My name is Jacob Lively. Back then, I was ten years old. And for as long as I could remember, my world was gray.
I slid into the seat on the bus, feeling my clothes sliding on the vinyl as I settled into the right half of the paired seat. The bus was several years old, shabby and somewhat worn, and my gaze fell onto the strip of duct tape that some ingenious maintenance guy had used to patch a rip in the seat next to me. The tape was a dull, frayed silver stripe across a field of oily green, and I found that my broke brain was mesmerized by the sight. Part of me wondered why I found it so intriguing – but in all honesty it was probably the drugs talking. Still, I did lean over and hovered over the seat, staring, trying to make sense of it all…
I half-turned my head as the girl thumped down the aisle past my seat. Normally I wouldn’t have even noticed – back then, everything just seemed to slip on past my attention like water down a gutter, a quick-flowing flash that vanished in an instant and left nothing behind – except for the fact that she managed to wallop my shoulder with a far-too-full backpack as she spun in the aisle, while at the same time she managed to clip the side of my head with her field hockey stick, and both impacts shook me out of my reverie. I turned and looked over the back of the twinned seats, resting the back of my head against the window as the brakes hissed and the bus moved forward with a jerk. Who is she? my foggy mind wondered as I peered at the girl. Do I know her? Do we have a class together or something?
She was a few years older than me, maybe thirteen or fourteen, and dressed in the uniform of my alma mater, Saint Alban’s. As an orphan who never knew his parents, I was fully aware of the strict regulations governing sin and sinners that the nuns of Saint Albans enforced, usually with the help of a yardstick across the knuckles. The strange girl probably was floating through her life just as I was, from conformity of thought to conformity of dress. Well, sort-of… I knew that the school was a strict Catholic place, paying lip-service to chastity and purity and all manner of religious restriction, but her clothes made it clear that, whoever she was, she was willing to take certain liberties with the rules. Her skirt was rolled up at the waist and fell to only mid-thigh, exposing a lot of creamy-white leg between the pleated hem and her dark blue knee socks, while her white blouse was opened at the neck and was a lot sheerer than God would have probably approved. Her breasts were small, a pair of tiny A-cup bumps that sat high on her chest in an almost defiant manner, as if daring me to look at them. Her nose was a tiny little pug with a bump in the middle, her lips were puffy and shiny, and her green eyes held an almost bored look as she let them slide around the cabin of the bus. Stray strands of ebony hair were plastered to her somewhat shiny forehead, strands that had escaped the twisted pigtails dangling from behind her ears and draped over her shoulders. As I watched out of the corner of my eye she staggered slightly as the bus grumbled forward, turned, and dropped heavily onto the bench seat in the back, her legs splayed and her skirt riding up even higher as she slouched, providing me with the briefest flash of pink cotton between her thighs…
And I felt nothing. As usual.
Nope, probably don’t know her, I decided as I turned back in my seat and slouched a bit lower. Honestly, I wasn’t too surprised at my complete lack of reaction to the impromptu peep show fate had granted to me… A conscious part of me knew that I should have had a reaction, should have felt something! I was ten years old and on the verge of whatever, and everything that I had read, everything I had noticed while staring slack-jawed at the television in the Boy’s Dorm at school every evening, told me that I should have been hornier than Hell, obsessed with the panty-shot that Fortune had provided. But I didn’t react, didn’t feel anything except the murky cotton wrapping my senses and making everything a dull, pointless, uniform gray.
Speaking of which… I reached into my backpack and groped around, sliding my fingers over the contents. Books that I barely remembered reading, pens that poked into my palm, paper that slid across my fingertips and sliced chasms into my skin, I grasped the bottle that I knew would be lurking around in the bottom. Time to take my medicine, a dull, almost monotone voice droned in my mind. I fumbled with the cap, popped it off, and shook out a single purple-ish pill into my palm. It looked almost like candy but it tasted like death – but I popped it into my mouth anyway and let it dissolve on my tongue. Four pills, one every six hours, letting the vile-tasting chemicals with the unpronounceable names work their way into my system once more, reinforcing their cousins already coursing through my bloodstream, making sure that I didn’t break, didn’t go mad, didn’t explode in an orgy of violence. Ms. Peterson told me so.
Didn’t feel. Didn’t remember. Didn’t exist.
This is for your own good, Dr. Peterson’s voice commented dryly in the back of my mind. I never knew what my life had been like… before. But Doctor Miranda Peterson apparently did know, and knew what I needed. I couldn’t remember a time before sitting in her office, before her cool, clipped, almost arrogant words told me just how pathetic and worthless I actually was. It was my life – days floating through class at Saint Alban’s, my evenings sitting in her office, every day, floating by aimlessly. Even on the weekends I was either at school or in her office – and part of me wondered if that was wrong. But she was helping, designing a custom cocktail of drugs dedicated to keeping me sane and calm. Yes, they did turn the world gray and pointless, but they worked. Why do I know that word? I wondered idly as I felt the languid warmth of cotton slide over my senses once more. Cocktail. Cock. Tail. How do I know that word? Did I read it somewhere? I didn’t know… and didn’t care.
I didn’t care about anything. I didn’t care about my life. I didn’t care about the panty shot I had just barely registered. I didn’t care that I couldn’t remember my parents’ faces. I just plain-old didn’t care. Who cares?
“Oy, mate,” a voice called. I slid my eyes to the right, with my head turning just a split-second after the fact, and peered dumbly at the guy sitting before me. He was a bit older than me, probably somewhere around the same age as the girl. Sandy blonde hair sticking up in a spikey mess from his skull, brown eyes, he was just average looking. I definitely didn’t know him, if for no other reason than the crest on his jacket told me that he went to Ribson Academy. I didn’t know much about Ribson, only that it was an all-boy’s school a couple of towns over, and that the boys who went there were a bunch of dicks.
Why do I know that? I wondered idly. I can’t remember talking to any of them. Did someone tell me that?
Yet another mystery about which I didn’t care.
“Got a fag?” the boy asked. His voice was clipped, short, with a weird sort of accent that sounded foreign. He peered at me intensely, with a strange, hard, glittering look in his eye and a smirk curling up one corner of his mouth.
“A… Wha?” I mumbled dumbly as I gaped at him.
“A fag. A ciggie.” He peered at me for another moment, and the smirk grew smirk-ier, and he crossed his arms over the back of the seat as he leaned forward a bit more. “Got a cigarette?”
No… I don’t. Say it. “No. I don’t.” Everything I wanted to do seemed to happen an eternity after I thought about it, another side effect of the pills. I thought, waited a lifetime, and then it happened. Annoying… but it was the price I paid for remaining sane.
The boy’s smirk grew even wider. “Pity. I’d knife my mother for a fag right now.” He turned away from me and sat back down, and I let my gaze slide back to its usual neutral, forward position. Around me conversations flowed, sliding past my senses and leaving no trace that they ever existed. To my left I sensed that the girl was glowering, although whether it was at me or sandy-hair or the two other Ribson boys a few rows further up When did they get there I dunno not important who cares who seemed intent on staring at her not my problem just sit and be empty and I just… was.
I didn’t know it, but that afternoon was the last time I would never feel that way again.
“… and even though I failed, I wasn’t too upset about that,” I droned – intoned – from my place on the couch. I slumped down a bit lower, sliding deeper into the soft, cool fabric of the cushion as I stretched my legs out in front of me and rested my hands on my thighs. The fabric of my pants felt rough under my palms, but I left them sitting where they had flopped. I mean, what was the point of moving them? “But it does mean that I’ll probably have to take the class over again.”
“Well, that was to be expected,” Ms. Peterson replied. The old woman – she was, like, thirty or something! – made a note on the pad in her lap, her pen scratching across the paper like a chainsaw tearing through wood. I never knew why it sounded so loud, but it always did… every time she wrote something it grated in my ears and buzzed its way into the back of my mind and actually made my jaw ache. She peered at me over the top of her glasses with a critical, judgmental look, almost as if she were peering into my brain and sorting through all the fuzzy, gummy, sludgy blobs inside, and the corners of her mouth turned down as if she were disgusted by what she found. “Let’s talk about girls,” she said in a tight, clipped voice.
Inwardly I groaned. Why does she ALWAYS ask me about that stuff? I whined to myself. Every time – every single time – she asked me about girls. And every single time I gave the standard answer that never changed. “What about them? There are girls. I don’t talk to girls.” And now, for the same follow-up questions…
“You don’t talk to girls?” she asked, her gaze critical.
“Nope.” Autopilot, why bother thinking, just stare at the lamp on the small table next to her…
“Do you want to talk to girls?”
