them free. It looked like Troy hadn’t bothered to give the men any underwear whatsoever, so they were buck-naked on stage, hands clasped over their junk. Marvin was Marvin in this dream, not Dorn, but he had a decidedly idealized physique. He’d been working out, Julie knew, together with PHB — but she doubted he’d made that much progress. Well, it was an aspirational vision, then. Pink Highlights Bonnie apparently thought pretty highly of his aspirations, too.

Deon came up behind 80s-hair Bonnie and tore her own robe off in retaliation. Yikes! 8HB definitely got the spiciest lingerie — a kind of body-conformant lacy minidress with an open v-neck fishnet weave. It really made her already impressive cleavage pop — she couldn’t compete with Nora up top, but she could easily be a centerfold. She didn’t bother to cover herself, either, instead biting a fingernail, posing and flashing a flirty look at the crowd. She was such a showoff. Honestly, though, that bod was only a bit idealized — given the time Julie put in at the gym with her, she’d earned the right to flaunt it a bit.

Deon glanced at the other guys, shrugged, and slid off his own robe with a surprisingly suave confidence, letting his cock hang free for just a second before covering it. The girls in the crowd gave a big cheer. Chinese Bonnie grabbed Rich Bonnie’s gown and tore it free, revealing a powder blue satin negligee with white lacy trim. CB goes a bit further, though, grabbing the negligee and tearing it open down the center to reveal RB’s perky little B-cups and smooth innie beaver. “You’re nice now,” she told her sternly, “but over the last semester you’ve still given me a lot of different reasons to do that.”

“Woohoo!” Troy shouted gleefully. “Boobies! The first puppies of the event are out, and it can’t even be blamed on us guys! I mean, who saw that coming?!”

RB didn’t fight back, nor did she employ her characteristic baby-talk. “Yeah,” she said slowly. “You’re probably right.”

CB shucked off her own robe, revealing a low-cut magenta Calvin Klein spandex sports bra and matching panties, both with the signature white elastic bands. It was an outfit no high school girl would consider lingerie, and yet every high school guy would absolutely say was lingerie. Julie wasn’t willing to pick a side, but despite the lack of laciness she thought it made CB look just mouth-watering — pushing up her breasts and showing off her taut tummy.

CB then sauntered up to Troy with her best hip-swiveling walk, and he all but drooled at her. Then she ripped off his own robe with a playful smirk. It was his dream, though, so while all the other guys were naked, he apparently had a slick Armani suit on underneath his robes. Okay, points to Troy, that was actually pretty funny. Troy could be a bit of a douchebro at times, but he also understood how absurd the whole concept could be and that humor made it a bit easier to take. That made him bearable (and even sexy... at times) to Julie’s sensibilities.

“Okay, everyone, time for our career skills demo!”

Troy guided Deon, Marvin, Brett and Nora to lay on their backs on the massage tables. “Bonnie Liu, you’ll be paired with Nora, since we all know you’re comfortable with her and I think girl-on-girl is wicked hot. Speaking of which, you two wanna make out a bit?”

The whole crowd cheered. Nora and CB’s gazes met, and they giggled. “Well,” Nora said, “I guess we could a bit. You know, for the boys.”

They proceeded to kiss in a way that Julie was dead certain wasn’t for the boys at all. Then the separated briefly to catch their breath and stared into each other’s eyes. I guess Troy is being led to fulfill the whole ‘permission fantasy’ aspect like Sleazo did, though I doubt CB and Nora need it at this point. For his part, Troy just grinned madly. He’s really loving the cutup-MC role. “Ladies, that was just —”

“Shut up, Troy,” Chinese Bonnie said, and went back to kissing an eagerly receptive Nora. Troy kept his mouth shut and enjoyed the show. Eventually shy Nora’s hands slid downward to grope and squeeze Chinese Bonnie’s plump ass cheeks, and the girls broke apart in a fit of giggles. Nora got up on the massage table and lay down on her back.

RB got assigned to massage Brett, and PHB was given to Marvin. That left 8HB and Deon, which was honestly a brilliant pairing. She can be such a Veronica at times, reveling in her own elegant bitchiness, and Deon just loves dominant girls...

Big wooden bowls of Nuru gel were brought out. The masseuses rubbed themselves down with it. Lingerie clung and pulchritudinous flesh glistened. In the front row, Julie realized it wasn’t just the girls on stage that were getting a bit moist. She wondered what Troy had given her under her own gown — something with sleeves, apparently, which was odd for lingerie. When Rich Bonnie tossed aside her torn negligee and ran her gel-slick hands over her own nipples, she squealed and squirmed in shock — getting a big cheer from the audience. Other girls showed similar but subtler reactions as the slimy gel soaked into their upper lingerie. The heightened nipple sensitivity from the other dreams must be back in full force, Julie realized, and she hadn’t even had to impose it herself. At least, not consciously.

Then the massages started. The girls initially used their hands. “You’ve got a really muscular back,” RB told Brett conversationally. “It’s kinda sexy.”

“You’re damn right,” he agreed smugly. Brett could be such a douchebro at times. Julie silently imposed a rule on the dream: Brett Tollard won’t be able to get off until Bonnie Lowenthal gets off. That only seemed karmic, she reasoned, given the rumors she’d heard about how their real-life hookup went down on prom night.

“Ladies, ladies,” Troy instructed, “the ancient art of Nuru massage is not just about the hands. It’s about slick, lubed-up bodies sliding all over other slick bodies! It’s about the kind of slippery visuals that make every guy in a four light-minute radius pop an instant raging boner! It’s a vertical lap dance where the no-touching rule has been firmly rescinded and the no-drilling-the-dancer rule usually ends up at least negotiable! Come on girls, put some spirit into it! More importantly, put those sweet titties into it!”

So the slick masseuses started sliding their whole bodies over their assigned subjects. Julie’s eyes flickered over bare male asses, but ended up settling on her best friend’s contented smile as her lover’s breasts slid up and down her back. 8HB was the first one to reach down and fondle her partner’s cock between his legs — Julie saw Deon shiver in response to the unexpected touch. Soon all the girls were doing it, though. And then something unexpected happened.

Pink Highlights Bonnie stood up in shock, clutching her chest. “My lingerie is melting!”

Troy grinned. “You know, there’s a meme going around on the Internet right now — ‘the four words every girl wants to hear’. Well, I doubt they’re going to need a version for guys after today — Pinkie just gave us the definitive article!”

CB looked down at her sports bra in surprise, finding it running down her chest as it turned to goo. The audience cheered. She just shrugged and ran with it, massaging the magenta goo into her chest to work the crowd — and then grinding on Nora’s ass as her extra-sensitive nipples sent erotic electricity rippling through her body. Rich Bonnie had discarded her torn negligee before getting on the table. 8HB watched the remains of her lacy minidress slide down and off her chest — gradually revealing her pert C-cups and hard nipples — and fixed Troy with an arch glare. “I’m not averse to flashing a bit of skin for entertainment value, but ruining luxury lingerie as elegant as mine was is a transgression against the laws of god and man alike. Not a class act, Barrett!”

“You know,” Troy lectured, ignoring 8HB, “this semester we all had to walk past a dumb fat chick covered in pig’s blood to get to our classes for a while. It was supposedly something to do with environmentalism. I don’t know, I didn’t give a fuck. But I need to ask you all now: what does a better job of selling the whole Green ideal — fugly chicks in pig’s blood or hot Angels in my new, eco-friendly water-soluble lingerie? Really, I think the answer is pretty obvious!”

The crowd agreed with Troy, for reasons already established. Julie agreed with him too, though, as apparently did Larkin and Donny. He had some real stage presence going on. He’s clearly been putting in time and actual effort honing his goofball persona into actual comedic chops. I wonder if he can possibly make it big as an influencer? He’s got both the charisma and the initial publicity stunt down...

80s-hair Bonnie ground her pussy on Deon’s ass, but her gaze played across the crowd, flirty and eager for their hungry attention. She was clearly getting off, though more on her own exhibitionism and need for attention than on Deon. Chinese Bonnie was performing a similar action, but it was far more intimate — she was focused wholly on Nora, though she did spare Julie a brief glance and playful wink. PHB was sliding up and down Marvin, but was also whispering back and forth with him.

“Okay, folks, it’s the time you’ve all been waiting for! Guys — time to turn over on your backs! And you too, Nora — we’ve all been waiting to get a good look at that amazing rack of yours!”

Brett, Marvin and Deon all turned over, and three erect cocks pierced into the sky like flagpoles. Nora did as well, her huge glistening natural breasts pooling on her chest and her own twin silos rivaling the boys’ for attention if not actual size. Brett glanced around. “You see? We all knew who had the biggest cock here!”

Deon shrugged. He just didn’t have time for locker room bullshit when there was a hot, greased-up woman eager to slide her body all over him. Marvin, on the other hand, looked hurt. “Hey,” Pink Highlights Bonnie said defensively. “He’s a grower, not a shower — trust me, I know!”

Julie couldn’t help but grin. Yeah, I was right — PHB and Marvin are so totally a couple; they look out for each other, and it’s adorable!

Troy smirked. “Maybe you can convince him to put on a growth spurt we can settle this critical matter?”

PHB grinned. “I sure can!”

Troy was probably expecting some kind of sexy show or dance, but PHB instead knelt down and passionately kissed him. When she finished, the results were clear — Brett and Marvin were about the same, at six inches or so. 8HB actually conjured a tape measure and measured each boy, confirming that Marvin was a quarter of an inch longer. Julie thought it was simultaneously inane and amusing. Deon seemed to actually get off on being found smallest, even if he was still above average. It probably helped that 8HB was so disdainful and condescending to the guys; he seemed to love that. Honestly, Julie thought watching the haughty cheerleader openly ogle, touch and measure three guys’ junk was pretty hot too — but it was more about her brassy reactions than the actual cocks, as nice as they may be in themselves.

