The New Girl, Ch. 1

 

Chapter 1: The New Girl

 

Freya Venyabildt shouldn’t be at Falbeck School. Her family, the Venyabildts, are fucking billionaires. They own one of the largest pharmaceutical companies on Earth, and yet she’s joined the school, in my year. It’s not like Falbeck is crappy or anything, it’s just…well, not some dolled-up private school. It’s a state school, with all that that entails.

I don’t really know what I expected. It’s safe to say, it wasn’t Freya. She’s in my Science class, in my English too. I guess I imagined some haughty, well-spoken, nicely dressed girl. One of those untouchable chicks. Maybe that’s why Freya’s here in the first place, because she’s nothing like that.

Freya is six foot tall, to begin with. I feel especially short beside her, and she’s often in like, two-inch heeled boots, which makes her that much taller. Her hair is bleach-blonde, a golden-white length of straightness that runs over her shoulders and down her back. Teachers always tell her off for undoing the buttons of her shirt, but it wouldn’t matter anyway, because her tits are absolutely gigantic. They must be like G-cups, or bigger.

Her skin is always this bronzed tan shade and it looks legit, so either tanning beds or constant holidays. Freya’s skirt is always halfway down her thighs, revealing the muscular voluptuousness of her lovely legs, which seem to go on forever. She’s pretty buff, for a girl, which makes sense considering within a week of coming here, she already became the star girl’s athlete. Always in the gym, she can out-bench all but the strongest of the boys.

Yet despite her athleticism, her body is decked out like that of a love goddess. I’ve already mentioned her huge boobs and lovely legs, but her backside could crush a boulder into a diamond, so tight and fat are those big buns, and her hips are maybe the widest I’ve ever seen. She’s legitimately a sex-bomb.

…which makes it odd that, as of today, a whole month after she’s joined…everyone still avoids her. I mean, I get why that makes sense for most of us “worthless peons” because she’s, quite frankly, a bitch. What I don’t understand is why the tough guys haven’t flocked to her, or the popular girls – the bitchy ones, anyway, considering most are really nice – haven’t taken her into their groups. Freya always seems lonelier than anyone else.

She works out alone, after school. She eats alone, behind the PE building, out of sight. I’ve caught her reading in secrecy a few times, spotted her anyway, in one secret alcove or other. Freya isn’t, by any means, stupid. Fucking lazy, without a doubt – or disinterested, at the very least, which comes across the Tome way – but not stupid. I find myself so weirdly entranced by this new girl, and mostly out of her enigmatic qualities.

What is the deal with Freya Venyabildt?

 

Lisa Darrow is a long-time crush of mine, though she’s been fading from my interest – I have no chance at all – since around Year 9. It now being Year 13, and with my curiosity greater than my fear of being awkward, I tap her on the shoulder during RE. The blonde-haired, tan-skinned, very pretty girl – though not a fucking dust mote compared to Freya – turns to me with a funny smile.

‘Something the matter, Tom?’ she says. Much as I’m never going to be of interest to her, short and chubby as I am, Lisa is still plenty nice. She’s always remembered my name.

‘Can I ask you something?’ I say, leaning over and softening my voice. Our teacher, Mrs Taylor, is always off with the fairies. ‘It’s about Freya.’

At that name, Lisa seems to stiffen up. The girl beside her, Heather, gives us both a wary look. On the right side of her, Becky – another blonde beauty, though further along the bitchy scale – starts whispering to Carla beside her. It seems to set off a wave of whispers, warnings, worries. I can’t make most of them out, but “Freya” is always the first word, and the rest becomes distorted by the admixture of many repetitions stated at different paces, all across the classroom. Lisa glances around, then frowns.

‘After class,’ she says, quietly. ‘I’ll wait outside for you.’

And with that, Lisa Darrow turns back to the front, and gets on with her work.

