Sephalla, My Nightmare, Ch. 4

 

Chapter 4: Detention

 

The three weeks of detention begin on the Tuesday.

Detention consists, in this case, of after-school detention for an hour in one of the English rooms, part of the Main Block. In this case, room M18. Sephalla is there when I arrive and we’re overseen by Mr Mayhew, who takes register and then has nothing to do. There’s no work, nothing due, just a pointless punishment. A waste of all our time. And Mr Mayhew disappears after the first ten minutes, leaving me with my (former?) bully.

Sephalla is, aesthetically-speaking, no different today. Her makeup is the same, her outfit the same, that kind of pseudo-slutty gothic chic, and she’s every bit as outwardly intimidating. But she plays on her phone, a few seats to my right, and stays quiet. The only sound is the artificial and actual blurring of her delicate yet sizeable fingers working away on the touchscreen of an upsized, monster-suitable smart phone.

It feels awkward, being alone with her. There’s palpable tension and not least because, glancing over at her, I find myself with something like butterflies in my stomach. “You’re pretty cute.” Did she really say that, or do I remember it wrong? Did she really mean it? Did anything actually happen yesterday between us?

‘You going to stare for the whole hour, or…?’ Sephalla says, not looking up.

‘Sorry.’

She sighs, shoots me a brief look, and rolls her eyes. ‘Jeez, you’re pathetic.’

Great. Back to business.

‘I thought you weren’t gonna bully me?’

Sephalla chuckles. ‘Oh, come on!’ She kicks backwards, forcing her chair out, and leans one arm over the backrest, angling towards me. Her immense chest, in a cleavage-revealing black shirt with some monster band on its front today covering her belly, bulges impressively. ‘I ask you a question and you apologise. Give me a break, dude. How is that not pathetic?’

I find myself staring into the depths of her oily black chest, then meet her beautiful searing gaze, and turn away with a blush. She’s intimidation personified. Scary tall, scary strong, scary scary, and scary hot as well.

‘Am I really that bad?’ she says. Sephalla raps her knuckles on the desk, and puts down her phone. ‘Do you just suck at talking to girls?’

‘You give off a lot of mixed messages, man.’

She shrugs. ‘Can’t exactly disagree with that.’ She raps her knuckles again. For a while that’s all she does, idly fidgeting, making noise. Eventually, Sephalla says, ‘Did everyone read my black book?’

‘Are you asking if I did?’

‘Did you?’

I nod.

‘And?’

‘It’s not really for me to say.’

Sephalla snorts. ‘Oh, yeah? Stop being a pussy, Jake. Did it offend? Did it upset? Did it scare you, or make you dislike me even more? Did it make you laugh? Did you enjoy the fact that everybody’s laughing about me now?’

‘I thought it was kind of sad, actually.’

When she says nothing, I find it in me to turn to her. The nightmare is staring at me, studying me, waiting silently for what, an expansion on that suggestion? She doesn’t look angry, merely…I don’t think my response was expected.

‘Sad how?’

I shrug. ‘Sad, dude. Sad because it’s someone’s inner thoughts and fantasies, not light reading for a laugh. But maybe I’m just not a cunt.’

She does this really little laugh, a half-note, half-heard, and smiles funnily. ‘You’re too soft.’

‘Because I don’t hate you?’

‘Because you have every reason to hate me, yeah.’

‘Do you want me to hate you, then?’

She frowns. ‘It’d be less embarrassing.’

‘Embarrassing? You don’t seem to be shy and sheepish all of a sudden. You’re still in school, after all.’

After a pause, Sephalla says, ‘If you wrote dirty stories about a real person, and they read them, and their first response was to think it a shame that the stories got out…wouldn’t you be embarrassed?’

She turns away and picks up her phone, returning to whatever distraction previously held her attention. It hits me, dawns on me, that yes, it wouldn’t be ideal. To be angry would provoke a response, to at least feel justified that your fantasies should remain fantastical. To be smitten, I suppose, would be ideal.

But to be in a sense apathetic? Is that what I’ve been? Or more importantly, as that what I seem to have been?

