Malignity of Stone Ch. 06

Chapter Six: A New Conqueror

Cathy

My phone buzzed in the darkness.

Groaning in my sleep, I rolled on my back and fumbled to turn off the alarm clock. My fingers, still unresponsive from sleep, slipped over the screen a few times before I could finally muster the dexterity to make the phone shut up.

It was a Monday morning. Another day in my new life.

Moments later, with typical punctuality, a weight slammed against my chest, driving the breath out of me. By pure instinct, I struggled and thrashed about -- but then I realised who it was, and I stilled myself.

"Morning, little sis," Cindy said in a sultry voice, shuffling towards my face, her knees firmly planted at either side of my chest, pinning my arms down into the soft mattress.

I looked up at her, her hair still ruffled from sleep, hanging down loosely to hide her face from me. But her smirk still glimmered in the darkness.

An ordinary beginning to an ordinary week.

"Good morning, Miss Cooper," I said, well-conscious of my new role in the household. Burns had given this job to me, and I wouldn't disappoint him. I was in equal parts proud and horrified that my job-reflexes now reacted naturally to my own sister raping me in my own bed, seconds after waking up.

Burns truly was turning me into a model employee.

Besides, I considered as Cindy slithered upwards and pulled my face deep into the embrace of her thighs, it wasn't all him. Cindy was so bossy with me these days, so expectant that I would drop everything I was doing to wait upon her on hand and foot. It felt so wrong to consider, but it was so... natural.

Serving my younger sister. Pressing my face against her crotch, letting her hump my nose, feeling her shudder above me as I put my tongue to good use for her. She really was stronger, smarter, prettier.

She really was the bigger sister.

"I like that you're compliant," she said, her hand running affectionately through my hair. "You used to be such an uppity bitch."

I whimpered submissively into her cunt as she gyrated above my face.

"Burns was right," she said, her eyes glimmering in the morning penumbra. "We needed to break you. You're so much nicer now." The words spurred me on in my service, and Cindy's words gave way to moans as her climax approached.

Her left hand clutched my hair so tight that it hurt, but I knew better than to protest. Her right hand slammed down on my forehead, pinning me. She repositioned herself until my nose was tucked beneath her folds, and started riding me wildly. Using my face as masturbatory aid. Getting herself off on me like I was a living dildo.

I couldn't breathe in this state, and I began to moan and buck and thrash weakly underneath, but she was so strong, so powerful... she kept me absolutely still, my vision completely blocked, her thighs pressed hard against my ears, as she mastered me.

Eventually, Cindy let out a long, guttural moan, arching her back above me. That caused her to lift slightly, and at the expense of being coated in her juices, I could breathe again.

I lapped at her obediently, making sure to clean every drop, while she rocked back on her heels, contemplating the day ahead.

It was fair to say our lives had changed.

Cindy got up and left my room without a word, and I went to the bathroom to wash my face. I knew she would soon need it clean and presentable again, as part of our breakfast ritual. Eating Cindy out was only the beginning of our morning routine together, as we readied ourselves for another perfectly normal day at Crawford High.

I assembled Cindy's breakfast on the table, then knelt underneath it as she entered the kitchen.

"Breakfast is served, Miss Cooper," I whispered, to which she only responded with a grunt of approval, sitting in the chair right before me. She'd put on a pair of dark jeans, which greatly complimented the curves of her legs -- a disturbing thought, but I was spending so much time between and beneath them that it was hard to stop my mind from wandering.

Cutlery clanging above me, Cindy began to eat -- but first, she luxuriantly placed her feet over my head. I demurely massaged her soles with my lips and tongue, letting her rub the night foot sweat onto my slutty face -- the right dues I should pay to my superior sister.

All the time, I thought about Burns, and the stone.

My stubborn pride, my lack of preparation for my job, my insecurities, had all been chinks in the armor for him to exploit. Ever since first embarrassing me with the stone, he'd simply pulled and pulled until my bitchy façade was gone, and all that was left was the whimpering girl underneath, another silly young woman out of her depth in a cutthroat world.

That misstep had reduced me to this. Working in my own home, and not as a teacher, but as a footstool to my own sister.

Cindy seemed to love this part. Her feet explored every nook and cranny of my face, squashing my cheeks, toying with my lips, occasionally even tugging at my hears in play. But there was nothing playful about the way she eventually slipped her big toe into my mouth, while the other foot hooked behind my neck to regulate my pace.