“Why should I?” Bored, bored…
“Do you want to hurt girls?”
“No.” Why is she wearing that shirt and skirt again? Does she have any other clothes? “Why, should I want to hurt girls?”
Her mouth tightened even further, her lips puckering up as if she were sucking on something sour, and her eyes narrowed as she looked down at her pad and scratched out a few more notes. I just let my gaze wander around her office. I was on the couch, and across the small rug sat Doctor Miranda Peterson, looking prim and proper and oh-so-authoritarian where did I read that word? as she sat in her leather chair. She was near yet far – close enough so that I could see the tiny little lines cut into the skin around her frowning lips and in the corners of her eyes, yet far enough away from me that she could escape if I went insanely berserk and tried to… tried to…
Tried to what? What would I do? I shrugged inwardly. Probably nothing.
Behind her on the wooden walls, walls polished so hard that they gleamed, hung her framed diplomas. Miranda Peterson, Bachelors of Arts from Yale… Miranda Peterson, double-major in Women’s Studies and Psychology from Harvard… Doctor Miranda Peterson, graduating from Johns Hopkins… Their ivory fields seemed to glow and force my eyes to drink in the elegant script of their words, the lettering crisp and precise and making it clear that she was a no-nonsense kind of lady. Off to my left was an entire wall of bookcases filled with old, dark, leathery books, and to the right was her desk, a heavy wood thing that probably would look just at home in the White House. Everything was dark, and grim, and authoritarian there’s that word again, and it was my second home. It was nice enough, I suppose… But I didn’t really like it. I didn’t hate it, either. It just was.
And I didn’t really care. Couldn’t care, really.
Doctor Peterson blew a stray strand of red hair out of her eyes, sat back in her chair, and crossed her knees. “Have you felt the urge to masturbate?” she asked in her boring, dull, lifeless monotone voice.
“No.” Is her voice lifeless, or do I just think that her voice is lifeless?
“Do you feel the urge to watch pornography?”
“No.” Dull, dull, dull…
“Do you have a favorite television show? Something with girls?”
“No.” Am I hungry?
“Hmm.” Doctor Peterson tapped her pen against the paper as she peered at me, almost as if she were trying to see inside my brain. Evidently I had passed some sort of test, because she gave a little nod to herself and carefully, precisely placed her pad on the table beside her and rested the pen on top. “Okay, Jacob,” she said in her low, measured voice as she took up a heavy volume and placed it in her lap, “we’re going to do a little word association now.”
Inwardly I groaned again. My life was dull, but this was perhaps the most pointless, the dullest, absolutely the least interesting part of my sessions. “Yes, Doctor Peterson,” I replied wearily.
“You remember the rules, don’t you?” she asked as she opened the dictionary to a point about mid-way through the book. “I say a word, and you guess the definition. Can you do that?”
“Yes, Doctor Peterson.” If she’s got the dictionary, then why do I need to tell her the definition? What’s the point?
“Good.” She ran her finger down a page, paused, and then looked back up at me. “Jacob, define oleograph.”
Sigh. “It’s a chromolithograph printed on cloth to imitate an oil painting.”
She paused and looked down at the dictionary in her lap, and then back up at me with eyes that gave away nothing. “That’s correct. How about…” She paused for a moment to flip through some pages, and then looked back up at me. “Rhodamine,” she finally said.
“Rhodamine.” I swallowed, and my throat felt especially dry and scratchy for no apparent reason. “That’s any of a group of yellowish red to blue fluorescent dyes. Is that right?” Why are we doing this…
“Y… yes, Jacob, that is correct.” Even though I got the word right, she didn’t look especially happy. “How about…” Another few page flips, and a corner of her mouth quirked up. “Anthroposophy,” she finally said.
“That’s a twentieth century religious system growing out of theosophy and centering on man rather than God,” I replied without hesitation. “Can I get some water? I’m feeling thirsty.”
Doctor Peterson split her attention between the dictionary and I, her eyes flicking back and forth between us for a moment, before she carefully closed the book in a slow, precise manner. “Jacob,” she began before she paused, and then moved the dictionary back to its place on the small table beside her. “Jacob, I think that we need to reformulate your medication,” she finally said. Taking up paper and pen once more, she began to scribble a series of notes to herself, absentmindedly blowing another strand of hair from her face. “Maybe up to two thousand milligrams.”
This time I didn’t bother to hide my groan of defeat. “Really?” I whined. “Do we have to?”
“Yes.” Doctor Peterson nodded sagely, her pen flying across the page. “Based upon our recent sessions, it has become apparent to me…” I waited, slouched in my chair, while she paused. Finally, she spoke again. “Based upon our recent sessions, it has become apparent to me…”
Even in my fog-filled brain, that didn’t sound exactly right to me. I felt myself frowning, and sat up a little bit straighter. “Doctor Peterson?” I asked in confusion.
“Based upon our recent sessions, it has become apparent to me…”
I peered at her, and I knew that if I could feel anything at all it might be alarm. Doctor Peterson was trembling, her entire body shivering as if she were out in the cold without a coat, and tiny rivers of sweat cut down her cheeks. Her hand holding the pen seemed to twitch, and she pressed the nib of the pen into the pad so hard that she ripped the paper when she wrote, her arm almost moving in a herky-jerky motion. “Based upon our recent sessions, it has become apparent to me…” she repeated a fourth time.
“Doctor?” I peered at the woman for another moment and then sank back in my seat. Different, but who cares? Not me…
Everything then seemed to happen in slow motion, as much a result of my drug-induced haze than anything else. Doctor Peterson started to rise from her chair as the door – the big, thick, heavy wooden door – opened behind me, and others started spilling into the room. I turned my head to see the doctor’s receptionist, a rather bland, skinny blonde woman whose name I never really bothered to find out, stumble onto the carpet in front of me and fall heavily, face-first, at my feet. At the same time two teenage boys came into the room, followed by a third… a boy with spikey sandy-blonde hair and brown eyes and a perpetual smirk. The two boys stood at either end of the couch, while the smirking one walked around to stand in front of me. “’Ello Jacob,” he said simply.
“Do I know you?” I do know him, where do I know him from?
The boy lost his smirk as his lips curled down into a frown, and he glanced over his shoulder at Doctor Peterson for a moment before turning his attention back towards me. “I was on the bus over ‘ere with you,” he replied. “Asked you for a fag, remember?”
Oh, that’s right, he did. “You did,” I said slowly, dully, my head bobbing slightly as I remembered. “I forgot. I’ve got some problems, and sometimes I can’t remember…”
“Problems, eh?” The boy glanced at first one of his compatriots, and then the other, and then turned. “Oh, I’ll be you got problems, mate,” he said, and I could have been mistaken but I swear that I heard a note of anger in his voice as he stepped over the body of the blonde receptionist on the carpet. “’N we all know that the best way to deal with problems is to drug ‘em out of a body, don’t we, Miranda?” he added as he stalked over to the crouching, trembling doctor.
“Based upon our recent sessions, it has become apparent to me…” the woman muttered automatically as her hands opened and closed, grasping at nothing. Rivulets of sweat rolled down her cheeks, yet her eyes seemed unfocused, staring off into nothingness as she remained in her crouched position.
“It’s Doctor Peterson,” I said simply. “She told me to call her Doctor Peterson.” Why isn’t she standing all the way up? a small part of me wondered. That looks uncomfortable. How is she staying upright on her feet? Should I care about any of this?
“Aw, that’s okay, Jacob,” the boy said. With a little flourish he reached out a single finger and pressed it against the doctor’s spine – and gave a little push. Doctor Peterson didn’t do a single thing to stop herself as her trembling body teetered for a moment, and then without any reaction she simply toppled over and crashed onto the carpet face-first. Something popped as her face made contact with the floor, a rather painful-sounding Crack! that might have caused me to wince if I actually cared. “Me ‘n Miri here are old friends,” he continued as he spun, sat in the leather chair, and propped his feet on the doctor’s raised backside.
This is wrong, isn’t it? I wondered. I still didn’t care – couldn’t care, wouldn’t care – but what was happening around me just didn’t seem right. I leaned forward a bit and looked down at the blonde on the carpet, peering closely as I tried to figure out if she were dead or alive. Her eyes were open as I looked into her face, her lips a kind-of dull, neutral color, and for a moment I wondered... But then I saw her nostrils flare, and I knew that she was alive, she was just… just… “I don’t understand,” I said as I sagged back in my seat.
“Don’ worry about it too much, kid,” the boy replied. He raised his foot and dropped it back down onto Doctor Peterson’s ass, his heel digging into her seat in what looked like a painful manner – but the doctor didn’t move, didn’t make a sound, didn’t react in any way. “My name’s Parker,” he said by way of introduction. “That’s Bobby, ‘n that’s Flav,” he added as he waved his hand idly at the other two Ribson boys. “They’d say hi too, but… Well, they’re a bit busy right now.”
