The New Girl, Ch. 4

 

Chapter 4: Not Gay, Butt

 

Everyone’s caught up in rumours and hearsay the following morning.

My tutor fails to keep us quiet, so the conversations spill over in all directions. Someone broke into the PE block but Mrs Maxwell managed to subdue them, resulting in a broken nose on her part, says one. Another goes that Mrs Maxwell was fucking Coach Bulger, and the fat old man had a heart attack midway, causing him to accidentally headbutt her face, also explaining the nose.

It’s generally accepted that someone was hurt enough that they needed an ambulance. It’s also accepted that, somehow, Mrs Maxwell was involved. The actual truth, whatever it is, is something the faculty alone have access to.

The day proceeds otherwise as normal, with a midday announcement of a special assembly replacing tutor time tomorrow. Freya’s nowhere to be seen, so naturally some of the rumours try to fit her into the narrative. Maybe she was attacked by the Coach, for instance. Maybe she got into a fight – the general portrayal is that she’s a brute – with Mrs Maxwell, putting her into hospital in the process. But would a police car come for someone so badly hurt they’re hospitalised?

Someone did get taken away. That much, as well, is known.

 

Freya is back in school for the Thursday assembly.

‘We’re extremely disappointed to announce that our beloved Leonard Bulger, Coach of the sports teams, has chosen to resign,’ Mr Fradley says. I can’t help but look wide-eyed with surprise at this turn of events. ‘Unfortunately, given his advanced age, he suffered a painful slipped disc while hauling some PE equipment out of his car.

‘Police were called on recommendation of the paramedics, who felt that at a school environment it would be best to have some additional crowd-control, as it were, on hand.’ His face is lie, but a well-constructed one. ‘Naturally, as a member of the school’s financial committee, Mr Bulger was vital to funding efforts, much of which he did from his own pocket.

‘However, we’re very lucky to have the family of one of our newer students, Miss Venyabildt, ready to step up to the plate.’ Headmaster Fradley looks around, but fails to find Freya. I swear I saw her, but she’s vanished now. ‘Genevieve Venyabildt has committed to matching Mr Bulger’s donations to the school, and we doubtless have Freya to thank for this…’

 

Her knuckles are something out of a horror film.

Purple, swollen, bruised. She’s put foundation, or something of that sort, over the wide-spread wounds but it’s impossible to miss the swelling. Two seats away, in English, and I can’t stop staring. When Freya catches me she glares, and I avert my eyes only to find myself watching again.

There’s a picture forming, but it doesn’t make sense. She’s involved in all this, without a doubt, but how? And more importantly, why?

 

I find her at lunchtime.

She always sits in that spot, out of the way, far from everyone else. At first I suppose I thought it’s because she views everyone as “lessers”, but now I’m not so sure.

Freya Venyabildt, six-foot-tall, bodacious beyond belief, one of the most beautiful girls – women, by all accounts – in the world, surely…she could lead any clique or girl-gang yet chooses not to, for reasons I don’t grasp. Okay, sure, she’s got a massive dick. But what impact does that have?

Today she’s eating neat sandwiches, loaded with fillings. Despite her size and strength, she eats them slowly, cleanly. It’s a different book now, much bigger – Dostoevsky’s War and Peace.

Why does this clever, beautiful, wealthy girl sit by herself against a red-brick wall every lunchtime, avoiding contact with her peers?

More importantly, why would that girl – if I’m correct about my assumption – go out of her way to put a man in hospital when it wouldn’t have any impact on her life one way or another?

‘I don’t understand you,’ I say, coming to a halt just inside that little corner.

‘Did I ask for company?’

‘You put a guy in hospital.’

‘Did I?’ she says, deadpan. Freya shrugs. ‘Well, if that’s what they say. But it doesn’t explain why you’re still bothering me.’

It’s like talking to a brick wall. Even now, if she did something nice for me – deserved, surely – she’s got no interest in actually communicating. Why bother, if she won’t? Let her be lonely, fuck it.

‘Right, sure. Well, have a nice life.’

Sighing, I turn away.

‘I saw the footage,’ Freya says. ‘That fat pig had no right to see the film I’d made of you, but that dumb bitch Vicky thought to make some money and showed it to him. Modified, of course. It looks like a man was fucking you, not me.’