Troy looked annoyed. “Okay, as... uh, ‘fun’ as that was, I’m really not as into cocks as I thought. Let’s get this demo back on the theme it was started on: hot cheerleaders rubbing their lotion-slicked bodies all over their subjects! On your marks, get set, go! And guys... try not to ‘accidentally’ slide your cock into your masseuse while she works — and if you do, and least try not to do it more than three or four times per massage! Well, unless she’s into it, in which case go for it!”

“I’m into it! I’m into it!” Rich Bonnie eagerly told Brett. PHB clearly was too, though she understood she didn’t need to explain that.

The four women got on top of their respective partners and began slithering up and down their bodies. 8HB kept teasing and denying Deon, and she looked just amazingly bitchy-sexy doing it. PHB also teased Marvin with her slippery, slender frame — enjoying the sensations as her hard nipples slid over his torso. Strands of Nuru gel ran off her body whenever she raised herself up off his torso. Rich Bonnie, never the most patient girl, slid up and down Brett two or three times at most before grabbing his cock and sliding it between her legs with a soft “mmph”. She began riding him cowgirl.

80s-hair Bonnie smirked condescendingly at Deon. “You’re into femdom, aren’t you?”

He grinned playfully back at her. “What gave it away?”

“Just a vibe I got from you. You like it when women take all the pleasure for themselves, don’t you, and won’t let you come even though you so desperately want to?”

His hard cock dug into her belly as she slid up and down. “Oh, god, yeah.”

“You like... oh, Jesus, Lowenthal sure is bouncy!”

8HB clearly got distracted there. Julie agreed with her assessment of the situation. Brett was strong enough to bounce RB up and down with just groin push-ups, and was doing so, and her floppy teardrop breasts put on quite a show. CB glanced at her scornfully, though. “I can beat that!”

She pulled Nora’s legs apart, stood up and slung one long brown leg over the massage table while keeping the other on the ground. It was an awkward pose, but she had great balance and even better flexibility. Julie would know — she’d helped CB train both qualities for cheerleading. CB began scissoring Nora vigorously. She was just as mobile as Julie remembered from the photoshoot dream, and Nora’s free-flowing assets didn’t so much bounce and jiggle as slosh back and forth. Julie wasn’t even consciously aware when her hand slid inside the graduation robe she wore to rub and tweak her own moist little clit.

Troy spotted her. “Julie Lambert! I see where you’ve got that hand, young lady! You’re in big trouble! Get up here!”

Julie blushed, legitimately shocked but willing to ride out her embarrassment for the kink factor. She pulled her hand out of her graduation gown and walked up on stage. “Sorry, sir,” she said in her best demure voice.

“Strip,” Troy told her.

She looked out at the audience and waved shyly. Amidst all the imagos, she could see the other real guys she’d roped into this dream — Coach Larkin, Raj, Donny, Duke, Nick and Amed. They all had eagerly anticipatory looks when she got called up.

Lorcan and Toshia weren’t in the audience. There were a host of reasons for that. They were clearly an item. There was no way she was bringing a fellow Adept into an oneiropathic orgy. Too many ways that could go hideously wrong for her politically — she wouldn’t dare to try to make him forget it afterward, for one thing. As for Tosh, while she always dressed fashionable, she never dressed even slightly revealing. Body confidence was probably not her strong suit, making it wildly less likely she’d enjoy being in even a dream-orgy. That was an abundance of good reasons for them not to be there — but Julie forced herself to admit there was another one as well.

The truth is, there was a place for trans-people in Julie’s heart — but not in her orgies, or any other part of her sexuality. Just how she was wired — bisexual, not pansexual. Yeah, ‘exclusion’, the antithesis of the ‘inclusion’ DEI promoted — the ultimate sin of the woke value system. She didn’t feel it was morally wrong, though. It was no different than a lesbian refusing to try cock. No one was entitled to inclusion inside anyone else’s sexuality. To say otherwise was to assert the right to redefine others’ sexuality. In other words, conversion therapy. Fuck that noise.

She was slowly teaching Lorcan a variant of the dream-walking spell, though, so that he could use it to enter Toshia’s dreams and make love to her in a place where body dysphoria did not exist and her form was exactly as she had always wanted it to be. Troy’s imagination, conversely, definitely would not grant her that dignity — just the opposite, likely, in a way that could be devastating to her.

Julie grinned out at the crowd. “Hello, everyone. You probably all know me; I’m Julie Lambert, and I’m sure nothing at all inappropriate will happen to me here on stage.”

She winked playfully, and the crowd cheered. She didn’t try to steal the spotlight from the other Angels, but it was impossible for her not to. She was the Dream Girl of Magnolia West Academy, after all. Troy grabbed her gown and ripped it off, and the cheer only deepened. She was wearing what could only be described as a bright red lingerie bodystocking underneath — a lacy, long-sleeved top which covered her whole torso and clung to her legs down to her ankles. For as much skin as it covered, though, it was still wickedly revealing — not only was it body-conformant like spandex, but it was sheer enough that the crowd could make out her nipples and bush amidst the lacy floral embroidery.

“Miss Lambert. Were you touching yourself?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Is it appropriate to touch yourself at your school graduation ceremony?”

“Yes, sir, it is.”

“Good answer. It’s very important that young ladies learn the fundamentals of inappropriate conduct here at the Bentonville School of Erotic Massage. It’s not gonna save your cute tushie from good threshing, though. Speaking of which, let’s review one of the most important and memorable lessons we’ve learned this semester. In the context of a fantasy, subtextual sexual violence is...”

“Really fucking hot,” Julie finished with a wide grin. “Well, to me and Alison Dikscheide, at least. Other girls may vary.”

“Now, that sounds a bit disturbing on the surface, so I’ve prepared a little demonstration to show exactly why it’s really hot in practice. Miss Lambert, please...”

Troy took her by the hand and let her to a folding chair in front of the massage tables. He sat down, then put her over his knee. The crowd cheered as her ass got thrust up in the air. One of Troy’s arms wrapped around Julie’s torso, under her own arms and just above her breasts, holding her in the position. Julie’s breasts were crushed against Troy’s upper thigh, and as she squirmed her erect nipples rubbed the fabric of her lacy bodystocking and Troy’s Armani pants. She squirmed harder, beginning a deeply enjoyable vicious circle even before Troy gave her the first smack. He raised his hand in the air to smack her ass and grinned at the audience, who hooted and cheered him on, and then...

“You know,” Troy said, “before we get to into this I think I should say a few short words about the nature of spanking...”

You tease! But he continued on. “Spanking obviously has an innate psychological appeal in terms of both dominance/submission and humiliation. A submissive or switch is aroused by the feeling of helplessness combined with the shocking and sudden sensory stimulation.”

Smack! Julie moaned loudly, surprised by how horny she was. Troy continued babbling. “Yes, like that. Excellent demonstration, Julie. As fetishes go, spanking is relatively widespread, with 41% of Americans claiming they enjoy it in the bedroom. But did you know that beyond the psychological response, there are also physiological reasons a spanking makes people horny? Spanking the buttocks stimulates the pudendal nerve, which is directly connected to the clitoris or the head of the phallus, as the case might be. As a consequence, well...”

Smack! Julie moaned. “I think you can all interpret her reaction yourselves. So what do you all think? Even knowing that it might make her madly, uncontrollably horny — that it might lead her to give into all of her raunchiest desires — should I still spank Julie’s ass black and blue for touching herself in public?”

Julie had no idea if that was actually true in meatspace, or just some frat boy urban myth. Since Troy said it out loud in the dream, though, it was almost certainly true here. She didn’t mind that. She wondered if Troy had somehow caught on to her trick for shaping dreams with suggestions, but on consideration doubted it. He wasn’t known for being too quick on the uptake, after all. Julie decided to tease him a bit. “Did you learn that from Manswers?”

Smack! Julie moaned. The crowd cheered. “Actually, yeah, I did.”

“I figured.”

Smack! “Are you backtalking me?”

“Yes.”

Smack! “Do you know what happens to girls who backtalk me?”

It took a good ten seconds before Julie was able to talk again after that one. When she did, it was a ragged, breathy moan. “Yeah. I mean, why do you think I’m doing it?”

Smack! “You really do have all the best answers.”

Julie grinned. “I’m just surprised you haven’t taken advantage of this position to grope me yet.”

Smack! Predictably, the hand holding her torso slid down to cup and squeeze Julie’s tender breast. “Better?”

“Not bad, honestly. Don’t neglect the nipple, though.”

Smack! “You’re a bad, bad girl.”

Julie was actually really close now. “Thank you, sir. May I have another?”

Smack! “And that’s what you get for having great taste in movies!”

“What do I get if I leave a huge wet spot on your nice expensive suit?”

Smack! “That!”

Julie proceeded to leave a huge wet spot on his nice expensive suit — and she made a big, noisy, squirmy show of it too as she savored her stinging ass and ground her nipples into Troy’s muscular thigh. By the time she came down, most of the massage couples had stopped moving to stare voyeuristically at her — or ground each other even more vigorously as they partook of her pleasure vicariously. “We may have a chicken and egg situation here.”

“Well, you can get away with that, then. My wrist’s getting sore.”

Julie shrugged. “Masturbate less. Get laid more. I can help with the latter.”

Troy stood up, letting Julie slide to her knees at his feet. She looked up at him. There was a very prominent, hard bulge in his slacks. She unzipped Troy and pulled him out. He was only a four-incher fully erect. She really didn’t care either way — she wrapped her lips around it and sucked hungrily, enjoying the feel of a cock in her mouth. She sucked it eagerly, though one overwhelming question kept rising in her mind. She struggled between sucking more and asking it, and finally the bizarre curiosity won out. “Troy? Not, I mean, not that I mind, but why does your cock taste like piña colada?”

Troy beamed as he told the story. “Well, Julie, it’s part of a wager I made with Marjorie Watkins. I told her my cock tastes like piña colada. Of course she didn’t believe me. So we made a bet: she’d lick it once, on the side, to see. If it actually did, she’d blow me and swallow. If it didn’t, she’d take a picture and spread it around mocking me. She really didn’t expect to lose, but kept her word and gave me a damn fine BJ. I’m not sure why she was so surprised, though. I just ordered piña colada flavored lube and rubbed it on every day before the wager. After that, I kept using it in the hopes of being able to pull that routine on some other girl.”

