The New Girl Ch. 05

***The characters referenced in this story are Sixth-Formers, aged 18, or they are teachers. No character is any younger than 18***

A pattern emerges. A way of doing things.

Freya will find me, often out of the blue, and tell me to go to the girl's changing room. Always at quarter-past-three, always to knock on the outside door. And there she'll pull me inside, force herself on me, ravish me as she has done so before. It's passionate, thoroughly primal, hardly a matter of civility.

What do I get out of it? Well, the orgasms from being fucked by the bronze-skinned beauty are something special. I can't compare them to what it must be like to cum from a vagina, or even from a mouth, or even from someone else's hand...but they're way, way better than masturbation.

The thought always carries with it a kind of shame, but I feel like I should be grateful. Grateful for her interest, grateful for her attention. That someone so beautiful, so drop-dead gorgeous, is willing to do this to me, with me.

'You're so fucking dirty,' she'll say. 'You're such a fucking faggot.'

I'll moan, groan, and squeeze down on her thick bronze penis. And Freya will kiss my cheek and bite my neck and slap my arse, treat me like her bitch, her plaything, and I'll nut so easily. Then she'll climax, she'll flood my arse with hot, sticky muck, her big bloated balls rising and falling against mine.

Freya will leave me to it, a mess of a man. She'll readily tidy herself up and depart, leaving me stinking of our combined sweat, of our filthy sex, and of her potent, musky semen.

Is this my life, now? Her anal sex-pet?

*

'What's the matter?' she says one afternoon, while tidying herself up.

'What?'

Freya glares at me. 'You keep looking so gloomy. This past week's been that same sulky face. You're bringing me down, Tom.'

What can I say? That as much as I enjoy the sex, I'm starting to...starting to want Freya herself? To want more than just this passionate-yet-loveless rutting, hidden behind closed doors, at her beck-and-call?

'Forget it,' I say, shaking my head. 'It's nothing.'

But she crosses her arms beneath her weighty chest, in the process pushing those incredible breasts upwards. 'It's clearly not though, is it?' Freya walks over to me and takes hold of my chin, forcing me to look up at her. Those icy blues scan me, study me. 'Oh, no. No, no, no. No way.'

'What?'

'You're catching feelings, aren't you?' She groans, rolls her eyes. 'Don't do this to me, loser.'

I reach for that arm. 'Look, Freya. Doesn't it make sense that--'

She slaps my hand away, steps backwards. Her eyes are aflame now, her mouth tense. 'What we do, what I do, is just masturbation, okay? That you get off, that you have that luxury, is just that, a luxury.' Freya grimaces, turns about and steps away, curling and uncurling her fists. 'Don't you dare do this, Tom. Don't you fucking dare.'

My heart hurts, when it shouldn't. I'm always like this, a fucking loser, not noticing some signs, misinterpreting other ones. Fuck my life.

But if those past fuck-ups have taught me anything, well...

'I can't keep doing this,' I say. 'It feels good, you know it does, but I want...I want more.'

She falls still, like a statute. 'No.' The word is not especially loud, but especially firm.

'No?'

Freya shakes her head. 'No. We're not stopping. Be grateful.'

I did take her advice on the butt-plug. It allows me the chance to stand up. Stand up, four inches smaller than she is. 'So what, you're going to force me in here? You're going to rape me every other day?'

'No, because I don't need to,' she says. 'You'll turn up when you're told to, and I'll mount you like the little bitch you are. Understood?'

'Freya, I--'

Freya is quick, tall, strong. She sets herself upon me and throws me back against the wall, hands seizing about my throat, pushing on my Adam's apple. Soft hands, incredible strength. It's unsurprising that she can out-bench even the biggest boys. Her arms bulge, well-defined, but she doesn't throttle me. Not quite.

'You want me to hurt you, is that it?' Freya growls. 'You can't let me claim your bitch-arse and then take it back, faggot. I own you, okay? You're my property.'

'Freya...you're...fucking...nuts...'

And terribly, awfully, I'm still attracted to her. Maybe even more so, somehow.

'Say it, bitch. Say who owns you.'

I somehow, boldly, stupidly, shake my head. 'Freya...you're...hurting...me...'

She digs her thumbs into my throat and actually throttles me. Freya slams me back against the wall, banging my head. The pain of it activates some survival reflex, making me do something I'd otherwise never even think of.

I throw a punch. As best a punch as I can manage, but a punch all the same. It connects, but only because Freya doesn't expect it. It gets her right in the left eye and she releases me, stumbling backwards, going so far as to fall on her arse. All the wind goes out of her, all the fight replaced by shock.

