It's Always Time Act 03 Ch. 04

"In a minute." She cracked open a side door. "I'm going to the kitchen."

"What? Why?" The brunette giggled. "You're not serious."

The redhead sniffed. "Not everybody owns a vibrator. I've got to make do."

"Whatever," the brunette shrugged and dashed upstairs. "I'm going to need extra batteries."

The redhead slunk down the narrow corridor passed the basement stairwell. Now that her friends were gone, she could let her guard down. Without panties, the crotch of her jeans had harnessed her sex. The rigid seam rubbed her raw from her clit down over her slit and around into the crack in her ass. She chewed her bottom lip and whimpered as she walked. At the far end of the corridor the door to the kitchen sat crooked on a swinging hinge. Florescent light flickered through the gap above the door into the dark hallway. The redhead held her breath and stood still. Her lungs began to ache but she heard a scuffle of feet and furniture from the kitchen and air whooshed out of her. Someone was in the kitchen. In a way, the prospect of getting caught came as a relief. She shook out her hair, rubbed away ruined mascara, squared her shoulders, and stormed through the kitchen doorway.

A husky boy in a jelly-stained grocer's smock sat on the floor, hands hogtied behind his back to the granite top kitchen cart. His eyes bugged at redhead. "Oh, Christ, not yet." He kicked at the floor and the cart rolled away from her. The work pants and boxers wrapped around his ankles and the friction of his bare ass against the hardwood floor reduced his retreat to a comical butt-scoot. "I won't be able to get a boner again for another hour. I swear to God, lady."

She stared for long moment before calmly turning to her left and pulling a carving knife from a wooden block on the counter. Only then did the redhead allow her self to scream. "Who the fuck are you?"

The husky boy crossed his eyes watching the tip of the long knife quiver at him. Lavender lip prints smeared his face and gobs of purplish jelly matted his hair. "You're not one of them?"

"Who the fucking Hell are you," demanded the redhead, "and..." She pointed the knife downward. "And why the Hell is your dick covered in custard? Are you some sort of autoerotic-bondage-food freak? Oh, wait." She relaxed and dropped the knife on the counter. "Hazing is illegal, you know. So are panty raids." She glanced around. "Where are your pledge brothers?"

The kitchen cart bumped up against the stainless steel refrigerator. "You're not one of them." The boy shook his head. "Jesus, lady, you got to get out of here."

The redhead slouched against the counter on the opposite wall and recited in bored singsong, "Epsilon Zeta Sorority does not encourage and will not condone hazing. We have a zero tolerance policy. As chapter secretary, I am obliged to ask you for the names of any Ep-Zed sisters who have collaborated with your frat's hazing activities in any way."

"I don't know what the Hell you're on about lady. I'm not from a frat. I work in a supermarket." The kitchen cart bumped against the refrigerator again. "So stop talking Moon language and get the fuck out."

"I can't," the redhead sighed. "I have to call the provost's office with those names. And I, uh, want something from the fridge…Look, can you stop bumping against it like that?"

The cart and refrigerator door clunked against each other again. "What? I'm not—" The cart whacked into the boy's head. The color drained from his face. "Oh, God, no." The purple gel on his paling cheeks stood out like kiss-shaped bruises. He twisted his neck to gawk at the refrigerator. "It can't be. The other two weren't ready this fast. It's too soon."

The refrigerator door slammed against the kitchen cart. The boy's ass squeaked over the floor as the cart dragged him to the side. He butt-scooted away from the refrigerator with surprising speed. "This one won't be like the others. This one's hers."

The redhead frowned at the fridge. "Is a pledge in there or something?"

The husky boy kicked her in the shins. "We've got to get out of here!"

The redhead stood transfixed as the steel door swung open. A dark nebula billowed out to fill the widening space, black ink bleeding into the air as if seeping into water. The living patch of night shone, glossy and faceted, in the harsh florescent lamplight. It unfolded in clusters of wedges and confusing shapes, an origami blossom of impossible complexity and size. The obsidian thing bloomed bigger than the industrial refrigerator behind it and the planes of its outer petals filled out in familiar shapes.

"Wings," the boy groaned. "Wings. I told you. This one's hers."

The epicenter of the geometric eruption swelled into a fat, shiny balloon. It burst and two legs shot out, skinny but shapely. They touched down on the floor on toeless feet, rounded and tiny like a child's ballet slippers. The collapsing balloon gathered into narrow but curving hips and a tight little behind. The black mass of the ass stretched into a flat tummy, budding breasts, slender shoulders, graceful arms, curiously long neck, and a head as shiny, bald, and faceless as an egg dipped into black latex paint.

