Sephalla, My Nightmare, Ch. 3

 

Chapter 3: Aftermath

 

What follows is a bit of a blur.

A girl finds me, though I don’t immediately recognise her, both for my tear-drenched eyes and for my general disorientation. I must spill all, because she’s nothing but sympathetic. She cleans me up and sits with me, holds my head in her hands. Eventually there’s movement and I’m taken to the school nurse, and after some time my parents collect me.

The shock is exhausting, to the extent that I drop off to sleep in the car and again at home. Being raped like that, being face-fucked, really took it out of me. The weekend passes and before I know it, I’m missing part of school the next week. Existence is like a fugue state, a passing momentum that I can’t really take hold of, make sense of.

On the Thursday, I wake up feeling refreshed. Not exactly myself, but sane and with it. Enough to work out what happened, to work out what’s transpired.

My friend Liz found me, and saw that I was helped. I told her what Sephalla did, and she didn’t judge me for a moment. But some part of me, sensibly, made sure she kept the details to herself. And apparently, demon semen digests quite quickly, so by the time I was in the nurse’s office – maybe an hour or two after the incident – I hadn’t much of a belly bulge.

The story that Sephalla bullied me, attacked me, was more than enough to run with.

On the Friday, I’m back for the first time. The atmosphere’s different, as if some great change has been wrought. It’s not, exactly, a bad change. People aren’t looking at me like I’m weird, or anything like that…but they are looking.

The nightmare has kept well away today. I’d put it down to “her side of the bargain”, as it were, but I really doubt that. It’s something else. She’s in school, I’ve seen her, but something’s changed. Something somewhat drastic, I think. When she passes by at lunch, on the central grasses, a usually shy girl calls after her, ‘Did your human daddy put a foal in your belly yet, Seph?’

There’s laughter all around, and not a mote of violence on the nightmare’s part. She blushes, storms off. All gothic-punk and demonic and fearsome…but that’s a façade now, apparently. People are laughing at her, and she can’t seem to respond.

‘Something happened on Tuesday,’ Liz says afterwards. She barely restrains the urge to laugh. ‘Something about Sephalla.’

Apparently Sephalla is a bit of an erotic novelist. Apparently, Sephalla has this little black book – a diary, but for smut stories – that she carries everywhere, and writes little tales in from time to time. Apparently, Sephalla left this diary in the library by accident, and someone found it.

Apparently, of the fifteen stories within, all of them relate to me.

‘She’s obsessed,’ Liz says, red-faced, shuddering. ‘She writes bloody stories about you in her free time, dude. All that nastiness, all that bullying, and she just fancies you, Jake! Isn’t that hilarious?’

Whoever found the smut diary uploaded a copy of it onto the internet, which has now circulated the school. The teachers got involved, took it down, and Sephalla’s awaiting a meeting with the heads, but Liz sends me one of the “outside jurisdiction” copies. I read it when I get home.

At first it seems more incriminating of me.

The early stories involve Sephalla dominating me, bullying me, mistreating me. Making me into her personal cocksucker, “breaking me in” to use her words, making me dependent on her dick and sperm, using me as a masturbation aid, as a sex slave, the works. But they don’t continue that way, at least not consistently.

A theme that emerges is that yes, while Sephalla finds the idea of dominating me arousing, she also quite badly wants me to dominate her. By the seventh story, she’s sucked my cock, and by the ninth she calls me “daddy” and has me fuck her tits, working up to using her pussy with the well-described intention of “having him breed me.”

There’s a certain undercurrent of being used by me because she seems to think me, a mere human, and not a particularly impressive one, a kind of novelty. To be used by me, to carry my “foals” as she writes it, is a dirty submission. Breeding comes up a lot and later, quite strangely, a kind of “mother-wife” behaviour on her part. Breastfeeding me, treating me like a king, protecting me, practically loving me.

To be honest it’s kind of sad, really. I started reading for the hope of some retribution, but by the end, this is just the inner fantasies of someone who didn’t want to share them with the world. Sure, Sephalla’s an arsehole…and she raped me, but humiliating her doesn’t make us equal.

I think the shock of what she did was worse than the act itself. I guess I was just surprised, surprised that she even wanted to do what she did to me. Surprised that it happened, surprised – and in no small part ashamed – that I kind of enjoyed it.

But this doesn’t make me feel the least bit better.

Are these her true feelings for me? Are these just sadomasochistic fantasises, written out to make concrete a series of stories for her own sexual gratification? A bit of both? Neither? Something else entirely?

I just don’t know what to think.

 

On Monday, I’m called up to the headmistress’s conference room.

Sephalla is there, looking antsy, anxious, beautiful but somewhat terrifying. There’s Mr Mayhew, and the headmistress, Mrs Fleesom. I’m guided to a chair opposite Sephalla along the big oval table, with Mrs Fleesom on one side and Mr Mayhew on the other. Unlike the latter the headmistress is firm, tough, and not a fraction so weak-willed.

‘Sorry to pull you out of lessons, Mr Timms,’ Fleesom says. ‘We have a rather serious matter to discuss, and needed your input before I make my verdict.’ The headmistress, a portly woman, pulls up the fabled little black book from the assembled evidence before her. ‘You’re familiar with the contents of this?’

I nod. ‘Erotic stories, yes.’

Sephalla sinks into her chair a little, cheeks managing a dark ruby blush.

‘Indeed. Awfully inappropriate stories, particularly in light of – and I have it on record – several appointments you have had with Mr Mayhew here to discuss incidents of bullying, dealt upon you by Ms Magnificent here.’

Mr Mayhew blushes faintly, also. He would shrink, but there’s little space for the bony, unimpressive man to disappear into.

