Playboy? No...prey, boy

Ainsley realised a little too late that, should he in fact find his muscle-bound workmate, he might very well put his back out trying to carry him to the infimary as he has with the Headmistress, should he be in a similarly debilitated state. Thankfully, the dilemma didn't arise; he hadn't returned to the gym nor the lounge, nor the offices, and the hallways remained ominously barren, save the distant clack of shoes.

He sighs and wistfully thinks of his piping hot tea, now flat cold in the lounge as he returns to the front desk. He'd at the very least have to arrange for a substitute for his class. He might be able to round up a few teachers for a proper search, but he doubted it. The academy's policy makes the disruption of classes the dirtiest of words, by insistence of their donors, who demand that the academy instills all the discipline and obedience in thier children that they couldn't be arsed to.

The receptionist was likely the only hire in the academy made on the cheap; a young, coarse girl all the way from the council estates of the rougher area, Courtney was frustratingly incompetent, insultingly disinterested, and uncomfortably attractive, despite her personality. Platinum blond hair wrapped in a bobble, hoop earings and a variety of bracelets and jewelry, long shapely legs in skin-tight black leggings, expertly, if generously, applied makeup, and perky young tits pushed up against a translucent white shirt with two too many buttons undone, clad in a gauche leopard print bra that usually peeked from the revealing cusp of her shirt.

The clacking of her keyboard could usually be heard well before you turned the corner to the main entrance as she typed away in that usual receptionist fashion that spared their long acrylic nails, but it fell eerily silent today. Looking into the reception through the sliding window panel left slightly ajar, it was an even greater mess than the norm; chair tilted on it's side, back door left wide open, paperwork strewn all over the desk and damp with what looked like red ink.

Not usually concerning, normally her absence was simply a cheeky little smoke break. He never minded having to look for her, she was always tucked away in the courtyard's corner, and he always had a little hope in his heart he'd find her as he did one fateful day; on her knees, slurping the dark, veiny cock of one of her boyfriends, with far more enthusiasm and skill than she'd ever shown on the premises otherwise. To this day, he hears the eager slurps and moans of the girl near half his age and frankly indifferent to his existence whenever his equally indifferent wife goes to bed early on a night, and he dares pleasures himself, fantasising of what he could never have.

Back to reality, he awkwardly cranes his neck to look around the reception. Even she wouldn't leave this place in such a mess would she? Leaning in, hand on the smudged glass, tries to look down behind the desk...

With a sudden loud slam, glowing red eyes meet his against the glass he yelps and stumbles back. It was Courtney with her fists against the glass, but...different. she had a wild, toothy grin, her mascara had run down her cheeks, her hair was loose and messy, and she was breathing so heavy, it fogged up the glass as she grasped for him through the small open crack beside the panel, apparently too mindless to simply push it open.

He steps clear of her reach, his blood running cold as he realises where he recognises that foreboding, inhuman gaze of hers from...same as the madman who attacked Grenshaw. she climbs on top of her desk after him, kneeing her PC aside as she presses her bare chest against the cold glass, pushing her full arm out towards him, her sharp pink nails clawing at him. Her bloody tits are squashed against the glass, perfect round circles with erect pink nipples squeaking against the glass as she shifts leaving red trails smeared across the window. He can see her leggings have been torn open at the seam, her bare, shaven cunt sticky with her wetness.

It was like a monkey paw had granted him his most perverse wish in the most twisted fashion. He could see it in her eyes; all he'd have to do was slide open that window, and she'd be his, and he her's. "...Courtney? Can you hear me?" He ventures a step closer as he asks, not sure what kind of reaction he was hoping for. He got none, more mindless leering and panting as she strains herself to reach for him. The fear remained, but something else joined it, dulled it, soothed him into a strange lull, urged him a little closer, promised him all the sweet pleasures of her flesh, that her pain is something to desire, and both could be his, if he just took one step closer...

The sudden crack of the glass woke him from his stupor, inflicted by a frustrated shove by Courtney in a vein attempt to reach even further. It wasnt intentional, but the glass suddenly seemed alot less sturdy than it did a moment ago. The allure was gone, the fanged beast returned, and terror finally pushed Ainsley into fleeing, back to the infirmary for some kind of explanation, some ailment to make sense of all this.

The crack repeated himself behind as he ran, along with what sounded terribly akin to the shattering of glass. It had been a long time since he'd sprinted, but even with an erection in the way, he very nearly broke the land speed record before diving into the infirmary and slamming the door shut behind him, press his back against it as he gasped and wheezed for his breath, which caught in his throat at the sight of the women he'd left here.

The three were on the floor, all in differing states of undress. Yasmin was nestled between the headmistress and a student he didn't recognise, The nurse's stripped body squashed between the latter's prestigious chest and slick with her own blood, eyes closed, mumbling through her intense sounding stimulation, punctuated with weak pleading for more as she lovingly stroked the student's long hair, even as her mouth was clamped on her throat, sharing her teacher's ecstasy through mouthfuls of blood.

Miss Baines, drinking her fill from behind Yasmin's slender, arched back, was not so entirely entranced in the feeding, and managed to pull free from her subordinate's bleeding neck to look up at him with yet another mad grin, making a show of licking her plump lips clean, before disappearing in a blur of movement, and colliding into Ainsley with enough **** to snap the door's hinges like baby bird bones, and send the two flying across the hallway on top of it.

His skull hit the floor with a loud crack, and his sight went blurry, his body not responding to his attempts to rise to his feet. Through skewed, darkened vision, he could only watch as Miss Baines, unfazed, crawled over to his side, tits swinging to and fro, very nearly brushing the floor with their generous size, and tore open his shirt and leaned in to run her unnaturally long, wet, serpentine tongue up his skinny chest. His skin prickled, his still hard boner twitching, even when her venturing tongue found his windpipe, and, with a final slurp, she bit down hard on it, eliciting a weak wheeze before his consciousness finally gave way to darkness, his final sight being a drunk looking Courtney finding the two, falling clumsily onto his waist, and fiddling with his pant's zip.