The Submissive Gene: Ch. 02

"So..." I began.

"Take your pants off," she said.

"My pants?" I blinked as much in confusion as from the illumination.

"Yes, your pants. That thing's pretty impressive, but it's still not going to get through those yoga pants."

"Get through?" That panicked voice fought its way up from the sink where hope was busily trying to drown it and whispered urgently in my ear. "Oh God. You want me to use it! Like, use it, use it."

"Yes." Her response was matter-of-fact.

I took an unconscious step back from the chair and held my hands up in a defensive manner. "No, no, no, Tabby. I can't do that. No, no, no way. Use it? I couldn't. I mean, I came to dance, not..."

"Do you want to be a Razor Girl?" I felt so small in comparison to that great voice.

"Yes, but, I mean, that's, that's crazy! You can't just—"

"How much?"

"Tabby...I—"

"How much?" God didn't sound like she liked repeating herself.

"More than anything," I blurted. "But, still, you can't be serious. Not that. I mean, I'll dance again. As much as you want."

"Can't I be? And this is a dance, just a different kind."

"I don't know..." I felt embarrassment, hot and burning, adding inflammation to cheeks that were already red from crying.

"It's just me and you, Ericka" Her tone was awash in tenderness and, more seductively, acceptance. "No one else will ever know. You wanted to be sexy, right? Be sex for me. Do what I tell you to."

I averted my eyes and looked behind me. I could see my shadow shaking a bit around the edges from the trembling of my shoulders. "And...I'll make the squad?"

"I swear, if you do this for me, there'll be an official place on the sidelines for you."

Biting my cheek in nervousness, I hooked my thumbs into the waistband of my pants and shifted my weight from foot to foot. "Promise?" I didn't quite whine.

"Promise. Do we have a deal?"

In reply, I reached inside of my pants and my panties and pulled them both down together in apprehensive jerks. The air in the auditorium rushed in to fill the empty space and I felt a rush of cool wind against my exposed pussy lips and ass. My flesh pimpled in response, and I felt a surprising gathering of moisture between my legs. When I had brought them both to my ankles, I stepped out with one leg and anxiously kicked them off of the other. "The shirt, too?" I sounded thin and quivery in my ears.

"The shirt, too." Was that appreciation that I heard?

I pulled off my tank-top and then my bra. I folded my arms against the cold, but it only served to constrict my large breasts, squeezing them together and lifting them up. I could feel the tops of my tits pressing against my neck and my nipples were sharp against my forearms. Turning to the side, I did my best to hide out in the open, to disguise myself wearing nothing but gym shoes and a pair of white socks.

"Now," she said, interest dripping from her words. "I want you to dance. Not for me, but for the cock. Seduce it. Make it want you."

"The cock?"

"Pretend it's Jeremy Bell or something." Her reference to her past cruelty stung, but I was too numbed by fear and drunken with excitement to think much of it. As I loosened my body with a stretch to prepare, she added, "And turn your music back on. I like that song."

Hastily, I skipped over to the boombox and hit the button. The song was already in full swing,

Before I put my spell on you.

Awkwardly at first, I began to twirl around the chair, spinning in a circle around it while my fingers kept contact with the top of the chair. I felt ridiculously self-conscious and more than a little stupid.

You better get, get, getaway, getaway, darling, 'cause everything you heard is true.

"Sexier!" Tabitha commanded.

I dipped down to one side and made a show of rubbing the dildo between my tits.

"Better!"

Encouraged, I turned around and shook my ass at the cock. Closing my eyes and concentrating on Bruno's voice, I did my best to bring my bottom as close as possible to the toy without touching.

Your poor little heart will end up alone

I bumped it a little bit with my ass and it teetered one way and then slapped back against me. Repeating it with more force, I was rewarded with a harder slap.

'Cause Lord knows I'm a rolling stone.

"Yes! That's it! Now do it!"

I spun and kicked one leg over the chair before dropping it in a way that left me facing the audience, precariously positioned above the dildo in something of a horse-stance.

So, you better run, run, runaway, runaway, baby.

Fondling my breasts, I leaned forward slightly and pinched both of the nipples. The pain felt good and the wetness in my pussy grew.

"Oh my..."

