[Intermission, Part 1] Always Read the Label

Gerald Hemingway was not proud, but he was dignified in his duty as a janitor. The Academy afforded him, and the others, an office, one he would normally be relaxing in prior to lunch. Such was not the case before this lunch, however, as it became entwined in what seemed to be some bizarre hazing ritual involving most of the Academy's football team. Asphyxiation? Mass illicit **** consumption? It was impossible to tell, but none could be revived without the hush-hush aid of the school nurses, the coach, and a few administrators for good measure. Ashcroft Academy's reputation was at stake, after all.

The boys were excused for the day, and sent home pending a further investigation into their... extracurricular group activities. None would admit why they were there and **** without apparent wounds or bruises to explain their states; the administrators were already gossiping of mass homosexual orgies and **** of psychotropics, despite the lack of evidence of either. This left Gerald short one morning nap, and mopping up the FDA-denied gravy that leaked from a garbage can in the cafeteria did nothing to improve his mood. Even his usual habit, of staring at the cheerleaders to catch hints of their inner-thighs, their cleavage, and whatever other snippets of flesh his eyes could steal, was bound to fail to improve his dire mood.

Vanessa Hawthorne and her pack of tights-wearing ladies were mere inches away from the cafeteria entrance, the better to be seen by all, and so just a foot away from Gerald. He expected much of the same trite banter and whispered sexual innuendos as he often got to enjoy.

"F-Fuck..." Gerald did a double-take at the sultry noise. The cheerleaders were obviously not well. Of the eight eating there, six had both red faces and trays of cafeteria food in front of them, though the correlation was lost on horny ol' Gerald. The lot of them had sat down and eaten in unison, save for Vanessa Hawthorne, the queen of Gerald's latest fantasies, who only now arrived with her tray of gourmet food (delivered piping hot with silverware by ever-loyal Hubert) with the addition of her oft-argued privilege above her fellows: not one, but two scoops of the special side-order.

Even now she wrinkled her nose at the sparkling globs of beige, but the expressions and smells of her companions stole her attention. "What are..." Vanessa looked around, fearful of witnesses to their states. She found none... and her lack of concern for others helped ensure she missed the similarly twisting red faces of those eating Academy food. She hissed her words to the lot of them as she sat next to Mary. "What the Hell's wrong with you?!"

Mary, who looked ready to cry, rubbed her cheeks as she half-moaned, "The mashed potatoes... are so... so good...!" She shook her auburn bangs to and fro, and massaged her tits together with her elbows in a bizarre display.

Vanessa tsked. She knew the football team was missing, even if she didn't believe the rumors, but these stupid bitches made it clear: they all skipped school to fuck their respective girlfriends. Vanessa eyed Janet, the only one who dared maintain absolutely black hair. But Janet broke up with Tom... She tried to calculate the meaning of this as she put the first mouthful of mashed potatoes in her mouth. Damn... they were good.

At another table, Sarah cleaned her side dish and stared, red-faced and confused, at her steak. That flavor was familiar: it was the same taste in her mouth when her body betrayed her in the middle of Mrs. Flung's brief on The Heart of Darkness. Sarah DeCroix was "special" in many mundane ways, but most pressing was that she had absolutely no sexual drive. John had picked her out as someone obviously running cold, but his pick was subconscious; she's one of the most frigid girls attending the Academy, be it by asexuality or HSDD (neither of which she felt comfortable accepting), and the confusing, awful, wonderful feeling that had ruined her English class was the first orgasm she had ever even approached.

Now, for the second time today, she made a mess of her underwear. As she wallowed in this pit of despair, of fears of some greater development of a malfunctioning sexual drive, sitting next to her was none other than the unbearable Bobby Hackfield. While Sarah might've been a Mediterranean bombshell if she cared at all about her sex appeal, Bobby was a hopeless wretch: not quite fat, but shaped oddly, Bobby wore shirts that were too tight, occasionally forgot deodorant, and liked to wear his curly red hair in a long, untamed mane that occasionally got mixed up in his thick, black glasses. "H-Hey, Sarah," he half-groaned as he wedged himself onto his seat. In his normal manner, he got as much of the mashed potatoes and bonafide not-meat as he could onto a fork before shoveling it into his face.