“Quit fucking around, Thibbedeau,” the one on the right – Flav? – muttered in a low, gravelly voice, his words almost carrying a distracted tone. “I can’t keep this up all day. Get to it.”
“Right. Okay!” Parker leaned forward and fixed me with a stare, his mouth returning to its usual smirk. “We’ve been watching you, Jacob,” he began. He dropped his feet to the carpet and slapped Doctor Peterson’s backside, the sound of his palm making contact sending a resounding Crack! echoing through the room. “We know that this little bitch has been tellin’ you you’re sick, that there’s something wrong with you, ‘n dousin’ you with all sorts of chemicals to make you better.”
“Yes,” I replied simply. Why is he stating the obvious? Why should I care about any of this?
“Well… It’s all a lie.” Parker sat back and waved a hand about the office, seeming to take in everything with the gesture. “There’s nothing actually wrong with you. It’s all a lie, concocted by… well, we’ll get to that. But this one,” he added, thumping Doctor Peterson’s backside with his heel once more, “is in on it. She’s been keeping you down, ‘cause…” The boy sighed, and leaned forward once more. “You’re special,” he said softly. “Special. And dangerous, to the wrong people, ‘n valuable to the right people. They’re afraid of you, mate, ‘n that’s why they’ve been dosin’ you all these years. Understand?”
I stared dumbly at Parker. I could hear the words that he was saying, but… “I don’t know what you mean,” I replied. My eyes slid down to Doctor Peterson, then across to her receptionist, and then back up to his face. “Are they dead?” It wasn’t like I cared or anything, it’s just that I had never known anyone who had died before…
Parker sighed in exasperation, and seemed to slump down in the chair. “Right,” he mumbled as he stared at me. “Guess we’ll do this the hard way. Bobby, if’n you please…”
I began the process of turning my head – think carefully, focus, and force my neck to swivel – but I was slow, far too slow. I sensed a shuffle of movement to my left, and felt the sharp bit of a needle sliding into my flesh just beneath my ear. The pain was dulled by my medicine, but it still hurt enough so that I gave a little squeak. I finally completed turning my head just in time to see Bobby take a step away from me, a syringe held in his hand. Weird… Ah well. I could feel my senses dulling even more as I forced my attention back to Parker, felt the real world slipping away even more than usual. “It’s for the best, mate,” he said in a sympathetic voice.
“Ah,” I replied simply. “Okay.” I guess he knew best.
As everything shut down around me, fading from gray to charcoal to black, I could feel them moving around. “Hit the bitches,” Parker said, his words floating into my brain from down a deep, dark, silent tunnel. “We’ll take ‘em too. Maybe…”
I never found out what the maybe actually was.
I awoke with a start, confused as to where I was. What… The light streaming in through the large, elaborate windows arced across the bedspread and straight into my eyes, causing me to squint as tears formed in the corners. With a mutter of annoyance I rolled over onto my side, feeling the slick silk slide across my body easily as I stretched a bit. Where am I? I wondered idly. What happened?
I tried to think back, tried to remember what had happened, and was almost surprised when the memories came flooding back in an instant. I had been in Doctor Peterson’s office, and then three boys came in – Parker, Flav, and Bobby, I noted, and actually felt a tiny smile as their names came easily to me – and Parker had talked for a bit, and then… And then…
I smacked my lips and rolled back over, closing my eyes tightly to keep the morning sun from blasting into my brain. I felt… different. Not different bad, but different good. I felt – whole. My thoughts came easily, my memories felt whole, my senses sharp and direct and operating at full-speed. I could feel the warmth of the sun on my face, could feel the silk sheets on my flesh, could hear a dull tick-tick-tick of a clock, could smell wood polish and – Bacon? Weird… – deep in my nostrils. I yawned and stretched again, luxuriating in the sensations flooding into my brain.
I don’t think I’m on the drugs anymore, I noted. The thought that I was off my meds – that I could at any moment explode into an orgy of death and violence and rage – brought a frown to my face. Wait, isn’t that bad? I searched my mind, searched my feelings, trying to figure out what… Just what. I don’t FEEL like I’m going insane. Am I going insane? Am I insane? A memory floated into the front of my mind, a memory of Parker explaining that I had been lied to, that the drugs weren’t designed to keep me sane but rather to keep me down, and my frown deepened even further. I don’t feel insane. Was it true? Was it all true?
Okay… think. I cracked one eyelid as an experiment, and then quickly snapped it shut as I turned back on my side. I didn’t know where I was, but I knew that many, many things had changed. My mind was clear, my senses were sharp – and I was bare-butt naked in a strange bed. Fuck, I hope some old guy in a clown mask doesn’t want to do things with my butt, I thought as I grinned to myself. That grim thought gave me pause… How do I know about pervert clowns? I wondered. I tried to think about it, but couldn’t come up with an answer. Did I see it somewhere? Did I read it? I just couldn’t figure it out.
I smacked my lips again and sat up, sliding back to lean against the headboard of the bed as I wormed myself into a spot on the mattress where the sun didn’t blast into my eyes. It took a few seconds for my sight to adjust to the room, but I didn’t mind as I luxuriated in the warm sensation washing over my bare chest as I tried to adjust to my surroundings. Just how doped up was I? I wondered idly as I worked to blink the spots from my vision. I never felt – I can’t REMEMBER feeling this good, ever. As the room began to take shape around me I let my gaze slide over the elegant, expensive-looking carpet, the heavy antique furniture, the cold and dark fireplace and the empty bookcases and the antique-y clock on a table between the two windows, the truly massive mirror standing in one corner, the bare-butt naked little girl standing patiently beside the bed…
“Fuck!” I screamed as my heart literally skipped a beat and I lunged away from the girl. My body slid easily across the sheets as I flailed helplessly, and I felt momentary weightlessness as I launched myself off the edge of the mattress, hovered for an instant, and then crashed heavily to the floor below. What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck…
“Are you okay, thir?” the little girl asked in a high-pitched voice.
I levered myself up and peeked at her over the edge of the bed. The girl was very young, very tiny, and very skinny, with thin limbs and a slightly pudgy tummy and narrow hips and absolutely no curves whatsoever. Her hair was a bright blonde almost bordering on white, a long, flowing mane that was draped over her slim, narrow shoulders, while her eyes were wide and a deep blue and contained an almost innocence within. A tiny spray of freckles dusted her cheeks and nose, and as she stared back at me she worried her lower lip with a pair of slightly buck teeth. And she was naked, almost disturbingly so – she simply stood on the other side of the bed, her flat chest topped by a pair of nipples that were almost the color of bright pink bubblegum, and there was absolutely nothing between her legs. She didn’t seem ashamed by her nudity, didn’t hold a single ounce of fear or anything as she simply stood there, simply waited for me to make the first move… and indeed she almost seemed patient, as if standing naked in a bedroom with a strange boy who was just as naked was the most natural thing in the world to her. “Are you okay, thir?” she asked again, her words containing a rather severe lisp that turned every s into a soft th sound.
“Who… who are you?” I stammered as I half-tugged the sheet off the bed and pooled it in my lap to keep just a bit of modesty. “Where am I?”
“I am your thervant, thir,” she lisped, sounding a pronounced th-sound when she said the words servant and sir. “I am here to therve your needth. ‘N you are in your bedroom, thir.”
“Servant?” I asked a bit hysterically. “I don’t… Where are your clothes?”
“Servants aren’t allowed to wear clothes, sir,” she replied, her lisp forcing me to pay close attention to her words. “We don’ have the right,” she added, her gaze growing just a bit distant as she worried her lip again and worked to remember what she needed to say, almost as if she had just learned the words.
“The right?” I asked. What the fuck is going on here? I slowly stood on shaky legs and clambered back onto the mattress, keeping the girl in sight while keeping my ten-year-old cock out of sight. My gaze slid down her body, past her flat chest and tiny waist, down to the cleft between her legs… and then I fought a blush as I felt my prick stirring beneath the wadded-up sheets. Christ, she’s just a little girl! a tiny part of my brain shouted as I sought out her face once more.
“Servants don’ have the right to wear clothes, sir,” she repeated simply.
“Uhm… why?”
The little girl looked confused at the question, and her eyes took on an uncertain, almost fearful shine as she worried her lip once more and looked down at her feet. “Th… Servants don’ have the right to wear clothes, sir,” she lisped once more. “Don’ you like my body, sir?” she asked in a tiny, trembling voice as she clasped her hands behind her back and dug one tiny toe into the carpet.