Julie just laughed and shook her head. “You’re incredible, and incorrigible. Should’a used mint julep, though — Margie’s a classical kind of Southern gal. That would’a won her heart as well as her lips.”

Troy shrugged. “I actually wanted to, but well, you know. Specialty items and supply chain issues.”

Julie laughed. It was surreal, to think of something so mundane as supply chain issues entering her erotic carnival. Curiosity sated, she quickly stuffed the cock back in her mouth. Her pacing may have been more piston-like than sensual. In her defence, though, she was really horny.

It wasn’t feral-horny like the Max Body Spray dream. She wasn’t losing her mind and tearing people’s clothes off. It was more of a slow burn, blunted by the spanking-orgasm. She was just really needy, desperate and worked up. It was a nice feeling, in a way — a more realistic kind of loss of control. She... wanted things. Badly. She already had a big plan for the end of the dream, and didn’t want to rush into that too quickly. She’d have to try to keep it together for a bit longer. It would be a struggle, but a fun kind of struggle. What was the phrase that certain types of Internet fetishists used? “A valiant but futile struggle.” That sounded weirdly fun to experience.

Troy being Troy, though, he couldn’t just stand there and enjoy his blowjob from the most popular girl in school. No, he had to make a speech as he got it. “You know, it occurs to me that for all Alison Dikscheide torched both her own career and her own political movement on our prom night, she also had a lot of kinky fun with a hot cheerleader babe. Okay, we all know Kellerman was a lying cunt at this point, but she was still pretty hot. Not as hot as Julie or Nora, but still. Anyway, point. I do have one here. Well, two, if you count my knob.

“Does Dikscheide really deserve to have the hottest sexual encounter of the school year, given how much effort she put into cock-blocking everyone else? I say to you nay! That she should is an offense against God, karma and the Guy Code! Well, folks, we can’t undo what she did, but if we all work really hard and put our bodies on the line, just maybe we can outdo it instead! So who’s with me? Who wants to turn our graduation ceremony into one big crazy orgy?!”

Even as her head bobbed up and down rhythmically, Julie heard more than saw the crowd start to disrobe. Her mind was divided between cock-hunger and voyeurism-impulse — ultimately, the latter won out. Troy’s cock popped out of her mouth as she turned to watch the crowd strip down. She willed her guys not to come yet. She had big plans for the climax of this dream, after all. Troy surprisingly didn’t seem annoyed that she stopped blowing him. Someone else sure was, though.

“Fuck!” Brett said, annoyed. “Why the fuck does Troy of all people get to have Julie when I’m stuck with RB? I’m way bigger than he is! And why can’t I get off?”

Troy sauntered up to Brett and turned to face the audience. He rotated his hand in the air around his hip, like he was turning the crank on an invisible Jack-in-the-Box. As if by magic, his dick — already fully erect — grew longer and longer with each pantomime twist until it was a solid eight inches, and thick too. The audience cheered, and Brett boggled in a silent, jealous fury. His expression was the best punchline, Julie thought. Troy got that the whole dick-length thing was a joke, while Brett took it with a pompous life-and-death seriousness.

RB giggled, delighted. She was exactly the kind of girl who could be fully charmed and seduced by a simple magic trick that made her laugh. That it involved a big cock was probably just icing. Total pickup artist bait. Brett, conversely, didn’t see the appeal of the humor or the absurdity of it; just that Troy was now a threat.

“Just keep going,” Rich Bonnie told him soothingly. “I’m getting close this time myself.”

“What makes you think I give a shit?” Brett snapped bitterly. Wow, that’s blunt!

RB looked hurt. “Hey! That’s mean!”

“Shut up and fuck me!”

Troy walked up to them, still in the Armani suit with his hard cock sticking out. “Need some help there, little lady?”

“Ooh,” Rich Bonnie said. “Sure! That looks fun! Put it in my bum!”

Brett was furious and tried to push RB off him. She giggled as slippery Nuru gel thwarted the effort in a comedic but stimulating manner. “What?! Dude, what the fuck? She’s my girl!”

“No, I’m not. You specifically said it had to be ‘no strings attached’ right before you took my flower on prom night, and that you needed to be free to play the field, remember? It’s just your nature!”

“I didn’t actually take your flower, you goddamn bimbo! I just came in your mouth! And Troy, get your fucking prong out of my fucking sight!”

Should I let this happen? Julie wondered. She could name at least three girls with steady boyfriends that Brett Tollard had seduced or pressured into fucking him, so it honestly seemed somewhat karmic. Also, she thought it was really hot. That might just have played a role in her decision-making.

Rich Bonnie stuck her tongue out at Brett teasingly, which made him furious. He fucked her harder and faster in anger, which Julie thought honestly looked like a pretty good deal from her end. And then Troy walked up behind the less-than-loving couple and got his fucking prong out of Brett’s fucking sight by shoving it right up Rich Bonnie’s already Nuru-lubed asshole. She squealed in delight and squirmed back and forth gleefully. Julie found the image of a handsome man fully clothed in an expensive suit fucking a glistening naked woman to be exquisitely hot, even if it was a goofball like Troy.

Troy isn’t actually pleasing her in a way Brett never could, Julie realized. That’s such a cliché. He’s pleasing her in a way Brett actually totally could but never even bothered to try. That makes it even funnier — and hotter, too. Chinese Bonnie was glancing over at the threesome and biting her lip. 8HB was openly ignoring Deon to masturbate as she watched them.

“Troy Barrett, you are a dead man! I will kick your ass black and blue for this!”

“Ooh,” Rich Bonnie asked, wide-eyed. “Will you do it naked and covered in this Nuru goop? Cause that would be, like, rilly hot!”

It wasn’t actually a taunt. She sold it by just being so very sincere. She was just speaking her mind, stream-of-consciousness style. RB tended to do that.

“What?! Fuck no! That’s gross!”

“You see?” Troy said playfully. “I knew he was scared of me!”

“Gyaaah!” Brett responded articulately.

“Oh, yeah,” Rich Bonnie said. “Argue harder, guys! It’s really hot! I totes get why people talk about loving hate-sex on TikTok now. In fact, I think I’m getting close here...”

Troy threw his hands out wide like Leonardo DiCaprio in Titanic, all “king of the world” as he grinned at the audience. “Aren’t orgies awesome?”

“Get your cock out of my girlfriend now, you jackass!”

“You sure? If I pull out now I’ll probably spooge all over you!”

“Eew! No, don’t pull out.”

“Baby,” Troy whispered to Rich Bonnie, “I’ve got a very special package scheduled for delivery to your large intestine.”

“Ooh,” Rich Bonnie said. “I love presents! You see, Brett? I knew you were full of shit when you told me it’s not necessary or appropriate for a guy to give a girl gifts in 2024!”

“Big Christmas gift coming up right now, baby!”

“I will wring your neck, funny man!”

“Wow, you never told me you were into choking! From what I’ve heard it sounds pretty hot to me too! Let’s try it!”

So Rich Bonnie started choking Brett. Hard. He returned the favor; she seemed to love it. He didn’t. He couldn’t say anything, but he could thrash and snarl. Her thighs started to tremble as she felt Troy’s hot cum spray into her rectum, and she came even harder. Is it actually part of some kind of weird cultural archetype that all the innocent rich pretty and sophisticated girls have to all be total screamers? Julie wondered. If it was, RB fit the stereotype to a tee. As soon as she came, of course, Brett was able to pop off too, and did so.

As entertaining as that had been, Brett was red in the face with a vein bulging on his forehead. He looked ready to do real psychotic violence, so Julie banished him from the dream and he dissolved into a column of grey mist. Nobody consciously acknowledged his disappearance. The punchline is, he actually won’t remember any of this!

“Oh wow,” RB gasped. “That was the bee’s knees. I guess I rilly am a two-cock kind of girl!”

Rich Bonnie started to look hazy. She was finished for the night, Julie suspected, and fading out in the post-orgasmic haze. Troy was flaccid but didn’t look finished. He took a big theatre-actor bow before the audience and tucked his cock back into his suit. (Anal tended to be perfectly clean in dreams.)

Julie watched her friends fucking. Pink Highlights Bonnie was so tiny, yet she was also agile — and an incredible tease. She slithered up and down Marvin, strands of sticky Nuru gel connecting their bodies, the head of his cock scraping against her taut athletic belly. She kept eye contact constantly, her wicked expression illustrating how much fun she was having with this. The little pixie was cheerful here, not nervous. Julie could almost feel PHB’s neurotic tension melting away and dispersing as she teased Marvin, stroking his cock with her hand, adoring him. For his part, he was totally overwhelmed — he likely wasn’t very sexually experienced, and the dream gave him a masculine endurance he wouldn’t otherwise possess. PHB seemed to gain a profound fulfillment in satisfying him — there was something deep there, emotional and ambivalent.

Nora and Chinese Bonnie were no less passionate. They’d switched positions at some point, and now Nora was on top. They seemed to be trying out dovefucking — CB had her legs spread wide, unafraid to give the whole cheering crowd a spread-eagle view up her cunt. Nora was standing, bent over CB, and her big slick breasts dangled down. She held one in her hand and flicked the erect nipple against CB’s equally erect clit. CB teased her other nipple with her hand a bit, but eventually had to grip the sides of the table tightly as the pleasure became too much for her. The tall Asian beauty screamed and arched her back, thrusting her own chest into the air, as she came. Then Nora slithered up her body and lay atop her. They whispered back and forth and began making out in a mutual post-orgasmic haze. Julie looked away before they caught her staring. I don’t want to inject myself into their relationship. An orgy is one thing, but... but I’m horny, so horny...

