“Darn. Darn. Darn.” Moka’s brow furrowed cutely as her tongue pressed flush to the side of her fang, trying and failing to slip a strand of red thread through the eye of a needle.
“Yo.” Gin said, sliding his chair over next to her, the two of them otherwise alone in the clubroom. “Watcha doing?”
The vampiress started, almost catching a taste of her own blood, before setting the materials down on the long table with a sigh of frustration. “I’m trying to knit Ruby’s best present ever, for her birthday.”
Gin cocked his head. “She grew up in an empty castle. Weren’t her presents mostly dead rats and sadness?”
Moka half-shrugged. “It’s a low bar.”
Gin leaned forward onto his forearms. “So what's the problem?”
Moka gestured helplessly at the array of thread, criss-crossed in front of them like a plate of dropped spaghetti. “Inner Moka took lessons when she was younger, but it doesn’t translate. And whenever I ask her for help, she just sort of yells at me.” She began self-consciously rubbing her hand. “My fingers aren’t that fat.”
Gin tapped his chin, then snapped his fingers as though in the midst of an epiphany. He slapped the Level Upper onto the table, and crossed his arms. “Voila~”
Moka blinked. “I’m… not sure an exercise counter is going to send the right message.”
Gin bit back an anecdote about easy fitness chicks, and nodded toward the device. “It’s for you. It’s a… skill mapper. Yeah.”
“Skill mapper?” Moka picked the device up, and flipped it over. “What does it do?”
“It marks your progress, tells you if you’re getting any better at what you’re doing or not.”
“Oh. How does it know that?”
“Quantum. Magic. Quantum magic.”
“Oh. Okay.”
She clipped it on her waist, oblivious to the “Lewd Language” display and the frankly embarrassing score of 2. For his part, Gin sat back and watched, waiting for the fireworks.
“Darn. Darn. Damn.”
----
The phone rang three times before Moka picked up. “Hello?”
“Yeah, hey, it’s Gin. I know it’s late, I’ve just got a quick question.”
“Sure, okay.”
“I’m trying to hang this painting, and I don’t know the best way to get the nail in. I want to make sure she’s secured real tight.”
“The nail? Um, you just pound it in.”
“No, yeah, I got that part, but how much? How should I position it?”
Moka was obviously confused as to why anyone would come to her for hardware advice, but she levied out her response as cheerfully and helpfully as she could manage. “Well, I’m not an expert or anything, but I think you just make sure it’s lined up right, so it goes in for the deepest, slickest penetration. Teasing it is probably for the best, to feel out what she wants. She’ll thank you in the long run. Then, when you just can’t take waiting anymore, and you can feel she’s ready, you rear back and you pound it. Over and over. I usually get pretty sweaty, it depends how much you do in one night. The important thing is to drive it in deep, deeper every time, and you don’t stop until you’re both satisfied.”
“…”
“Does that help?”
“Yep. Perfect. I’ll be in my bunk.”
“Wha—”
*bleep*
----
“Pressing her body against his, the student council president’s trembling voice lowered to a whisper. ‘No. We can’t do this.’ She murmured, despite the heat deep within her that spoke to a more primal truth. ‘It isn’t right. They’re just in the next room.’ The treasurer smiled, reaching up to brush her hair out of her eyes before resting his hands somewhere lower. ‘It doesn’t matter. They won’t be able to hear us.’ With a trembling set of lips, the president raised her hand to his pants. Then kept raising it, to hold up the design specifications. ‘The walls aren’t thick enough to meet revised building standards,’ she protested, despite knowing that changing it wasn’t in the school’s budget. She knew the principal planned to make up the difference by widening the vent, but she couldn’t afford to think of his thickening shaft just then. All of her attention was focused on the treasurer’s devil-may-care grin, as he cupped his hands underneath her taut bottom and thrust his cock into her sopping pussy.”
There was a long, stunned silence, as the rest of the Newspaper Club stared at her with open mouths. Moka cleared her throat awkwardly. “That last part is um, metaphorical. Reading it out loud, I see that I didn’t… make that clear enough…”
With an increasingly red face at their inexplicable staring and the equally inexplicable glimpses of erect nipples, Moka shuffled back to her seat to listen to the rest of the morning meeting. She quietly slid the Level Upper into Gin’s lap, trying to ignore how it jostled his erection. “I, um, don’t think it was working very well.”
Gin flipped the display over, reading the 47 with a grin. “Shame.”
Thu Mar 10 22:35:11 2016
Linking Enabled
2 comments Last updated: Fri Mar 11 00:58:01 2016