She looks thoughtful now, studying a piece of sandwich between two fingers, keeping her gaze away from mine. Guilty, maybe?

‘What I’m saying, Tom, is that I had no right to do what I did.’ She drops the piece into her lunchbox, and frowns. ‘You won’t understand and it’s not fair to say to someone who’s experienced what you have, but I get so caught up in hiding what I am at times that people get hurt unnecessarily. It won’t happen again. I’ll take adequate precautions, and not trust imbeciles like that Vicky Maxwell with private footage.’

‘All of that and you don’t say sorry,’ I say, facing her head-on. ‘You raped me, too, you know? You did it because of a reason, sure, but rape is rape. You’d sooner blackmail someone than ask nicely, and honestly Freya, that’s fucked up.’ Something about her neutral expression, her lack of basic decency, riles me up. ‘It’s pretty fucking clear why you sit alone at lunch.’

And that suggestion, to someone I barely know, seems far too cruel. ‘Freya, I’m sorry, that was too–’

‘It was perfectly fair, as comments go.’ She smiles strangely, and actually looks at me. Her eyes are brilliant sapphires, intelligent and a little scary. ‘You say you don’t understand me, but I don’t understand you. Of the twenty-something men I’ve humiliated, you’re the only one who doesn’t go out of his way to avoid me.’ Her eyes narrow, and she pauses a moment. ‘Do you really still think of me as a girl, Tom? Knowing what you do?’

I shrug. ‘What am I meant to see you as? If you saw that footage, you’ll see how different my face was with him as opposed to you.’ A heat creeps onto my cheeks, at the implication of what I’m saying. ‘I mean…’

Freya chuckles, but it’s not a mocking sound. She blushes faintly, and stifles her laughter with a curled hand. ‘Sorry, that’s just–it’s kind of funny, to me,’ she says. ‘You’re weird, Tom. Boys are meant to be scared, when they cum on my cock. They’re meant to be emasculated, meant to be ashamed.

‘But you aren’t, are you? Doesn’t it seem odd to you, that my dick is bigger than yours? Doesn’t it seem a bit pathetic, that you shot a load because I was stuffing your butt?’

‘That’s just biology,’ I say with a shrug. ‘You hit my prostate, right?’

‘Sure, but I hit it with my penis.’

‘And?’

She opens her mouth, but fails to make sounds. Freya closes her full lips, then glances side to side, eyeing concepts rather than things. After a moment, she affixes me again with her blue-eyed gaze. ‘You aren’t worried that you’re gay?’

‘I, uh, don’t think any gay man would want to ride your cock, Freya. Maybe you were a boy, and had all surgery and stuff, but–’

‘I never was,’ she says firmly, a bit testily. ‘Don’t assume.’

‘Fine, but that just makes you worse, for gay men. I mean, if your boobs are natural, those alone are gay-repellent. Not starting on your face, or smell, or hips, or…you get the idea.’

Freya is blushing now, solidly if not overwhelmingly. ‘You pay attention to all that stuff? Even now?’

‘What’s that mean? Yes, even now. Men think you’re a smoke-show, for Christ’s sake.’

‘Well they’d be blind not to, but again, Tom, I have a fourteen-inch dick.’

That seems to be a real point of contention for her. It’s odd seeing someone so otherwise smart being so, well, rigid. A male body with a vagina would be gross, right? But a female body with a dick? I just…it’s just different, rather than bad.

‘So? I guess that makes it a pretty girly dick?’

Freya’s eyes go wide, her cheeks redden, and she bursts into the first kind of honest, normal, human laughter I’ve witnessed from her. She lifts her knees and clutches them, rocking back and forth, sniggering and chuckling, wet-eyed and with a smile so true it looks like it’s going to ache.

It’s actually somewhat infectious, how natural that smile is. I can’t tell if she’s mocking me, or laughing at what I said, but I don’t really mind. As much as I want to hate this girl…I can’t seem to manage it.

After a few moments, she manages to get a hold on her humour, but her smile is still going strong and her eyes are wet with good-natured tears.

‘A girly dick, huh?’ Freya says. ‘You’re really, really, weird.’

I shrug aimlessly. ‘Yeah, I guess.’