“Uh…” I scanned her body up and down once more, letting my gaze linger on the particular interesting bits. She was indeed young, showing absolutely no signs and giving no hints as to what she would look like when she grew up – but at the same time she almost seemed to give off waves of heat, an alluring sexuality that combined innocence with sheer wanton desire. The sight of her standing before me, totally exposed and uncertain with her body language indicating that she wanted, she craved my approval, sent a weird shudder through my body… and caused my cock to instantly snap to attention. “Y… you look just fine,” I mumbled, twisting the sheet into a bigger wad in my lap to hide my hard-on. “Very nice,” I added as I blushed. What the fuck is this place…
My words almost seemed to have an electric effect on her. The little girl smiled a brilliant smile, beaming from ear to ear as she almost shivered with pleasure. “Thank you, sir,” she replied in a tiny sing-song voice as she visibly relaxed. “I wanted to look pretty for you.”
“Well, you did… you do,” I quickly corrected. My heart rate was starting to slow back to a point vaguely near normal, and my skittering thoughts started to calm just enough so that I could think clearly again – and I realized that I had no idea what to do next. I stared at the little girl, who stared back at me… “So, you’re my… servant?” I asked carefully.
“Yes, sir,” she replied with a nod of her head.
I waited, but she didn’t say anything more, didn’t elaborate. “Uhm, okay.” I spent another few seconds staring at the patient girl, before I had finally worked up the courage to open my mouth again. “So… what does a servant do?” I finally asked.
“What do you want me to do, sir?”
“What are you allowed to do?”
“Whatever you wish me to do, sir.”
“Anything?” This can’t be fucking real…
“Anything, sir.”
The little girl wasn’t afraid, that much was clear to me – but it was also becoming apparent that she wasn’t exactly the sharpest knife in the drawer as well. What, do I do her thinking for her? I wondered as I mulled the situation over… only to have my thought train derailed by the loud growl of my empty stomach as my brain finally managed to re-register the bacon-smell. “So, if I wanted you to get me something to eat, you’d do it?” I asked as I realized just how hungry I was.
“Yes, sir.” The little girl turned on one heel and almost skipped across the room, almost delighted to have a task, and paused at the elaborate table between the windows. Moving carefully, she stood on her tip-toes – giving me a perfect pervert’s-eye view of her tiny, slim, flat, little-girl ass – and lifted a large silver tray from the wooden surface. Turning, she slowly made her way back to the bed, a look of intense concentration on her face as she wobbled only slightly under the weight of the plates and food in her hand. She paused by the mattress, thought intensely for a moment, and then gingerly slid the tray onto the sheets next to me. “I brought you breakfast, sir,” she practically proclaimed, staring intently at me as if she were a puppy awaiting praise.
“Uhm, thank you,” I replied. “Good job, well done,” I quickly added as an afterthought.
“Thank you, sir!” The little girl beamed another brilliant smile, displaying a mouthful of teeth in desperate need of braces, and almost wriggled in pleasure. “Should I feed you too, sir?” she asked.
“No, that’s okay,” I quickly said. Keeping one eye on her I slid the tray closer to me and removed the plate covers to reveal eggs, bacon, toast, and fruit, a veritable smorgasbord of delicious-looking food. The sight and smell made me realize just how hungry I actually was. Without fanfare I tore into the feast, gorging myself as if I hadn’t eaten in years – which, for all I knew, I hadn’t. “So,” I mumbled to the girl around a mouthful as I grabbed a glass of orange juice, “what is your name?”
“I don’t have a name, sir,” she replied simply.
I froze in mid-chew, stunned by her confession. Doesn’t have a name? What the… “What do you mean, you don’t have a name? Everyone has a name!”
“I’m only five years old, sir,” she intoned, explaining it slowly and simply and formally, almost as if she were giving the answer to a test. “Servants don’ get a name until they are twelve, or if their masters give them a name before then.”
“So…” I thought for a second as I munched on some toast, swallowed, and then fixed her with a pointed stare. “What do they call you? What if someone wants to tell you something?”
“Most boys call me Cunt, or Slut, or something like that,” she explained with a shrug. “Sometimes they just say, ‘Hey, you!’ ‘n point at me.”
“O… kay.” Am I still dreaming? I pondered this for almost a minute while the little girl simply stood there, chewing and swallowing and trying to figure out what sort of weird place I was in. “So you don’t have a name,” I slowly said.
“No, sir.”
“Okay, we’ll get back to that sometime. So you’re a servant?”
“Yes, sir.”
“How did you become a servant?”
“I…” The little girl looked confused, almost as if I had asked a question that had never actually occurred to her – or would have ever been asked. “I just am, sir,” she finally said. “I’ve always been a servant. My mommy was a servant, so I’m a servant. I’m a girl, so I’m a servant,” she added, as if the last part was most important.
“Girls are ther… I mean, girls are servants?” Her lisp was very distracting, and I had to catch myself to prevent my speech from slipping into her style.
“Yes, sir,” she replied, her voice matter-of-fact and insistent. “Girls are servants, ‘n fuck toys. We serve, ‘n we fuck.”
The second that she claimed to be a sex object – with an absolutely straight face as well! – I almost choked on my orange juice, and it was only through the most incredible luck that I only coughed and hacked and did not spray the contents of my mouth across the sheet. “I’m sorry, what was that?!?” I asked in shock.
“What was what, sir?”
“Girls are… fuck toys?”
“Yes, sir,” she replied in a serious tone. “Girls are designed to fuck. That’s why we have cunnies.” She fidgeted a little bit, her eyes distant as she worried her lip and tried to remember what she wanted to remember. “A boy sticks his cock into a girl’s cunny, ‘n the girl feels real good ‘cause she’s doin’ what God designed her to do. ‘N the boy spurts his stuff inside of her, ‘n if she’s been good then she has a baby. ‘N if the baby’s a boy he’s a master, ‘n if it’s a girl then she’s a servant.”
That’s it, I have to have gone insane here, this can’t be for fucking real… “So, have you fucked?” I asked in disbelief.
“Nu uh,” the little girl replied with a shake of her head. “I’m only five years old, ‘n they say I’m not old enough. I don’t start training to use my cunny until I’m six. But,” she added brightly with just a hint of pride in her voice, “they say that I suck cock like I’m ten but I still have trouble swallowin’ sometimes, ‘n they’re talking about putting me in a class to learn buttfucking next year, ‘n only eight-year-olds get into that class!”
“What… I mean, that has to be…” I couldn’t figure out what I wanted to say – the girl’s admission, the sheer pride in her voice when she talked about sex just blew my mind. It was unreal, it felt unreal, it didn’t make any sense… and yet there she was, naked and boasting about her oral skills, plain as day. “What about your… How do your parents feel about that?” I finally managed to choke out.
“My mommy was proud of me,” she preened. “She said if I learn buttfucking then all the boys will like me a lot, so she promised to help me learn!”
I’ll admit it… I gaped like a fish, totally at a loss for words as my mind groped for a response to her words and found nothing. “I…” I began, before I lost my train of thought. “I think… That is…” I stared at her dumbly, unable to form a single coherent sentence.
“Are you done with your breakfast, sir?” the little girl asked. Without waiting for a response from me she leaned over, slid the tray across the sheets, turned, and returned it to its former spot on the table. “I hope your meal was sat-is-fac-tory,” she added as she padded back to the bed, sounding out the last word and making it plain that she was still trying to get used to saying it.
“It… was fine,” I replied. “I think that… Hey, wait! What are you doing?!?”
I sat up straight as the little girl clambered up onto the bed, her tiny body barely making the firm mattress move as she crawled across the sheet in my direction. “I’m gonna suck you off, sir,” she replied simply.
“Wait, wait a minute…” I scrabbled up the mattress until my back hit the headboard once more, staring into her wide blue eyes. “You don’t have to do that, really, I’m good…”
The little girl paused at my feet, a look of doubt flitting across her face. “Don’ you think I’m pretty, sir?” she asked as she knelt, her hands on her knees and her eyes almost containing a hint of worry. “I promise you sir, I’m real good at sucking boys off, ‘n I’m sure I can swallow this time, ‘cause I’ve been practicing…”
“But you don’t…”
I was going to say more, tell her that she didn’t have to do it, she didn’t have to suck me off – although I have to be honest and admit that a part of me was more than happy to let her try. Deep in my brain there was a war, one between the angelic part of me howling that she was only five years old and I was only ten and that we were both way too young to even think about this sort of stuff… but there was another, darker part of my soul that wanted to let her try, wanted to let her suck me off, wanted to actually show her exactly what she would experience when she started her cunny training on her sixth birthday. I could feel my resistance slipping, feel my hard-on growing even harder, and started to tremble in confused shock…
Only to be saved at the last possible minute. A loud pounding sounded at the door as someone blasted their fist against the heavy wooden panel, sending a loud, echoing THOM-THOM-THOM through the room. “Oy, Jacob,” Parker’s muffled voice rang through the door. “You awake yet?”