Bump-bah-bah-bah-bah-bump-bump-bah-dah-dah-ah

I rolled my hips in an infinity-sign motion, causing my stomach to recede and uncoil, and slowly lowered myself down.

Uh. Chikah!

See, I ain't tryin' to hurt you, baby.

A little further.

No, no, I just wanna work you, baby.

Just a few inches more.

Yup, yup.

See, I ain't tryin' to hurt you, baby. No, no, I just wanna work you, baby.

I could feel the tip of the fake cock pressing against my pussy now, and I teased the outside of my lips by rotating my body in a circular fashion.

If you scared you better run (You better run).

I could feel my wetness gathering on the head of the dildo, lubricating it, making it ready for what was to come.

You better run (you better run). You better run (you better run).

It was in me now, just the tip, pushing past that first little ring of resistance, nosing through my tightness.

You better, you better, you better,

Sensing myself give, I slide down and felt the toy press up into me. The faux-flesh expanded within me as it broke that initial barrier. I discovered the full extent of my excitement, and it discovered me. I felt full and tight and as if I were humming with the music.

Run, run, runaway, runaway, baby, before I put my spell on you.

God it felt good. Masturbation was nothing new to me, but I'd never felt something so big, so satiating. I attempted to clench myself tighter, to hug it closer, but found my muscles stretched to capacity and without leverage. Desperate to increase the sensation, I contented myself with sliding up and down on the, by now, slick pole.

You better get, get, getaway, getaway, darling, 'cause everything you heard is true.

"Thatta girl!" Tabitha's assent wormed into my ears. She sounded, for that brief second, as if she might actually like me. God, I wanted her to like me. My thoughts turned sharply to her. I opened my eyes and gazed wantonly into the light. It burned, but I refused to look away. See me, I thought. See how fucking hot I am.

Your poor little heart will end up alone. 'Cause Lord knows I'm a rollin' stone.

Want me, Tabby. Want me. Get wet for me like I am for you.

So, you better run, run, runaway, runaway, baby.

The music kicked off, but it was no matter as I was already cumming. I no longer needed the sound, just the thought of Tabitha, alone in that lighting box, slippery and hungry for me. Picturing her, panties shoved to the side, two fingers deep into her sex, watching me, seeing me, for the first time, and wanting me, sent me to another level.

In the now silent drama room, my cries of pleasure rang out loud and clear to every dark shadow. "Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck. Jesus, fuck! My pussy, ugh, my fucking pussy!"

It would be all right now, now that she had seen me, now that she knew me. We could be friends now, more than friends, even. I had waited so long for this moment. Relief, pent up desire and compacted anguish, flooded from me, rolled down the skin of the fleshy dildo, and pooled on the metal of the chair before finally falling to the floor in steady drips.

I stared into the revealing glow of her heavenly light, stinging tears building in my eyes, and I came for that cruel angel who had brought judgment upon me for the entirety of my life. For once, I refused to back down, refused to blink. Tabitha might have been an angel, but I was a fertility goddess. Ericka Bauer, sister of the seed, head in the clouds but close to the ground, she of the earthquake hips and the mountainous breasts. Behold me and tremble with need.

I sacrificed me to myself on that stage, offered my dignity, my self-respect, in exchange for the power to evoke friendship in the heart of one blonde girl with flawless teeth. The ritual persisted for several minutes, and when it was done my forehead beaded with sweat and a thin river of perspiration carved a path through the valley of my breasts. My breath came in gasps and my stomach threatened to cramp from the strain of my orgasms.

When it was over, and my last shudder had subsided, the room was swollen with the quiet of expectation. Finally, the sound of Tabitha slowly clapping began to strike off of the walls.

"Wow...I have to say, I'm impressed. You really gave that your all, huh?" A trickle of shame threatened to run down my spine, but I fought it back. I was a goddess. Goddesses didn't feel shame. With purpose, I straightened my back and did my best to ease off of the rubbery dildo with as much class as possible. It was a difficult task, especially with the moist sound the dildo made as it dislodged from me, but I managed as best I could.

"When do I join the squad?" A confidence I barely felt sang clearly in my question.

"Not wasting any time, are we?"

"You promised." Still ringing with knowledge of my own appeal, I was steady enough in myself to make the statement sound almost like a threat.