Honestly, weirdest conversation I’ve ever had with her. I sit here stock-still, perplexed, staring at the back of her pretty head. What on Earth regarding Freya requires talking about it after class? Nothing comes to mind, and besides, I doubt she’ll suddenly change her thoughts on the matter.

When class is over, I find Lisa waiting beside the door on the way out. She waves away her friends and walks slowly with me, constantly checking around herself as if the walls might have ears.

‘What did you want to know?’ Lisa says.

I shrug, more at the presumption that any knowledge is something top-secret than the question itself. ‘Just…why does nobody seem to like her?’

Lisa twists her mouth. ‘You have spoken to her, right?’

‘But, and forgive me for saying, it’s not like all the girls in your group are, well, exactingly polite…’

‘It isn’t about polite, Tom. She’s monstrous.’ Now at the edge of the humanities block, Lisa glances around again. She leans in close, smelling of strawberries. ‘Remember that black eye Becky had a few weeks back? Freya gave it to her. Becky’s boyfriend started off on Freya in return, and…Jack doesn’t want to say what happened, but Becky thinks she raped him. We tried to be nice to her, but she thinks we’re all just pointless.’

Much as it’s wrong to think, the idea of being raped by a six-foot Amazonian goddess doesn’t seem something to be ashamed of. I suppose I say that as someone single, lonely, virginal, and so far, having not experienced rape.

‘She seems so lonely,’ I say gently, a little elsewhere. Lisa gives me a frown. ‘I suppose it makes sense, what with what you’ve just said.’

‘I don’t know why she’s at this school, Tom,’ Lisa says, firmly. ‘She’s always flashing her tits and legs, always threatens teachers when they tell her off for it to the point they’ve stopped, beats up people’s boyfriends…she has serious fucking behavioural problems, and that’s being light on the issue.’ A sudden thought seems to occur, such that she considers me in a new, somewhat disappointed light. ‘Do you fancy her or something?’

I swallow the lump in my throat. ‘I mean, she’s hot.’ Lisa rolls her eyes. ‘She is, but that doesn’t mean I fancy her. It’s not like I have a chance anyway.’

Lisa grabs my arm and squeezes it tight. Her fingers should hurt, but it’s the first time she’s ever touched me, so it feels more divine than painful. ‘Be careful, okay? I know we aren’t close, but you’re a nice enough guy. Rejection might break your heart, but I think she’s got the strength to break bones. Steer clear, Tom. Freya is bad news.’

And with that, Lisa smiles warily at me, glances around once more, and speeds off to join her friends. I’m left no clearer on the situation, because for all Lisa has said, it sounds difficult to believe. The girl seems lonely, not evil.

 

After school, I decide to go to the gym. Not to work out, as such, but I know that Freya is going to be there. The school gym is part of the PE block, adjacent to the gym hall. It has a fair few weight machines, though no free weights, which I’m more inclined to use. Surprisingly enough, the room is empty. There’s nobody around.

I dither for a little while, waiting and checking my phone, to no avail. Freya simply isn’t here today, for one reason or other. I’m about to go home when, from along the corridor, I hear the sound of voices.

‘Suck it, you dirty old whore,’ Freya says. It has to be her, it has the right bitchy, sultry, confident allure. ‘Wrap those fucking great tits around it, too, ughn yeah. That’s it, Vicky, that’s a good slut. Ughn, fuck.’

Vicky? I creep along the hallway, ears pricked, mind active. Vicky…Maxwell? The teacher? ‘Schlup. Mumph. Schlup. Schlup.’ Those noises sound lewd. They’re coming from Mrs Maxwell’s office, at the end of the corridor, round the little bend and out of sight. Faint, but my ears are good. ‘So–schlup–fucking–mumph–schlup–tasty,’ Mrs Maxwell says, the apparent source of the sounds. ‘Glugp. Mumph. Glugp.’

I reach the corner and hesitate, my heart pounding. What the hell is she sucking on? Is she forcing Mrs Maxwell to blow a guy in her office?