‘Do you want to see it again?’

‘What?’

‘My dick. Do you want to?’

I don’t know. I want to see more of Freya, and I guess that also includes her gender-incorrect genitalia, right?

I shrug, again. ‘I don’t know?’

She rolls her eyes. ‘Look, idiot, did the fat fuck ruin anal for you or not? Because if he didn’t, and you’re open to the idea…well, I’ve never had a willing boy before.’

‘I guess there’s only one way to find out, right?’

Freya grins. Her teeth are perfect, pearly-white. ‘Quarter past three, knock on the girl’s changing room door – the outside one.’ She waves her hand at me, shooing me away like one would a child. ‘You can go now, Tom. Go to the changing room or don’t, ‘kay?’

‘But–’

‘I said go,’ she says, picking up her sandwich. ‘I don’t eat lunch with anyone, let alone you.’ But despite her words, her tone is…somewhat sweet. ‘See you later, or whatever.’

Am I really going to do this?

 

‘Ughn, shit. You’re so fucking tight.’

‘Fuck.’

‘Yeah, bitch, take it.’

‘Ugh.’

‘Slut. Fucking slut!’

It’s not romantic, but it’s passionate enough. She practically dragged me into the changing room and threw me into a corner. The whole thing started off without so much as a word, just the snap-click of the lube bottle’s cap and the opening groans of a sordid, forbidden, secret tryst.

Yeah. Whatever the Coach did, it had no long-term effect. I can’t even remember what it was like with him but being with Freya brings back memories, and fond ones at that. The pleasure is immediate, without a moment of doubt or regret. The cold lube gives way to searing heat, the warmth of being taken by a veritable Amazonian.

‘God, it’s better than–mhm–pussy.’

I can’t comment on that, but it’s like electric fire on my part, a creeping pleasure that radiates hotly out from the undeniable presence of her enormous erection. Freya grips my hips with vice-like strength, the softness of her skin contrary to the firmness of her muscles.

She slams those weighty curvaceous hips against me again and again, performing deep measured strokes, hilting herself up to her fat fucking balls every two or three thrusts. Her nuts slap noisily, wetly – from sweat and lubricant and whatever else – against mine. The big warm shapes engulf my smaller ones in their loose scrotum, and sometimes she holds herself buried deep, waves of pleasure causing her testicles to rise and fall, as if massaging my own.

‘Ughn…Freya.’

Freya chuckles. ‘Mhm, say my name, bitch-boy.’

‘Freya.’

‘Louder.’

‘Freya!’

She slams with such force that I shudder, palms almost slipping against the white tiles. In the dimness of the girl’s changing rooms, I’m being ridden like a girl, but our beauty and characteristics are oddly reversed. This whole thing should be unbecoming, but I can’t help enjoying it. Freya knows exactly where to hit, what to do, how fast to move. Her penis’s raw dimensions do the rest, that huge mushroom head splitting my arsehole in the most divine of ways.

I never thought an arse could feel out such things. The broad shape of her smooth helmet, the thickness of the veins running up and down her shaft, the heavy protrusion of her urethra on the underside, the coiled-back band of foreskin behind her glans. Her tool is profoundly good at prodding my prostate it seems, because with every thrust the sensation builds in my loins, the urge to blow my top.

‘God, that slutty butt is so hungry for my cum.’

‘Ughn.’

I wince, almost cry out as she slaps my right cheek with enough force to make me shudder. The pain mixes with the pleasure, sweet-sour, the heat left by her strong soft palm at once distorting my attention and affirming it, making real by creating a comparative sensation.

‘Always wanted a slut like you,’ she says. ‘A bitch-boy to fuck.’

‘Ugh, yeah…’

‘What are you, Tom?’

‘…a bitch-boy.’

‘Whose bitch-boy?’

‘Yours, Freya,’ I say, wracked with pleasure. ‘I’m Freya’s bitch-boy.’

She laughs, and slaps me again. ‘Yeah, you fucking are. Such a dirty little slut, and you’re all mine.’

Freya buries herself deep, her balls coming to rest behind mine, dwarfing them. Slowly but surely she gyrates her hips, not thrusting but shifting around her erect presence, pressing firmly against my innards and stirring them up with thick fat dick.