‘Why on earth would you want me to impregnate you?’

Sephalla visibly swallows and blushes, and for the first time perhaps ever – maybe excluding those brief intervals yesterday – seems genuinely vulnerable. Exposed somehow, she stares paralysed at the phone’s light, fingers hesitant, posture suddenly rigid like a statue. The nightmare is gone, replaced by a facsimile of herself. Frozen in time.

‘You’ll think I’m weird.’

‘Already do.’

She rolls her eyes. ‘Wouldn’t you…wouldn’t you want to?’

‘Knock you up? Dude, I don’t want kids.’

Sephalla sighs. ‘Fantasies are about the idea. Doesn’t it, I don’t know, do anything for you? Anything at all?’

‘What does?’

Another sigh. She puts down her phone. ‘This girl, taller and stronger, who bullied you and treated you like shit and you’re taking her body hostage, forcing your genes on hers, laying claim to her womb. Seeing her belly grow fat with your child, with your offspring, knowing she can never enact the same on you. That does nothing for you?’

‘Holy shit, you really are a freak.’

Sephalla growls, and hunches forwards over her phone. ‘Fuck you.’

‘But it’s hot, yeah.’ So hot my dick is, inevitably, pressing up against my fly. The mental image of dominating Sephalla, of all girls…with her body, with her mind, with her attitude…she really is freaky. She hides a faint smile. ‘Why me, though? If you’re into humans, there are taller guys, sexier guys. I’m just short and chubby.’

She shrugs. ‘Maybe that’s why? I don’t know. I don’t want to talk about it.’

‘Oh come on,’ I say, leaning back and crossing my arms. ‘Now who’s being a pussy?’

This time she slams her phone, worryingly hard if not for its apparent sturdiness. Sephalla turns her head to me and glares, otherwise facing the front of the room.

‘Because it’s gross,’ she says. ‘You’re shrimpy, pathetic, unpopular, weak, clueless, shit with girls, even human ones, and the idea of voluntarily carrying your children makes me physically nauseous.’

I should be offended, but I can’t help but smile. ‘So much so that you wrote like, a whole book dedicated to the fantasy.’

‘Fuck off.’

‘Why the change?’

‘What?’

‘It starts off all “Jake’s gonna be my suckslave” and ends all “now I’m his broodmare”. Why the change?’

‘Maybe I like both.’

‘Versatility’s healthy,’ I say.

Sephalla smiles. ‘So you did like having my cock down your throat, didn’t you?’

I blush. ‘Never said it was me who’s versatile.’

‘How did my load taste?’

‘Fuck you.’

Her smile takes on a nasty playfulness. ‘Now who’s the pussy, huh?’

‘Not so funny to joke about rape, now is it?’

The playfulness fades with the smile. ‘I apologised. It shouldn’t have happened.’

After a moment, feeling weirdly bold, I face the front of the otherwise empty room and say, ‘I take it most cum isn’t like yours, right?’

‘Nightmares are demons,’ she says. ‘Demons are well-known for both volume and quality, after all.’

‘Definitely had the volume.’

‘And the quality?’

I shrug. ‘What are you asking?’

‘Do you like how I taste?’

‘Y-eah. Yeah, I do.’

I don’t know why, but I expect laughter, derision, mocking. “You like the taste of cum!” But it never arrives. There’s silence, and then Sephalla says, ‘Thanks for the honesty.’

Her chair grates on the floor as she pushes back, and what follows is a blur. The nightmare moves around behind me, hoists me up beneath my armpits from my seat, and sets me down on the top of my desk facing her. She kicks aside my chair and, to my wide-eyed surprise, lowers herself to her knees before me.

‘What the…?’

Sitting back on her calves, Sephalla still has to hunch forward somewhat to lower her head to my crotch. She slides herself back a little and angles forwards, and kisses the front of my trousers with warm gentleness that puts an electricity up my spine. Her lips are full, the force of them against my bulge aggressively pleasant. Sephalla’s eyes, wet and weirdly hungry, affix themselves on mine.