8HB was teasing Deon mercilessly, and he loved it. She was doing the stock femdom orgasm routine, pinching his cock at the base so he couldn’t come even as she lectured him smugly about how she was in control of his orgasms. Her face hovered an inch away from the tip of his cock as she leaned over him, taunting him about Brett and even Marvin being larger than he was. That actually seemed to drive him wild. Julie wondered if she was going off a dream-script or was actually into formal femdom herself. She suspected the former — as slick and with-it as she liked to appear, 80s-hair Bonnie never struck Julie as sexually experienced. Deon’s sexual needs were a pitch-perfect match for her social persona and desires, though — she was having a lot of fun with her first foray into femdom.

And then things took an unexpected swerve. Nora and CB were watching Deon and 8HB as they cuddled together. She was also fully bent over, her tight ass thrust up in the air as she blew air on the tip of Deon’s cock to tease him. To someone that didn’t quite get femdom, 80s-hair Bonnie must have appeared fairly merciless. Chinese Bonnie apparently thought so, and decided to do something about it. With a playful grin, her hand snaked around to give 8HB a very solid, nasty goosing. The sultry sophisticate yelped in shock, but she also did something far more significant — she stopped pinching the base of Deon’s cock.

Deon probably didn’t intend to unload on her face, but boy howdy did he. A highly pressurized jet of sticky white spunk shot out of his cock to glaze her perfectly made up face. Her mouth, wide open in shock, provided a perfect receptacle for the second blast. The third ended up stuck to her forehead, running down the side of her face to dangle from her cheek. The fourth and fifth hung suspended in her frizzy blonde hair.

She stood up, absolutely shocked, spitting out a mouthful of baby batter in a daze. It ran down her neck and across her breast. She looked absolutely furious. She brought her hands up to her face to wipe it off, then pulled them away on instinct — not wanting to get it on them.

“Oh my god,” Deon said. “I’m so sorry!”

Nora covered her mouth, struggling not to laugh at her freshly-glazed squadmate. Chinese Bonnie gave 8HB a saucy wink. Julie fell to her knees, forcefully tore open the crotch of her lingerie bodystocking and shoved her fingers into her slippery cunt, consumed with an intense flashback to her Oscars dream, but now echoed and contrasted with one of the haughtiest girls she knew. The whole crowd burst out laughing at 80s-hair Bonnie’s misfortune.

After several seconds of rage, though, 8HB shook her head and started laughing ruefully herself. There was no real harm done, after all, and if she stepped back she could even see how it was funny. “Well,” she said. “I guess that happened. Don’t worry, Deon. It seemed like Julie enjoyed it, at least.”

“It’s Troy’s fault,” Julie moaned. “He made me horny. You even heard him explain it.”

The buff buffoon smirked. “She’s not wrong, you know, and I make no apologies. Besides, look at the bright side: everyone’s always said you look fantastic with a pearl necklace, and it turns out they were right in both senses!”

“I’m so teaming up with Brett to kick your ass,” 8HB shot back. God, 8HB being snarky, making her trademark scornful expressions while her face is plastered with baby batter is so hot!

“Sit on Deon’s face,” Julie suggested, when she could manage to stop touching herself. “He gives utterly divine tongue. I promise you, I’m not lying.”

80s-hair Bonnie glanced from Troy to Julie to Deon, back and forth, as she made up her mind. She was humiliated, but she was also still really horny. “Okay, Deon. You’ve got one chance to redeem yourself and atone for this mess. Don’t fuck it up.”

He nodded eagerly. 8HB climbed up on the massage table, balancing on the edges, and lowered her pussy down slowly over Deon’s face. He went to work on her.

Man, Julie thought, this will be a treat for everyone. For Deon, because he really seems to love eating pussy. For 8HB because he’s really good at eating pussy. And for everyone else because we’re all going to get to watch the haughtiest girl on the Angels discover just how good he is at eating pussy while her beautiful face is still plastered with his cum!

And indeed, it proved to be an erotic spectacle for the ages. Julie, Nora, CB and the whole crowd watched the coolly composed Ice Queen slowly dissolve into throes of intense ecstasy under Deon’s adept tongue — gasping, moaning and losing her normally aloof composure even as semen clung to her hair, face and chest. She rubbed the latter in, mind you, as she clutched and squeezed her perky little breasts. Once she started tweaking her nipples, it wasn’t long until her thighs were trembling. She moaned and squealed in a decidedly unladylike manner as she came. Even more cum, a kind of second orgasm, bubbled up out of Deon’s cock at the pleasure he took from pleasing his mistress. Then they collapsed on top of each other, exhausted and delighted, and dissolved into grey mist.

Julie stood beside Troy, her hand almost absent-mindedly pumping his cock to keep him hard. Both were fixated on watching the other couples. Julie’s gaze turned to Marvin and PHB. She was bent over the massage table as he pumped into her from behind. Marvin’s sexual endurance was really impressive, honestly, and in his idealized form Julie found him fairly attractive even given his stature and husky build. Her eyes were quickly drawn to her fellow Angel, however. The petite, raven-haired cheerleader’s slender body looked breath-taking glistening with Nuru gel. Julie and Troy watched her ass cheeks clench as Marvin’s thick cock slid in and out of her, and her shoulder blades shift as she flexed in pleasure. A girl’s naked back can be a surprisingly erotic sight, and deserves more attention amidst all the more popular parts...

Pink Highlights Bonnie slid back and forth an inch or two on the Nuru-slicked table with every stroke Marvin gave her. She purred and flexed her legs in the air with pleasure, and he grunted in satisfaction. Eventually she wrapped them around Marvin’s ass, and held out her hands like an airplane. He grabbed her wrists and held her in position, pumping into her more forcefully. She giggled, and looked up over her shoulder to wink at Julie. Yikes! Caught! But Julie couldn’t look away. PHB grinned. “Come join us!”

Julie blinked. “Seriously?”

“Yeah!” She caught Troy’s excited gaze and sadly cut him down. “Not you, Troy. Sorry, dude.”

He shrugged. Troy was actually more chill at times than Julie gave him credit for, at least when he wasn’t attention-whoring. “Go join them, babe! They’re not gonna ask twice!”

Julie scampered up to the massage table, facing PHB. Marvin let go of her hands, and they reached out, fingers interweaving with Julie’s own. Julie glanced at Marvin. “You’re cool with this?”

He grinned dumbly — that same boyish delight she remembered from her first dream with him. “Hell yeah!”

Julie glanced down at her friend’s face. PHB was giggling, sighing and grinning maniacally. It was so satisfying to see her excited and energetic again, carefree. It was satisfying in an entirely different way to watch the heat build up on her face as pleasure overtook her. Her mouth was slightly open in a silent gasp. Julie knelt down, so her face was exactly level with PHB’s, and kissed her as she came. She felt the petite demagogue’s hands clench tightly around her own and tasted her lip gloss. Marvin gasped slightly as PHB’s whole body clenched, then pulled out of her when she finished. She fixed Julie with a glassy-eyed smile. “Would you like to join me in worshipping Marvin’s cock?”

For whatever reason, her eyes seemed to say please. Julie wouldn’t have pegged PHB as bi — but dreams are a good place to experiment, and she hardly seemed horrified by Nora and CB’s open fucking. “Sure. Why not?”

So Julie helped a shivering, post-orgasmic PHB down from the massage table and they both knelt at Marvin’s feet, looking up at his rigid cock. Soon, two tongues teased it luxuriantly, stroking from base to tip as the husky nerd shivered. In real life, Nuru gel was inedible. In Troy’s dream, it was cherry-flavored. Julie made eye contact with Pink Highlights Bonnie as they both licked the cock. It was faintly uncomfortable, but also hot in a thrilling way. Chinese Bonnie and Nora watched the threesome, hands snaking crosswise over each other’s bodies to fondle their clits in a slow, relaxed manner. CB held out her other hand, and PHB gave her a fist-bump without taking her tongue off Marvin’s cock. Nora giggled softly.

PHB was the first one to swallow Marvin. As she did, her hand slid fully around Julie’s back to clasp her right tit. Julie sighed as her friend massaged the sensitive breast. She also returned the favor, reaching around to cup PHB’s left A-cup in her hand — feeling the sharpness of the nipple, feeling PHB squirm in response to her touch. Julie watched PHB’s cute face as her head bobbed up and down on Marvin’s cock from a foot away. It felt thrillingly voyeuristic. There was a deep affection between PHB and Marvin, Julie realized. They were familiar with each other’s quirks.

Then it was Julie’s turn to swallow the cock. She did. Blowing Marvin was fun, even if it wasn’t quite as exciting as the first time behind the cantina on that vivid alien planet. Troy’s imagination could never equal Marvin’s. But the hands eventually fell away from breasts and slid between the girls’ respective legs. Julie and PHB massaged each other’s clits even as Julie’s lips slid up and down Marvin’s cock. Julie wasn’t close to getting off, but PHB sure was. Julie built up her heat in time with her perception of Marvin’s excitement.

When he was getting close, Julie sealed her pursed lips around just the head of his cock, teasing it ruthlessly with the tip of her tongue. PHB, meanwhile, licked up and down the exposed shaft even as she teased his slippery testicles with her agile fingers. Both girls kept eye contact with Marvin the whole time, their faces brushing up against each other. PHB’s hair teased Julie’s earlobe. Just as he started to shiver, Julie slid two fingers into the excited cheerleader beside her right when Marvin pulled his cock out of her mouth. “I’m gonna come!”

“So’s Pinkie,” Julie said, winking playfully at Marvin. Timing for the win!

Both girls held out their tongues like in a porno, looking up at Marvin in awe. Julie feigned the awe a bit for his benefit. PHB didn’t have to. He erupted all over Julie and PHB’s chins, throats and jaws at the same time. PHB squirmed and moaned through her own climax.

“That was hot,” Julie said, after swallowing Marvin’s salty mouthful.

PHB giggled. “You have cum on your chin,” she said.

“So do you,” Julie threw back. “It looks sexy.”

She leaned over and licked it off. PHB giggled nervously and returned the favor. They ended up kissing again, until PHB broke away giggling. After a minute or so, both girls stood up. Julie towered over both PHB and Marvin by a head. She had been so engrossed in her friend’s coquettish beauty she was shocked to see Marvin was crying. It didn’t look like he was upset, though. Just the opposite — it seemed to be a moment of stark eucatastrophe.

