Christian College Sex Comedy Ch. 31

My little cock-sucking furry gonads (yes, I was getting angry) fired up 'Hail to the Chief' yet again, and kept at it until she sat down. Virginia got to thinking it's appropriate to call for the end of this travesty but she's dealing with Cordelia Dresden, Top Gun of the Time Lord Mafia. The weapon of choice; 'She's a Lady' by some guy named Tom Jones – the ladies in my life will inform me about this later.

For a half a second she tries to fight her smile but she surrenders, even letting the little guys go through the entire score before talking. The little tinny voices were humming a song I didn't know but damn it, it made me want to take Virginia out to a smoky Jazz club and dance until the sun came up. Virginia actually started tapping her foot to rhythm and I began thinking I might not be able to beat Cordelia. I'm not used to that sensation.

"Okay, now, whoever is doing this has put Zane through enough and should remember that we should, as Christians, make students feel safe and not make them subjects of humiliation," Virginia addressed the student body. "I think we can end Assembly fifteen minutes early today for a little bit of Christian charity. We can do it at Zane's first class – 204 Denning Hall."

By the way, I apparently have a play list. As Virginia headed back, the fella's changed it up with 'Baby Got Back'. I wanted to die. Virginia Goodswell has a truly fine ass, of this there is no doubt – I often compare it to Barbie Lynn's – but please. Virginia stopped, turned toward me with a dazzling smile and waggled her finger at me, then resumed her way to her seat.

How is any of this my fault? I imagine I was lucky it wasn't the Thong Song. I would have died, then come back as the undead to take Cordelia to hell with me. It was with some relief that Vivian and Hope rallied to my side. They had to both keep other students away – the other girls loved poking me in different critters to make them call out in different pitches and tenors, which was pleasant to hear if you liked overdosing on helium.

Surprise, surprise; no one came to my succor before English class. I couldn't sit down. Okay, I tried, but any part of my body that bent or that I sat on screamed bloody murder until I got off of it or stopped putting on the press. I've heard about girlfriends like this but I've always assumed I would have the courage to jump out of a 50 story building to escape.

What do you do if they come with you when you jump besides basking in the vicarious thrill that comes from crushing half of them beneath you before you go? I managed to do okay standing in the rear of the class, only once giving in to the crushing fatigue of holding my arms somewhat elevated for two hours. The two under my arms were especially cooperative and didn't get too vocal when my arms did slip to my sides.

I couldn't do a thing about the occasional girl twisting in her seat but either Raven's glare or Goodswell's cough brought their eyes forward once more. At the end of class, Virginia decided to call Ms. Black and have her take me to the Vice Chancellor's office to end this matter. Vivian and Mercy provided support while Gabrielle kept her distance and cleared a path.

Rio helped out by playing my musical miscreants as if they were a drum set while some part of the 700 members of my new posse and I yelled at her to leave us alone. She really is my best friend. My tragically slow pace was not my friend and everyone had to depart for their classes before I finished the arduous travel to the Administration Building. Gabrielle's eyes measuring you for a casket is a remarkable motivator but didn't stop Rio from blowing a kiss to her "Mi Negro Naughtiness". I know, I know; one day, Rio is just going to vanish without a trace.

"Ms. Reveal, I need an emergency meeting with the Vice Chancellor," Ms. Black requested of Dr. Scarlett's personal assistant. Ms. Reveal didn't miss Gabrielle keeping her distance from me. She did make the call and I noticed the pictures of Ms. Mittens were still in evidence.

"Who are you inside that suit?" Ms. Reveal asked me.

I guess she assumed I wasn't a real baby Sasquatch; I was really a baby Sasquatch disguised as a half-baked marshmallow. If three geeks and a man working beneath his means jump out at me with proton-packs, I am running for my life – which is to say 'I'm going to die.'

"This is Zane. He is not being rude – he can't speak," Ms. Black was kind enough to cover for me.

"Oh, I understand," Ms. Reveal nodded, but in such a way that expressed she didn't understand anything. "You two can go in now," she said several awkward seconds later.

"Zane, you move as close to Ms. Reveal's desk as you can while I get the door for you," Gabrielle instructed me. "Come in when I call for you."

I'm sure Marisol Reveal was curious as to why Gabrielle was dancing around me, trying to keep her distance. We almost made it; right as she made it to the doorway, Dr. Scarlett opened the door and attempted to see what the delay was. She was actually putting an award on a shelf she had just received – the reason she missed Assembly, if you find that suspicious – and was placing it on a shelf near the door.