‘Ughn. Keep going deeper. Yeah, just like that,’ Freya says, voice ablaze with passion. ‘Hungry for that–ughn–load, aren’t you, Vicky?’ The way she says that name is like some act of power or dominance. ‘Bury your–argh–face in there. That’s a good slut.’

‘Mumph! Glugp. Glugp. Glugp.’

‘That’s it, that’s it. Mhm, play with those fat balls, work that–ugh–that fucking tongue.’

‘Mumph. Glugp. Glugp.’

‘Gonna feed you–ughn–lots today,’ Freya says, groaning. ‘Gotta get that fertile body of yours ready–mhm–because one of these days–oof–I’m gonna–argh–gonna–ughn! Shit, I’m so fucking close.’

There’s a slick, wet noise, and a sloppy gurgle. ‘Glugp. Schlup. Schlup.’ What follows is a panting for breath, and the wet slapping of something against skin. ‘Freya…we’ve…’

‘It’s Mistress Venyabildt to you, whore,’ Freya says. She must slap Mrs Maxwell! The sound is shockingly loud, and Mrs Maxwell gasps. ‘Suck the head until you get the cream, and you’re forgiven.’

‘Y-es M-istress V-v-enyabildt,’ Mrs Maxwell says, followed by, ‘Schlup. Mumph. Schlup.’

‘Ughn fuck. Shitting Christ, you’re good at that,’ Freya says, groaning. ‘Tell your–ugh–bitch-boy husband that–argh–you want to try for a baby on–mhm, fuck yeah, so close–tell him you want to try next weekend. Oof, fuck. Then–ughn–you can bare my child.’

A sloppy sound follows, like a lewd pop. ‘Y-es, Mistress Venyabildt. I-I’ll bare y-our child.’

‘Good girl,’ Freya says. I can almost picture her vainglorious smirk. ‘Beg for it. Beg.’

‘Please feed me your sperm, Mistress,’ Mrs Maxwell says, oozing lust. ‘I want it in my belly, I want to taste it on my tongue.’

‘Ughn, fuck. Suck it out then!’

‘Schlup. Schlup. Mumph. Mumph!’

‘Ughn, fucking yes! I’m fucking cumming, fuck!’ Freya shouts, without a care in the world. ‘That’s it–argh fuck yeah–that’s it, suck out the cream, every last fucking drop…’

It dawns on me that there is no third person, possessing a cock. I’ve either stumbled upon a weird roleplay, or…Freya isn’t a girl. What’s more, my dick is hard as fucking rock right now. It’s a fucking good thing that nobody else is around, Jesus Christ.

‘…show me it, Vicky,’ Freya says. ‘Open up, stick out that tongue. Oh yeah, that’s the stuff. You had to swallow a few times too, didn’t you? Good girl, putting it where it belongs. Shut it now, and savour it. Swallow now, good. Show me.’ Freya giggles. ‘Good girl, good girl. You really like my jizz, don’t you?’

‘It’s the best, Mistress Venyabildt,’ Mrs Maxwell says. ‘Just like your cock…just like your balls…’

There’s movement from within, and panic sets in on my end. I rush to the changing room door as Mrs Maxwell’s office opens up, casting yellow light full of private meaning into the corridor.

‘They’ll be there tomorrow, and the next day, and the day after,’ Freya says, stepping into the corridor. ‘You’re my personal milker, after all. You’re getting awful good at pulling it out, let me tell you…’

She turns around just as I manage to slip into the boy’s changing room. I keep the door just a fraction open, for fear of making a sound. It’s the tiniest gap in the world, a mere sliver of light. My heart beats hard in my chest, thumping against the inside of my ribs. The silence seems endless.

For a long moment, something blocks the sliver of light. I swear I hear Freya giggle, and then the light returns. I wait and wait, beyond the shutting of Mrs Maxwell’s office and the sound of her keys, her walking down the hallway, and then at last take my leave.

Is Freya’s secret that she has a dick?