[mc, mf, fd, ma]
((Back in September 2015, I hosted two writing challenges in two different corners of the Internet. One was devoted to music (Musical Rapture) and the other to scholarly activities (School Books). When I started toying with concepts of my own to play in them, I came up with a storyline that actually combined elements of both and thus this story was born. The following is a slightly expanded take on the original challenge entry with a few additional tweaks for an added layer of consistency throughout. Special thanks to authors Angel Blair and Interstitial for the observations that inspired some of the extra content present in this definitive version. I hope you like it.))
Derrick Evans entered the classroom, whistling, and with a wide open smile upon his lips. It had been a while since the last time he had been called to fill in for an absent colleague and he was both anxious and excited to get back to work. The sunny weather outside added to his overall good disposition, promising a day to remember. He kept on smiling until he set down his briefcase on the desk and took a good look at his students. The whistle immediately choked on his throat, and terror set in.
A dozen young women between the human ages of eighteen and twenty-two smiled ravenously at the same time. Dressed in shades of light brown and red, the mandatory school uniforms, they were all impossibly beautiful, imbued with the primeval traits of long forgotten myths. Their alabaster skin glistened with fervent hedonistic promises and the uniformally blue hue of their eyes ran deeper than The Mariana Trench.
“Oh, no!” He muttered, the initial gasp becoming more pronounced with each subsequent vocalization. “No, No, No, FUCK NO!”
“Oh, yes!” They all seemed to say even without uttering a word.
He had heard all the stories, of course. The Atlantean Descendants, The Lustful Twelve, and many other designations that would put most scholars to shame if spoken out loud. Even though he had never laid eyes on them until that morning, he knew they were as real as all the other supernatural entities that attended Gehymnis Academy. He also knew that, for safety reasons, only women were in charge of their education and that no male creature, no matter how young or old, was allowed to be within thirty feet of distance of them under the weight of… repercussions.
“And now you’re trapped in a room with them,” he thought. Yes, trapped, for even though the main door was slightly ajar, every fiber in his being was telling him that it would be useless to even try to make a run for it. Averting their gaze, he tried to remain cool, composed, but the tide was already shifting inside his mind.
He remembered the last time an incident involving The Twelve had taken place. On his second day on the job, eight months ago, a group of electricians hired to solve the problem of power surges in the main auditorium took a wrong turn and passed too close to their dormitory. Lots of things were fried in the most extravagant slumber party ever conceived, or so the rumors went.
“Oh, God!” Derrick exclaimed involuntarily as a whirlpool of negativity took form. His right hand moved to cover his mouth and the words that followed came out almost imperceptibly. “Why did this happen to me? I’m just a poor sub…”
Almost imperceptibly, but not quite. Responding to a very specific combination of sounds, a blonde head cocked to the side, exbiting much more than simple curiosity. Equally intrigued, the other remaining predators in human guise followed suit. This time around, silence proved insufficient as a form of expression, and the melodic lore he feared so much proved to be true.
“Sub?” asked one of them, a striking brunnette with the most enthralling of red lips.
“Are you… a sub?” continued the blonde that started it all.
“Have you come to be our pet?” two other voices came into play, redhead twins, dual sides of the same perfection.
“They don’t let us have pets in here…” another temptation cooed, though he couldn’t see which one.
“We’re so glad you came!”
The last voice echoed differently across the room reaching his ears faster than the rest. It also came from a different direction—behind him!—but how was that possible when he was still seeing all twelve of them on their respective seats was beyond his comprehension.
“Don’t think about it too much,” the same voice insisted, her dulcet tone impossible to resist. “Some things are not for pets to know.”
Although Derrick grinned somewhat sheepishly upon hearing that, the innermost recesses of his mind were seething with bitterness and resentment. Not much for fooling around, whenever he did, he preferred to be on top of things, looking down at a lucky, gorgeous naked woman eager to sate on his manhood. Being played like a fiddle was not part of his fantasy realms, yet there was no stopping his body from responding to the harmonious combinations that now filled the room.