'Freya, I'm so sorry,' I say, on reflex. Why? Why be sorry when she was actively abusing me? 'I shouldn't have done--'

'I deserved it,' she says, pressing a hand to that eye, hissing softly. 'That was a good punch. I guess you're not a total loser.'

I rub the back of my head. 'You could've killed me, man.'

Freya frowns, good eye wet as it takes me in. 'I don't want this to end between us, okay? I...we're compatible, like really compatible, in case you hadn't noticed.'

'So you thought to fucking strangle me?' I meet her frown with a perplexed glare. 'You're a psycho.'

She shakes her head. 'I'm not sharing you. End of.'

'What?'

'I've always preferred boys, okay? But boys...have never preferred me.' She makes a rough downwards gesture, and then rolls her shoulders. 'You can't have a girlfriend. Not unless you find someone like you, but better, as your replacement.'

My head spins. This is nuts. She's insane. She's possessive, sexually aggressive, and somehow I'm still madly attracted to her. If anything, the way my heart flutters, I might be more attracted now than before. Has anyone ever wanted me so badly as Freya does?

'Look, there's no-one else,' I say, 'but I thought you didn't want me to develop feelings?'

Freya blushes, glances away. 'I saw you looking. Saw you picturing it. It's not for you.'

'Wait, what? This all goes back to me asking about your, uh, girl parts?'

'Don't lie, idiot. You want to fuck me.'

I blush. 'Well, uh...'

'You can't.' Her voice grows firm. 'Don't you get it? My cock is twice the size of yours, my balls twice as big. Fuck, I'm stronger than you, taller than you. I'm not going to be your girlfriend, okay? The only kind of man worthy of fucking me is the very kind of man I've no interest in fucking.'

'I just...I just wanted to, like, hang out, and cuddle, and kiss.' To say it makes me tremble, makes me hang my head, blushing like an idiot. 'Sorry. I'd never disrespect your wishes like that.'

She's up instantly, upon me again, only this time sat beside me on the bench. Freya urges me forwards with her easy strength, tilting my head down to stroke and inspect the back of my head. 'It's not bleeding,' Freya says. 'Just in case, don't sleep anytime soon. Stay up and alert if you start to feel drowsy.'

'Where'd nurse Freya come from?'

My heart trembles when she throws her arms around my shoulders, burying her face into my neck. 'I like you, Tom. I'm sorry I hurt you, I'm sorry about my temper, but I do like you. I was only angry because of how much I like you.'

'So if I promise not to make any demands of how you use your body...will you be my girlfriend?'

She pulls back slightly. 'Didn't I just say that--'

I squeeze my arms around her back. 'I mean girlfriend like someone I spend time with, and kiss, and cuddle, and eat lunch with, and see outside of school...and who I let fuck me in my arse because I'm her slutty bitch-boy.' I blush to say it, and chuckle softly into her long blonde hair.

'You don't want that, trust me.' She shakes her head, still against me. 'Men don't exactly do well in my household. Let's leave it at that.'

'I'm not hearing a no, Freya.'

Freya kisses my throat. 'I want it. I want you, but...'

'But your family?'

She nods.

'What of them?' I say. 'They can't be that bad, can they?'

'Tom, the futanari thing is a gene. A strong gene.'

'Meaning what?'

'I have two mums, but you'd probably call one of them my dad,' she says. 'An older sister. And though she doesn't live with us, my grandmother. They're just like me. Well, one of my mums isn't, but the other is.'

'So?'

She pulls back enough that our noses brush, eyes upon each other's. Her left eye is clearly yellowing now, hooded shut. If it hurts, she shows no sign of caring.

'My Mum-Dad is trustworthy, okay? But Morgan, my older sister, is pretty sketchy with guys. And she takes after my gran, who is probably the worst for it.'

For Freya, who treats me the way she does, to call anyone else "sketchy with guys", provokes a pang of fear. The fear is softened by the mental image of what must be, surely, a family of beautiful pseudo-women, but there's still an undercurrent of unease.

'Sketchy how?'

'Men are less than we are, okay? Not in a bad way, not in an evil way, just that's how it is.' Freya studies my features, teases an earlobe with a finger. 'I'm bigger and stronger and smarter than you are. My genes are better. And that's the philosophy, in my family.' She runs the finger down, stroking a line upon my neck. 'Persephone -- easier than saying Mum-Dad -- will accept that you're mine, but Morgan -- my sister -- and Genevieve, my gran...I'll have to keep you away from them. But we can't exactly proceed without me explaining this, because those dickheads are pretty cunning. Morgan especially.' She glares, but not at me.