“What is it?” Julie asked.

Marvin stammered but couldn’t speak.

Julie was a bit confused.

“Can I tell her?” PHB asked Marvin.

“Sure,” Marvin finally got out.

“The AFHU... well, you know what they did to him. It was abusive and horrific, and it was my fault. He was in a really dark time. He told me he had a pretty wild, macho dream about you like a week later. He said...”

PHB leaned in close. She had already been speaking softly, but now her voice was a whisper. “He said that’s why he didn’t kill himself. He said you — I mean, his imaginary vision of you in that dream — gave him the strength to go on. He loves me, but I think he sort of worships you. And I thought, if you were here at an orgy and willing to play around, well... maybe I could get you to make his dreams come true once more.”

Marvin hugged both girls to him desperately. “Thank you so much. Both of you. Thank you both for helping me feel like I am a man again.”

Julie nodded slowly and punched him on the shoulder. “Least I could do. You deserve it. You’ve got a great imagination — do something worthwhile with it.”

“And thank you,” PHB added with passion. “I owe you everything. I used you as a mouthpiece to get a political point out that I was too craven to express myself, and it almost destroyed your life. And you supported me. And when I admit as much, you forgave me, without a second thought. You are not just my love — you are my miracle. I love you, Marvin Stockman. Now and always.”

He let Julie go and hugged PHB desperately. “And I love you too, Bonnie Díaz, with all of my heart and soul.” They kissed and hugged, sobbing, and Julie wrapped her arms around them both protectively. She felt a deep satisfaction in her gut at having apparently helped Marvin so profoundly — and a simultaneous, perverse enthusiasm at getting her fingers inside her blazing hot Kinsey-1 squadmate in the process. Most of all, she was glad they had each other.

Neither was going to have an especially easy life from here on out, but at least they both had someone to trust and talk to. That made surviving the woke world easier. Julie’s arms slid down as the bodies they clasped turned to mist. Right now she really regretted making everyone involved but her forget this dream — even if it was still the wisest choice. It’s not like she could change it now in any case. She suspected Marvin and PHB would have a similar moment in the waking world sometime soon regardless.

Chinese Bonnie was staring at Julie. “I... I didn’t know you, uh, did stuff with other girls.”

Julie grinned. “Well, now you do. Dreams can be so liberating, you know? No consequences for things, so you can just try stuff.”

Julie closed her eyes and stretched in a very specific way — feigning a yawn, she raised her arms above her head, stood on the tips of her feet and thrust out her chest. The lingerie bodystocking only helped her flaunt her magnificent figure. The audience cheered.

When Julie opened her eyes, she saw Nora gripping CB’s arm way too tightly in her excitement. “Ask her if she wants to join us,” Nora whispered to her Asian lover. “Now.”

Julie probably wasn’t supposed to hear that, but she did. The same thing held true for most of the audience — Nora was an incredibly sweet girl, but she didn’t exactly do subtle well.

CB smiled. “So. Wanna?”

“Yeah,” Julie said, walking up to them. “I sure do.”

“You know,” CB told Julie, “Nora had a steamy dream about you, just like all the guys did. She told me about it, and it was pretty hot. It sounded like a lot of fun, and motivated us to experiment a bit for real. If you want to know what went down, we could show you a bit...”

Nora looked almost desperate. Nora looked hot when she looked desperate. Julie glanced at CB. “Are you okay with me playing around a bit, here, with both you and CB?”

“I... yeah. That would be really nice —”

CB’s speech got cut off by the tongue Julie just thrust down her throat.

“Oh, wow,” Nora said as Julie fucked CB’s mouth with her tongue. “You’re real frisky!”

Julie turned to her oldest friend. “You really can’t imagine how true that is, but I’ll try to show you...”

A minute later, Nora was still standing but bent over part way at the waist, gripping the sides of the massage table. Her huge breasts dangled down, swaying appealingly as tiny strings of Nuru gel dangled off them. Julie was right behind her, running her hands along the sides of Nora’s body from her hips up gradually to her shoulders. CB was in the very back, behind Julie. She dipped both hands in the big wooden bowl of Nuru gel and started rubbing Julie down, massaging the lotion into her lingerie eagerly with both hands.

Troy grinned like a maniac. “It’s a fuck train, ladies and gentlemen! We’ve got a big lesbian fuck train in the house, and it’s awesome!”

CB seemed to get off on the dudebro’s overt lechery, but it intimidated Nora. It’s technically his dream, though — there’s a limit to how much I can exclude him and keep it coherent. But CB took care of it before he could. “Dude, you’re going to get to watch shit men really have no business watching. You’re already super-lucky. If you wanna know how to avoid fucking up your golden ticket, all you have to do is keep your trap shut.”

“Ten four, my spicy Asian booty queen!”

CB seemed simultaneously exasperated and amused. Troy probably got that a lot. She was quickly distracted by Julie’s curves, though. Her hands slid aggressively over Julie’s body. The lingerie literally melted, falling to pieces as the lotion permeated it. The crowd cheered as Julie’s boobies were finally fully exposed. CB’s hands reached Julie’s breasts at about the same time Julie’s reached Nora’s. All three women were breathing heavily and grinding against each other. CB grinned. “Wanna give em a show?”

Nora blushed. “Partly. It’s hot, but I’m also nervous.”

CB smirked. “We’re in a dream, right? I mean, we have to be. So... how many guys in that crowd do you think bought a copy of your fun little charity calender? And, possibly more to your interests, how many girls?”

“Omigod,” Nora said, blushing even harder. “That makes it both hotter and scarier.”

She forgot her nervousness quickly, though, as Julie’s skillful fingers teased her nipples. Inwardly, Julie wondered how much of her own attraction to women — or at least, her bisexual awakening — could be blamed solely on Nora’s rack. Now, those magnificent, slippery swaying boobies were in her hands for the second, and likely the final, time! Well, as much of them as she could fit in her hands, anyway. “You know,” Julie whispered to Nora, “I remember watching you play volleyball in the gym...”

Nora laughed — soft but cynical. “Yeah, you and the entire male student body remembers that. Probably not the best choice of sport, given my figure and my shyness...”

“I don’t know,” CB said. “It probably got you us, at least.”

The statuesque Asian cheerleader’s hand slid between Julie’s legs. She didn’t do anything with it at first, just holding it there cupping Julie’s treasure. This excited Julie to an odd degree — the anticipation of penetration being almost more sensual than the act itself, and being given time to contemplate the feeling of someone else’s hand covering her genitals. For her part, Julie didn’t rush to explore between Nora’s legs — she was loving fondling her breasts, and Nora seemed to love having them touched as well. Julie was honestly curious how hot she could get Nora just by gently massaging her breasts and teasing her nipples. Could she orgasm from breast-play alone? Even as Julie considered this, the hand cupping her vulva gradually began to massage — tighten and loosen, tighten and loosen. Such perfect rhythm. All three girls’ breathing was audible.

Julie was so fixated on pumping Nora up that the actual penetration came as a complete shock to her — a very welcome shock, but still a shock. She flinched and moaned loudly. CB giggled mischievously. “Gotcha!”

“Ooh,” Julie said. “You’re naughty.”

“Naughty cheerleaders are still cool, even in 2024,” CB quipped back.

Troy looked like he wanted to raise his arms in the air and give a big “fuck yeah!” to that, but glanced at CB and wisely decided to bite his tongue. It got a big pop from the crowd, though.

Julie was pretty sure she was about to get a big pop out of Nora as well — and CB was about ten seconds away from the same achievement with Julie. Then everything went really chaotic fast. CB had drizzled a lot of that delightfully slimy Nuru stuff all over Julie’s body to dissolve her lacy bodystocking. Now there was a pool of gel and melted lingerie gathering at the trio’s feet. Nora’s muscles clenched at her oncoming breast-gasm, and Julie’s legs started trembling — and then feet started sliding around chaotically on the now-incredibly-slippery stage floor. No! This is too hot! I won’t let them wake up due to a stupid, painful and shocking accident! She quickly imposed her will on the dream: we’re all going to land on something soft!

The three gel-slicked Angels careened to the ground — and bounced around haphazardly. The massage tables had vanished, and the whole stage floor had transformed into one big air-mattress. Makes sense it would go that way, as they’re a common prop in Nuru videos and parlours. Slippery female bodies slid all over each other chaotically. Julie and Nora were pretty worked up with lust, on the edge of orgasm only to have it torn away from them. Everyone groped around, desperate to finish, to grab on to something enticing and bring their heat over its peak. The trio had become like a single entity — a tangled mess of limbs and moaning faces, grinding against itself in pursuit of pleasure. Nora’s sloppy wet vag slid all over Julie’s face at one point, and that thrilled her enough to make her thrust her crotch into the air wildly in raw sexual desperation.

CB ended up sprawled out on top of Julie. Hungry with lust, Julie grabbed the lithe Asian beauty by the hair and pulled her forward until she could lock lips with her. CB ground her body against Julie’s own, just as desperate at this point as she was, sliding her hands under Julie to squeeze her firm, athletic ass. CB was wildly air-humping Julie, and the red-headed beauty stopped moving for a second to appreciate how amazing the Chinese girl looked in that position. She was trying to fuck Julie the way she’d fuck a man. It wasn’t too effective, but it looked incredibly hot.

And then something happened that amazed Julie. Nora was one of the shyest and most soft-spoken girls Julie knew. It made perfect sense that she’d need the permission fantasy from Julie’s first dream with her. Normally, she’d never do anything raunchy without being either goaded or carefully eased into it — even things she really, really wanted to do inwardly.

When she designed the group dream spell, though, Julie had very carefully set up two little octagonal mirrors on telescoping stands in her orrery. Saturn-in-Cancer’s influence would be blocked for both Mars and Venus, making men and women alike more confident. Nora thus did things she could never do in the waking world. Specifically, she grabbed CB by the hair roughly and smacked her ass hard. “Naughty! Bad girl! No ruining Nora’s orgasms!”