Sarah contemplated getting away from him, in part out of disgust, and in part out of fear. Ugly and short as he was, with enough pimples and to make one wonder if he ever escaped puberty, she suddenly felt a strange... longing for the little troll. He had a penis; this fact was suddenly critical in Sarah's mind, and she struggled to understand why. She started to stare at his pants as he continued to nearly kill himself with hasty eating, and she watched as the wrinkles in his pants shifted, and then tented up as he grew hard. His breaths became labored; so did hers.

"God, I need to get fucked!" Mary whined, her hands digging under her skirt.

"God, me too!"

"Where the fuck are they?!"

"Why would they skip school without us... fuck it!"

Gerald watched in fascination as the girls seemed to all but forget his presence and almost openly shout their sexual frustrations. Beyond the cheerleaders, now, he realized the sensation was everywhere; boys and girls, some as couples, others as mostly strangers beyond being classmates, were locking lips and drifting about with their hands until, in one last bout of sanity, they'd suddenly rise, abandoning their backpacks and trays to quickly rush off somewhere. The veteran janitor had never seen such an epidemic; he was also too turned on to leave to try and report it.

Vanessa did not join in their whines... but before long she was left staring at her tray of half-eaten food, and all-eaten mashed potatoes, wondering what was going on. Her body was burning; she needed John on an almost constant basis now, even resorting to masturbating to his image just to sleep, unsatisfying as it was. But now... she couldn't even think straight. She pushed her food away and texted him with trembling fingers, hoping, praying he'd give it to her. She sent a second one, more pitiful, more pleading than the first. Then a third, offering her ass, offering to suck him off, to lick any part of the body he wanted, anything to get a dose of John.

"Fuck it, let's go find some... one. Fuck it, anyone," came the **** whisper of a battlecry from Janet.

Ruby (Reynalda, though the redhead would never answer to it) nodded, and soon the bunch of them, save for poor, **** Vanessa, were rising from their chairs and leaving for the hunt. Vanessa could barely even note their absence: the double-dose she ingested slowly cranked her body along, driving her ever closer to the point of orgasm, closer than she ever got on her own after the mage in her life changed her.

"Miss?"

Vanessa looked up, her eyes in a daze as she took in a face she wouldn't have even recognized as a matter of personal policy: a wide chin, salt-and-pepper eyebrows, an ugly stubble, and a thick, beer-gutted body betrayed by massive arms of corded muscle, all wrapped in the gray-blue jumper of an Academy janitor with the sleeves rolled up. Why was this sub-human speaking to her? Such would be her normal thoughts, if her cum was not pooling through her skirt and onto the chair as he regarded him. "Y... Yes, sir?" What was this meekness? She almost wanted to slap herself out of it.

"You look worried... are you alright?"

"O-Of... course I am... I just... I just..."

Gerald let his eyes drift down her body... and then down to her cellphone, now flat against the table. He thanked his stars for his good eyes at 55: there on the phone it was, in plain English:

TO JOHN: "I dont even care what you want to do, JUST GIVE ME DICK PLEASE"

Gerald couldn't be sure who this John fellow was, but there was at least one John on the football team, and the janitor was sure he had seen her with one of those jocks. Obviously, John didn't appreciate the little cupcake he had here... and it could be he was one of the damn fools who went and marched out of the class.

Leaving poor little Vanessa Hawthorne all alone. "Hardly becoming of a young lady, such language..."

"W..." She followed his eyes and stashed her phone, her body shivering as she realized that he realized what she wanted. She thought to cuss him out, to demand his jobs, to threaten his family; anything to get rid of the bastard. Barely a murmur could be managed in her current state; her thoughts were sent swimming.

"You look like you could use a breather," Gerald whispered, his big face leaning in while he looked around. No janitors or teachers were there to watch him; the second-half of the students began to file out of the cafeteria. "Why don't you come with me?"

Come. The word suffocated her. She wanted John; John wasn't here, and her building libido was about to break through that barrier he had made for her, for better or for worse. Her seat was wet now, and she couldn't stand it. She also couldn't stand eating alone, like a damn loser, or listening to this cologne-wearing mop-man. This man, her mind repeated. The janitor had a good idea, she was sure of it. The danger of being assaulted while alone with so monstrous a man was quietly muffled as she nodded her head and rose, stickily, to quickly follow him away from this **** place.