Mrs Fleesom glares at him and passes the glare onto Sephalla, before looking my way and smiling compassionately. ‘Jake, I’m terribly sorry to put you through this, given your uncomfortable history with Ms Magnificent, but I need the truth. These stories – many of which contain references to disturbing matter, non-consensual matter – were written without your knowledge. Do you believe, given Sephalla’s behaviour, that she had any plans of actualising them?’

I blink flourishingly, a little off-guard. There’s an obvious gravity here, a fairly weighty decision to make. A glance at Sephalla confirms it. She’s actually scared, scared of whatever outcome is about to be dealt. This arsehole, this prick, this cunt, who treated me so badly and fucking raped my face is scared that she might actually be punished, for a change.

Where was Mrs Fleesom when I needed her?

But…no. I don’t think they were plans. What she did to me matched only in the most basic sense what occurred in her stories. I think she wrote them to masturbate to, and I think that’s her business, and hers alone.

And will I be believed? After having a week off due to “bullying”? After multiple accusations that resulted in only a worsening of my state? But I can’t help but feel sympathy and a little sorry for Sephalla in all of this. I’ve never seen her scared, never seen her anything short of self-assured.

‘The contents of that book,’ I say, slowly, thinking out my words, realising how mad this all is, ‘were written by Sephalla and I together, Mrs Fleesom.’

Sephalla blushes, stares at me like I’m a lunatic. I most certainly must be. Mr Mayhew scratches his chin, that wimpy brain calculating what must appear false memories. Mrs Fleesom narrows her gaze on me, the doubt basically dripping from her flabby wrinkly round face.

‘Pardon? You wrote these stories with your bully? Under duress?’

‘She’s not “my bully”,’ I say, feeling my cheeks warm. Sephalla’s eyes widen, but nobody’s looking her way. Insane, insane, insane. ‘Sephalla and I have…we’ve been keeping our relationship secret for the past month and a half. She didn’t want her dad to hear.’

Mayhew almost lifts a finger, but doubts himself. Likely, he realises that going along with this is better than the alternative, which puts him firmly in the camp of “did not support a bullied student”. Hardly an ideal place for a counsellor.

Fleesom looks immediately to Sephalla, who rolls her eyes, flush-cheeked, and…manages to look like a teenage girl called out on her secret boyfriend. ‘It’s true,’ she says, dark, sultry, moody. ‘Every word. Jake’s just…I’d rather not explain, just yet, why I’m dating a human, okay? You’re okay with it, right, Jakey?’

‘We’ve been through this, Sephy.’ I smile at, nervously and falsely at once. I’m in too deep. This is too crazy. Why even do it? ‘You know I don’t mind.’

She smiles broadly, beaming, and softens in facing the headmistress. ‘This whole…the appointments with Mayhew…’ Sephalla glances my way, then back. ‘We might have been playing a prank. Just because he’s kinda milquetoast.’

‘Ms Magnificent,’ Fleesom practically howls. ‘You are speaking about a member of staff!’

And we’re both given three weeks of detentions for wasting the counsellor’s time.

 

I don’t have to walk far before we’re out of view of the headmistress’s office.

Sephalla pushes me into an emptied classroom, much as before. She slams me – albeit fairly gently – against a far wall, out of view of the door and the blinded windows. But this time, there’s no sexual element. No undressing.

The nightmare, beautiful and dark, her living-flame red-and-blue mane and tail a cascade of light in the otherwise gloomy room, towers above me. Toned, athletic, curvaceous, bodacious. She looks down her nose at me, her lengthened equine face, with its coal-black nostrils and full black lips lacquered in midnight purple.

‘Why’d you do that?’

‘Lie?’

‘Yeah,’ she says, sounding oddly nervous. ‘After what I’ve done, what I did. You had me fucked, and you lied on my behalf. Even got detention for it. Why?’

I shrug. ‘That book’s yours, and nobody should’ve shared it. You shouldn’t be judged by something you never intended the world to see. I wouldn’t want anything like that of mine to be public knowledge. If you’re going to get stopped by the authorities, I want it to be because of the things you’ve done, not the fantasies you’ve had.’

Sephalla stares, and stares. Her eyes, bright-dark coals, watch me intently. Then she slowly lowers herself, down onto one knee. She’s still that much taller than me, but it’s not so vast a difference now. The nightmare seizes my throat with one hand, and presses her lips against mine.

I make no sound, struggle not for a moment. She kisses me, kisses my mouth, passionately and slowly, lips engulfing mine. Sephalla’s long, sleek, wet and warm tongue pushes between my lips, wriggles against my own. I didn’t know she had a tongue stud, but, well, it’s kind of hard to ignore right now, seeing as it keeps running back and forth over my taste-buds, saliva-sweet and body-heat warm.

‘Mhm.’ But the sound’s not mine. Sephalla’s kissing me and she’s enjoying it. ‘Mhm.’

When she pulls away, slick-lipped and smirking faintly, she strokes my Adam’s apple with her thumb. ‘It’s good you’re pretty cute, because you’re an awful kisser,’ Sephalla says, with a slight chuckle. ‘Women appreciate more effort, by the by.’

‘Sephalla…’

She rises fluidly, agilely, leaving me much smaller again. ‘Not a word of any of this to anyone, okay? I’m not your girlfriend, I don’t like you, and you will never, on your life, call me “Sephy” ever again. Got it?’

‘S-ure.’

Sephalla tussles my hair. ‘But not all of that’s true. I’m not gonna bully you anymore, okay? What you did for me, in spite of how I’ve treated you…you’re pretty cool, Jake. See you around.’

And with that, Sephalla once more leaves me confused in an empty classroom.

Only this is a kinder sort of confusion.