CB moaned loudly — of course, Troy had configured the dream so that spanking always turns people on. Nora caught on to that right away. “That turns you on, huh? Well, here, have another! And another! And another!”

Smack! Smack! Smack! CB squirmed on top of Julie, grinding their chests together. This aroused Julie to an unspeakable degree, almost more than it did CB. Watching the ‘shy girl’ transform on a dime into a raunchy dominatrix captivated Julie. Knowing the role her own magick played in it thrilled her ego inordinately. On a visual level, CB had a fantastic plump ass and watching those cheeks clench and jiggle as Nora smacked them with brutal force was pure eye candy. The way Nora’s breasts swung about wildly with every forceful twist of her body was a thing of transcendent beauty. That the tall, Nuru-slicked Asian stunner was reveling in her punishment and trying to grind out an orgasm while straddling Julie added a hefty dose of raw tactile pleasure to the already heady mix.

I’m going to come, and it’s going to be one hell of an explosive orgasm, and nobody’s even touching my pussy right now! CB grabbed Nora, though, before she could land another blow and pulled her down. Troy picked up the wide wooden bowl of Nuru gel and poured it all on the three thrashing girls at his feet. The shower of preternaturally slick goo only made the erotic wrestling more appealing. Julie grabbed Nora’s legs, spreading them and pulling her close to scissor with her. Their hard clits ground against each other and they thrashed wildly.

CB ended up splayed out on top of the two scissoring BFFs, face up. Her legs were spread wide right over Julie’s breasts, while her long hair was splayed out all over Nora’s chest. Julie thrust a hand into CB’s wet cunt, getting three fingers deep inside and using the thumb to flick her swollen little nub relentlessly. Nora pinned one of her arms roughly and got her other hand around the lithe Asian’s throat to play-choke her. CB gasped in delight, and Nora’s grin was absolutely evil. God, surprise dominatrix Nora is so hot, and not just because she’s grinding her clit into mine — though that definitely helps! The scent of CB’s arousal taunted Julie, along with her cream running down Julie’s wrist, driving her to grind her pussy against Nora’s even harder.

The three glistening, naked cheerleaders thrashed and moaned as the mutual power orgasm reverberated through their young, athletic bodies. It went on and on — trembling, aching, wet and delightfully passionate — almost paralytic in its pleasure. Once the tidal wave finally finished crashing against that shoreline of nubile teenage flesh, a shivering CB disentangled herself and crawled over to Nora to lay down beside her. Spots swam in front of Julie’s eyes; she felt dizzy and weak. She’d dropped her trademark intellect boost for a higher stamina boost, though, just for this one evening. Even now, she wasn’t finished for the night. Nora and CB certainly were, though. They were cuddling together, and Julie crawled over to lie beside them, stroking CB’s hair.

“Can... can I talk now?” Troy asked.

“No,” CB replied bluntly.

“We... we can’t keep doing this in the future,” Nora said slowly. “This time was amazing and special, but...”

“I know,” Julie said. “You two are for each other. I understand that. This won’t happen again.”

Nora nodded. “I’m so glad it happened once, though. It was amazing.”

“Yeah,” CB said. “Christ on a pogo stick, I never imagined sex could be that intense. Thanks you for that, among everything else.”

Nora leaned over Julie and kissed her on the forehead. “And thank you, dream-girl, for giving me the strength — twice, now — to admit things I never would have had the strength to admit on my own. You can’t imagine how much that means to me.”

“Hey,” Julie said. “What are friends for?”

Inwardly, Julie felt a burden lighten. She’d always thought of Nora as her best friend, but she’d also never shared anything truly personal with her. All her truly personal stuff involved an esoteric world that endangered the lives of mundanes entangled with it. That was a solid rationale, but she’d begun to feel pretty hypocritical about her role as a ‘best friend’ with so many secrets and lies. This at least balanced that out somewhat.

Nora and CB kissed in their afterglow, and cuddled, and whispered softly to each other — and then faded away, transforming into a single column of grey fog and blowing away in the noonday sun.

Julie stood up, still wildly horny. Time for the main event! She walked up to Troy. “Wow, Julie, that was... I mean, it was beautiful. I don’t know what to say.”

It surprised her that he caught some of the emotional depth involved in the last two couples on stage. He smiled at her sardonically. “I’m not a total douchebro, you know — I just play one when it suits me. To make people laugh, and to dissent against the woke in my own way.”

She nodded. “You’re a good guy, Troy Barrett, and I’ll even admit your whole jackass routine can be a bit hot sometimes — only sometimes, though.”

He smacked her ass. “Hot or not?”

Definitely hot. She didn’t answer, though. She took the microphone from Troy and sauntered out to the center of the stage — buck naked, slicked up and wildly confident. “I’d like to say something to all my best boys, now. I’m hoping Rajveer Datta, Duke Stangrove, Donny Broekner, Coach Larkin, Nick Donnely and Amed Younis can make their way up to the stage.”

The six named gentlemen made their way to the stage. They wobbled a bit; the stage floor was still changed into a big inflatable air mattress. I think we’ll keep that — it could be fun. Everyone was in cap and gown save for Larkin in jeans and a tight athletic shirt. The crowd was entirely imagos, now — everyone ‘real’ was on stage.

Julie turned to Troy. “Before we get started, satisfy my curiosity. I promise it will never go anywhere. Skunk, antelope or alligator?”

Troy got defensive. “Hey, someone had to get it started or it never would have happened!”

Larkin nodded. “I have no idea who was insane enough to pull the alligator trick, but Donny and I helped Kevin Solentino with the antelope. He deserved some payback — that backstabbing bitch’s tape outed him, after all.”

A sly smile crept at the edges of Julie’s mouth. “I can sympathize. You know, boys... on one hand, I feel like I’ve really stuck my neck out going to bat for you this semester. In a sense, I deserve to be rewarded. But I know you’ve also had a pretty humiliating and harsh time with that tape going around, and in part that’s due to one of my screwups. So maybe I deserve to be punished instead. Strangely, though, those might not be mutually exclusive — after all, both can be really brutal, public and humiliating. Both could also benefit from a big team effort, if you know what I mean — and if you were all in for that kind of thing.”

Julie bit her red glossy nail demurely. “So, what do you guys think?”

Nick blinked. “You... you seriously want us to run a train on you?”

Julie grinned. “Yeah. I sure do. I mean, you’d have no trouble believing a guy having a fantasy about fucking a dozen girls, right? Why is the reverse so hard to buy?”

Duke and Amed — by far the most chivalrous of the seven guys around her — looked uncertain. “You don’t find this degrading?”

“I’d say I’m willing to take one for the team,” Julie said, “but let’s be honest here: I want way more than just one!”

Seeing their looks, she continued. “Unlearn what the DEO taught you. Sometimes things can be both degrading and really enjoyable. I’m all in for it, regardless. You don’t have to worry — if I’m uncomfortable at any time, I can bail.”

Amed turned to the other guys. “I banged her in front of the whole class, you know. She egged me on to it, and it was so hot. That’s what I didn’t want to say, back in the locker room.”

Duke high-fived Amed. Julie winked at Amed and gave him finger guns. “He’s a total stud. You all are, in your own distinct ways. That’s why I brought you here. But if anyone does want to bail, I won’t hold it against you — and no one will remember you did so, either.”

The coach nodded slowly. “What do you say, guys? Team effort time?”

The guys cheered. “Hell yeah!”

They stripped off their robes. Surprisingly, they were dressed underneath, though in more blue-collar clothes. It made them look rough, and maybe even a bit threatening. Nice! Perfect for a gangbang! On a more practical level, it would help the guys not get uncomfortable around other naked, erect guys — most of them were probably straight. Julie would just have to try to keep their attention focused on her. She was good at that, and felt up to the challenge.

Nick was the most archetypal jock — broad shoulders, strong cheekbones, big biceps, two inches taller than Julie, clean-shaven, tousled brown hair — a total Chad. Duke, conversely, was the gentleman with an edge — almost as ripped, but with perfectly gelled side-part like a GQ model. He came off as less built but more dangerous than Nick. Troy always reminded Julie of a surfer despite never, to her knowledge, being anywhere near a coastline. It was probably the curly, unruly long blond hippie (or metalhead) hair. That, and the high forehead made him look a bit dim; he played up that ‘durr’—stoner mentality at times to conceal his sharp sense of humor.

Donny had a naturally beefier build and a circular face framed by curly brown hair and a neatly trimmed beard. He’d be seen as the least handsome of the guys on looks alone — he had a bit of the Jonah Hill about him — but he was still jock-level cut under the clothes, and Julie knew he had a big fat cock and knew how to touch a woman — she’d been looking forward to finishing an encounter with him. Amed was so slender compared to her other studs; she hoped he didn’t feel insecure but had no intention of suggesting he change. She loved his dancer’s physique, smooth almond-brown skin, subtle athletic tone, neat short hair and deep black eyes. His vulnerability really worked for her, too.

Out of all the guys, she felt only Raj really needed a touch-up — so she leaned over and whispered to him. “This is a dream. You can be anything you want to be. Imagine yourself as the guy you’d want to be to fuck the head cheerleader at your school.”

Raj tore off his shirt, and in a flash of lightning like Shazam, he was changed into a ripped, broad-shouldered, bare-chested icon of Bollywood machismo in brilliant purple hammer pants and green-tinted Ray-Ban sunglasses — complete with a rather spectacular mustache. He wasn’t any specific celebrity — the face was still very much an idealized Rajveer Datta — but he was cut from the same cloth as Hrithik Roshan, Salman Khan and Tiger Shroff. She liked those influences. He grinned madly, and a wildly over-the-top orchestral sting played. Nick grinned and gave him a bro-fist. Wow, desi guys can be so hot! I hope this won’t mean my gangbang will now include spontaneous musical numbers, though — that would just feel weird!