He blinked, seizing the broken moment to notice all the small alterations happening here and there, from a shallow breath to trembling knees. The most prominent one, of course, was the euphoric rush brought about by the reverberation of sound. Even though the girls weren’t actually singing, he still heard music coming out of their lips, a sort of pitched wave that repeated itself on a perfectly regular rhythm. A specialist would probably call it a form of discrete glissando on a C major scale. To him, it was a call-out to Passion and Lust, a devious sequence meant to turn all bright Alphas into shadowy omegas.
He tried to control himself, think about something else, and was actually successful for a while. The first thing that came to mind was the following question: how come he had been assigned to their class?
An accident, human error, was an obvious choice to consider. The problem was that an elite institution like Gehymnis couldn’t really afford mix-ups like that because, if the public ever got wind of them, its reputation would be damaged beyond repair. Besides, everyone in charge of schedule management and task distribution knew the tools of the trade all too well to let something like that slip through the cracks, right?
However, if there hadn’t been any confusion at all, the only other possible explanation was willful sabotage, an idea so scary that, just by lingering inside his mind for half a second, made him quiver from head to toe. Could it really be than an unknown party with an unknown agenda wanted him there, at their mercy? “Come on, Derrick, don’t be para…”
His inner ramblings were shattered by the mystic rampage of the Atlantean voices.
“Oh, Are you still trying to think for yourself? That hurts, you know?”
It did, it really did. The whispered suggestion ricocheted in the tympanic membrane before bouncing off like a squash ball within his nervous central system. If it weren’t for the desk in front of him, Derrick would have fallen flat on the ground, overwhelmed by the sudden pain.
“You know what you must do if you want it to stop.”
At that moment, he felt a phantom hand massage his temples and, from the corner of his eye, noticed one of the girls making the very same gesture on her own. The relief was almost immediate, a soothing balm washing away the tension and stress before releasing another wave of chemical seduction on his already weakened psyche. The billowing engulfed all quite effortlessly, the symphony of his mind falling into silence.
“Is the pet ready to play, now?”
Derrick’s head bobbed, an involuntary motion more befitting of a rudimentary puppet. With the last shreds of independence fluttering away, only their imaginary songs could hope to fill the void. The true meaning of reality was nothing but a game, and all rules were to be broken by their insidious commands.
His feet started dragging themselves away from the desk, happily complying with the external influence at hand. If he were still able to focus his vision properly, he would have seen two of the students get up, followed by a third. In the hierarchy of the group, they were The Unholy Trinity, the first to reap the rewards. They met the discombobulated sample of a man in the middle of the room, assuming equidistant positions from one another in a perfect triangle. He languished in the center, buried under the weight of emptiness.
“Do you think we overdid it?” One of them asked in a much more subdued tone.
“Yes, most definitely.”
“Agreed. The pet needs a little more spunk or he won’t be of any use to us.”
“Fine, I’ll take care of it,” the owner of the original voice declared. “Listen closely now, pet. Stand to attention and look at me!”
Derrick obeyed the instructions to the letter, posture becoming rigid, almost soldier material. The sight of her ethereal face so close to him almost brought him to tears.
“That’s better,” she said whilst exhibiting a pink smartphone in her right hand. With the flick of a thumb, she opened up her favorite playlist, selected the appropriate song and hit Play. “You’re going to strip for us so I hope you’re good at dancing.”
He wasn’t. Not only he had two left feet, but also two left hands and a rather crude way of jiggling his torso with every move. That was something that no mental conditioning could overcome. He did try his best at hints of sexiness with unexpected sways and a massacre on his shirt’s buttons, but there was no way his performance could ever be satisfactory. Minus one on a scale of one to ten would be a rather flattering result, but they were laughing so not all was lost.
The music came to an end when he was down to his boxers, the rest of his clothes sent to die on the floor. The Atlantean Descendants laughter died with them when confronted with what little he was hiding.
“That’s hardly impressive,” said one of the seated bystanders, a perky little thing with blue highlights running across her curly, auburn hair. “Can’t you do any better? Jerk it, pet! Jerk it silly!”