‘Cum for me, bitch-boy. Cum for Freya.’

‘Ugh, I’m so close…’

‘Good, I wanna feel you milk my cock again. It’s all that a slutty loser like you is good for, anyway. You should be–ughn–grateful to take my seed in your boy-pussy.’

‘So grateful…’

Another solid slap, and I wince. ‘You’re a fine plaything, bitch-boy.’ Freya digs her fingers into my scalp, gently running them through my hair from front to back. ‘If…’ But whatever she intends to say is left unsaid. ‘Just fucking cum, slut.’

It doesn’t take long. Her gyrations build that orgasm to its peak and I spray the white tiles of the girl’s changing room with my seed, a veritable eruption of the milky-white goop.

‘F-uck!’

The sheer strength of the orgasm threatens to topple me, but Freya is effortlessly strong. She giggles over my grunting, my moaning. The musical sound of such pretty feminine humorous lust is lost on me. The pulsing, searing, quaking pleasure that rocks my body prevents any such high-level appreciation. My cock empties my balls of their seed and Freya keeps thrusting, keeps gyrating, keeps battering my prostate.

‘Pathetic,’ she says, whispering in my right ear. Her breath is hot, sweet-smelling, like bubble-gum. ‘Aren’t you ashamed, bitch-boy? Cumming on a fucking dick?’

I shake my head, but the words don’t form. How can this be shameful? Freya’s the hottest girl in school. So what if she has a dick? When she leans this close to speak such mocking sweet nothings into my ear, her immense chest lends its cushioning weight to my back. Hers must be sublimely strong, given how heavy those divinely large breasts happen to be. Freya really is Amazonian.

‘I’m not stopping ‘til I cum, slut.’ Her lips beside my ear is absurdly hot. ‘Keep shooting those paltry little loser loads.’ She chuckles, then momentarily – so momentarily – brushes my ear with her lips. ‘…fucking idiot.’

Immediately she’s upright again. I nearly buckle under the force of her powerful hips, muscular and determined in their thrusting. My tongue twists in my mouth, my vision blurs, the heat in my bowels is all-consuming. Freya is ploughing me like a demon, suddenly unrepentant, suddenly almost unkind. I wince, but the pleasure is far greater than any discomfort.

‘You won’t walk straight,’ she says, punctuating the point with a powerful slap. ‘Explain that to everyone who notices, you slut. Mhm. You tight little bitch.’ Another slap. ‘God you’re such a fucking loser…riding a fat dick in the girl’s changing rooms…so fucking gay.’

‘Ughn, shit.’

‘Tell me how–ugh–pathetic you are, bitch.’

‘I’m–ughn–fucking pathetic.’

‘Louder!’

‘I’m so fucking pathetic!’

And she, bigger and stronger, seizes the front of my throat with a firm yet softly sculpted hand. Freya flexes and straightens me up, slamming me forwards against the wall, thankfully missing my spilled load. She flattens my head side-on against the cool tiles, ravaging my backside with upwards-aiming strokes that seem to lift me to my tip-toes with every back-forth motion.

It’s harder to breathe, harder to focus. Her weighty balls bully mine. Her breasts push me harder against the wall for their immensity, and her hips don’t quit. Something about this is wrong, aggressive, unpleasant. The tone of it has changed, has become somehow violent. And yet…another orgasm is building, wrong or no.

‘Getting tighter,’ she says. ‘Another shot coming, huh? Mhm. You’re so easy. Is being broken-in by my big dick really that great, slut?’

‘Y-eah.’

‘You wanna cum on it, don’t you, bitch?’

‘S-o bad.’

Freya stops entirely. ‘Beg. Beg to cum, slut.’

‘Please…please make me cum, Freya.’

‘Not enthusiastic enough.’ She sighs. ‘Shall I jerk myself off instead?’

‘Freya! I need to fucking cum! Please, goddamn it please, fuck my arsehole until I cum! Fill me with your dick, breed my butt!’

She chuckles. ‘Good fucking slut.’ The slap that follows stings, beautiful and terrible. ‘I’m gonna knock-up that slutty boy-pussy, you lucky little faggot!’