"Suck," she said simply, in-between bites of her toast. "You need practice for Mr Burns later."

"Mpphhh," I said, not in protest but in acknowledgement, as I swirled my tongue around her toe. She was right. I did need practice. Burns kept reminding me that my blowjobs were worse than what he got from whores in Central America. The thought that he might further demote, or even fire me over inadequate oral satisfaction made me bob my head up and down Cindy's toe even harder.

When it withdrew, I found myself pathetically reaching forward for it, like an eager slut in need of a pacifier. Cindy stopped me with a foot against my forehead, laughing.

"Come with me, little sis. I need to paint my nails."

I followed her on all fours like an eager puppy. My job was easy -- I knelt before her and stayed absolutely still, as she again used my face like a footstool. She never used to paint her nails, but now Nick required it, and she obeyed.

I marvelled at the way the chain of command was devouring every aspect of our lives. To follow Nick's order, Cindy was turning me into a piece of human furniture. I couldn't see her, not with her feet covering the entirety of my face, but I knew her face would be frowning in concentration, to make sure she got the nail job absolutely right. Not a second thought given to the fact that her older sister was supporting her soles with her own face.

Our morning routines done, Cindy and I readied to leave the house -- her dressed in a vaguely goth style that Nick seemed to find appealing, with a form-fitting black t-shirt and dark jeans, and me in Burns' mandated secretary outfit -- heels, nylons, short frilly skirt, and a blouse that hugged my breasts enticingly.

Once again, I considered that Cindy's own downfall had been a lot gentler than mine. The embarassment drew color to my cheeks. I was weak. I deserved to be subjugated.

We got into my red BMW together... except I was in the passenger seat now. Glumly, I wondered how long it would be before Cindy simply seized the car for herself. But I let go of the thought with a sigh. There was no place for personal property in my life anymore.

After all...

Objects can't own anything.

***

Cindy

The favorite part of my day was over.

With Cathy, at home, I felt like a fucking queen. I made her bow down to me, eat me out, worship my feet with a snap of fingers. All chores had been delegated to her. I owned her car, her purse, her will. It was great. It allowed me to feel like the old me, the person I once wanted to be, stepping over obstacles on my way to the top.

Even then, when I had ambitions in life and a desire to go places, I didn't realize power could feel this sweet. Feeling a girl, an older girl, my own sister, bucking and thrashing underneath me, and then stopping as I subdued her, was the ultimate thrill. A rush of adrenaline that made all my limbs quiver and tremble.

It was the power of the predator, stifling the prey's efforts to escape. I realized that even if Burns and Nick were to let us go now, I would keep my claws sunk into Cathy. She would never be free again, not until I was around to make sure my heel was pressed squarely against her neck.

But now, I was in class. And here, I didn't amount to anything. I was one rung above Cathy, at the bottom of a very long ladder.

Even now that Cathy was no longer a real teacher, I was still prevented from grading her. The students gave her grades based on how well she took cruel dictation, or how deftly she brought them snacks from the vending machines. Class was chaos, with people coming and leaving as they pleased. And yet, even still, Irene's rule remained -- I was not to vote. It was a burning humiliation. And it wasn't the only one.

I sat alone.

What posse I once had was completely gone now, melted like summer snow. I could see laughter and mockery in my classmates' eyes as I acted like Nick's girlfriend in public, simping hard for him and hanging by his every words like they were God's own wisdom.

At least he wasn't in class now, I thought, twirling my hair with my fingers in stress. Every time he was around, he made sure to turn me into everyone's laughing stock. They didn't know I was a lesbian, of course, but they knew I hated him. And yet here I was now, tittering around him like a silly girl with a crush on the ripped, powerful football player with the big shoulders and the square chin.

Here, once more, I drew a little consolation from my sister's downfall. Whenever Cathy was performing some particularly humiliating duty, she drew attention to her like honey and flies. Everyone else forgot about me for a few, blessed moments.

Right now, Cathy was kneeling in the middle of class, right next to Celeste -- one of the most insufferable queen bees at Crawford High. Her parents were old money, and thus Burns' friends. Somehow, I doubted that it was a coincidence that Cathy seemed so eager to serve her.