The new melody played inside his brain and he got to work harder for their amusement. Starting slow at first, the strokes intensified, becoming vigorous and admittedly furious, sometimes bordering on erratic mania. The laughs returned, intensified by the exercise in self-humiliation, but that wasn’t enough.
“I think we need to keep your mouth busy as well,” said one of the vertices of the power triangle. Her pointy heels clicked on the floor. “Kneel and keep stroking while you suck on these… Obey!”
He registered the shift in tempo, and adjusted his position accordingly. From the corner of his eye, he saw other shoes and even one or two pairs of boots demanding his attention as well. One of the girls raised her skirt up high giving him the perfect angle to admire her already wet panties as he kept on sucking helplessly. “Don’t you want this, too?” she giggled.
Yes, the answer was yes. A thousand times yes. He wanted everything they had to give him, no matter how strange or inappropriate. He was drowning like the city of yore, and loving the mesmeric call of the abyss.
It was then that the abyss screamed.
“What do you think you’re doing, ladies?” shouted an older voice, effectively signalling the end of the spectacle. Abigail Gehymnis, the Headmistress, stood by the classroom door, fiery eyes darting in every direction. She was way into her 50’s and only human, but commanded a lot of respect just by showing up. Behind her, a group of leather-clad Amazons stood ready for combat if needed be.
Headmistress Gehymnis walked in, raised her left hand and slapped the woman with the pointy heels as hard as she could. “Shame on you, Delandra! Shame on you all! Now, the only words I want to hear from you are ‘Yes, Headmistress’ and the ones that give back this man his dignity. Try to slip one last suggestion in his mind while I’m in the room, and you’ll be facing a lot more than confinement in the next couple of weeks!” She turned to the rest of the group. “This goes for everyone, understood?”
“Yes, Headmistress,” they all responded at the same time, the magical frequencies deliquescing in their lips. Delandra leaned towards the now naked pet and released him from his mental bondage with a barely audible sentence, but it worked. For the first time since he had started listening to it, the music of her words revealed itself to be more noise than actual sound. In disgust, Derrick looked in at his hands dripping with pre-cum and spat the dirt of her heels on the floor.
“Are you okay, Derrick?” The Headmistress asked as she helped him stand. “Oh, I’m so terribly, terribly sorry this happened. Rest assured I’ll do everything in my power to get to the bottom of this. Those responsible for your ordeal will be swiftly punished.”
“T-thank you,” he mumbled. “It seems you got here just in time, Headmistress. I… I…”
“You’re welcome,” she responded as the girls started to head towards the door. The Amazons would make sure they were properly lead to the detention facility without compromising anyone else along the way.
Soon, only the two of them were left. Slowly regaining the full control of his bodily movements, Derrick piled up his scattered clothes before donning them again. The Headmistress even helped him get dressed, showing in her visage the contradictory emotions of genuine concern and fear of risking a lawsuit or worse. “I want you to take some days off, okay? A week, two, a whole month… whatever you need! You will still receive payment in full and all benefits, of course,” she eventually said.
“That’s the most reasonable thing I’ve heard all morning,” he nodded. “I want to be as far away of this place as possible right now.”
Abigail padded his right shoulder before handing him his briefcase and the two walked out together. As they were exiting the door’s threshold, he thought he saw something, but he had other things to worry about at the time. There was cleansing to be done, absolution to be had in a warm, relaxing bath followed by a trip to Vegas. If he played his cards right, the memories of his forced capitulation would heal faster than expected.
* * *
Needless to say, only the opposite proved true. Though he did win Poker hands galore and had three successful dates with a slot machine, the neon glows and gratuitous pleasures of the Sin City only exacerbated the distinct impression that his teaching days were over no matter what. Delandra’s group had only acted in accordance to their primeval nature but, by doing so, the core principles of his own had paid too high of a price. He could still hear the sounds playing, the mistifying proclamation of an enthropic surrender. He felt dirty, weak, and positively broken.
The power contained in their voices was not something he could simply switch off from the back of his mind. No, once heard, the notes took root, congregating at the base of his skull and causing his limbs to spasm at the most innoportune of occasions. Strings were still being pulled, the inside of the classroom following him like a shadow. And the dreams! God, the dreams! The tsunami of surrender only proved more devastating whenever he closed his eyes.