“Oh thank GOD,” I muttered to myself. “Yeah, I’m up,” I called. “Give me a minute, ‘k?” I turned my attention back to the girl and opened my mouth to tell her to get off the bed, to put on some clothes, to at least try to hide or something, but the words died in my throat as the door swung open and the teenage boy clumped into the room. “I swear, this isn’t what it looks like,” I quickly said as I twisted the sheets in my lap once more.
“What’s the problem?” the sandy-haired boy said with a smirk as he flopped down into an easy chair by the fireplace. “It looks like you’ve got a pre-teen slut on your bed about ready to suck you off.”
“I was, sir,” the little girl interjected.
“I wasn’t gonna do it, I swear,” I replied.
“Well, why the fuck not?” Parker’s smirk grew deeper, and he waved vaguely in my direction, although I wasn’t sure if he was indicating me, the girl, or both of us on the bed. “She’s not too bad with the mouth-stuff, an’ I’ve heard tell that she wants in in the butt as well, so…”
His mocking words were just too much, and my brain just instantly shut down. I couldn’t think straight, couldn’t even believe that I would ever think straight ever again, and I just froze, gaping at the teenager in the chair. “I…” I stammered as I gripped the sheet so tightly that my knuckles turned white. “I…”
“Did I break yer brain yet?” Parker asked with a wicked grin. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees and let his hands dangled between his legs. “First thing you’re gonna learn here is that… There are… Benefits. Yeah, that’s a good word. Benefits to being here, to being with us.”
“I was going to suck him off just like I learned, sir,” the little girl insisted. “Really, I was!”
“I know you were, slut,” he replied easily.
“I… I…” It was all too much, and felt myself starting to shake as I lost it. “Where am I?” I practically screamed. “Who are you people? What the fuck is this place?!?”
Parker peered intently at me for a moment, and then sat back in his chair. “Get off ‘n just wait,” he ordered the girl, not even bothering to look at her as he waved his hand absently in her general direction – and who promptly nodded and slipped off the mattress. His eyes held a bit of sympathy that didn’t feel quite sincere, especially given his ever-present smirk. “I know you got questions, mate,” he said simply. “’N I know you’re pretty confused right now. We weren’t sure how you’d react to…” He let his words trail off, and simply waved at the girl standing beside the bed with her hands clasped behind her back and her head bowed. “Still aren’t sure, really,” he added with a smirking aside. Giving a little shake of his head, he settled back into the cushions beneath him and fixed me with a pointed stare, and this time his eyes were direct and his tone serious. “I’m afraid that you’ve been drafted, mate,” he explained. “You’re now fighting in a war that’s been goin’ on forever. We’re the good guys, in case you were wondering. I’m a soldier, and you were a prisoner of this war.” He paused for a moment and then leaned forward, and his smirk vanished as his face took on a grim mien. “We’re fighting a war, mate,” he said once more.
“And we’re losing.”
The din of dozens of conversations filled the hallway, the sound echoing from the high, arched ceiling and the words blurring into each other to create an almost overwhelming din. The wide corridor was packed wall-to-wall with students, dozens of boys laughing and running and arguing and dashing to and fro, a living sea of male-ness that threatened to overwhelm my newly-restored senses. I stood at the base of the stairs between the third and fourth floors and simply watched as the boys moved past me in twos and threes, each one different yet the same. None looked the same, each one was different – yet their Ribson Academy jackets gave them a uniformity that made it clear they were acting as one. A veritable army – a literal army – of boys ranging in age from a few years younger than I all the way up to eighteen-year-old seniors flowing past me like a river, and I saw none of it. I tightened my grip around the folder in my hand and tried to make sense of the truths I that had been revealed to me – about me. “I can’t…” I muttered to myself, feeling as though the entire world as I understood it had crumbled around me. “I can’t believe it...”
“Yup,” smirked Parker behind me. “Believe it. Welcome to your new life, mate. Yer gonna love it.”
The short time since the sexy little naked girl had wakened me up had passed in a blur. After my ‘rescuer’ had dropped his bombshell he had turned his attention back to the servant girl, firing off a series of orders in quick succession that she had scrambled to obey. I couldn’t decide what I wanted to look at… the smirking boy who seemed to have all the answers, or the delightfully naked five-year-old skittering around the bedroom. All I seemed to be able to do is to simply stare, my mouth agape, as she retrieved some clothes for me from a standing cabinet and laid them out on the bed. “Should I dress you, sir?” she asked me, her eyes wide and hopeful, her lips slightly parted and her face flushed as her flat chest and stiff little-girl nipples floated before my eyes…
“Uh…”
“We don’t have time for that, slut,” Parker interrupted. “Young Jacob here has a full day. You’ll see him again tonight. Just head on off to your classes right now.”
“Yes, sir.” I might have been mistaken, but I could have sworn that the girl’s voice held a tiny note of disappointment as she bobbed in place to the teenager, gave me a little curtsey as well, padded over to retrieve the tray containing my clean breakfast plates, and then out of the room on bare feet. I couldn’t do anything more than stare after her, my gaze locked on her wriggling little bottom as she moved, my cock hard enough to pound through concrete. At the door she paused, turned, and fixed me with a rather crooked smile. “I’ll see you this evening, sir,” she said, and I might have been mistaken but I could have sworn she flashed me a wink. I didn’t respond as she turned back around, flicked her little-girl ass in my direction, and pulled the door shut behind her with one foot.
“Wow, yer in trouble now, mate,” Parker laughed wickedly. “Well, get some clothes on and get movin’,” Parker told me. “Gotta see the man.”
He turned his attention to his phone, poking and prodding the screen and smiling every so often as I slipped out from under the sheet and got dressed. The clothes were simple, merely jeans and a tee-shirt unlike the teenager’s Ribson Academy uniform of slacks, jacket and a tie – but even though my clothes were brand new they fit perfectly, almost as if they were designed for me. As I slipped on a pair of tennis shoes I glanced at the boy. “Who’s the man?” I asked.
“Paingloss,” he replied as he stashed his phone inside his jacket. “Dean of Students here at Ribson. He’s gonna get you set up here.”
“But why am I here?” I asked.
Parker looked a little bit evasive. “Don’ worry, you’ll find out soon enough,” he said as he stood. “I’m already in enough trouble as is, don’ wanna piss off Paingloss anymore by taking away his talking points. But don’t worry,” he added as he clapped me on the shoulder. “Yer safe ‘n with friends now. Everything will be okay.”
We exited the room into a hall filled with doors, each one closed tightly, and moved down the passageway to a large flight of stairs. “This is four,” the teenager explained. “Special residence rooms for special students. Three ‘n two are for classrooms, while one is classes ‘n offices.” I had to mull over his statement for a moment to realize that he was talking about floors, and then had to scramble to keep up with his continuing narrative.
“So, just a little bit o’ knowledge for you,” Parker said, pitching his words low so as not to disturb anyone behind the closed classroom doors as we moved down the third floor hallway. “In today’s world they like to pretend that boys ‘n girls are the same, that there’s no difference between the sexes. It’s that load of bullshit that Miri – Doctor Peterson – was shoveling into yer brain. Well, that’s a lie.”
“It is?” I asked. I paused by a closed classroom door and peered in through the glass. At first glance it looked like a normal classroom, with boys in uniforms sitting at desks peering forward with various looks of interest as a hunched old guy with frizzy gray hair droned on up front – except for the teenage girl in a pair of tiny pink panties and a matching pink tank top standing in the corner, her gaze locked at her feet. “Why isn’t anyone looking at her?” I asked aloud as I hitched a thumb in her direction.
Parker peered over my shoulder. “Ah, that’s Lisa. She’s doin’ her job like a good little girl. ‘N nobody’s looking at her ‘cause they’ve all already seen what she’s got.”
“Wait, you mean…” My mind whirled as I did the mental math, combining the attitudes of the people in the classroom with the teenager’s blunt statement, and I swallowed heavily. “You mean that she’s…”
“Spread her legs for everyone in there? Yeah, probably.” I opened my mouth to ask a follow-up question, only to let my jaw snap shut as Parker steered me away from the door and back down the hall. “This’ll go a lot faster if you stop interrupting me,” he smirked.
“Okay, sorry,” I mumbled.