The winged obsidian girl stood with arms akimbo and feet tapping. She was brume. She was sepulchral. She was midnight.

She was a size 2.

The redhead flailed her arm backward, feeling for the door. "Oh, fuck me."

"No," sighed the boy as the obsidian girl scampered over to his prone form. "It's going to be me." The obsidian girl tilted her head. The overhead lamp reflected in her eyeless, featureless face as two round pools of white light and she regarded him with an alien curiosity. The boy looked into her illusory gaze and shuddered. "Again."

The redhead inched backward. The obsidian girl bent forward. The boy squeezed his eyes shut and cringed. The obsidian girl held still for a long moment. Her arm drew a dismissive zigzag in the air and her smooth, conical fingers snap-snap-snapped in his flinching face as she stood up and turned away.

The redhead's shaky, searching fingers brushed across the door and she whipped around, threw all her weight into it—and cracked her head against it, rebounding when the door refused to budge.

She faltered around the kitchen, one hand cradling her smarting forehead. The obsidian girl leapt up the refrigerator and perched on top with wings furled, watching her with the patience of a stone gargoyle.

The kitchen door swung inward. The blonde and the brunette coeds lurched in wearing nothing but their tight white tee-shirts and panties soaked sheer at the crotch. Red and black gel ringed their mouths, as if they had been feasting on chocolate covered jelly donuts. Between the brunette's legs came a muffled, buzzing noise.

"Aw, shit," the boy said as the two girls ambled toward the redhead, "she knows you're here now. Sorry, lady, I tried to tell you."

The two girls seized the redhead, one on each arm. "Wait," the redhead said, glancing back and forth between them, trying to catch their unfocused, glassy eyes. "Wait! What the Hell…Oh my God…"

Black Cherry boiled into the room, wings snapped taught behind her. "Guess again." She licked her smirking lips and a fat drop of sanguine honey dripped from the corner of her mouth and sizzled on the floor.

The redhead swooned but her two friends propped her up. Black Cherry stormed close. She traced the curve of the redhead's cheek with one wing-claw and tickled her nipples erect with the other until the girl was awake and squirming in her friends' unyielding arms. "Stop, stop."

Black Cherry sliced away the redhead's flimsy top with the tip of a finger. "I never stop." She turned to the brunette as she ran both claws down the redhead's exposed ribs. "So this is the other girl who met Master?"

The brunette's voice was hushed and distant. "…Yes."

The redhead barked with painful laughter. "Stop, stop!" She wrestled with her captors but they stood, unmoving and unblinking. "Help me, someone help me!"

The obsidian girl unfurled her wings and tapped a foot on the metal refrigerator.

Black Cherry glanced upward and startled. "So soon? Wonderful! I'm glad I used so much extra nanomek, then." She leveled a quivering claw at the hogtied boy. "That one's yours." She dipped a wing claw below the redhead's belt and the girl shrieked. "But this one is mine. I need to taste her memories of Master. Now then…" She went to work on the fly of the redhead's jeans.

The kitchen door swung open and the sisters of Epsilon Zeta trickled into the room. The redhead cried out, "Oh thank God—Help me! Call the cops! Do something? Why aren't you…Oh, no." Half-dozen coeds, their expressions blank and lips stained blood red, took places around the room. When another sorority sister bumped her way through the door, the redhead glimpsed the narrow corridor filled to capacity with glassy-eyed girls. "No, no, no."

"I tried to tell you, lady," the boy said. "Look, I'm real sorry."

The redhead slumped and trembled in her captors' arms. She whispered at the floor, "Help me. Help me."

"There, there, no need to cry." Black Cherry plucked the redhead's chin up with a wing and unzipped the girl's jeans with her hands. "After all, you're not scared. I could smell it if you were. But I smell something else, instead. Now, open wide." Black Cherry yanked the redhead's jeans down and giggled. "Oh, I see that you have already. So all you need to do…" Black Cherry leaned close, her fingers pressed deep into the redhead's sex, her lips drizzling searing honey over the girl's ear. "…is let me in."

* * *

Stone aged love and strange sounds too,
Come on, baby, let me get into you.
Bad nights causing teenaged blues,
Get down ladies—you've got nothing to lose!
Hello, Daddy! Hello, Mom!
I'm your ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch cherry bomb!

—The Runaways with Joan Jett, Cherry Bomb