On a Saturday night, he found himself attending one of those stage hypnosis shows where everything is so heavily produced that the results end up limiting imagination rather than expand it. As pendulums were swung at odd angles, he wished he could induce amnesia upon himself with just a few well placed words. Afterwards, he tried the trial by Vodka until he passed out on the bar. Under the circumstances, the possibility of an alcoholic coma was far more pleasing than the alternative.
Yet, it was written that the only choice was to suffer, to endure the memories of the addictive song. The more he tried to resist the controlling arpeggios, the less of him remained so, by not fighting, somehow he found a dose of strength and clarity that lead him back to the original question:
“Why was I there in the first place?”
Headmistress Gehymnis had promised him answers the moment she got them but, after twirty-six days of aimless wandering, he was still being kept out of the loop. He wanted the truth more than anything, and it was time to hunt it down. That would be the last thing he did before saying goodbye to the Academy and its congregation of freaks.
The very next morning, he began the long journey home.
* * *
Abigail Gehymnis received him in her office with a stern look upon her face. Though trying hard to maintain a profissional posture, she was visibly displeased with his disheveled clothes and bloodshot eyes, and it didn’t take long for her true feelings to rise to the surface with a simple sentence.
“Well, Derrick, I wish I could say I’m happy to see you out and about but, frankly, you look like shit!”
“Then I look exactly how I feel,” he shrugged. “You know why I’m here, Headmistress.” And with that, he took a seat in front of her mahogany desk.
“Yes,” she replied from behind it, hands resting atop a pile of papers. “But I’m afraid the results of the inquiry proved to be inconclusive. No one knows why you were given that class that day.”
“Well, isn’t that convenient?” Derrick spatted.
“Excuse me?” she asked in disbelief.
He rubbed his forehead and sighed.
“I’m just saying that for such a serious breach in school policy to go undiscovered, someone must have went to a lot of trouble covering their tracks. Someone with absolute power around here, perhaps?”
“I don’t like what you’re implying, Derrick. Are you sure you want to go that way?”
“I’m not sure of anything, anymore, except that it’s time for me to go on my way and…” Suddenly, he saw something flashing. Next to one of the piles of papers she had to deal with, stood a silver object that hit a familiar key. “What’s that?”
“What are you talking about?”
“This,” he replied snatching the item from her desk and holding it firmly in his left hand. It was small, rectangular and cold. “I’ve seen this before. You…”
A fleeting memory came rushing by. It was hazy, and riddled with lingering outlines, but it existed. That thing he believed to have noticed as they were leaving the classroom was in it, partially hidden under the door knob and she… she…
There was a whirr in the air, a prelude of danger. Abigail hit a button underneath the desk and the office door closed, locking them both inside.
“So, you did see it, huh? I wasn’t sure of that at first, but that look in your eyes right now is telling me everything I need to know.” A mischievous smile crept to her purple-shaded lips. “That’s too bad. For you at least. I was really going to let you go.”
“Headmistress, what have you done?” he interjected with unbridled animosity. “What is this thing?”
“Hold it straight up and press gently on the left underside if you want to know. Go on, Derrick. You’re really going to like it.”
He hesitated, feeling the aftershock of awareness. He had always respected her even before coming to work at her private academy but that person in front of him was not the woman he thought he knew, but rather a twisted facsimile hiding underneath a business suit. Such was the intensity of the surprise that his brain froze over for a few seconds. Upon recovering, he noticed she was practically sitting on his lap, whispering:
“I’ll do it for you, then.” She pressed the corresponding spot on the device, and the world exploded in sound.
Once again, he heard them, The Lustful Twelve, all talking at once, singing in unison. The superimposed layers amplified one another, forming a single stream of unwavering control. Derrick remembered the sensation, the pleasure of giving in, and almost bit his tongue as the enrapturing dream became true.
“This little device is the product of many years of research. As you can see, it’s a recorder,” Abigail explained, unphased by the sonic powers she had just unleashed. “But also a scrambler and…”
She held the silver rectangle close to her throat, a brief hum making her vocal chords tingle.
