The New Girl, Ch. 2

 

Chapter 2: Keeping Secrets

 

The following day is Thursday, and ordinarily of no consequence. What strikes me as different, however, is that I always find Freya staring at me. Her scarily beautiful blue eyes readily find me, no matter which room we’re in, no matter where I stand outside during breaks. Freya just wears this funny smile, sharp as a scythe for running through wheat.

I start feeling a mote paranoid, perpetually feeling her eyes bore into me even when they aren’t. She isn’t always looking at me, or for me, which makes it worse. Why am I so scared of some girl?

Freya is scary, isn’t she? If she has a dick, then she’s not a she, anyway. Is Freya trans? Something else? Regardless, it explains how Becky’s boyfriend got raped. He wasn’t forced into a girl’s pussy, that’s for sure. If a no-nonsense woman like Mrs Maxwell is subservient to Freya’s cock, then most likely that guy had his back doors smashed in…

‘You know the truth, don’t you?’ a girl says. Her voice is sonorous, husky, sultry in all the best ways. It oozes sexiness. Freya. ‘You were in the changing room, weren’t you? Eavesdropping on Maxwell and I.’

I turn around slowly, doing my best to avoid showing fear. In the wake of the Amazonian girl’s arrival on the central grassy area, most people have excused themselves in one way or another, keeping their distance. The bronze-skinned goddess stands on the edge of the grass, arms crossed beneath her voluminous cleavage and her bleach-blonde hair falling neatly around her face and down her back like a golden veil.

‘I don’t know what you mean,’ I say, surprised at my vocal clarity.

Freya steps forwards, and I step back. She lunges, quick as a bolt, seizing me at the collar and pressing me against a tree. God, her hands are so soft, and she stinks of bubble-gum sweetness. For all her strength and aggression, she maintains a cool, disinterested smile.

‘I think you know exactly what I mean. Tom, isn’t it? Vicky said that was your name. You have dirt on me, whether you like it or not,’ Freya says, her smile taking on a sinister edge. ‘I don’t like it when people have dirt on me. We both get filthy, you know? I don’t like being filthy; I’m very clean, usually.’

‘You don’t need to threaten me, because I have no idea what you’re talking about.’ Again, I surprise myself. ‘I’m no threat to you. I might even like you, if you weren’t acting so venomously aloof all the time.’

She giggles and cocks her head, the smile widening. God, her mouth is so pretty. Her lips are so curvaceous and full, her teeth so white. She’s easily the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen, and it bothers me how much I don’t hate her manhandling me like this. I’ve clearly got a sub complex, or something.

‘Venomously aloof? I like that, it’s a nice phrase,’ Freya says. Her smile grows evil again. ‘I saw the CCTV footage, Tom. It’s you, outside of Mrs Maxwell’s office, and that means you overheard what was going on. Again, that’s dirt, whether you like it or not.’

‘I have no ill-will towards you, Freya.’

She releases me and steps backwards. Her long, muscular legs move most gracefully. It’s impossible to not find myself interested in her.

‘Are you gay, Tom?’ she says. It seems a non-sequitur. Especially because she must, some way or another, have noticed my wandering eyes.

‘No,’ I say, simply. ‘Why?’

Freya giggles. ‘Just wondering. It means this will be easy, that’s all.’

She turns about and starts to walk away.

‘What does that mean?’ I say, calling after her.

‘You’ll know when you know,’ Freya says. She gives me one last smile. ‘Nobody has dirt on me if I don’t have dirt on them.’

And with that, she wanders off. For the rest of the day, there’s no sign of Freya staring at me. She’s back to normal; aloof, disinterested, away in her thoughts.

The notion sticks, however, that she must be seeking something to pin on me. Is there anything in my life that I’d be ashamed of, were it to come out? By the end of the day, on the bus home, I realise that while plenty of shit I do might be awkward or even embarrassing, I’d certainly own it all. It’s just how I am.

Yet all the same, I can’t help but feel a sense of looming dread.

 

On Friday, I have PE as my last lesson. Sixth Form was meant to drop PE, but that was too good to be true. I’m eighteen, an actual adult, and still have to do pointless laps.

Mrs Maxwell runs it and for the first time in perhaps ever, I’m half-mesmerised by her impressively large chest. It’s maybe bigger than Freya’s, even. The mental image of Freya – with a dick – fucking that chest is, I have to admit, pretty arousing. I mean, the mental image of Freya – with a dick – is surprisingly…not bad? That’s not gay, right? Besides, I’m not even sure she has one and if she does, the surgery was clearly great. But then why keep the dick?