Gabrielle responded as any slightly unbalanced killer would do; she spun around, pulled out her gun from the unseen Realm of the Gods of War, and pointed it at the stunned Victoria. That took her one half-step too close to me and my little fellas let the world know it. I will give them this much; they were still defending my eardrums.

By the way Marisol was holding her ears as her tears flowed down her face it must have been pure agony for her since I was right next to her. Gabrielle scoped up Victoria and sprinted into her office and they obediently shut up.

"Za- – Zane, what was that?" Marisol blathered. Since the furry meatball gone bad was still on my lips and I hadn't become that hungry, I kept my silence.

"Zane!" Gabrielle called for me. I did my best to shrug but it wasn't like I had a neck anymore so I don't know what she made of my movement. I shuffled to the door and got a few good squeaks as I moved inside. I was more than a little disturbed by the reaction I received from Dr. Scarlett when she saw me from her seat behind her desk. She looked at me and I swear, hand to my heart, she had an orgasm.

"You are covered in Tribbles," she gasped. I had no fucking clue what a Tribble is but apparently, I was in the vast minority. I staggered forward and since Gabrielle was on the right side of the room, I angled to the left. I move halfway around Dr. Scarlett's desk so that Gabrielle could go close the door, where she took up post and, from what happened next engaged a Romulan Cloaking Device – whatever the Muggle-tech that is.

Victoria was in some sort of dream-like trance. When she started stumbling around the desk toward me, I waited for the musical assault that never came. To my credit, I caught on in a second. If these creatures existed, singing wasn't their normal activity, and Cordelia wanted these little 'Squeaky Meals' to be as real as possible – for Victoria. I was nothing but bait.

Victoria reached out to caress the same one Christina had placed over my heart. The little bugger cooed and Victoria clamped her thighs together to contain another orgasm that coursed through her loins. Cool, all I have to do to feel the wonders of Victoria Scarlett is dress myself in furry grapefruit. I'm kicking myself for not seeing this obvious ploy.

She touches more and each makes a subtly different purr of pleasure. This goes on and on until she's cuddled up against me, her arms stroking over my back and rubbing her left leg up and down mine.

"Vice Chancellor, you do realize Zane Braxton is TRAPPED inside those – contraptions," Gabrielle sounds the slightest bit peeved.

The troops all make those little high-pitched notes of longing as Victoria retreats a few steps, bringing Victoria almost to the point where she launches herself back into me to comfort her little friends. I am second fiddle to a discombobulated guinea pig; sometimes a man can feel pretty small.

"Okay. How did this happen to you, Zane?" Victoria asked.

"He cannot talk; one of those Tribbles is attached to his lips," Black stated, "by an unknown force. Before you ask; I am not an engineer or chemist." Victoria made this adorable little 'o' expression, then reached for an offending Tribble.

"It hurts him to remove them," Gabrielle got out just in time.

"Does it hurt the Tribble?" Victoria inquired. Gee, thanks, Vic.

"Hold your ears," Gabrielle commanded. Well, I couldn't comply, and Victoria had only started to scream 'stop' when Gabrielle materialized a knife and speared 'Diddley-boo' off my shoulder.

I heard the little guy's death wail, then his death rattle, as Gabrielle pulled him/her away until she was out of screaming range. Diddley-boo (no, I have no idea what his/her name really was but I'm going to have ICE check his immigration status when all of this is over – wait, I can't do that; Gabrielle wacked the little snot and giving her up to the Feds is a great way to create many widows and orphans) was still twitching erratically while Victoria was stuck between ecstasy and horror.

"You are a Klingon agent!" Victoria gasped as she pointed an accusatory finger at Gabrielle. I am vaguely aware that they are the stock-villains of Star Trek Universe and this odd snapshot of rightly tight, athletic buns in tighter pants, but the reference memory for the scene escapes me. By the facial reaction Gabrielle gives, Victoria just called candy sweet, or jalapenos hot; she appreciates the comparison.

All the surviving members of the Tribble tribe wept a cacophony of pain and loss. I would have had more sympathy if their moans had not been vibrating my body like a jello mold.

"Romulan," Gabrielle countered; the other stock Trekkie villains, but they have better teeth. First amongst our Honored Dead, DB hardly quivers as Ms. Black dissects it.