“… a modulator.”
Helplessly shivering as the blankness spread, Derrick’s eyes glazed over. It was now clear as day why she had done it. Power. It’s always about Power. For years, many had sought a way to harness and replicate the natural abilities of the prodigious students, people like the ones that helped pay the bills to keep the institution running. Experiments had been conducted in the past, all of them unsuccesful, until the day the necessary tech was finally ready to give it a go. The only thing missing was the perfect guinea pig and…
“You were quite wonderful in that role, Derrick. I’m sure you’ll continue to improve the moment you finally go from sub to slave.”
Brushing her breasts against his drooling mouth, she knew that moment was getting closer and closer. In the orchestra of manipulation, it was time for the hard brass section and, with a single downward slide, she conducted his cock to the final crescendo.
* * *
In the days that followed, things started to change at Gehymnis Academy. Some alterations were fairly innocuous, easily unnoticed, whilst others proved to be more explicit, exuberant even, the kind that makes heads turn and thoughts decline.
For instance, everyone started seeing how Abigail, always to stern and uptight, now roamed the hallways oozing a sensuality uncharacteristic of a woman of her age. In the same vein, all students and other Faculty members realized that being called to her office was no longer a dreadful experience but rather the most blissful one imaginable, and many bad habits were acquired on purpose just for the chance to savor her new fond love for corporal discipline.
However, the greatest change to ever grace the renowned institution came on the day she paid a visit to The Lustful Twelve, precisely two weeks after Derrick’s downfall.
The Confinement Building was an adjacent structure to the main campus equipped with the most modern of security measures. Although a prison, it was a luxurious one and the truth is no one that got sent there really complained much about it. Already used to all the restrictions ever since the day they were born, The Twelve cherished the fact they weren’t being forced to sit through boring classes but thoroughly missed having someone to play with. Derrick had been but a small treat after a long period of denial, just a drop in the ocean, really.
Upon reaching the entrance to their private quarters, Abigail immediately dismissed the Amazonian guards on station and walked right in, more confident than ever. She held a small folder in one hand and the voice modulator in the other. Delandra, who had kept herself busy until that moment reading an erotic novel, laid down the book, rose to her feet and declared:
“It took you long enough to come and see us, Headmistress.” All of the other girls nodded in agreement.
“I know,” Abigail replied. “Apologies, but some preparations had to be made after all.”
Delandra’s lips curled inward, and her voice changed.
“Did it work, then?”
“Indeed,” the Headmistress said, holding the device to her throat once more. “You’ve all played your roles perfectly, ladies. I can’t thank you enough.”
“Try at least,” they all said in return.
She handed the folder to the blonde Atlantean.
“I promised you big things and I always keep my promises.”
Delandra opened it and browsed its contents attentively. All of the papers inside told a very intriguing story.
“Is this for real?” she asked, returning to the normal sound frequency.
“Yes. I just gave the order. The Amazonian Security Team is to be disbanded and you will take their mantle.”
“You honestly expect us to police this place? Because that’s not what we do at all, Headmistress.”
“Oh no, Delandra. I expect you to have as much fun as you possibly can. Think about it: free roam and the chance to dictate the rules of engagement. For all purposes and effects, you’ll be running Gehymnis the way you see fit. What do you think?”
The excitement was too great to be contained.
“I think I like the sound of that. We all do.”
“Splendid. We should start right away,” Abigail said, checking her watch. “I’ll be receiving a delegation of exchange students from our Eastern facilities at the main gate in less than twenty minutes. All men and ready for the taking. Will you be joining me, ladies?”
The twelve girls responded with the most luscious of smiles.
“Lead the way,” Delandra said before adding “Sister.”
In those two syllables, the true harmony of the spheres was unleashed. Abigail tingled with excitement, her mind filling up with wondrous visions of all the things they would accomplish in the future. Although many details were still in flux, a certainty rose to the surface as they left the restricted area. The Lustful Twelve were now Thirteen, and no one would ever think of that number as unlucky, again.