This choice: Start with Brianna Kirschke • Go Back...Chapter #50The "Seduction" of Brianna Kirschke by: Seuzz   It's been a couple of weeks since Eric Murphy texted Brianna Kirschke. Or has it? Fuck, like it matters. You've still got her number, so you tap in a casual note. You only just catch yourself from saluting her as "babe": yo wanern getetogehter n takkl nd shit.
Wow. Even you're embarrassed by that garbage text, so you follow it with another: be af reind n hang ut n tlak to me.
When, after fifteen seconds, Brianna hasn't replied, you send another: pls!!!!!!!
It's after school, and you're leaning against your locker as you tap at your phone. You're frowning and trying to come up with a fourth text when someone jostles you hard. "Hey, eat a di—! Brianna!" you gasp. "I was just texting you!"
"I'm five lockers down from you!" she hollers. "What's the matter with you?"
"Nothing! I was just texting is all! What're you doing this afternoon?"
Brianna glares at you.
She's not a small girl, but she's at least half a head shorter than you. But what she lacks in height she makes up for in attitude. She wears sober black-framed glasses—a lot like Fairfax's, actually—and pulls her soft brunette hair back in a long ponytail. Between the glass, the sloppy ponytail, the light freckles and the bulging backpack, she looks like a girl perpetually cramming for finals.
But she's also really cute, with a button nose and lips that, even when they are pulled down in a frown—as they are now—beg to be bit and nipped at. Your hands flex and your cock rises as you imagine yourself gripping her butt and pulling her into a clinch.
"I wanna talk," you tell her. "It's been like forever!"
Her frown deepens with suspicion. "Talk about what?"
"About whatever. About us."
The frown remains, but now her eyebrows shoot up. "Us?"
"Sure! I got stuff about me I can talk to you about and I bet you got, like, tons of stuff you can—"
"You wanna talk? Okay, what's that thing you always say to people when you're mad at them?"
You blink. "Huh? What thing when I'm mad?"
"There's a thing you always tell people to go do when you're mad at them. When they piss you off, you tell them to go do this thing."
"The fuck are you talking about?"
"Oh yeah, now I remember what it is." Brianna pokes you in the chest with a very sharp fingernail. "Eat a dick, Eric. Eat a fat, hairy dick."
* * * * *
Well, you're not going to do that, even if she begs, and you're not going to let her duck out on you either, so you go hopping off after her down the hallway. It's like playing bumper cars, and you don't catch up to her until she's outside the building. "I know what we can go do together," you tell her as you jog down the damp sidewalk—it's been raining off and on all day, but it's stopped for now. "You wanna be in a YouTube video?"
"I can be in a YouTube video any time I want," she retorts without turning her head.
"Not like this, babe. I mean, Brianna." You correct yourself with a bashful grin when she glares at you. "I know these guys, and they put up these movie review videos on YouTube, and they get, like a million views and shit."
"You mean Mike and Carlos?"
"Yeah! Did you know they're quitting?" you tell her in a low voice. "On the level, they're quitting and giving the channel to me. It and all their subscribers."
"They are not!" Brianna quickens her stride, so that you have to hustle to keep up.
"I swear it's true! We'll go out and ask them! They're giving to me but I'm gonna need a co-host, and I figure you'd be, like, a natural, so I want us to—"
She stops, and you almost run into her. "Why? What makes you think I'm a natural?"
"I 'unno. I just do. Please, Brianna?" You catch her by the elbow. "Just come out to their studio and talk to them and look around?"
Brianna's glare sharpens. "Eric Murphy, you are the biggest fucking liar in the school, and everyone knows it."
You grin. "Then come out to their studio and ask them. Ask them, Brianna!" You raise your hand. "I swear I will eat that dick, that big hairy dick you told me to eat. You name the guy and I'll eat his dick if you go out there and Mike and Carlos tell you I'm lying."
Brianna stares at you.
Then she strides off toward the parking lot. "No."
"Why not?" you cry.
"Because I don't hate you enough to make you to eat a dick," she says.
* * * * *
Well, it takes a lot more cajoling to get her to go along, and not until after you've stood in front of her car and stopped her from driving off does she finally relent and tell you that she'll stop off at the Top S(h)elf Storage complex long enough to bust your lying ass. With chortling glee you call Beta-Fairfax and tell him that your new identity will be up at the complex at around four-thirty.
