The punk and the prom-queen

There were so many women in the halls of the school, all of them beautiful, all of them with bouncy c-cup breasts or even bigger, mostly bigger, and outfits that ranged from very casual to downright slutty. Shyness began to grip me as soon as more and more of them began to take notice of me, all of them with interested and excited looks in their eyes, making me grip my schoolbooks tightly against my chest and attempt to shrink myself to no avail. It was a natural reaction, I supposed, and at least it wasn’t disappointment, most of them seemed to like what they saw, and that made me immensely happy.

In an effort to distract myself from the staring I fished my phone out from my skirt pocket and saw a text from my mother. It was just a message containing my locker number and combination. When I had arrived at said locker, trying and failing to distract myself from some of the hungrier looks I was getting along the way, I fumbled with the lock and tried to open it. When the deed had been done, I put my messenger bag inside.

I thought carefully. I didn’t actually need to do any schoolwork, so was it even necessary to bring anything to take notes with? I supposed I should at least look the part. With that thought in mind I got my pencil and a spiral notebook and closed the locker door. When it had slammed shut, I jumped when it revealed someone next to it. I even let out a startled squeak of surprise that sounded adorable even to my own ears.

“Hey there, you the new kid?” the woman asked in a slightly naturally raspy voice, a pleasant but almost cat-like smirk on her lips.

“Uh, yeah.” I said, taking in her appearance. She was dressed surprisingly conservatively based on what I had seen so far. She had a pair of flat-top sneakers, a faded and ripped pair of blue jeans, and a thin, black jacket with its hood up over her head. I wasn’t positive, but pretty certain she was wearing nothing underneath the jacket. I could only guess at this state of affairs by virtue of the fact that the jacket’s zipper was drawn to nearly the middle of her torso, revealing a decent valley of cleavage between what I could only guess to be C-cups; the lower end of the spectrum for breast size, it seemed. Her hands were currently tucked into the jacket’s pockets.

Her hair seemed short, with a messy curtain of bangs that hung down from the top of the hood. It was jet black, in stark contrast to her pale skin, and the tips were shocked with a vibrant blood-red, neither colors appeared natural to me. Her eyes were like black holes that matched a pair of dark lips and contrasted with a sparkling silver lip-ring piercing.

Without any warning or any hesitation that I could see, she lifted an arm from her jacket and brought one of her hands to my chest. I noted with interest that her fingers were topped with black nails that ended in sharp points like claws. I’d seen fake nails like these ones and always wanted to try them. I realized with a happiness that almost made me grin that I could now and pull off the look. She pressed the palm of her hand against my nearly flat chest, only a hint of swelling there for it to meet and felt a wave of heat. She hadn’t asked permission to do this, but I was happy she did it anyway. I was happy because she found that part of me appealing, she found a part of me appealing enough to want to touch it. This brought me even more happiness than the realization that I could get away with cute nails.

My nipple immediately stiffened from her touch, and when she noticed this, she grinned at me almost wolfishly. “My name is Sasha Allred. My friends call me Nines, though.” As she said this, she unceremoniously slid her hand under my tank top and pinched one of my nipples.

I nearly moaned my response, “I’m Quinn Nocturne. Nice to meet you, Sasha.”

“Go ahead and call me Nines, I already like you,” she replied.

“Why are you called Nines?” I asked, genuinely curious, “if you don’t mind me asking.”

“I once won a game of strip poker by getting a four-of-a-kind with all nines twice in a row. Ever since then my pals have been calling me Nines, and I like it better than Sasha anyway.” She replied, giving me another hearty pinch and then gently sliding the tips of her nail-claws along my chest before withdrawing the hand. She wasn’t done with me, though.

Before I could respond to her explanation she leaned forward and planted her lips on mine, kissing me deeply. Nines’ kissing style was immediately different from either my mother or my sister. She was aggressive, but also liked to use her teeth. Not in any particularly painful or unpleasant way, in fact feeling her give the occasional nibble on my tongue and lips sent pleasant shivers down my spine. If she wasn’t grazing it with her teeth she was using her tongue to explore mine, I had never been more aware of my own teeth, and was suddenly glad I brushed them regularly.

“Mhh,” Nines hummed as she pulled away from the kiss while softly biting my lower lip on the way, “you have a cute smile, I wanted to taste it.”