Her powerful hips resume their battering of me. She thrusts, thrusts, thrusts, plumbing my depths, ravaging my innards with her immense hot length of veiny throbbing cockmeat. I feel it building, building, building, and then a second orgasm spills out another, smaller load, this one spurting and shooting less powerfully though the inner pleasure is vastly greater.

‘Ughn. Fucking take it,’ Freya says, grunting. She starts to blow, glans flaring, heat rushing out and splattering my guts with thick, heavy cream. ‘Milk me, slut. Ughn, fuck yeah, you’re…mhm-hm. Jesus. Shit!’

She’s claiming my bowels again. It’s such a dirty, naughty, wonderful sensation. Freya grunts, moans, thrusts, squeezes down, all the while shooting an enormous, incredible amount of hot, thick, messy semen straight from her fat balls into my arsehole.

We buckle against each other, momentarily entwined, orgasming in unison, each of our bodies assisting the other’s in reaching the sweet summits of pleasure. It’s strange, fantastic, weird, wonderful.

The really weird thing happens when Freya, out of the blue, kisses my cheek. It happens once, twice, and then I turn to meet her blushing gaze, and…we kiss. We kiss, my lips, her lips. Our mouths merge, her sweet-salty spit, her lovely tongue, going at mine while she continues to pump the last bursts of her semen inside my arse. It’s almost…romantic?

‘Not a word,’ she says, pulling back. Still blushing, smiling funnily. ‘It’s just sex, okay? Nutting builds oxytocin. I’m still a girl.’

‘Y-eah. Sure.’

But she kisses my cheek all the same once more before pulling away completely, softening cock slipping messily out of my arsehole. That solitary plug gone, her thick seed threatens to leak out, inevitably must at some point soon.

I clench and shakily turn, fascinated by her beauty. Freya saunters over to her discarded shorts, ignoring me, and bends down to pick them up. Her butt is bronze and fat, clearly muscular but lacking tension. When she reaches down my eyes go wide, catching a glimpse of protruding pink lips nestled behind the hanging sag of those heaving testicles.

‘You’ve got…’

She immediately straightens up, tensing her strong body, looking around to watch me cautiously. Any hint of a womanhood is hidden in an instant. ‘That’s not for you, okay?’

I shake my head. ‘Sorry, I’m just…surprised, I guess.’

Freya softens. She begins pulling on her shorts. ‘Futanari,’ she says. ‘That’s what they call us. Women who have this condition.’ The shorts catch on the fat roundness of her butt – I’m sure she must be making show of it, or would be, if it wasn’t Freya – before she pulls them up and over. ‘I have to go in for tests, now and then. Just to see that everything’s working.’

‘So you have both sets of parts?’

She smirks, a little cocky, more herself. ‘Very motile sperm and plenty of eggs, yeah. Best of both worlds.’ Freya sets about containing her dishevelled hair, wiping the sweat from her brow. ‘You’re weird, Tom.’

I roll my eyes. ‘So you tell me.’ I shiver as her copious load drools down my arse. ‘Fuck.’ She laughs as I try to stop it from spreading all over the bench. ‘It’s not funny, man!’ But despite myself, I’m smiling.

‘Get a butt-plug,’ she says, finishing up. ‘It’s your fault, anyway. That arse of yours milks me like nothing else.’

My cheeks are hot at the shame and glory of such a notion. ‘Yeah, well, it’s easy to milk something as thick as my wrist…’

Freya sets her eyes into me, blue and beautiful, dark and dominating. Even now, having shot her load, there’s fiery lust in those expressive eyes, in the curves of that full-lipped mouth. Freya Venyabildt is insatiable. I should be grateful, really, that someone so perfect looks at me this way.

‘You’re way too comfortable with this,’ she says. Her voice is odd, a little uncertain.

I jam my hand against my arsehole, stemming the worst of the leaking semen. ‘Am I?’

‘What kind of a man lets himself get anally fucked, Tom?’

‘You know it’s not that simple.’ I shake my head, blushing all the same. ‘You’re not just anybody, and you’re not just a dick.’

Freya goes to speak, moves her lips, says nothing. Does she blush? She turns about so quickly I miss it. ‘See you tomorrow.’

And like that, she storms out of the changing room.

I’d get up and follow, but she’s got me well-pinned. Did I do something wrong?