Weird.

Mrs Maxwell says it’s my turn to tidy up the equipment, though I don’t argue the point. I’m sure it’s not, but still. An easier life, not fighting with that boisterous woman. If Freya is somehow dominating her, well, that’s scarily impressive.

I get back to the changing room last, and am halfway through getting changed when the last of the other boys disappears off home. Then the door goes, and Mrs Maxwell walks in. The tall woman, about six foot or so, crosses her arms beneath her heaving bosoms and stares me down across the rectangular room. She’d almost be attractive, if not for the fact that she treats PE like a military regimen.

‘Uh, miss? I’m still getting changed,’ I say.

‘No, you’re not.’ Mrs Maxwell walks over to the outer door and opens it. Someone else steps inside. ‘I’ve locked the other door, Mistress,’ the PE teacher says. ‘I’ll lock this one from the outside.’

‘Thanks, Vicky,’ Freya says. ‘You’re such a good girl.’

I turn as the blonde bronze-skinned goddess walks in, clad in tight-fitting PE kit, wearing a cruel smile on her perfectly voluptuous lips. She strokes Mrs Maxwell’s auburn hair as though petting a dog, then sends the teacher away with a gesture. The door falls closed with a locking sound that reverberates inside my head, if not my ears.

The tall girl clenches something in one hand, hidden behind long well-manicured fingers. She watches me, eyes glistening blue, looking me up and down, grinning all the while. Freya steps forwards, and her chest rises and falls. Her hourglass figure, that muscular fertile body, sways alluringly. I’m positioned in such a way that to step back is to corner myself against a set of L-shaped benches, so I stand my ground.

‘I’m going to have dirt on you,’ Freya says. ‘Now, you can leave this room with bruises on your face, or just on your ego…but you will leave with bruises.’ I watch her hand, which unfurls like a graceful flower, revealing a bottle of lube. ‘Turn around and drop those tight little briefs of yours, dickhead.’

For a moment I just blink at her, standing there with my school shirt on and my underwear, dwarfed by the tall Amazonian girl with the lube in her hand.

‘Are you fucking joking?’

Freya giggles, and hooks her shorts with a thumb. A single gesture sends them sliding down her perfect legs, to rest around her knees. She’s got no underwear on. She’s got…an enormous flaccid penis and two gigantic balls.

‘I can be gentle, Tom. But I’m unloading in your virginal arse one way or another. Call it mutually assured destruction; if you let out that I’ve got a cock, then I let out you’ve ridden it. Thanks for being straight, by the way. It makes it so much easier.’

I look her up and down, petrified. Freya has this thick flaccid dick that’s about the size mine is when I’m fully erect, six or so inches long. It’s tipped with a heavy glans hidden currently in folds of foreskin, and beneath it hangs a pair of huge testicles each the size of a clenched fist in a tight sack. The whole thing is bronze like the rest of her, though pale bikini lines run upwards to her hips from somewhere beneath the thick curling mound of golden blonde pubes above her shaft.

‘Holy shit,’ I say.

Freya smirks, and points at the wall. ‘Turn around, dickhead. Don’t you dare resist or I’ll slam your face against the wall. You know I’m stronger than you.’

She’s holding it now, the flaccid thing sort of hanging awkwardly over the edge of her hand, drooping heavily with the weight of that fat head. A weapon, to her mind, it seems. A means of controlling other people. But it’s…it’s kind of a girly dick, isn’t it? I mean, it’s not, but the body attached to it might make Aphrodite a little bit jealous.

I’m confused by myself.

‘What, you want to suck it instead?’ she says. ‘Turn the fuck around!’

‘O-kay.’

Awkwardly, I turn about and put my palms against the white breeze-block wall of the changing room. There’s the plastic clack of the bottle opening, then a disappointed grunt from Freya. Her warm, soft skin brushes against the small of my back as she yanks down my briefs. ‘Do I have to do fucking everything myself?’

I go to speak but the cool lubricant drizzles down my arse-crack, a tingling slickness that has me arch my back. ‘Shit that’s cold,’ I say, but Freya only laughs. She slaps my butt hard, so hard I wince and hiss.