Julie felt Larkin’s hands on her shoulders, forcing her to her knees. That was appealing. Nick, Raj and Donny unzipped. Nick had been her first hot dream — the first genuinely excellent sex of her life, honestly — so she took him in her mouth first, enjoying making him hard with her tongue even as she fondled Raj and Donny. Three cocks! I’m touching three cocks! She would have giggled with excitement, except her mouth was full. Nicely full. She tasted the salty tang of Nick’s sweat and felt the vein on the underside of his cock pulse as her tongue teased it. After a bit, she switched to Raj, bobbing up and down on that dead-straight nine inches of India-brand macho power. He had his pubic hair neatly trimmed and styled into a tidy trapezoid, and that simple bit of gimmickry thrilled Julie. Glossy black hairs on rich brown skin. It was like the coveted designer stubble look, but for girls that weren’t ashamed to go down.

The blowjobs were euphoric, almost hypnotic in their repetitive bliss (though obviously the piña colada one stood out). It was like a wonderland of cock. Julie always had one in her mouth and two in her hands — well, when she wasn’t using her hands more creatively to tease testicles or grope marbled jock ass cheeks through delightfully textured jeans. Occasionally she would stop for just a few seconds to rub her cheeks against a guy’s thighs, enjoying the familiar, scratchy sensation of their tight, worn jeans.

“You know,” Duke said, “enough with this ‘head cheerleader’ bullshit, Julie. Everyone at MWA knows what you really are.”

He reached down, even as her head bobbed up and down eagerly around Amed’s cock and her hands pumped Donny’s and Larkin’s, and set a dream image he had conjured of that most coveted tiara atop her head. Duke started clapping, and soon all the guys were clapping with him. Julie blinked in shock. Her heart surged. Okay. Don’t start crying while you’re servicing three guys. It will be misinterpreted and make them uncomfortable getting into the rougher stuff later on. She didn’t, but it took a real effort.

“Thank you,” she finally said. “Thank you so much. All of you.”

As amazing as the moment was, though, everyone’s libidos were raging and there was no time to dwell on it.

“You know,” Troy narrated pompously, “there’s been several great tragedies of the year we sacrificed at the altar of equity, but I think one of the greatest is that none of us will ever get to engage in the time-honored tradition of reckless and dangerous underage binge drinking at our graduation after-party. After all, none of us are underage any more! Truly, we have all missed out on a cultural touchstone of the American Way there.”

Troy hefted two big bottles of beer out of a plastic case he’d pulled out of the ether. Julie had a pretty good idea where this was going, and decided to run with it. “On the good side, though, we can all still all get righteously wasted, and we have our cute, naive little prom queen here — the rightful prom queen, I might add — to help us serve the beer. Anything you’d like to say before I do the honors?”

“Just this,” Julie said, still naked and on her knees, grinning madly in anticipation. “There is no whiskey dick in this dojo!”

“Damn right, girl!” Troy agreed. Then he popped the caps off the beer bottles, put his thumbs over their lips, shook them vigorously and nailed Julie right in the face with twin pressure-jets of foamy beer. She cackled with delight even as she squirmed from the sudden temperature shock. She opened her mouth to swallow some of the beer, and was pleasantly surprised — it was a strong, quality brand covertly smuggled in from Canada instead of the weaker American brands. It felt right, in a way, to have illicit beer at their graduation party.

Chilled foam cascaded over her face, neck, shoulders and breasts, making her nipples stand up even harder than they otherwise were. Ever a performer, she gleefully shook her elegant C-cups back and forth to complete the stock fantasy image. She had her eyes squeezed shut to avoid getting beer in them, but she didn’t mind that at all. It increased the appeal to be blind — both because it made her feel deliciously vulnerable, and because keeping her eyes closed heightened the impact of her other senses.

The guys clustered all around her. Four or five tongues stroked her body at the same time. Two were devoted solely to licking the beer off her sensitized nipples. One stroked and teased the small of her back. The nipple stimulation drove her positively wild — she started bucking and thrashing, and the men had to hold her arms and pin her down to keep licking. That made it even better — she liked being manhandled, being restrained and held down by strong rough hands. She felt the scratchy touch of Coach Larkin’s distinctive goatee and guided his head between her legs, remembering that he was the one who really knew how to eat pussy well. He rewarded her very well for her choice, lapping at her clit as he sucked up the waves of foamy goodness flowing down her body.

The rational part of her mind was amused, finding it oddly profound to experience the cliché but still deeply appealing “degrading drunken frat boy gang bang” fantasy with a group of guys who so obviously cared about her, and whom she understood and trusted to such a degree. She pushed the introspection aside, however, preferring to experience this solely in the realm of the senses.

So much beer! More than just two bottles worth. Troy must have pulled a keg out of his ass in order to get her under this prolonged beer fountain. Other than Larkin, the boys were all interchangeable to her. They became their tongues alone, and those tongues felt amazing. Someone was licking up rivulets of beer running down her long smooth legs, like she was Salma Hayek in From Dusk to Dawn. It tickled, and she squirmed harder, and the binding hands restrained her more roughly. Someone was choking her now as well. She loved that. So many tongues — on both nipples, on her clit, on her foot and ankle, even one more sensual guy (probably Duke or Donny) licking beer off the small of her back. That rearward tongue gradually moved downward, and she willed herself to be perfectly clean downstairs just before the analingus started. Whoever was doing it was good at it, too.

She managed to last through a minute or two of blissful ecstasy before the overstimulation popped her like a balloon and the kind of power orgasm a lady can only procure with a lot of kink, a love of rough sex and six tongues working in perfect synchronicity tore its way through her body like a thunderbolt. Once it finished, the guys let her go and she collapsed to the air-mattress floor like a ragdoll, pulling in ragged breaths of air as the multi-colored spots faded from her slowly returning vision. “Holy fuck. That was... thank you. Thank you all so much.”

Larkin grinned. “Team effort, right?”

Amed and Donny high-fived, and everyone cheered. She wasn’t close to done, though. She looked around — the massage tables were gone; the stage was empty. “Lift me up,” she instructed Nick and Troy. “I want to try to deep-throat Raj.”

The two strong jocks were happy to oblige. Their muscles flexing gave Julie a visual treat entirely distinct from the upcoming challenge, and her hands snaked up to stroke the big biceps. She let her lead loll back so her throat and esophagus were aligned in a linear passage. “Fuck my throat,” she told Raj.

He did. She felt her lower throat bulge as he slid down it. It was exciting but uncomfortable. Julie had to struggle to repress her gag reflex. She got off more on the transgressive delight of doing something so nasty than the actual cock. The admiring male laughs and awe-struck “holy shits” tickled her sense of vanity. Raj seemed to adore it, though, and soon he was pumping back and forth in her throat. It didn’t take too long before he shot globs of sperm straight into her stomach. He pulled out but stayed hard — the Martian influence would give the men a little extra staying power tonight, just like Julie herself.

Julie’s body was slick with beer and Nuru gel, though, and as Raj was pulling out Nick lost his grip on her and her body careened about. Eventually Troy hefted her up in her arms and swung her around.

“Hey,” Duke shouted. “Be careful!”

“No,” Julie clapped back. “Don’t! You don’t need to worry about it! You can’t hurt me here.”

“You sure?” Troy asked with a grin.

“Yeah.”

“Really sure?”

“Yeah.”

“Cool. Hey, Duke?”

“What?”

“Catch!”

And then Julie was flying through the air, limbs pinioning. She screamed like a little bitch in visceral panic. Duke caught her, though, and stared down at her in awe. Her heart hammered against her chest at the crazy thrill. “Troy, you dick!”

He threw his arms up in the air and gave her his best “well, what did you expect?” shrug. It looked goofy, and she burst into slightly loopy laughter. “Gee-hee! No consequences!”

Her hand slid around to grope Duke’s ass, and he laughed in spite of himself. He pulled her up, so that she was vertical — though her feet still weren’t on the ground. She liked being carried around by strong men, honestly. It was exciting. She wrapped her legs around Duke’s waist and used one hand to slide his cock into her eager slit. Then she pulled herself up so she was straddling him and drew her face very close to his. She kissed him, once, deeply, savouring the feel of his lips and tongue. It was ultimately more satisfying for her, though, to just hold her face an inch from his as he pumped in and out of her while holding her in mid-air. She stared into his dark hard eyes, daring him, challenging him, pushing him. It delighted her that she could goad him, make him pound into her harder and harder, just by staring at him and raising a single challenging eyebrow. His masculine grunts of exertion were pretty hot, too.

Finally her thighs started to tremble and she came, the orgasm rippling through her body. She kicked her legs about wildly and howled. Duke lost his grip on her slick body; she fell down to the inflated floor and bounced about. He grabbed her a handful of her fiery red hair, though, and pulled her head roughly back to his cock. He pointed it right at her like a cannon and cut loose, painting her face with his seed even as her own orgasm left her shivering and moaning. After she got her breath back, she thrust her arms up in the air triumphantly. “Fuck yeah! Now that’s the kind of performance I want from you guys!”

The boys didn’t need any more encouragement. Nick lay down on his back on the air mattress, hands cupped behind his head, cocky jock smile plastered on his face. His hard dick stood up like a flagpole. “Sit on this, bitch! I want your ass!”

She was happy to oblige, spreading her ass cheeks with her hands and easing herself gently down on the hard cock. She shivered as she felt the head slide through her sphincter and up her rectum with a tactile pop. She felt full, in an odd and incredibly exciting way. She’d done anal in dreams before, but it wasn’t like this. Wow, one of the ladies in this dream must have had real-life experience with anal — good anal, that is — from the female perspective. Was that you, 8HB, you naughty little scoundrel? Betcha it was! Or have Marvin and PHB been getting more experimental than I would have suspected? Well, whoever it was, thanks, and you go girl! Once Julie’s ass was excitingly full, she also spread her legs, flaunting her curly red bush and hungry slit.

“I think she wants more than just one, boys,” Larkin said. He clasped his favored charge on the shoulder. “Go on, Donny — make the team proud!”

Donny probably had the thickest cock of any of the guys. It took some fumbling and repositioning to get it in, but that was all just an extra layer of fun to Julie. If she could take Nora’s fist in a dream, Donny’s fat cock would be no problem at all! Donny and Nick pumped her at the same time. It felt as incredible to experience in the first person as she imagined it would when she watched Rich Bonnie take on both Brett and Troy. She groaned. Donny smiled awkwardly down at her. “You look really hot naked, you know, with a tiara and jizz on your face.”