'You sound awfully comfortable with the idea of your family, uh, forcing themselves on me?'

Freya leans a bit further back, smirking, and rolls her one good eye. 'Because, so long as you accept that you're my property, that you're my bitch...I'll deal with them.' Something bordering on evil, raw mischief, passes her lips. 'Do you accept that, Tom?'

Her property? Her bitch? God, how weird I've grown. The idea of being hers, belonging to her, is somehow exciting. I nod, blush. 'I do, Freya. I trust that it's a good thing.'

'It's the best,' she says, leaning in. For the first time out of sex, she kisses me. Her lips are hot and full, ideally feminine and yet powerful in the way they press upon mine. Sweet spit, her pleasant smell of sweat, and that perpetual bubble-gum note. Freya tastes my lips with her tongue, kisses me again, and then withdraws. 'Friday. I'll take you to my place.' Her cheeks take on a redness. 'We'll have a lot of fun, you dirty slut.'

Her absence is cold. Freya rises, kisses my head, and goes to the door. 'Don't look so sad, idiot. I'll be inside of you tomorrow afternoon as well, obviously.'

I can't help but smile. 'See you tomorrow, Freya.'

She winks at me, smirking awkwardly when she realises the one-eyed handicap. 'And you.'

*

Freya makes no effort to hide me on Friday, when we go to her car.

People watch us. Lisa Darrow stops and stares at our passing, her and other familiar girls, all of them looking an admixture of shocked and disturbed. As much as I feel a pang of concern, a worry that everyone is soon to know about us, Freya's hand is on mine and we're walking together. The tall blonde leads and I move alongside her, the lesser party, the submissive to her dominant.

Freya drives an aggressive-looking BMW, a top of the range coupe ill-suiting a college student. I suppose really it must be peanuts to her family's wealth but still, it feels strange climbing in beside her and smelling the fresh interior, all fancy leather and upmarket upholstery.

Just like with everything else, she knows what she's doing. Freya is -- somehow it surprises me -- a very good, if slightly fast driver. The speed makes a little more sense when we get off the main roads and out into the countryside, where the narrow lanes are all national speed limit crazy bendy things.

'A few rules,' Freya says, gaze not leaving the road. 'If Persephone is around, you address her as Mistress Venyabildt. If my Mum, Alicia, is around, then you address her as Mrs Venyabildt. They probably won't be but even so, I don't want any faux-pas. If you come in all casual, they'll mock me for ages.' She must see the smile I crack, because Freya smirks. 'I'm dead serious, Tom. They don't act upper-class -- we're new money -- but they are vicious behind closed doors. So just be formal, and polite. And...I'll reward you for it.'

'I'll do my best,' I say, then pause, and add -- mind abounding at possibilities, 'What kind of reward?'

She smiles coolly. 'A handjob.'

I stifle a chuckle. 'Uh, thank you?'

The glare she gives me, a slight tilt of her head paired with those terrible blue eyes -- the left all but healed now -- is hard to determine as serious or playful. Even now, she's scary. I...kinda like it.

'Not hugely grateful-sounding,' Freya says. 'I can always drop you off here.'

I smirk as I dip my head. 'Uh, I'd relish the chance to have your beautiful hand on my sorry excuse for a penis, Lady Venyabildt.'

'Better.' She looks fully to the road, which weaves between hedges on either side. 'We're almost there. At least try to hide that tent in your pants, you pathetic little slut.'

I feel like I should tell her how that language will produce the opposite effect, but I'm half-convinced that Freya knows all too well. Humiliating me, mocking me, making a show of me, seems to excite her -- and me, I am realising -- like little else. Even so, I try to flatten my erection -- sizeable, if less than half of hers -- into my trouser leg.

'Sorry.'

'Don't be,' she says. 'You wouldn't be here if you didn't react the way you do. Keep being your usual bitch-boy self, Tom. I wouldn't have it otherwise.'

It's an interesting feeling, this admixture of warmth and shame. To be treated this way in any sane situation would make me angry, but with Freya it's as natural as breathing. She has this air about her, this commanding aura, that makes it feel right, makes it feel fantastically lucky to be this lesser male in her presence. It's a feeling that's been building for some time now, an awareness that I am completely okay with being the bitch in a relationship, so long as I'm her bitch.

I don't get any time to raise the idea, however. The Venyabildt Estate -- one of them, at least -- materialises around the next corner. We drive through great spiked iron gates and along a gravel concourse to this palatial manor of modern design with great glass walls in places, flat roofs in parts, massive grounds and plenty of annexes.