"You're the worst secretary I've ever seen," Celeste said in a fit of giggles, causing a bout of general hilarity all around her. "You can't even take dictation!"

"B-but, Miss Harper..." Cathy stammered, with big frightful eyes that made her look like a dumb puppy. She looked up to Celeste, and then down, to the socked feet she was humbly massaging, and then up again, questioningly.

Celeste threw her an admonishing look. "Don't you dare stop your massage, Cathy."

My sister whimpered, defeated. She couldn't take dictation without taking her hands off Celeste's feet, and was thus doomed to fail. Celeste gave a victorious smirk, and resumed dictating.

"I'm not good enough to be a teacher," she dictated to Cathy, whose lips trembled in humiliation and defeat. She looked on the verge of tears, while Celeste rubbed the bottom of her other socked foot onto her hair, matting it with sweat. "I have my own students train me to be a secretary," Celeste continued. "I'm not good enough. I don't deserve this job."

I had to admit, much as I disliked Celeste, the sadistic streak impressed me. Unlike Cathy's intelligence, or lack thereof. I shook my head. Didn't she see that Burns was setting her up for failure? He was right, she truly was a dumb slut. I hoped he demoted her even further. The thought made me press my thighs together in sudden arousal. God, I wanted to give her another ride, put her well and truly in her place.

But then, I remembered I was in class. I was powerless here.

Largely thanks to that bitch, Irene...

I could swear there was something different this morning. She sat royally atop Cathy's desk, like usual, one booted leg crossed over the other. But she was ignoring Cathy. Her eyes were drilled into me. It was honestly quite creepy, and it made me fidget in my chair.

Her constant leering was putting me in a foul mood. All of a sudden, I felt almost like I was in danger, like she was going to spring some trap on me.

I was just being silly. She'd got so much under my skin that I was becoming paranoid. With a shake of my head, I got up and left class, Irene's gaze burning at the back of my neck. I needed a breath of fresh air.

At leas there were benefits to the chaos -- no one tried to stop me as I headed into the hallway. I wanted to find a quiet corner where to clear my thoughts.

Steps resounded behind me. Before I could turn around, Nick's voice sounded in my ears.

"Hey baby," he said, his hands reaching out to grab my tits. Ugghh, why did he have to be so handsy all the time?

Burns was drilling the need for me to be a proper girlfriend into me. Open and available and someone popular, not a total frigid dyke bitch that everyone would hate. But... I couldn't get Irene out of my head, I was cranky, I just wasn't in the mood now. Burns had told me to be Nick's girlfriend, not his fuckslave.

"Not now, asshole," I said, spinning away from him. But my heart skipped a beat when I saw his face darken.

"No?" Nick said, as if he wasn't comprehending the word. I shivered. I'd always seen Nick as this dumb asshole, a bully with an inverse correlation between brain and muscle size, but now... I realized he didn't like to be contradicted. All of a sudden, I felt scared, vulnerable. And, to my undying embarrassment very girly.

"I don't think I can be with a girl who keeps saying no," Nick said, his eyes glimmering. "I might have to break up with you, at this rate."

God. I felt a moment of dizzying confusion. Was that good or bad? Burns wanted me to be his girlfriend, but what if he willingly turned it down? Did it free me from the obligation, or would it get me demoted like Cathy? My brain couldn't decide whether to feel scared or elated, so I just stared at him like a complete airhead.

I saw in his shit-eating grin that he was thinking the same. "Pretty dumb, huh? Don't worry, I'll spell it out for you. If we break up, I'll have to tell everyone you're a bitch and a dyke and that they should steer well clear of you."

I gulped. Nick probably felt himself surpassingly clever for dangling this threat before me, but the truth was, it was working.

Because all of a sudden, in my mind's eye, I saw the stone. Every time I blinked I saw it spinning in the air, drawing my darkest fears out of the recesses of my brain. This couldn't happen! I would be outed, and nobody would love me, and I'd lose everything!

Instantly, tears welled in my eyes. Fully aware of what I was doing, and how deeply I was betraying my gender and my lesbian orientation, I thrust my breasts at him, openly, invitingly.

"Please sir," I said in a whisper. "Take what is yours..."

I hated myself. I felt the walls of my self-esteem narrow and crumble, like there was less space for me to be me after this humiliating concession. Nick was taking a chunk of me away, and I could do nothing to stop him.