Julie grinned maniacally. Donny was just awkward, not insulting, but any other girl would have read it as a sideways compliment at best. And yet it wasn’t, to Julie. It was what she’d wanted from the beginning, wasn’t it? Not just to have that tiara, but to get it with her sexuality; to earn it on her knees. Her own self-image of herself in the tiara and Duke’s jizz delighted her. She was sure she could get a lot more jizz by the end of the dream, though.

The air mattress floor made everything so bouncy and rhythmic — the guys pounded her harder than normally possible, skin slapping, as they themselves were bouncing up and down on the inflatable floor with every stroke. Of course, to the boys the most interesting side effect of this was on Julie’s chest — even she had to admit her puppies looked great in motion. The other guys were all circling around her, jerking it. Amed leaned down, and she wrapped her mouth around his eager cock, bobbing up and down. When her hands reached out, there were two other hard cocks eager for her grip. Five guys! I’m pleasuring five guys at once, and it feels fantastic! Amed pulled back and blew a load all over her gyrating boobies. The guys all cheered for him, and he bowed. Troy shot another load all over her face — a huge one. She laughed in mad hedonistic pleasure as the baby batter dangled from her chin and earlobe.

“I love feeling your hands on my body,” she told her studs. “So many of you, all at once; it really brings home on a tactile level what’s going on. Feel free to squeeze or slap; you won’t offend me.”

The guys listened. Julie’s nubile young body was stroked, slapped and teased in every imaginable place by fourteen skillful hands in unison. It was cute, how the boys jousted and competed over her breasts; she did make sure everyone got their fair share of the Julie pie, though. It was like a massage for her ego and libido simultaneously.

The positions changed, again and again. After a while, Julie lost track. The guys remembered what Troy had established about spanking, and Larkin really tore a strip out of her cute little ass. It warped her mind, putting her into a euphoric haze of lust, need and sheer horniness. She felt like it was almost an altered state.

Most of the guys got a shot at one of her holes. Some even got both. In the dream-reality, the anal was all perfectly clean. Julie got lifted up, tossed around like a party favor. Larkin really pounded her while Duke held her up in a ridiculously exposed spread-eagle position. The guys held her in odd positions as they slammed her. She came twice as rough hands squeezed her breasts, ass cheeks, shoulders, neck, hips, ankles and other, less describable places. She was bruised and battered, but it only made her feel marvelously kinky. It all blended into one big morass of rough hands, hard cocks and pure ecstasy after a while, though.

She knew clearly how it finally ended, though. She was riding Duke. Raj was behind her, in her ass, holding her arms behind her back to make her feel helpless. One by one, the other five guys — Donny, Nick, Troy, Larkin and Amed — jerked it until they popped off right in her face. She couldn’t even see who was who by the end — semen glued her eyes shut. All that mattered was that she felt dirty, used and worshipped — and understood how there was no real paradox there, and gloried in her abuse. Hands roamed her body, groping, stroking and squeezing her as a final, magnificent orgasm thundered through her body.

The dream started to dissolve. Troy was babbling, doing a parody of a moralistic, “what we learned” Jerry Springer outro. Julie wasn’t listening. She felt the male bodies enfolding her, cradling her, immediately so gentle and caring after they had just been so deliciously rough. Duke was nuzzling her ear with his nose. She giggled; it felt nice. Amed offered her a towel to wipe her face, but it wouldn’t matter — the dream was unraveling anyway. She felt whole and complete in her own coalescent identity forged from so many discrete archetypes — seductress and healer, nympho and stoicist, good Samaritan, slut-magician, centrist, cheerleader, protector, socialite, wonder-worker, graduate, prom queen.

Julie awoke slowly. It was mid-July, summer break. No obligations. She was so used to keeping a strict schedule that having time to sleep in was almost surreal to her. High school was over. She’d graduated. The whole controversy with the DEO, prom and Decepticon Bonnie was over. She’d seen justice done and made it out relatively unscathed herself. She felt free. She still didn’t know what she was doing next, but she had at least six weeks left of summer to figure that out. She had applications for colleges out — both prestigious ones and quieter ones, party schools and serious academic institutions. Like every recent high school graduate, though, she had to figure out what she really wanted to do next. One thing was for sure, though — the dreaming wasn’t over, but it was over for the next month or two. She couldn’t lose herself in hedonism; she was not going to be an addict. She was stronger than that. She had to keep moving in life.

The big orgy-dream had been gratuitous and hedonistic — she couldn’t claim any real motives beyond those. She’d learned things, though, and they were deeply affirming to her. At times, as her nocturnal journeys grew more and more intense, a sliver of doubt plagued Julie: was this the essence and the apex of her magick? As much as she enjoyed dream-walking, that would be a disappointment — Lady Grimwald had always taught her to view the Western Esoteric Tradition as a grand mystical-personal journey toward a higher philosophical goal. If all she could do with it was get herself off, she had failed as an Adept.

But she knew that wasn’t true, now. Sexuality might be the conduit and the catalyst to her spellcasting, but it wasn’t its ultimate essence or core. No, the nature of her magick was improvement. She refined things, made them better than they were before. Her self-augmentation spells to boost stamina and agility weren’t that exceptional, but the intelligence boost sure was — it had made the True Lodges view her as a most promising recruit even from her Zelator years. And that thread of improvement had carried through all her esoteric work over her senior year — the orgy dream showed her that.

She knew she’d helped Donny Broekner, but she hadn’t realized how big a deal that was until she’d had time to process his role in the undoing of Alison Dikscheide. She’d assumed it was mundane influence, just being there when he needed some affection — but it was more than that. She was a mystic catalyst to his own self-improvement. She knew that now, because she saw the same signs in Nora and Marvin. Giving other people confidence was a powerful transfiguration, useful for far more than just keeping cocks hard.

It didn’t even stop at individuals. She’d improved MWA by excising the DEO’s influence, and by working to soothe the racial tensions Dikscheide kicked up for personal profit. She’d slowed PHB’s pendulum, even if only slightly. She’d even improved herself, by putting her focus on popularity in better perspective with other goals and learning more about it’s nature and foundations in society. She’d burned away her personal dross and made herself a more perfect being in the grand alchemical traditions of the True Lodges. She felt pride in her accomplishments and her essence, which was one of the grandest feelings a Hermetic Adept can experience.

An odd thought occurred to her. The last twelve months of her life had been shaped and defined by her peculiar relationship to adolescent male fantasies. She had immersed herself in them, adored them, reveled in living them out. The majority of other girls her age would have been repulsed by many of the rougher pleasures she enjoyed. They’d also be way more focused on romance as opposed to sybaritic sex. Did this make her, in a peculiar way, gender-queer or ‘gender-nonconforming’? She certainly wasn’t unhappy with her gender, her birth sex or her body; she didn’t experience any kind of dysphoria. But her attitude toward sex was paradoxically almost masculine — in contrast to everything else about her being so richly feminine.

The terms filled her with loathing — likely because her life experiences with them, shaped and misused by the DEO and its sympathizers, had been so very negative. But as much as she reveled in her femininity, and in the masculinity of her lovers, she knew she also didn’t want to be constrained by an enforced gender role either.

None of this was really revelatory. She’d already mentally separated the existence of gender norms from gender role enforcement — protect the former; abhor the latter. As for the labels, well... fuck labels. All they were good for was identity politics, anyway. She was just Julia Lambert, Practicus. Anything else was a triviality not worth consideration, so she thought no longer about it.

What she did need to think about, at length, was her future. She had so very many options open to her. She could probably finagle her way into a prestigious college and ace the classes with transhuman intellect. That was the most conventional path forward, but not necessarily the best one — prestigious careers drew attention, and she could make whatever money she needed on Robin Hood if she was so inclined. Given her natural vanity, modeling also appealed to her. She could win the ultimate popularity contest as some kind of supermodel, she thought, if she really wanted to. It was the kind of ladder one could legitimately flirt and dream-fuck their way up, after all. But she’d grown up a lot in the last year, and wasn’t sure that held the appeal it once had. The imaginary dream-tiara Duke had given her was more perfect for who she was than the real tiara ever could have been.

PHB was, in some ways, the real hero of the MWA saga. She had spoken the words no one else dared to. Julie could hover over her in the shadows, protecting her from her enemies and giving her occult blessings of good luck. It was a worthwhile cause. She’d do that to some extent regardless, but hadn’t decided on the level of commitment she wanted to put in there yet. She could truly devote herself to stopping the pendulum her friend had described, but it would surely make her powerful enemies and could easily become her life’s work. Polarization was a deep and complex issue not likely to have a quick fix, and she was determined not to subvert the political agency of mundanes any more than she already had.

Should she deepen her ties to the True Lodges and explore the occult world? Adept politics was labyrinthine, but it also held rewards incomprehensible to mere mundanes. Should she be more or less involved with her fellow magicians? Or should she pursue mysticism even more directly, devoting more and more time to exploring the astral plane and making contact with the manifold strange spirits that dwelt therein? That had actually been one of her original plans, a year ago before she discovered the dream-spell and her own sexuality — take a year to explore the astral realm after graduating high school, the same way some mundanes took a year to travel the corporeal world.

An odd echo stuck in Julie’s mind. She remembered a line from the trailer for The Secret — you know, the New Age, power-of-positive-thinking scam based on watered-down Hermetic mysticism that got its own movie? It was insufferably cheesy. “You can have, do or be anything you want.”

Except, for her, it was true. She could. She stood in a field with a million open doors before her. The world was at her fingertips. All she had to do was decide the path of her life. Decision paralysis is a bitch! She didn’t have to decide today, though. She had six weeks left to talk to people, feel out the world, interrogate her own heart and make up her mind. For today, at least, she could simply luxuriate in the feeling of earned success and the infinite menagerie of potentials open to her.

She flipped the Six of Swords around in her hand thoughtfully, wondering where her future lay.