It bleeds/oozes and appears to be a living organism of some kind, but Gabrielle points to several electronic devices, a CPU, and wires connecting all kinds of things inside the organic body.

"It is an organic husk over a sensory/auditory device," Gabrielle tried to explain.

"Oh, my God," Victoria's mind worked feverish to defy reality, "they've been turned into Borgs."

She tore the one attached to my lips off. I didn't cry like a televangelist publicly begging God for forgiveness for a moment – or 147 moments – of weakness with a rather sad-looking prostitute, but that was coming.

You see, Victoria gripped her weeping diminutive fuzzy engine of humiliation tightly when she yanked it off, so she let go of it because the little blighter sounded hurt.

It gave off a more muted and mournful 'wee' as it smacked into the corner of my mouth. I was able to dodge a direct hit.

"Scarlett," Gabrielle seethed, "if – you – would – listen – for – a – moment; they are painful to be removed from his flesh and they will attempt to reattach themselves to him if they are brought within one foot. I have no idea why."

"Zane, are you in much pain?" Dr. Scarlett inquired while scanning my body fungi.

"Yes, but I'm sure if you kick me in the nuts, I'll feel better," I mumbled through a joke.

"I can't do that," Victoria gasped. "You have Tribbles down there." Yes, I feel special.

"That's it," Gabrielle snapped. "I'm going to get help." She spun around and breezed out the door, slamming it in her wake.

"Thanks for abandoning me, Gabby," I shouted as loud as I was able. "It's not like Vic's totally lost her mind or anything like that."

"I have not lost my mind," Victoria responded with a deceptively calm, soothing tone. She reinforced my calm by locking the door, then locking in the deadbolt – yes, I felt much safer.

My merry band of orphan coconuts helped things along the cliffs of sanity by cooing and 'talking' to Victoria as she walked around the office, and she gaily responded to them.

"Ms. Reveal, this is going to be a difficult intervention. Inform me when lunch time gets here," Victoria communicated to her assistant, then added, "I need a box of outdoor trash bags; leave them at the door."

Having a hot lady like Victoria Scarlett lock the door and asking for almost 3 hours of 'alone' time with me is a mature pipe dream of mine – and that dream really meets a bloody end when she asks for roughly 30 bags with a fifty-gallon capacity each. If she pulls out a hacksaw or a 'cow-stunner,' I'm racing for the window behind the Doc's desk. I'll be gone in 90 seconds – sort of like an inexpensive microwave dinner.

Dr. Scarlett returned to her desk, turned her spy-cam around, and started making calls. I honestly maintained a miniscule hope that she might still help me. She was talking curtly to another doctor whose name I didn't recognize. What came out of her mouth next sounded like a combination of eating raw meat all your life and gargling with sand regularly; add to that an inflection of someone wanting to kick elementary kids into the paths of oncoming busses and you had the language she was using.

Victoria's stance even changed. She thrust out her chest, put her hands on her hips, and a predatory sneer took up permanent residency on her lips. She even beat on her desk hard during this little exchange before laughing in a way that made kittens piss on themselves before you hung them.

"Vice Chancellor, Dr. Victoria Scarlett – umm – what's going on?" I said careful.

I'm not so much terrified of Victoria at this point, as I am suspicious of my ability to fight at the moment.

"Everything is fine, Zane," Victoria assured me. "In essence, I am bringing in some experts in the field. You can trust me on this; we've been expecting contact like this for years." Huh?

"So – aaahhh – that was an Albanian Biologist?" I hoped.

"No, that was Vor' Dura, Flight Leader of the Blood Quasar Fleet of the Klingon Empire," Victoria explained sedately, in the same way any SANE individual described a Navy Commander. She turned her computer screen so I could see the person's profile pic.

"How does she breathe in that thing?" I wondered. "That's one hell of a corset."

"That isn't a corset, Zane, its body armor. My suit was created by the same armorer," she stated.

"You have something like that?" I boggled.

"Yes, the precise same suit. Vor' Dura is not as blessed by her bloodlines – she's shorter – but otherwise, we are identical; our alliance ended recently and soon she must face me in ritual combat; yield or die." 'Yield or die' isn't what is centermost in my mind.

"Don't your boobs ever pop out of that thing?" Because if you have been paying any attention; I am an idiot where sex is even a remote possibility. Victoria can't meet my gaze but turns as red as her namesake.

"On a few occasions," she confessed. I'm thinking 'a few'. "Now I have a few more calls to make."