“Right. Where was I…” The boy thought for a second, and then nodded. “Right. That whole equality bullshit between boys and girls is a recent development. The truth is that boys and girls have never been equals. We boys ruled, and girls were always ruled. At least, that’s the way it was for thousands of years.” He paused at a T-intersection in the hall, looked off to the left, and then shook his head and turned right. “Boys ruled, and girls did what they were told,” he repeated. “That’s the way it was for most of human history.”
“Okay,” I replied, barely understanding what he was talking about.
“But then, a thousand years ago, the girls started to get organized. They started to work to try and take over. We kept ‘em down, of course – but they’re like fuckin’ cockroaches, hiding in the dark and waiting until we weren’t payin’ attention, and then springing back out.” A left turn, and down a wide staircase. “But then, about a hundred years ago, girls started to get the upper hand. They convinced a bunch of boys that it was only fair to be equal, that they should rule alongside ‘em.”
“Wait,” I interjected as a sudden thought occurred to me. “That… You’re skipping over a lot of stuff. Something doesn’t make sense. I mean…” I stopped walking and thought – really thought – about the tale he was spinning, trying to uncover what he was leaving out. Now that the drugs had worked their way out of my system it felt like my mind was moving in an instant, moving from idea to concept to notion without any of the cloudiness that had been there before, and I almost luxuriated in the sensation of feeling clear-headed for the first time I could remember. “It’s not that simple,” I finally said as I started walking again. “If this war between boys and girls has been going on forever, why hasn’t anyone actually…”
I trailed off, losing my argument as I realized that I didn’t have all the facts, and Parker nodded. “Yup, I’m leaving a shitload of stuff out. It’s not really my department – after all, I’m just Tactical.”
The way he described himself made it sound like a title or classification or something, and I could almost hear the capitalization of the first letter when he said it. “Tactical?” I asked dumbly.
“I just hit things until they fall down, mate,” he shot back with a grin. “It’s other folks who do all the heavy lifting. And speaking of heavy lifting…” He paused by an unremarkable door on the first floor, forcing me to screech to a halt as well. “We’re here,” he said simply.
“Where’s here?”
Parker’s grin grew wider as he pounded on the door with his fist. “Paingloss’s office. Oy! We’re here!” he called out as he opened the door and walked in, and I followed in a daze.
The office was large and elegant, filled with expensive-looking antiques and paneled in a dark wood that almost seemed to shine in the light from the lamp on the desk. Bookshelves lined the walls filled with ancient-looking tomes, while an entire wall was taken up with three large, peaked windows looking out over the quad. But far more interesting were the people in the room… Seated in a large, oversized leather chair was perhaps the oldest human being I had ever seen, a man with wispy gray strands over his almost-bald skull and wrinkles-upon-wrinkles, his entire body seeming to sag into the seat beneath him. Far more interesting (in my opinion, at least) was the woman standing next to him – she was much younger than he but still way older than Parker or I, and if I had to guess I’d have to say she was floating somewhere around in her forties. Her blondish hair had streaks of gray shot through it, yet she looked fairly attractive for a woman her age. The old man was in a suit that looked six sizes too big, while the woman wore a plain, simple dress that was tight around her truly massive breasts and yet loose around her hips, seeming to combine mother-ness with a slutty quality that seemed to say that she was more than willing to serve snacks to her son’s friends… and then let them drag her into a bedroom to spread her legs for them afterwards. The pair regarded me as I walked in, the old man looking intent while the woman merely staring.
“I brought ‘im, Mister P,” Parker said as he flopped into one of the two chairs before the desk. “Jacob, meet Mister Paingloss, the Dean of Students here at Ribson Academy for Boys.”
“H… Hello,” I stammered as I took my cue and sat in the other seat. I glanced at the woman who merely looked back with an impassive gaze that didn’t give anything away, and tore my eyes to the right and tried to keep my attention on the man.
Mister Paingloss peered at me, almost as if he were trying to read my very soul. Finally, he cleared his throat. “Mister Lively,” he finally said in a whispery voice that was only a few notches above silent. “Welcome to Ribson Academy. I’m fairly certain that you have many, many questions.”
“Y… Yes, sir.” I glanced at Parker, at the woman (who still had done nothing more than stand silently beside the Dean), and then back to Paingloss. I opened my mouth to speak… only to realize that I had no idea where to begin, and instead let my mouth close as I stared helplessly at the Dean.
Paingloss noticed my struggle, and he laughed a laugh that was more of a wheezing cough than anything else. “Don’t worry about it, Mister Lively,” he said in amusement. “It is only natural to be off balance. For quite some time you have been… suppressed. Your natural talents have been sublimated by those working against us, and the truth about human civilization has been hidden from you. Mister Thibbedeau took it upon himself to… fix this situation,” he concluded, sliding his watery gaze over to the teenager and fixing him with a disapproving glower. For his part, Parker merely smirked and gave a nonchalant shrug.
“I don’t understand,” I replied. I could feel an ache in my jaw and realized that I was clenching my teeth, as much in fear as in frustration. “He mentioned a war, and talked about boys and girls, and it’s all so confusing… Why me?” My question was a plaintive whine, my words filled with an almost offended tone as I sat forward in my seat. “Why do this to me? Why did they do this to me? Why did you do this to me?”
“Because you’re special, mate,” Parker replied.
“Indeed,” Mister Paingloss added in agreement.
“I’m not special,” I shot back bitterly. I sank back into the chair and scowled, clenching and unclenching my fists as I sulked. “I’m just a damaged nobody, some crazy, unstable loser who should be locked up…”
“I disagree, Mister Lively.” The Dean sat back in his chair and returned his gaze back to me. The corners of his mouth curled down into a little frown. “You don’t know how special you actually are.” He glanced at the woman beside him, and I realized that she hadn’t moved, hadn’t introduced herself, hadn’t done a single, solitary thing except stand in place for the entire time I had been in the office. “Mister Lively,” Paingloss continued as he raised a wizened hand, “this is Amy. Have you met her?”
“No.”
“Have you heard of her?”
“No.” This guy’s batshit crazy… “Why would I have?”
“Indulge me, please. Look at her, and tell me about her.”
Sullenly, I moved my attention over to the woman. She was… there. She merely stood in place next to the dean, gazing at me with eyes that revealed nothing and a neutral look on her face. Now that I was focusing in on her I could see that she wasn’t quite as old as I thought – there were only a few graying hairs on her head, and the lines around her eyes and mouth weren’t quite as deep as I had first thought. She did look familiar, and my sullen scowl morphed into a frown of concentration as I took an even closer look at her. Her eyes met mine and I stared into her blue orbs, trying to figure out where I had seen them before…
The tween girl on the bed sobbed in agony and stopped pushing, collapsing into an almost exhausted, limp heap as tears flowed from the corners of her eyes. “I can’ do it, grandma,” she whimpered as she gripped the rails tightly, her bare flesh gleaming in the light of the room from the sweat pouring from her body. “It’s too much, I can’t…” Her pale blonde hair was plastered to her forehead with the sweat of her exertions, and her swollen belly almost seemed to pulse with the heartbeat of the baby inside.
Amy reached out a gentle hand and stroked the girl’s belly as she exchanged a worried glance with her equally-naked twenty-year-old daughter across the bed, and the strawberry-blonde woman with green eyes mirrored her look of concern. When Sophie had given birth to her granddaughter it hadn’t been this bad – in fact, baby Brittney had slid out of the nine-year-old almost as if she couldn’t wait to be born. “I know it hurts, sweetheart,” she said, her voice low and soothing as she stroked the girl’s belly again. “But you have to push, we’ve been waiting to meet your little girl for so long now…”
I snapped back to reality, reeling back in my chair so hard that for a moment the front two legs lifted off the floor before thumping back down. “Holy shit,” I whispered, my eyes wide and filled with shock. “Great-grandmother?”
“Tol’ yew,” Parker smirked to the Dean. “And that’s without any proper training!”
“That’s beside the point, Mister Thibbedeau,” Paingloss wheezed. “You shouldn’t have acted without orders.” Still, his eyes carried a strange look when he slid them over to me, almost as if his gaze held a note of impressed pride. “Mister Lively, what did you see?” he asked.
“I… There was a girl on a bed, Brittney, and she was having a baby, and Amy was nervous ‘cause it was hard for the girl. And her mother was there too, her name was Sophie, and… And…” I opened and shut my mouth like a fish gasping for air, trying to make sense of it all. “What was that?” I half-whispered as the vision started to fade in my mind, bits and pieces falling away like shards of glass from a shattered window. I couldn’t tear my gaze away from Amy, who merely stood there impassively as I stared at her. “I don’t understand…”
“That, Mister Lively, is why you’re special.” Paingloss seemed to sag even deeper into his chair as he sat back, a small smile of pleasure curling up the corners of his mouth as he regarded me. “You have the ability to read the minds of women, to find out their secrets and fears and thoughts that they wish to keep hidden…”
“At least,” Parker interjected.