‘Got a real fat arse. Don’t you, Tom?’ she says, her very tone possessing a smirk. ‘I’m going to enjoy this.’

I’m not sure what I expected. Foreplay? Teasing? Freya just aims her rock-hard throbbing heat at my butthole and digs her hands into my hips, thrusting with reckless abandon.

‘Ughn, shit.’

It’s a searing pain, like a tearing, the sensation of something way too large going into too small a hole. I grunt, and my eyes water with tears. The hot thickness that pushes out the tight confines of my anus is not content to merely linger, to let me adjust. Freya starts to slam, back and forth, driving that raging hotness up and down inside my arse, spreading the pain as it tunnels.

I grit my teeth and bear it, hands pressed so firm against the wall that the bones of my fingers might snap. Freya’s cock is absolutely inhuman, bigger than I can believe, thick and throbbing and pulsing along its veiny length inside my backdoor.

‘Guh…it hurts,’ I say.

‘Ugh, not on my end.’

‘P-lease…’

‘Ughn, you’re so fucking tight.’ She slaps my arse hard, ramming deeper, the bristly tips of her pubic hairs tickling the top of my butt. ‘What is it with–argh–boys and their fuckable arseholes?’

‘Freya, you’re…ugh…’

Hurting me? No, that’s not quite right.

She ignores me, thrusting away, driving her length deeper and deeper into my exposed and lubricated arsehole. What was meant to be a moan of pain was, well, something a bit pleasant. Freya slams against me so hard that the top of my crack is suddenly full of ticklish soft pubic hairs and a pair of great warm orbs slam against my own smaller balls, their soft skin vaguely moist with sweat.

Glancing down, beyond the overhang of my chubby belly, my erection is undeniable. And when Freya slaps my arse again, giving a sort of sublime sting of pain to the flesh around it, she clarifies something both embarrassing and liberating.

I’m actually enjoying this.

‘Take it–argh–take it you bitch!’ she says, ramming me, her balls slapping hard against mine. ‘You’re a fucking girl–ughn–a fucking girl!’

‘Ugh…’

‘You’ll–mhm–never live this down, Tom.’

‘Never…ughn.’

‘How’s it feel, huh? Ugh, how’s it feel to be taken like the bitch you are?!’

Freya’s fingers dig into my hips, vaguely hurting me with the hardness of her nails. She thrusts and retreats, thrusts and retreats, mounting me like I’m a girl, driving her hot hard rod deep inside me with a rapacious strength and determination. I’m subject to her lusts, to her overpowering strength, to her pacing and power.

The enormous cock throbs monstrously, a heavy radiating sensation that fills my belly with a kind of twisting pleasure. Its course is simple, a straight-forward up and down, back and forth, yet it hits places that have me wince and bite my lips, not out of pain – though the stretching rawness is certainly there – but out of a kind of unwanted, unfathomable ecstasy.

How am I meant to feel?! This is wrong, and I’m not gay, but I don’t want it to stop. I want her to lean forwards, to press those massive tits of hers against my back, to grind her crotch against my arsehole. Every slap of her testicles, those great hanging things, is a lewd pleasure to both my groin and my ear. The sensation of that thick mushroom head, flared wide and firm, as it excavates my backside, is something ephemeral.

‘Ughn, it’s…ugh…so good.’

Freya chuckles, and slaps my arse. ‘Thought so–argh–you filthy little butt-slut.’

‘Guh…fuck.’

‘No loser boy has ever–ughn–been able to resist my dick,’ she says, performing a particularly powerful thrust that causes my back to arch. ‘Such a fucking–ugh–fragile masculinity. My cock up your arse and you’re–mhm–putty in my hands.’

The Amazonian girl slams her powerful hips, the wide curvaceousness of her lower body gracing the cheeks of my butt, the ticklishness of her pubes reaching the top of my crack, the weightiness of those big balls dwarfing my own as they slap against them. My breathing is quicker, and so is hers. There’s a tension building in my crotch, a familiar yet vastly stronger pleasure response than I’m used to.

‘Ugh. Holy…shit…’

Freya keeps hitting this spot – bombarding it, more like – and every time her bulky fat helmet passes it, the pressure builds a little more. It’s like a volcano of heat, a subsurface current urging towards an explosion. I’m so close.

I’m going to cum on Freya’s dick.