Back at the middle of the room, which had mostly emptied out now that various boys and girls were finding their lovers or nearest potential partners and flying off to the restrooms, a confused, horny Bobby Hackfield looked down at his pants, where he had humiliatingly ejaculated against the front of his pants. A dark stain had formed there... and was now growing as Sarah, confused and horrified as she was, bent her face down to his crotch and began to lick at the globules of gray that bubbled through the fabric. It was slimey, salty, and disgusting. She needed more.

"S-Sarah... what are you... huuhooooing...?"

"I don't know," she sobbed earnestly, and suckled on the still-erect head through his pants. She rose, licking her lips relatively clean before joining them with his. Startled and similarly poisoned, Bobby leaned into his first kiss with all his might.

She rose first, her face twisted in terror. "Economics, Room 120!"

"I don't have a condom," he declared, rising while holding her gaze.

"I don't care!"

"Neither do I!"

The two raced off, and soon the cafeteria was largely empty, save for the abandoned possessions of some 43 students. From the far side of the cafeteria, the two elderly women running the lunch line peered out into the chaos as it bubbled, erupted, and emptied out into the unknown world beyond. Their hairnets remained undisturbed. Neither one smiled, or looked shocked, or managed anything beyond their permanent grimaces, until one opened her mouth as little as she needed to manage speech.

"Hey Grace?"

The other similarly spoke in a morose, dejected tone. "Yeah?"

"Think we ought to do mashed potatoes next week?"

A pause.

"... Nah."

"Yeah... you got a point there."

Math Room 204.

Sorcery: the Convention collectable card game meet-up for lunch.

The horny young nerds there had their own mashed potatoes, and the card game seemed increasingly difficult to focus on in the presence of their sole female competitor, Jenny. The CCG players ran the gamut from passably handsome to gangly, misshapen men, but Jenny was a shaved-head lesbian, skinny and taut and utterly disinterested in cock. That interest didn't change when the lot of them began to undress, but she couldn't care less anymore; she had taken joking bites of her companion's food and was now running too hot to deny any physical contact, forcing herself to imagine lovers with convincing strap-ons as she lost her virginity to Derek, the excessively sweaty-palmed Irish kid and taking a load down the throat from the multi-cultural mess of cocks and cum that their club had become. She bathed in their seed, in their perversion, and was too lost in the rapture of it to be disgusted with the very source and nature of spunk, and too lost to worry about the fertile swimmers being blasted again and again into her sensitive, virgin pocket.

English Room 309.

Chess Club luncheon.

The cheerleaders found their prey in the form of the chess players, though the latter had not chosen to eat anything that didn't come from a vending machine (as their matches took most of the lunch without waiting in line). But the male teacher handling the club, one Mr. Blackbriar, was under no such terms; he was about to run to the bathroom and rub one out when the marching band of skanks rolled in, tearing their clothes off as if they were on fire. All propriety fell away as the pretty little blonde-haired Helena, spotting the hungry, crotch-grabbing stares of the teacher, showed off her sitting splits on his table, her glistening pussy begging for fat Mr. Blackbriar's cock; he granted her wish while the rest of the girls descended on the mixed bag of confused virgins and further confused boyfriends of girls not present. None bothered with the pretense of protection, even as the boys tried to insist; they were quickly **** into submission by some of the most beautiful women in school, a fact that machismo and confused crying would help comfort them after the fact.

The bathrooms were all filled and mixed with boys and girls, some gay couples, and confused leftovers who decided to get bi-curious for want of partners. Gerald had no intention to get mixed into that soup, of course; the janitor supply closet had room and surfaces aplenty. More importantly, he knew damn well that these brats were using his supply closets for all sorts of escapades; it was why he had so many cameras setup to record them all and, despite his years, he was savvy enough to know how to edit the videos and sell them online with censored faces. If any of the students had caught wind of their naked little bodies on webcam feeds, none had dared to admit it. This video, of course, was going to be very special: it would be the only one ever starring him, though he hoped it wouldn't be the last.

It would also be one of a few in a small, unshared folder simply entitled "****".