Tabitha, for her part, let out an indignant laugh, to imply that she was taken aback by the suggestion that she wouldn't honor our agreement. "So I did. And I very much enjoyed the show. Thank you...Open the gold trunk and you'll find your reward, just as promised." I started over to gather my clothes before opening the chest but Tabby stopped me. "Don't get dressed yet. I want to see you try the outfit on."

With that, I walked over and placed my finger under the lip of the chest top. My still sore stomach tumbled around like a dryer inside me. The pleated skirt, the snug top crisscrossed with gold, they were almost within my reach now. Validation was only a flex away. I open the chest and searched for my new life.

Instead, I found the embodiment of my current one.

I didn't realize what it was at first. Folded as it was, it just looked like a mass of green carpet, long and shaggy. Thinking there had been some mistake, I reached in with my arms and began searching through the pile of mossy fuzz. Then I found its head. One stylized eye, bloodshot and angry stared up at me from the depths of the chest. The eye hung suspended over a jutting, ivory-colored tusk, one of two that erupted from either side of a porcine snout. The truth rammed into me a moment later. It was a costume. Actually, THE costume, our mascot: Razzy, the Edgewood High Razorback.

I held the disembodied head in my hands while standing in the revealing light of the stage. Strange, it almost looked like a trophy, like some victory souvenir kept after a successful hunt. Except, in truth, I had been the prey, just like always. This was no chance for a new life. It was just another parade during which Tabitha could demonstrate her might by displaying her favorite fallen foe.

An instant later, my suspicions were confirmed by the noises coming through the amplification system. "Oink, oink, oink, oink." My heart fell from my chest and bathed in the acid of my stomach, churning and frothing in the bile before eventually swirling the drain into my intestines which cramped and burned from the intrusion. Tears welled up again as I locked eyes with Razzy's fierce plastic orbs. Just when I thought my mortification couldn't possibly increase, there were new "oinks" echoing from the walls, other voices speaking into the microphone.

I wasn't a goddess. I was a lamb to be slaughtered for the glory of the cult of Tabitha. Looking up, gazing once more into the burning heart of God, I waited to be burned away.

I didn't have to wait long.

The spotlight clicked off and the room lights flickered on. The booth was finally displayed, and I could clearly see Tabby for the first time since I'd arrived. There was no desire for me on her face, no offer of friendship or warm regard, only mocking laughter and malicious amusement. And she wasn't alone. Shelly and Donna, the other two seniors on the squad, both of them a little older than I, had the same expressions of catty amusement splayed across their faces. All three girls were wearing their cheerleading outfits, and all had their hands to their mouths, trying, unsuccessfully, to stifle the cruel laughter that threatened to overwhelm them and send them into a fit of giggles. They had seen, everything, I deduced, the whole shameful performance. They had seen me...seen me with the dildo...I looked over at the fake cock, still fastened to the metal chair and shiny with my juices and worried that my heart might explode back up through my abdomen and that I might vomit it up.

With great effort, and after several failed attempts, Tabby finally managed to, by waving her hands and shushing, quiet the other girls sufficiently that she could speak once more into the microphone. When she did, her voice jumped and wavered with barely contained snickering. "Well," she had to pause again to keep from exploding, "aren't you going to try it on to make sure it fits?"

The other girls howled at this and beat their fists against the control board, causing different shades of light to race across my still naked body. Finally empty of that harmful hope, I screamed up at them, a hoarse ugly sounding noise that they immediately imitated in mocking tones. With no other recourse, I dropped the head of the costume and fled, from the lights, the hot red, the sickly green. I ran from the thud of the Razzy mask hitting the stage and from the mean impersonations of my frustrated scream.

Blinded by tears and discombobulated by humiliation, I didn't even bother to collect my clothes before I ran through the back of the stage. So deep was my panic, that I didn't even notice that the curtain that surrounded the stage was multilayered and I became wrapped up in it and fell as much as ran through it out through the back. They laughed at this as well, but I barely heard. Even Tabitha's parting shot at me hardly registered.

"Did I promise, or did I promise? Welcome to the squad, Pig!"