There's little time to take in the manse, so huge as it is. I'm left with wide eyes as Freya pulls the car to a halt before the main house, where a servant is waiting for her arrival. We climb out and the man bows to her, then gets into the car and drives it out of sight -- an easy thing, given the scale of this place -- towards what must be a detached garage.

Freya leads me into the main house, and thankfully we're alone. The thought of meeting her family, even passingly, is a little bit terrifying at this moment in time. I can't imagine anyone is quite as fierce as Freya but even so, the path of least resistance is the most appealing one.

We go to a large room on the first floor, pretty much the scale of the entire lower floor of my house. There's this immense flatscreen TV on one wall and a long sofa before it, a few bookshelves on a side wall, and two plate windows looking out over the verdant lusciousness of the well-kept gardens, where sprinklers are firing off and in the distance a woman rides a lawnmower at the side of a glistening lake. I don't even realise it's Freya's bedroom until I see the king-sized bed to my right. Shit, she's rich as fuck. Shit, she's got a mad-looking gaming PC besides.

'Are you any good at Street Fighter?' she says, sitting herself down on the sofa before the TV. 'The latest one.'

I shrug. 'I can try, I guess?'

'Fetch me the remote, and the controllers.'

No please, but...I don't hate her telling me what to do. I go to the shelves beneath the TV and collect up a pair of Playstation controllers, and the TV remote is sat there beside a few other remotes, all neatly lined up. The whole room is neat, in fact. She's not outwardly pristine and then slobby by herself.

'Here,' I say, giving her the remote and a controller. No thank-you, of course. Freya busies herself with setting things up, so I sit down beside her. 'You brought me here to play Street Fighter?'

'No,' she says. 'I brought you here to suck my cock.' A devilish smile creeps across those perfect lips. 'But I wanted to make a game of it. If I win, you get on your knees for me. Simple as that.'

'And if I win?'

Freya snorts. 'You won't.'

'But...if I do?'

A look, almost embarrassed, a flush of arousal, passes her gorgeous face. 'You can eat my pussy. Let that be enough for you to actually try.'

I should want my own blowjob. I should want something substantial. And yet...

...I am not going to pass up this opportunity.

*

Freya glares at me, but the look has a lusty warmth to it.

'Go on, then,' she says, lifting her skirt and spreading her legs. Her panties are white and straight-forward, oversized at the front to handle the additional equipment. 'If we must.'

The victory on the screen -- my victory -- has me smirking like an idiot. I don't even know how I did it. Button-mashed with a kind of frantic abandon I've never before managed. Maybe she was disheartened to see my eagerness. Maybe she just gave up.

But the point remains: I won.

'You'll really let me?' I say.

Freya's glare grows darker, her eyes becoming hooded. 'It would be better for us both for you to get good at blowing me, but fair is fair.' She sighs. 'You being mine also necessitates me being honest, and keeping my word.' Nervously, completely uncharacteristic of her, she tentatively thumbs the waistband of her panties. 'Get me out of these, Tom. Don't you dare disappoint me, or I won't fuck your arse for a week.'

As if I needed such to encourage me. My mind races as I slip onto my knees between her lovely shapely legs, and I surprise myself by not being completely terrified of the fat lump(s) in her pretty underwear. My eyes meet Freya's perfect blues, finding in them less dominance than usual, a hint more awkwardness. She's really, really weird about having a vagina.

'Freya, look...if this is making you so uncomfortable--'

'God, stop being such a loser!' She shakes her head and furiously stands, digging her thumbs into the sides of her panties. When she sits again they nestle between her knees, and that ungainly flaccid monster sits atop its two fist-sized bollocks, spread across the sofa between her parted legs. 'Well? Do what you're going to do, idiot. Eat my fucking pussy.'

I stare at the golden wilderness of her pubes, at the thick, pretty cock. 'Do...do you mind moving it out of the way?'

She sighs, this time more playfully. 'Is it that frightening?'

'I'm just a bit...I don't know.'

'Shy?'

I nod.

Freya reaches forwards and cups my chin. Her delicate skin is such warm pleasantness, all the more so when she rubs her thumb across my lips. 'It's been inside you loads of times, Tom. Looking far scarier than it does now, besides.'

'I...I suppose it has...'

It's interesting, isn't it? A girl's penis. A pretty cock. Bigger than mine is right now, hard as rock in my trousers, despite being soft, or mostly soft. I reach for it slowly, right hand finding silky skin and familiar floppiness, left hand -- and more cautiously -- touching upon the smooth bronze skin of her ball sack.