Nick's eyes ogled me from hair to toes, and the grin never left his face. He recognized his own victory.

"Oh, I will," he said with glee, "but not like this." He reached out to grab my hand.

I looked on numbly as he led me by the hand into the boys bathroom, and then into a stall. That in and of itself made me feel vulnerable and small, my girly wrist trapped in the iron grip of a strong man, being dragged like a prize to where he could claim me in peace.

Was I really so easily led? Was my feminism truly so much make-believe that I could stand up to a man, when in truth, I was putty in his hands?

Nick joined me inside the stall, latching the door shut behind us, then turning towards me with a feral grin.

In the confined space of the bathroom, he looked even bigger. He towered head and shoulders above me, a mountain of pure muscle, made to pin down a girl underneath him, and make her squirm. I might be a lesbian, but my fucked-up, stone-fixated brain saw that nature wanted me to squeal and yielp underneath him.

His strong hands gripped my shoulders, and pushed me to my knees.

I was such a parody of a lesbian, being forced to kneel in the boys' bathroom while my overbearing boyfriend slapped my cheeks with his newly-freed dick. The earthy, pungent smell filled my nostrils, the musky scent of dominance. His maleness, overpowering my femininity -- such a primal, natural image that even I was vulnerable to it.

I was unsure what to do, but Nick clearly had no interest in my initiative. He grabbed the back of my neck, and unceremoniously stuck his dick into my mouth. Pushing my own protests and professions of lesbianism back down my throat. Uncaring for my preferences, just determined to take what he wanted with no regard for my own personhood.

I hated it, but a part of me felt like these truly were the proper gender roles.

"You don't say no to me," he growled, gripping my head and thrusting back and forth. I gasped as he pumped, uncomfortably conscious of the grimy bathroom floor beneath my knees, of the way my legs folded underneath me to place me in a lesser position, of the way my lips seemed sculpted to welcome his cock into my mouth.

I was a lesbian, so it was okay if I was sucking cock. I didn't actually mean it. I was just getting out of trouble, I needed to remember that. But it was hard, so hard, looking up at him roughly using my face for his pleasure like it was a pussy. I whimpered, and in spite of my better judgement, I found myself sucking.

Burns wanted me to do this.

I deserved to do this. I was defeated. I had to prove I was worthy of love.

I put so much passion into an act that nominally disgusted me, swirling my tongue around his cock as it rammed at the entrance of my lesbian throat, conquering it for himself and for all men in general, asserting the male privilege of getting off over my pretenses to identify as a lesbian.

Slowly but surely, his cock made it to the entrance of my throat. Inexperienced, I gagged and salivated abundantly all over, but he didn't relent. He angled my head for better access, and pushed into my gullet, gripping my head firmly as I squirmed and cried and thrashed weakly in his hands.

The sounds I was making were alien to my ears. The squealing and gurgling of a defeated slut as her master puts her to good use. He didn't care that I was choking, that my heart was racing, that I was panicking. All he cared about was burying his dick into my throat, to show me who was boss.

When his balls slapped against my chin, I knew that I had lost, and that he was right. I would never dare say no to a man again.

At last, Nick withdrew, allowing me to breathe and cough.

"You've ruined your makeup," he said, his fingers tracing my tears on my cheeks. "Hot!"

His jock enthusiasm sent shivers of disgust through me. He liked me battered and broken, a woman forced into ultimate submission, her own makeup ruined and turned into a mask of shame and sexual defeat. That was so wrong, and yet at once so right.

I went back to sucking on his dick. I bobbed my head, hollowing my cheeks as I submitted to him completely.

I knew Nick wasn't experienced. I knew he was horny all the time. Already I could feel him losing control as he got tired of my demure ministrations, and returned to fucking my mouth like a pussy. His groans were so loud that I feared someone outside might hear.

God, what if the boys found us like this? What if they wanted their turn? What if I was reduced to school cocksucker, spending the rest of my education in the bathroom, on my knees? I'd be the worst lesbian in the world, literally forced off her education and reduced to be a slut at the beck and call of men.

But they would like me.

"That's my dyke toy," Nick managed to say as his cock slid humiliatingly back to the entrance of my throat. I accepted his mastery of me, and submitted completely as he rammed his dick into my throat one final time, erupting with a groan and a tighter grip that made my skull pound.