That was an unusual reason for wanting to kiss someone, but something about how unique and strange it was turned me on. I really liked this girl.

“No, it’s okay,” I replied, a hint of desperation in my voice, “you’re welcome to do so anytime. I know we just met but I’m into it.” I said, honestly.

“That’s good,” Nines said, winking a black eye above her Cheshire-like grin.

“Niney!” A voice called out and another lady approached us.

This one was a bombshell with golden blonde hair done into a pair of pigtails. She was reasonably well-done up in tasteful but stylish makeup. Unlike Nines, she was barely dressed at all. A pair of flip-flops like my own, except hot pink colored, a pair of hotpants that rode so far up her legs they were basically denim briefs, and a pink crop-top t-shirt that exposed her midriff and a small sliver of the underside of her hefty melons.

“Tiff, you slut, I was wondering where you were,” Nines regarded her by bringing a hand almost harshly across the blonde’s breasts in a fierce slap. The woman’s response was not to look upset by the gesture, but instead to moan deeply.

“So, you got bored and decided to find some other girl to ****?” she pouted, feigning jealous hurt. Even I could tell there was no real venom in the words. I was more interested in the fact that this woman had misgendered me. I expected to feel upset about this, but I could only feel proud. I could pass as a woman, and that made me feel good.

“Well, for one, Quinn here is a guy, and second, he’s one of the new kids.” Oddly I felt no particular pang of anger from the correction, if anything the fact that Nines had correctly identified me as a man in spite of the fact that I was passing was extremely hot, and kind of sexy.

The girl gaped, her mouth becoming a small ‘o’ of shock.

“Quinn, this is my personal toy, Tiffany. You can call her Tiff, or you can call her ‘bimbo’, she’ll answer to either,” Nines introduced, casually.

“Nice to meet you,” I nodded and smiled, shyly. I couldn’t help but keep glancing at her hefty breasts, they were quite large and shapely, and I could see the tents of her nipples poking out from the thin fabric of her loose shirt. Tiffany beamed at me in response.

“Why don’t you let him try out your goods? He clearly likes ‘em,” Nines said, clearly noticing my glances downward.

“Uh, I—” I began but got interrupted by Tiffany mashing her breasts into my face. She was taller than me, so she barely even had to stand on her tiptoes to press her pillows into my head. I was reminded of the time when Amelia had done the same thing in the Studio, but this time the act was clearly sexual and not motherly at all, and it was causing a tent of my own to begin rising in my skirt.

“Oh yes, he likes them a lot,” Nines added, probably noticing the tent, and then laughed out loud. Her laugh was akin to a raspy giggle.

“You’re a lucky guy, normally Niney won’t let anyone touch my boobies but her!” Tiffany giggled, making her breasts jiggle around my face.

“I’m in a giving mood,” Nines replied, and though I couldn’t see it, I could tell this response came with a shrug.

The bell tolled, signaling that students didn’t have much time to get to their first period classes. At this sound, Tiffany freed me from her amazingly soft prison.

“What’s your first class?” Nines asked me.

A quick look at the text my mother had sent me showed that it was English with a Ms. Cobalt. I relayed this information to my new friends.

“Oh, me too. We won’t want to waste any time, then, she’s kinda strict, I’ll show you where it is,” after saying this, Nines turned to Tiffany and gave her tits another unceremonious slap, which made the blonde smile and giggle, “go on and get to class, you slut. I’ll see you at lunch.”

“Okay! Nice to meet you Quinny!”

“Likewise,” I replied and started down the hall with the punk girl. After a few seconds of walking in silence, I spoke up, “you two seem like an unlikely couple, if you don’t mind me saying.”

Nines laughed, “Yeah for sure. I can see why the whole goth-and-prep-girl seems like a strange combo, and to be honest I can’t stand to be around types like her. All that bubblegum cheerleader prom-queen bullshit. But I can’t deny that the look is hot as hell. And I lucked out with Tiff, she’s a huge fuckin’ masochist. So not only do I get access to her hot bod, I get to insult her all I like and she’s down for it.”

When she put it that way, it did seem like they were the perfect couple.

“How about you, cutie?”

“Huh?” I blinked at her.

“You a masochist by chance?” Her grin became noticeably more devious.