Yes, she's lost her ever-loving mind, and I have no reasonable expectation of exit or rescue. I won't be able to get up enough speed to bust out of the window so being on the first floor is meaningless. She has the deadbolt key and when I stack up my Tribbles against her Science Fiction fanaticism, I lose. She turns the monitor around and makes her next call. This one starts with the victory salute, but the one done with two fingers to each side.

"Excellent news," Vicky declares. "We have confirmation of the temporal events from Deep Space Nine. I have compelling data that I have encountered genetic derivatives of the dominant herbivorous life forms of Iota Geminorum IV." And everything went to turkey-based insanity after that. Again, they spoke rapidly in a language I knew nothing about. They acted like giddy little schoolgirls – just schoolgirls with their emotions surgically removed.

The final call went much same way except that this time, the tone of the language was like the second but with the taint of a sleazy pimp or grifter thinking she was a mob boss. These were the kinds of girls you never let babysit your kids if you ever wanted to see them again. The way Vic looked at me and the fellas made me worry about how long I could last in her brothel and inspired an unexpected sympathy for these pests.

"Zane, do you promise to stay here while I, ummm, get some, ummm outfits?" Victoria requests respectfully. She realizes she's asking me a bizarre favor. Balthazar's Balls, I've been tied to a cross; how much worse can this be? She scoots up to me, kisses me chastely on the lips and waits.

"It is a given that my morning class schedule is toast, and I'm no stranger to the entertainment industry so knock yourself out," I allow, " but I will have to pee at some time."

"Check; I'll stop by the infirmary and get a catheter," she nods, then she kisses me lightly on the lips once more. "Thank you for this, Zane."

She's off like a shot but is careful enough to get the deadbolt on the way out. Since I doubt Ms. Reveal can get a fire-axe through the door if the building catches fire, my buddies and I really are going to experience total protonic reversal on a life-ending scale. Only now does it occur to me that these fuzzy navels might have toxic side effects.

I'm waiting around for God-knows how long when I hear some muffled noises – more muffled than having a Tribble in my ear.

Scratch, scratch – "Girl, you get away from that door," Ms. Reveal shouted (I guess).

"Quick, Mercy, hold her back," Rio shouted in response. "This deadbolt is a bitch."

A scuffle ensued and I tried to shout loud enough to call Rio off when I heard two rapid-fire thumps.

"Thank you, Ms. Black," Marisol Reveal huffed. Mercy had put up quite a fight, I guessed. "I will formally press charges when the Vice Chancellor returns."

"You will go and sit your ass behind your desk, you incompetent buffoon," Black snapped. "I will deal with this and if you bother me again today, or mention this incident to Scarlett, I swear you will never see your cat again; and if you don't hop-to in the next six seconds, I'll make an audio recording of me strangling that shit-dumper and play it by your bedroom window every night until you go mad. Do I make myself clear?"

"Ugh," is all I make out, but I hear Marisol's chair squeak soon after. The sound of a body, or bodies, being drug off faded away as Black left the office and headed down the hall. Hell, I warned Marisol. I can't do anything for Rio right now and I don't have too long to ruminate.

"Marisol, are you okay?" I hear Victoria ask her assistant. It is a testament to their bond that even the hysterical Doctor doesn't miss her friend's distress.

"Sorry, Victoria, I'm a bit – umm – heart-sick is all," Marisol murmurs. "Don't you worry about it."

"Well, when you want to talk about it, let me know," Victoria stated. Marisol must have nodded because no words were spoken and Victoria came in with two carry-on bags and three dress bags while kicking the trash bag box ahead of her. Happy fun time was about to begin.

"Sorry for the wait, Zane," Victoria told me.

"Doctor," I made a desperate Hail Mary plea for reason, "you are a highly respected educator. We really need to take a step back and re-examine what's going on here."

"Zane, this is my first teaching job ever," she related as she checked on the progress of her 'Trekkie' Posse.

"My doctorate is in Philosophy; my Master's Degrees are in Comparative Religions and Women's Studies," she informed me. "All my graduate work was done as a researcher. I've never had a student." I blink dumbly at her; and here I thought my opinion of the Board of Directors couldn't get worse.

Victoria goes over the language dance with her friends, switching fluidly from tongue to tongue in a manner that impresses and even fascinates me; and I've been to Bangkok where if you are trying to buy and/or sell anything and don't speak at least ten different languages or dialects, you might as well hand them your wallet or purse and go home.