‘I get a lot of head,’ she says, pulling at my buckle. ‘It’s fucking great, especially if they’re into it.’ I can only watch, transfixed, as she deftly unzips me and pulls apart the folds of my fly. ‘But I don’t tend to give much. Not to dudes, especially.’

Her hands are soft, yet massive. She loops one around my erection, another going down to cup my balls. Warm foreign fingers, skin on pseudo-fur, such gentleness from this being that has shown such terrible force.

My cock looks puny in her hand, even though it’s almost seven inches. I suppose, though, that seven inches on a nightmare would be some sort of disability. All the same, Sephalla smiles curiously and watches it, peeling back my foreskin to reveal the light purplish contours of my somewhat fat helmet, already slick with precum.

‘Speak a word of this, and I will genuinely kill you, okay?’

I nod, mesmerised, reality and dream indistinct. ‘Yup.’

‘And keep your hands to yourself,’ she says, leaning closer, her full lips an inch from my tip, hot breath tickling. ‘We’re even, going forwards.’

I don’t have time to speak before she begins, taking my swollen glans between those wonderful lips and applying slow, hot laps of her powerful tongue. ‘Ughn. Fuck.’ Sephalla leaves my cock to stand by itself and pushes against my chest, urging me to lean further back. I put my hands behind me, on the edge of the desk, and chance a look down. She glares. ‘S-orry.’

There’s a slick lewd pop as she removes me from her mouth. ‘You’re barely a man, jeez.’

But the pleasure returns, this sensation of being engulfed by something wonderful and dutiful, existing solely to milk my penis of its seed. I dig my fingers into the desk’s edge, ignoring the awful feeling of chewing gum dried beneath, lost in the heat of her mouth, lost in the ministrations of her tongue as it swirls about, under and over, teases the folds of my foreskin, the band below my helmet, the eyelet of my glans.

‘Ughn.’

‘Mumph.’

Sephalla bobs her head, long face so readily accommodating my mere human length. Her lips squeeze on me, a velvet vice upon my throbbing shaft. That hand on my balls teases and tickles them, jiggles and plays, the hint of dangerous strength melding so wonderfully with how tactile and gentle she can be.

‘Jesus Christ, man.’ I supress a grunt, transiently aware of where we are, of how much trouble we’ll be in if we’re caught. ‘You…you sure you don’t do this much?’

Another pop, and she stings my bell-end with a playful flick of a finger. ‘What’s that supposed to mean, dickbag?’

Avoiding her eyes I shudder, pleasure mixing with the gentle pain. ‘Just…this is amazing.’

‘Don’t get used to it.’ But for someone so antithetical to me, it’s strange that she proceeds to give the tip of my cock a big wet kiss before urgently sucking it back down into the depths of her mouth, bathing it again in spit and the agile motions of her tongue. ‘Mumph.’

I shouldn’t, I know I shouldn’t, but I chance another look at her. Sephalla glares, eyes wondrous in red flame, rimmed in blue. It’s unreal, that she’s doing this. That this dark, dangerous creature, this gorgeous bully, is sucking my cock. Giving me a blowjob, in detention.

‘Ugh.’ I shudder, groan. I don’t want to cum yet, but it’s building. She’s too good at this, it’s too good. ‘You’re so…ughn…beautiful.’

There’s no flick this time. Sephalla’s cheeks hint at red, faint but there. ‘Don’t say that.’

‘Why? It’s true.’

‘The last thing I want to hear, with your dick in my mouth, is that I’m beautiful. Okay? That shitty psychology might work on insecure mortals, not on me.’ She gives me a middle finger with her free hand, and runs her tongue around my bell-end. ‘And stop watching. It’s putting me off, loser.’

‘S-orry.’

She rolls her coal-fire eyes. ‘Apologies, apologies. Pathetic.’

That free hand pushes up on my chin, and her mouth resumes pleasuring me. She keeps that hand there, holding my gaze at the wall. In the throes of pleasure, to the background noise of her wet lips and liquid tongue I rest against it, losing myself in the wonderful sensation. Maybe the best thing I’ve ever felt.