You beat both Brianna and the beta by nearly ten minutes, and you're not-so-idly wondering how hard it would be to shimmy up the side of the climate-controlled building and what you'd find on top of the roof when Beta-Philip pulls up in his Taurus. You hop over to him and rub up so close he actually shoves you back before punching in the door code. "Sorry man," you gasp, "just excited for what comes next."
"What does come next?" he asks.
"You know, me turning Brianna into a beta. Then we're gonna go off, her and me, 'cos she'll have to obey me, and—" You almost cream your pants right then and there.
"Are you looking forward to having sex with Eric?" the beta asks as he leads you down the inner hallway.
You almost fall over. "No! Not with! As!"
"I think it's going to have to be 'with'," he says, "on account of—"
"Hey man, don't get me wrong," you protest. "I really love Eric's dick, it's prob'ly my favorite part of his body and I'm really looking forward to trying it out. But ain't no way I'm gonna eat it!"
"You don't have to do anything with it you don't want to," the beta says as he opens the bay with the weight set. "But you're going to be putting on the girl's mask. By the way, who is she?"
"Who says I'm gonna be putting it on?" you demand. "Getting it on, now that—"
"Putting it on. Didn't my alpha explain?" From the foot locker Beta-Philip retrieves a blank mask.
"Your fucking alpha's a fucking ditz."
Beta-Philip frowns. "Odd. I haven't had the impression when talking to him that—"
"He didn't tell me shit about having to put on no—! Wait!" You snap your fingers. "Now that I think about it—"
Yes, now that you think about it, what would be better than playing with Brianna Kirschke's tits and cunny than having her tits and cunny for your own and playing with them with her own fingers? That's the fun those guys are having with their cheerleaders now, isn't it?
"—interaction of a mask of the person with the original, even if mediated by a control layer," the beta is saying.
"Yeah, fuck, whatever," you say. "I'm into it now."
The beta stares. "I'm surprised I was so convincing. Anyway, who is this girl?"
"Brianna Kirschke. She's supposed to be here—" You glance at your phone. "Fuck!" You shove the beta out of the way and go flying down the hallway.
* * * * *
It was 4:33 already, and you figured she'd be waiting outside, but it is 4:52 before she actually appears. "You didn't tell me how to get in through the gate," she fumes, but suffers to let you lead her into the climate unit. Beta-Philip is with you, but despite the nudges and meaningful glances you shoot at him, he does nothing but lead the two of you along to the weight room. You're ready to wrest the mask from him, but before you can totally lose your shit, he turns and gently smushes the mask into Brianna's face, and the two of you catch her as she falls. "I didn't want to carry her down all this way," he explains when you ask why he waited so long.
And then he stops you from disrobing Brianna, even though you're nearly frantic with desire. "Just take Eric's mask off," he instructs you. "I'll apply the control coating to it, then put it on Brianna when the mask comes out. Eric's beta can get out of her clothes himself. You can take your own clothes off, though, so he can get into them. After I'm done putting the control layer in, I'll put her mask on you."
"Whatever, just hurry up, man!" you gasp.
He frowns. "I said, you'll have to start by taking Eric's mask off—"
"Jesus, it's like I gotta do everything!" You sprawl out on the floor, and ask him to tell you again how to get masks off. With sweaty, trembling fingers you grasp your forehead in the manner the beta prescribes—and he has to help you position them correctly—then mutter the magic words while pulling. It takes you half a dozen tries, each more frantic than the last, before you feel an ungodly tugging at your face. The world goes dark.
* * * * *
You're very cold when you wake. Miserably cold. Goose bumps prickle all up and down your skin.
But at least it's bracing. The chill of the concrete floor pierces the grogginess, and you quickly scramble up.
Your breasts wobble and bobble.
Your throat constricts: You've got breasts!
You've got more than that. Or less, depending on how you look at it. Not that you can see much, for your vision is blurry. But when you peer downs past the rosy tips of your breasts, you glimpse a dark patch between your legs.
You put your hand out, and catch yourself against the wall before you can faint.
 You have the following choice: 1. Continue |
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