‘Say you’re my bitch, Tom,’ she says, speaking beside my ear. Through her polo shirt I can feel her rock-hard nipples, poking against my back with every thrust. The full weight of her chest, unfortunately, is kept just out of reach. ‘Tell me that you’re a girl–ughn–that you’re my girl. Tell me…tell me you want me to breed that arse.’

I arch my back, blowing my top. It’s the biggest load I’ve ever shot, a veritable fountain that thankfully only meets the white wall ahead of me. The pleasure she’s been stoking erupts, a molten stream of jizz shooting out of my dick at a pace I’ve never before experienced.

‘Uh, Jesus…fucking…Christ.’

Freya grunts. ‘You fucking–oh shit.’

Freya halts mid-thrust, deep in my arse. My own orgasm grows all the greater, weakening my knees and causing muscle spasms in my belly. My eyes go wide at the realisation, just as Freya starts to buck and tremble.

She’s cumming as well.

‘You’re–mhm–you’re fucking milking me, bitch.’

Freya’s grip tightens and she leans forwards, resting her weight upon me. Her massive breasts somewhat flatten and spread, great hot heavy soft shapes cushioning my back, their nipples poking my skin. As I shoot the biggest load of my life up the wall, Freya shoots something inhumanly powerful inside of me.

A wave of heat rushes through my bowels, a sort of velvety thickness that seems to slosh and coat as it moves, pumping out in a series of extraordinary shots. The heavy ooze, the molten fluid, is so tangible it has an obvious and undeniably filling sensation to it. My eyes roll back in my head as that warmth envelops those most sensitive areas, exaggerated by the pressure of her huge helmet and wide length.

She whimpers. ‘You’re…a…fucking bitch.’ Freya seizes my throat from behind, but her grip is weak. Her soft fingers are more ticklish than fierce and she trembles against me, her heavy bosom shaking softly, shuddering and wobbling pleasantly against my back. ‘Ughn. That clenching is so fucking good. Fuck.’

But I’m not even sure what I’m doing. The pleasure is causing me to quiver and weaken, and I guess I must be clamping down with my pelvic muscles, squeezing her member extremely tightly. Freya half-heartedly thrusts, disturbing the filling of my bowels, causing me to gasp and grunt from the reignited pleasure. My cock spurts weakly now, my balls drained.

I fall forwards, exhausted, slipping out of her weak grip and almost face-planting the wall – thankfully far above my orgasmic mess. Freya continues to twitch and shudder, then starts to pull away, drawing out of me with a still-hard but softening cock. Without her grip on my hips my knees buckle, and I manage to soften my landing onto the benches at the last moment, breathing mouthfuls of euphoric air.

Freya is smiling proudly, contended, with a dreaminess to her. Her ordinarily perfect blonde hair is dishevelled and a bit sweaty, as is her face, and she has pit-stains beneath her arms. Her enormous bronze dick is all glistening with lube and precum and semen, shrinking even now.

And she’s blushing, vaguely. Red-cheeked and wet-eyed and looking more than a little bit pleased with herself. Freya steps backwards and looks down at me, eyeing me as an artist might her newest work.

‘You came so hard on my dick that you milked a load from my balls,’ she says, restraining a giggle. ‘All on camera too, so if you think about spilling the beans, then everyone will know you loved riding my dick, won’t they?’

Freya leans forwards and slaps my arse hard, then bursts into laughter as she goes to redress herself. In the haze of post-orgasmic pleasure all I can manage is to lie blissfully upon the bench, watching her jiggling curves and swaying manhood (womanhood?) as she stoops down to collect up her shorts.

I try to sit upright to address her, but something shifts and a heavy leakage drips out of me and down my left butt cheek. The sudden sloppy ooze covers the hand I send there, a thick stringy muck of pearl-white semen, thick and smelling somewhat musky. Creamy as custard, the heavy fluid slowly drips down my hand. There’s such a ridiculous amount, and it just keeps leaking.

Freya’s semen.

‘Basically knocked you up,’ she says, turning to face me as she tucks away her pendulous genitals. ‘What? Never seen so much cum?’ Freya giggles. ‘Best part is that you pulled it out, faggot. Enjoy cleaning up that mess!’

And just like that she smilingly collects her little bottle of lube and practically skips out of the changing room, leaving me reeking of salty sweat and musky semen. Above my head, in the very corner where she raped me, is a little camera fixing. So as to say, whatever faces I pulled are now on film, somewhere.

Shit.