Gerald's jumper was already off, and his graying pubes were a wild bush around the seven inches of cock with which God had blessed him. He was sending many prayers to the Big Man as Vanessa began to peel her soiled clothes off in turn; she seemed trapped in some kind of haze, as if ****. If she was, Gerald might have a harder time carrying out his plans for the Hawthorne; it would mean that the whole stampede of hormones he just witnessed could be all over the news. But if this whole thing got buried, as he suspected the Academy would make sure it was, then this could be his ticket to the good life.

Somewhere in her daze, Vanessa knew this even as she unhooked her bra and let her pointed nipples taste the air. "This... this doesn't... mean... that you..."

"Sorry honey," the old man grunted as he threw off his undershirt, "lunchtime's only for another twenty minutes, and I need to get you back to class." Gerald was upon her with all his gray chest hairs and gut, and hugged her to scoop her ass, squeezing each cheek in his massive palms before lifting her like a sack of flour. She groaned and sputtered as she found the floor taken from her, and grunted when her ass landed on the cold surface of a small cabinet.

"W-Wait-"

"Ain't got time." He lined the fat head of his wrinkled old cock up with the fertile pocket of a mighty heiress, teased her sloppy, wet folds with it, and inserted just the tip before the only question worth asking finally came to him. "Hey, you're on birth control right?" She swapped constantly between the sight of this filthy janitor's cock all but shoved into her and his gnarled, grunting face. "You sluts always are, but I gotta ask."

She stammered incoherently, barely managing her warning. "Ma.... My.... IUD is..."

"IUD? Ah, rich girls are the best."

"No, it's... it's out!"

"Oh, damn... heh, that was a mistake."

She meant to say that her IUD had been magically removed by a sorcerer she loved and swore she would marry, and she was possibly still quite fertile, and that under absolutely no circumstances should this ugly, elderly, possibly diseased old peasant dare to disgrace her pussy with his meat, nevermind dare to impregnate her anew, this time not with the lovechild of her desired but with the **** baby of a sanitation specialist.

She could get none of the important words out before his cock began to sink into her, and her pussy sang with satisfaction. The fairy dust continued to run through her body even now, and his purple monster tapping near her cervix was the breach: she shuddered and bucked against him as she finally came with someone or something that wasn't John.

Horror squeezed more tears out of her eyes as she grinded against Gerald; Gerald, having been nearly a decade without a fuck he didn't pay for and a week from the last time he had time to rub one out, was in no state of mind to go easy on such a vixen. He clawed his beefy fingers into her breasts and pulled on them for leverage, painfully shunting Vanessa down to the root of his crotch as he enjoyed her fresh cunt. He let go only to clamp her nipples, each between massive thumb and forefinger, and twist them before pulling her up so her cries reverberated, uselessly, against the soundproofed chamber walls. This painful, ugly **** continued as she came again, milking his cock, demanding the old man's final chance at offspring. His balls twitched, eager to comply, and Gerald only released her nipples to hold her waist and pick her up and off the cabinet.

"Nuh-no, don't... don't come inside me!" she finally managed, even as her tongue flicked the air and her eyes threatened to roll to the back of her head.

"What, into a spunk cup like you? Hell, it probably won't even be mine... but a man can pray, heheh."

"No, please-!"

He huffed and grunted as she flailed, and struggled to shove her back down onto his rod. Her thighs struck against his forearms, her calves kicked uselessly against his shoulders, she tried to punch and scratch at his head, she cussed as he sucked on her nipple and, with milk no longer in production, was rewarded with naught but the pretense to then bite her nipple so hard that she nearly fainted from screaming.

The pain of it broke her resistance just in time: he rooted her, pressed his cockhole against the entrance of her womb, and unloaded. She twitched. She mewled, and came, and cried her meek, pathetic protests as tears rolled down her face and excess spunk dripped from the seal of her stretched labia. Even this was not enough for Gerald; he slammed her onto her back, and caressed her belly as he injected more swimmers into the fertile, modern noblewoman. He grabbed her right foot, curled idly by his face, and gave it a kiss and a lick as he stared down at her with a sadistic grin.

"You make me feel young again, girly."

"No... please..." Vanessa sobbed. She was begging him to keep going.

"Let's go, one more round before class."