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A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "Breaking Bodies"  The day passes in a blur, and you're so frazzled by the end of it that you're less interested in recruiting any of the students in your class than you are in drowning them all. In fact, you really should have given a couple of them detention, but hold back only because you know you want to meet with Michael after the final bell and don't want to try talking in front of any students. (It's Brady Wilson and Mason Hosey you should have detained. Brady is a loudmouth joker who mercilessly teases Mason; today Mason had enough of it and clocked Brady in the mouth. You kept them both after class for a few minutes, clucking your tongue at them both even though you sympathized with Mason.) Michael gives you a sympathetic smile when you totter into his classroom a little later. "You look like you've been through the wars," he says. "It was a day," you reply, and cast a quick glance at the two boys—football players by the looks of them—who are still packing up their bags. "Let's go pour a margarita into you, and we'll talk." You stiffen a little at the too-obvious flirtation, and stiffen some more when you catch the two boys exchanging quick, furtive grins. "I'll be happy just to catch my breath," you tell Michael. But you weaken and give in afterward, and the two of you wind up at La Cocina, where Michael buys you two strong margaritas. You're in a pleasantly relaxed state when he takes you home, undresses you, and kisses you all over. He refrains from going any further, though. There's business to discuss. But you discuss it naked, under the sheets, side by side with your arms around each other. * * * * * "So I figure I'd let you go first," Sydney says. "You can pick a guy, and then after that you can pick the girl for me. That way"—she leans over to kiss and nibble at your throat—"you can pick someone one that you'd want to go with." "So we're going with a boyfriend-girlfriend combo?" "That's what we said. Do you want to change it up?" "No. I'd like that." You groan softly and nestle up against her. She is warm, almost hot, to the touch. "But I don't know any of the students in your class." "Then you'll have to trust me a little. I'm not going to risk taking pictures to show you. Especially not of guys. But I was thinking of some strategies. Like, I think we should mix it up." "What do you mean?" "Go for different kinds of identities in the classes. I mean, I guess we could try to be the homecoming king and queen in all four classes, but that would be kind of boring, don't you think?" You're not sure it would be boring, but you grunt an affirmative. "So," Sydney continues, "I was thinking we should be a different type in each class. That way we get, like, a lot of variety." You grunt another affirmative, this one more enthusiastic. Variety sounds good. "So like I was saying, I guess I have to pick the guy for you—" "It'd be someone you'd like to be with," you observe. "Well. Sure," she says. "I'd call you in to scope him out, though, so you'd approve." "We gonna do it tomorrow?" "I'd like to." "I wouldn't mind spending the weekend in bed with you." Sydney puts a strong hand between your legs and goes to work on you. "So," she says in a voice strained with desire, "we could start with the obvious kind of choice. Captain of the JV football squad, basketball squad, soccer team? Would you like that?" You groan pleasurably. "Or how about just a popular guy? A guy in a band. I got the lead singer for Los Scorchicos in my seventh period class." Los Scorchicos is a warehouse band, very popular in the freshman class—the girls are constantly chattering about them. "And a trumpet player all the girls are hot for," Sydney continues. "Or," she says when you don't answer right away, for you are concentrating on the way her fingers are pushing up inside you, "we could go the other way. Pick some invisible nobodies as our junior class representatives." "Nhn." You groan with pleasure as Sydney presses a spot deep inside you. "Why we wanna do that?" "You want all of our brothers being popular?" "Well—" "I think some of our brothers should be secretive. Invisible. Unsuspected." "I guess so," you agree. But is Sydney being persuasive? Or is it the massage she's giving you that is making you so agreeable? "Or we could be a couple of troublemakers. Nasty boy and dirty girl. Recruit some of the shits that hang out at the portables." "Oh!" you gasp, for her finger has touched a spot that is like an electric spark. "You like that?" "I like all of them! But especially—!" You grab her hand and push it deeper up inside you. She responds by turning you onto your back and guiding Michael Hagerman's thick member into you. * * * * * And that's all that really gets said. Sydney spends the night with you again, and again takes off early the next morning. And again you get an early text for your thoughts on who to recruit. But now you will have to make a choice. Sydney never gave you any names, and you have no pictures to judge by. Only the "types" that she proposed. Team captain. Popular. Invisibles. Troublemakers. But in her text she's given you a pretty specific suggestion, including names. She even mentioned them while fucking you—"I bet they're doing this every chance they get!" she gasped—and called them "the hot couple." "They can't keep their hands off each other," she gasped. So that's all you've got to go by, and those are the only adjectives you'll be able to text back to her. Next: "Marching to Zion" |
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