“Indeed,” the Dean agreed with a tiny nod. “We don’t know the full extent of your powers. All we do know is that there are those… women… who see you as a threat. And for your entire life they’ve worked to suppress your powers through drugs. Still, you must have seen some evidence of your powers, some hints that you somehow knew things that you could not possibly know, correct?”
My thoughts instantly flashed to my therapist and the strange little dictionary game that she always insisted we play during my sessions – and of how I always seemed to know the definitions, no matter how obscure the word. The memory of the doctor caused me to sit up straight in my chair, my attention torn away from the fading memories of Amy’s thoughts and back to the present. “Wait, Doctor Peterson,” I blurted. “She was intentionally…”
“Yup,” Parker smirked. “She was keepin’ you down. She was part of the conspiracy against you.”
“Yes, she was,” Paingloss agreed. “But all that is in the past. I realize that this will be an… adjustment for you, Mister Lively. And over the next few weeks we will provide you with training, with knowledge of how best to use your powers. But for now, just know that you are safe, and that we only have your best interests at heart.”
It was all too much. I slumped back in my chair, my gaze automatically sliding over to Amy as I tried to make sense of the truths being revealed to me. I felt a brief flash of shame as I caught myself staring at her large, full breasts and my cock twitched – She’s a fucking GREAT-GRANDMOTHER, and I STILL wanna fuck her?!? – and instead forced the thoughts from my mind as I tore my eyes away from the woman. “What… How is this gonna work?” I asked.
“You will be enrolled here at Ribson Academy, of course,” Paingloss replied without hesitation. “You will find that we combine traditional education with specialized training. There are others here like you…”
“Not exactly like you,” Parker interrupted. “Most of us are like me, learning to be tactical support for guys like you.”
“Mister Thibbedeau, this would go a lot faster if you would try to stop interrupting,” Paingloss remarked in a pained tone as he glowered at the teenager. Parker merely smiled an innocent smile, while the Dean returned his attention to me. “Since Mister Thibbedeau has taken it upon himself to – ah – liberate you, I think that he will be in charge of your orientation as well.” The Dean leaned forward, the simple movement seeming to take all the energy in his wizened little form, while Amy finally moved to help him sit. Grasping a folder from the desk she extended it to me, and I took the papers automatically. As I sat back I glanced at her face to find her staring at me, her eyes filled with a hint of something, and I blushed and tore my gaze back to Paingloss. “That is your class schedule, some basic background on Ribson, and some specific rules and guidelines to follow. This information is not to leave the campus grounds. We will provide you with several uniforms for use while on-campus, and you will regard the dress code as a requirement instead of a suggestion. Now, Mister Thibbedeau will escort you back to your room – and I suggest you take the rest of the day to familiarize yourself with the information we have provided. You may leave now.”
I stared for another moment until I noticed Parker standing out of the corner of my eye, and quickly joined him. As we shuffled towards the door I glanced back to see Paingloss rotate in his chair to face Amy. “Service me,” he simply ordered.
“Yes, sir,” the woman replied, and the last sight of the pair I had as the door closed behind me was of the woman dropping to her knees and leaning forward, bringing both her face and hands into the Dean’s lap.
“Aw, it’s kinda sweet,” Parker smirked at my stunned expression. “He’s old, but he can still get it up enough to get a hummer.” I simply stared, and the teenager laughed, threw an arm around my neck, and dragged me down the hall towards the stairs. “Yeah, this place can seem bizarre at first,” he said as the dull intonation of bells sounded throughout the hall, and the classroom doors along the hallway opened to disgorge an army of Ribson boys. “But don’t worry, you’ll get the hang soon enough. I’m gonna give you today to let your brain settle down, ‘n then we’ll jump right on in and help you figure out this weird-ass world you’ve just jumped into. Just remember two things ‘til you get your bearings, ‘n you’ll be fine,” he added.
“And what are those?”
“First,” he explained as he flicked out a single finger, “don’t take crap from anyone. Some people – other guys, and cunts who haven’t learned their place yet – might try to push you around, but never forget that you’re prolly a billion times more powerful than they are. And second,” he continued, trailing off as his smirk got even deeper.
“Second?” I prompted. So bizarre…
“Yah keep what you seize,” he simply said. “And you can do whatever you want with your toys.”
Even though he didn’t elaborate, I instinctively knew that he was referring to the toys of the female kind. All I could do was stand at the foot of the stairs, in shock, as I tried to wrap my mind around my new world.
I lay on the bed and tried not to shiver as the little girl – my slave? – knelt beside me and lowered her mouth to my stiff boy-cock. It was hard enough to keep focused as my prick finally got some pre-teen attention after ten years of being ignored. It was actually a bit harder to concentrate because of the fact that the girl lapping the length of my four-inch shaft was a naked five-year-old who had been trained from birth to be a sex toy. Still, I managed to soldier on, and I gasped with pleasure as I stroked the side of her head with one hand while she suckled the head of my rod and washed my manhood with her warm, wet tongue.
After Parker had escorted me to meet Dean Paingloss, everyone had left me alone for the rest of the day. It was a good thing too… I honestly believed that if I had been forced to face another bombshell, forced to deal with one more outrageous fact that had been kept from me by Doctor Peterson’s cocktail of drugs, I might have literally gone mad. My semi-self-imposed isolation did help to calm me down a bit, and eventually I had gotten to the point that I could actually take stock of my new life.
The thick folder that Paingloss had provided was rather short on details – even if it was long on rules, regulations, and guidance. Inside was a copy of my birth certificate, and I spent a good fifteen minutes examining the thing. It provided me with a concrete day for my birth (April 15th) and a place (the Berkshire Medical Center in Pittsfield, Massachusetts), but there were still some gaping holes, such as the names of my parents and the doctors. I found some state-issued ID with my picture, a passport that was so new that it cracked when I opened it, and a Ribson Academy student card. I had a weekly class schedule, a list of books that I was expected to read (which were sitting on the table between the windows when I had returned), and a bank statement displaying the princely sum of one hundred dollars. And then there were the rules… page after page of dress guidelines and behavior guidelines, down to who I could call and how often. There was even a full page detailing just how often my room should be cleaned. It was a bit overwhelming, but at the same time it felt comfortable – almost as if they would give my life a structure that I had been sorely missing.
There was a knock at the door around noon, and lunch was delivered by a cute girl a few years older than I. Dressed in a skin-tight pair of white panties with a tiny pink bow beneath her winking navel and a spaghetti-strap tank-top that hugged her tiny budding boobs like a second skin, she had black hair and brown eyes, claimed that her name was Penny, and answered my questions with a simple “Yes, sir” or “No, sir.” I quickly discovered that she was also dumb as a post – on a few of the questions about her life she paused as her face scrunched up in concentration, and then would simply shrug and apologize with an “I don’t know, sir.” I took a brief second to try and read her thoughts, and only got a momentary glimpse of her humping one guy while a second forced his cock into her aching asshole and a third slid into her mouth – indeed, the only thoughts in her head seemed to be “Take food to room” and a schedule of sexual encounters scheduled for her afternoon – and I realized that she had taken the whole ‘sex toy’ designation seriously. I turned down her offer to feed me and was actually relieved when she left.
The grounds outside were landscaped, with elegant, rolling fields and copses of trees, and I spent several hours that afternoon staring out over the vista through sightless eyes as I tried to digest everything. Several classes were held out on the grass, with boys of various ages in black shorts and gray tee-shirts running and jumping and wrestling, and even through the glass I could hear their shouts. There did seem an edge to their work, almost as if they were in training rather than simply exercising, and some of the wrestling matches seemed a bit more aggressive and rough than I thought they should be, but even after each takedown or throw the opponents would hop back up and give it another go.
The day whiled away, and as the sun sank below the horizon my dinner was delivered – this time by a redhead my own age, bare-butt naked and totally unashamed of my gaze on the tiny buds of her breasts. She spoke even less than Penny, and I decided not to push things and stayed out of her thoughts. The food was tasty, and I instead focused in on how sharp my senses now seemed to be since I was off my meds.
Finally night fell, and except for a few footsteps in the hall the building fell quiet. I was slouched in one of the chairs by the fireplace, lost in thought as I tried to make sense of my life. It was around eight that my servant girl returned, still bare naked and looking just a little tired from her day. “Good evening, sir,” she lisped as she bustled about clearing away my dinner plates and carefully moving my shoes from where I had kicked them off by the fireplace over to the foot of the bed. “Did you have a good day?”