I don’t want it to end. I don’t want this to stop. I try and think about horrible things, awkward things, boring things, but she’s really milking me. The pleasure is building, some small-scale volcano, a warmth and pressure growing behind my pubes, at the base of my torso. ‘Ughn.’

A wet pop, a lap on my exposed helmet. ‘Give it to me, pussy.’

‘What?’

She clenches my chin, draws my gaze down. ‘Your load. Your sperm.’ Sephalla licks her lips, smooches my glans. ‘Cover my tongue in it.’

‘But…why…’

‘We’ll be even. It’s only fair.’ Another engulfing, a few bobs of her head, easily pressing her lips down to the hairy base of my cock. She comes back up, encircles my helmet with her tongue. ‘Do it, loser. Let me taste your shitty jizz.’

Sephalla holds me in place now, that my eyes are locked with hers, as she pushes to the final conclusion. I can’t look away, the heat of her gaze boring into me, the dirty, lustful, almost shameful hunger in it so obvious. She wants this. She wants to taste me, to taste the cream of my loins, the little soldiers in my balls.

My legs start to tremble. I can’t hold back. It’s coming. ‘Ughn. Shit.’ I don’t want this to stop but it’s too late, and she’s too good, and this is too perfect. Some rampant, dirty, dominant thought flushes through my mind; claim her mouth, put your genes on her tongue. ‘Ughn. Ugh. Fuck.’

It shoots forth, the biggest load of my life. I exhale, grit my teeth, bite my lower lip. My semen, shot from my cock, is landing on Sephalla’s tongue. She’s tasting me. The nightmare’s eyes take on the sultriest of shades, lids forming faint hoods, her cheeks going red in embarrassment, in arousal.

‘Mhm.’

It’s her. She moans. Her tongue goes on overdrive, works at my bell-end, urges it to spit and spew, to shoot out more of my recipe, my unique flavour. Her eyes shut tight but she keeps sucking, nursing on my ejaculating length. The pleasure is sublime, bordering on painful, so exquisite a blending of heaven and hell.

It feels like an eternity, compacted into a few all-too-short moments. Shuddering, throbbing, balls tingling, cock aching. A shot, a shot, a shot. They feel heavy, heavier than I’m used to producing, but maybe she has that effect on me, being a demon. ‘Ugh.’ My head rolls back, eyes going blank, world swallowed by that glorious mouth and its hungry workings.

But all things must come to an end, good or evil. The pleasure slowly fades, slipping away, no matter how I claw at it, long for it. I slowly look down, finding Sephalla nursing the last droplets from my shaft. Her eyes, large and gorgeous and dangerous, roll open, gaze up at me. Not glaring, not longing. Just looking, establishing.

There’s a faint pop when she releases me, my cock half-soft already, drained of its produce. The nightmare, my bully, smirks wetly. She slowly parts her lips, revealing a mouth bedecked in thick white ropes and knots. A small quantity, compared to hers, but big, for one of mine.

And when she swallows, this dirty sensation of victory seeps in, makes me feel powerful. That this being, this demigod for all intents, is consuming my sperm. The hottest girl in the school, if you’re of a certain taste. This blue-black furred gothic flame-maned seductress. The bully, who made my life hell, now knows, intimately, the flavour of my balls.

She gulps it down in one, not even a snack. ‘Not bad,’ Sephalla says, rising immediately, romance and affection a dream. She taps my dick with a long finger, wiggling it casually. ‘Nice cock, by the way. For a human.’

I must imagine her licking her lips, because she moves so quickly away, back to her desk, that I don’t get a good look at the motion. I’m left weirdly exhausted, drained, as if she’s a succubus and I her victim. In truth it must just be the bliss of it, the sheer shock of such a powerful orgasm, never before felt.

In a haze I sit here smiling stupidly, while Sephalla gets back to her phone. ‘We’re even,’ she says, smirking. ‘You know my taste, I know yours.’

‘Y-eah.’

In the haze of it I don’t even notice Mr Mayhew return. ‘Mr Timms!’ he says loudly, breaking my stupor. ‘What behaviour is this, sitting on the desk, facing the back?! Sit yourself down immediately!’

Thankfully, blessedly, she only undid my fly.