I lay behind the stage, naked-except for my shoes and the thick black curtain, which I had partially pulled down in my haste to escape—and filled with an aching ego, and an I-told-you-so inner monologue that reverberated louder against my skull than any teenage girl's laughter ever could.

Overwhelmed, I pulled that black curtain close, engulfed myself in it, cried into the rough scratchy fabric, put my hands to my ears to block out any other terrible sounds, and I just waited. I waited for death, for life, for Tabitha Erskine to come upon me and rip out my still-beating heart, wherever she might find it, and finish the job. Nothing found me, however, and I did not find myself. There was only the dark mustiness of the curtain and the incendiary pain of my own sobbing, which I couldn't even hear with my ears so tightly closed.

****

I don't know how long I stayed there like that, cocooned behind that stage, awaiting my metamorphosis into something else. When the shaking and the crying finally subsided, however, when my ducts ran dry and I reached that state of cold loss, where grief becomes a fact rather than an experience, and I could finally control my thoughts enough to send nerve signals to my limbs satisfactory enough to propel me from my hiding place, it was only me that emerged.

On legs that wobbled from muscle fatigue and were hollow of conviction, I gingerly stood up and made my way to the stage. Gathering my courage, I peeked through expecting Tabitha and her lackeys to be waiting for me with some fresh torment, some new hell. But they weren't. They were gone, as were the folding chairs and the chests, along with the Razzy outfit, even the dildo, I noticed with delight. With less joy, I noticed that my clothing had also disappeared. Fucking skinny cunts.

A new round of tears attempted to crawl into my still-smarting eyes. But found that the waterways had shriveled up. A girl could only sob so much.

I thought of simply waiting behind the stage until someone else entered the room and asking them for help, but give the time, the clock on the left side of the wall said that it was ten after eight, no one might show for the rest of the night. Worse, if it were the wrong person, rumors would spread and my embarrassment would only increase. Plus, my mom was supposed to pick me up at eight—my own car was in the shop, something about the fuel pump—and if I wasn't out there soon, she'd turn the town upside-down looking for me.

A deeper shade of hopelessness settled over me until I remembered with a start that I was in the drama room. I walked back on my baby gazelle legs to the costume closet and began to rummage.

Most of the outfits were far too small. Most of the drama girls were too petite for me to squeeze into their clothing, and the men were generally far too tall. After an exhaustive search I turned up two potential options, both of them fairly ridiculous.

The first was the Quasimodo costume from our school's version of The Hunchback of Notre Dame last semester. The second was Joan of Arc's armor from our production of Shaw's Saint Joan a few years before I became a freshman.

In the end, I went with the Joan of Arc getup even though the breastplate was a bit too tight and rubbed harshly on the sides of my boobs. The hunchback costume was a bit more comfortable, but because of my bust, something Jack Talbert, the diminutive male lead in the play, didn't have, the ratty little robe was little more than a mini-skirt on me and I worried that an errant step might cause it to ride up and show the lips of my pussy. Plus, I really wasn't feeling the hump.

After some deep breaths and much squirming, I eventually managed to pour myself into the armor of one of history's bravest women. Though, I had to admit that the final result look more like an attempt at pornographic cos-play than an ode to a legendary hero. My cleavage was so pronounced, with my large breasts choked together by the cut of the armor, that I had trouble sliding my pinkie into the crease. And the little battle-skirt, while longer than Quasi's rags, was still no match for the roundness of my butt, leaving the little leather strips hanging just about level with where my ass melded into my thighs.

Still, being dressed like a prostitute working BlizzCon was still better than walking around totally naked. At least I still had my gym shoes. I was sure the real Joan would have been envious of that. A good pair of cross-trainers might have been all she needed to save herself from the stake. I almost managed to force a smile, thinking about a commercial based on just such an escape. "Nike running shoes. Don't feel the burn." In my mind, Pierre Cauchon, the bishop that burned the peasant turned prophet, grew long blonde hair and spoke through perfect teeth. Sigh. Almost.

Feeling about two-hundred nerds short of a reenactment, I left the auditorium and took the most secluded path possible through the school. The few passersby who gave me odd looks were greeted in turn by either an awkward salute or averted eyes, depending on the level of my embarrassment. My route eventually led me out into the courtyard, which was at the back end of the school, the exact opposite side from where my mom was supposed to pick me up.