“It was… strange,” I finally replied. A sudden nasty thought occurred to me, and I peered at the little girl as she turned down the sheets on my bed. “Where do you sleep?” I asked.
“I normally stay in the girl’s dorm,” she replied. “But they told me I’m gonna stay with you tonight.” She moved over to stand before me, lacing her fingers behind her back and displaying her flat chest to my gaze. “That’s okay, ‘cause I wanna suck your dick, sir,” she added. “Can I do it, please, sir?”
I felt my pulse pounding in my skull, a dull throbbing as I tried to keep from trembling. I didn’t want to know, I had to know, I had no idea what I wanted to know. I pushed my thoughts out, towards the little girl… and found wanton desire, a desperate need to show off her skills, an overwhelming desire to please me. Okay, I can do this… “Uhm, I guess that’ll be okay,” I stammered, blushing deeply as my voice cracked. “How do we do it?”
“Don’t worry, sir,” the girl lisped. “I’ll take care of everything. If you would stand up, please, sir?” I followed her request and stood, and in a flash the little girl was in front of me. I stiffened as she reached out, but then relaxed just a bit as her fingers sought out the bottom of my tee. Even though she was almost a foot shorter than I was, it was only with a little instruction she stripped my shirt off my body, and then fumbled with the snap of my jeans. Crouching, she pulled the denim down my legs and helped me step out of them, and then followed up with my underwear. In mere seconds I was just as naked as her, and unlike her I actually blushed with a bit of embarrassment at my totally hairless state. “Your dick looks really nice, sir,” she said in a breathy, high-pitched voice as she took in my tool, which naturally had to twitch and thicken just a bit at the attention.
“Thank you,” I muttered. “Uhm, how about the bed?”
“If that’s what you wish, sir.” The girl took me by the hand and led me over, letting me slid up onto the sheets before she clambered up onto the mattress. “Just lay back, sir,” she said breathily as she crawled across the wide expanse, settling in beside my knees as she stared at my growing erection with glittering eyes. “I’ll take care of everything.”
I didn’t respond as she took my cock in her hand, wrapping her tiny fingers around my shaft and stroking me to full attention. Her touch was soft yet firm, and I relaxed just a little bit when it became apparent that she clearly knew what she was doing. I didn’t say a word as she lowered her face down, but my view of the action was cut off by the curtain of her long blonde hair as it fell over her shoulder and onto my stomach. As a consolation prize I got to watch as she squirmed her knees apart just a bit and slid a hand down between her thighs, and the hot, breathy moan of happiness washing over my groin told me that she had found her pleasure spot.
The hot breath was replaced with a wet tongue that lapped the length of my cock, from the base all the way to the tip. I gasped and jerked as she repeated the action, and then again, and again, washing my boy-cock with her little-girl tongue, feeling ten years worth of sexual repression building up in my pelvis. Jesus, she’s fucking incredible! I thought as she wrapped her lips around my head and suckled, running her tongue along my piss-slit as she firmly pumped my prick. Throughout it all she was moaning and gasping, her flat backside squirming and her hips rolling as she rubbed herself at the same time. I lifted a hand and placed it on the back of her skull, and she responded by opening her lips wider and letting my cock fully into her mouth. The warm wetness of her sucking mouth took me even higher as she bobbed her head, almost determined to pull my spunk out through the sheer force of vacuum pressure.
I felt the pressure building in my balls, and almost instinctively I tightened my grip on the little girl’s hair to keep her head in place as I pressed my hips forward and felt my jism spurt across her tongue…
I hope he’s happy with my sucking oh WOW his stuff tastes SO GOOD maybe if I swallow it all he’ll be my MASTER and give me a NAME and I’ll be so much better than her THAT SKANK!!! it’ll hurt in my butt I know but if he wants to be my master I’ll DO IT I’ll let him do my cunny mommy would be SO PROUD if I had a baby before my eighth birthday don’t choke open your throat don’t choke oh oh oh oh Oh Oh OH OHOH YES OH YES OH YES YES YES YESYESYESYESYES…
It was the most bizarre experience of my life. Part of my mind was conscious of the girl’s tongue lapping at my hard cock and the feeling of shooting my wad inside her warm, wet pre-teen mouth – but another part of my mind, the powerful part, was listening to her unspoken thoughts as the little girl herself came. I sensed her consciousness vanish into a warm haze of pure joy as she pressed her thighs together around her still twitching fingers, the waves of lust from her orgasm roiling through her body from her stiff, sensitive little-girl clit straight into her brain, shutting down everything in her mind except for her drooling slit and the taste of my stuff in her mouth. It was almost as if she ceased existing as an individual and merely became a being of pure sexual pleasure.
At the same time it was almost as if a door had opened and her memories were laid out before me, any and every experience of her five short years on Earth available for my perusal. I could only catch glimpses of her life as it jumped from place to place, a jumble of nonsensical snapshots of what she remembered. There she was peering in curiosity at another three-year-old’s bare, spread slit… There she was kneeling before a seated boy, his hard cock hot in her tiny pre-teen hand as she flicked the tip with her tongue… There she was slipping her tongue into her best friend’s moaning mouth and feeling the girl’s slit open under the pressure of her probing fingers as her friend’s fingers pressed into hers… There she was on her knees with a cock in her mouth and another in each hand as she felt the spatter of cum jetting onto the bruise painting her right cheek as she tried to stop crying and maintain the concentration of getting three boys off at once… There she was with her sixteen-year-old mother and her twenty-five year old grandmother and Amy washing themselves in a shower room with dozens of other naked girls and women and explaining that she was to serve a special boy, a newcomer who was very important, and if she pleased him then maybe, maybe, he would be her master and give her a name and they would be so proud of her…
Holy fuck, she’s AMY’S great-granddaughter! The final bombshell of the day detonated in my mind as I growled and filled the little girl’s mouth with my jizz. For her part my servant managed to keep anything from oozing between her still-suckling lips, holding my seed on her tongue as she shuddered through her own pre-teen orgasm, the waves of pleasure wracking her body. We stayed like that for what felt like hours, me on my back and her hunched over my lap, locked in simultaneous ecstasy as the world shrank to nothingness around us.
Eventually my spurts slowed to a dribble and I sagged back against the mattress, letting loose a sigh of release as I let my hand drop away from the girl’s head. She raised herself up, kneeling unsteadily as little shivers of pleasure twitched her body, and I could see her jaw working as she sloshed my cum around inside her mouth while gently stroking her hyper-sensitive post-orgasm clit. As I watched she raised her face up to the ceiling, and with one last slosh she worked her throat in an audible swallow. “I did it, thir!” she half-whispered as she looked at me with glittering stars in her eyes. She opened her mouth and stuck out her tongue, proving to me that she had indeed taken my load past her throat and into her tummy. “I did it, I thucked you off and thwalloed it all! Did I do good, thir?”
I hesitated for a moment and felt her eager anticipation rolling off her body in waves, and then I stroked her cheek. “Yes, slave,” I replied, my voice thick and gravelly, “you did very good.”
She preened against my palm and smiled happily, outwardly all pre-teen sex kitten – but I could feel the emotions roiling around in her brain, her thoughts travelling effortlessly into my mind. PLEASE be my master I want NEED a MASTER please your stuff tastes good it’ll feel SO GOOD in my cunny I THINK please be my master and give me a NAME and I’ll spread my legs for you WHENEVER you want and do whatever you WANT I will be YOURS until I DIE… “I’m glad I could please you, sir,” she whispered aloud, giving me no physical sign of her confused and desperate thoughts.
“Y… you did,” I agreed, trying to fix my face into a mask of neutrality as I worked to quiet her voice in my head. “I think we should sleep now,” I added, latching onto the brainstorm as a way to prevent any uncomfortable topics of conversations with which I was nowhere ready to deal. What does it mean to be a master? I wondered as I pulled the girl down and flipped the covers over our nude bodies. Do I WANT a slave? I gotta ask Parker about this stuff…
After a few more minutes of soft, murmuring post-orgasm talk I turned out the lights… and my servant curled up next to me, pressing her warm, naked little-girl body against mine and absently resting her hand on my still throbbing prick. She dropped off quickly, her conscious thoughts becoming a low buzz as I too began to fade away. The last thing I remember was an image taken from her dream, of me standing over her, tall and strong and with a cock as big as my arm, while she knelt before me and fingered her tiny pre-teen slit and felt nothing but joy and worship. Master, she whispered.
Fuck… was the last word to float through my conscious mind.
