, Unbound for Trouble

You tap your feet against the ground as you hunch over on the bench, doing your best not to gawk at the massive erection straining the pants of the boy who stumbles out of the office door. Jesus Christ, what hot nonsense has she been getting up to? There's like, zero chance this addled freshman gets out of this building without running boner-first into a door or something. Fuck. Maybe you should regroup and come back to this whole thing another time.

No, Ash. Don't let one giant-cocked underclassman break your resolve. You have too many irons in the fire to throw everything out by ditching on this meeting. Besides, based on both what you've seen and what the elves have nervously informed you of, that's exactly the sort of decision that gets mortals dragged away screaming into the shadows. You're Ashley Price, and you're not going down like that. Fuck. Okay. Let's go inside.

Um, better knock first. You raise your hand, but before your knuckles can touch the door a pleasant voice rings out. "Miss Price, please do come in."

Ugh, that voice. You know it isn't Her, but that almost makes it worse. Still, there's definitely no going back now, and you're not going to score points through meekness. So you take in a breath, take hold of the doorknob, and stride inside with what you dearly hope is an air of confidence.

The Former Dean's office is...well, exactly how you remember it looking the last time you were here. Some part of you expected, like, a bunch of torches and skulls to go up as soon as the new owner took possession. And the woman who's perched on the desk, daintily wiping her mouth, looks very nearly to be the woman who you met that day. She's got the same ageless grace, the same severely straight blonde hair, the same predilection for pantsuits. But then there's the slightly plumper lips, the youthfully flawless skin, and oh yes, the enormous breasts that fill her nice chiffon blouse nearly to the point of bursting. This is not the Mysterious Voice. This is her one-time ****. And you aren't entirely certain this is that much of an improvement for you.

For her part, she seems pleased to see you. Though the cast to her wide smile reminds you uncomfortably of a cat who's pleased to happen upon a mouse. "Did you see my new project staggering out a moment ago?"

The dude with the massive hog? "Uh, yeah. New project?"

"Oh yes. I've been growing the dicks of the boys with the highest GPAs on campus, and I've been sending scholarship offers to every confirmed size queen in the Tri-State area. Call it a social experiment. Or like what you humans do with dogs and cats."

You can't resist a little push back. "I...don't think it works like that. People aren't animals."

The woman clucks her tongue, offering you a patronizing look. "I'm sure you think that." She kicks her sensible heels off, indulging in a stretch of her shapely legs before slipping off of the desk and starting towards you. "So! To what do I owe this pleasure?"

She's getting really close, and all you can think about is Rhys's description of her kind as giant teeth waiting in the night. You lift up the Starbucks cup you brought with you like some protective ward. "Here; I brought this for you."

The New Dean raises an eyebrow at the proffered beverage, then lets out a delighted gasp of recognition. "Oh! That is just perfect. She loved these goddamn things, didn't she?" She plucks it from your hand, popping off the top to peer approvingly down into the Peppermint Mocha. "With the chocolate curls and everything. What a nice touch. Thank you, Ashley."

"You're welcome, uh..." You trail off, blinking. "...I'm not sure what to call you. I'm not going to call you ****."

The woman winks, blowing coquettishly over the still-hot drink. "You know what my new name is. You could call me that."

"I am not calling you 'Mommy'."

Her chiming laughter sends what might be shivers and might be a chill down your back. "Well then. You're the one in charge, after all. What do you want to call me?"

"...'Ma'am'?"

A curious expression crosses the woman's face at that, something strange simmering within her eyes. It's gone before you can even be sure it was there as she passes her cup below her nose and takes a deep sniff. "Should I be worried about what's in this? You've got a reputation for spiking drinks, after all."

You shake your head. "You've already got our strongest stuff coursing through your veins. I doubt there's anything more we could do to you, even if we wanted to."

"Ha. True." She gives you a wink, then takes a sip. "Mm~!" Her eyes brighten as she quickly treats herself to a larger mouthful, her feline smile widening. "Who's in this? I don't recognize them!"

"What do you mean, you don't 'recognize' them?"

The New Dean holds up a finger, motioning for you to wait as she tips back the cup to drain at least half of it. She licks her lips as she finally pulls back. "That milk you had me drink came from all of you. You, your friends, and the whole herd. I could taste each and every individual inside the greater whole. I still can. Constantly. But this~"--She pauses long enough to finish off the mocha, letting out a pleased gasp as she empties the cup--"Is someone new. Who?"

She can still taste the Mega Milk? That's so goddamn wild. "Her name is Olivia."

"She tastes like she fucks in libraries."

You're absolutely certain the immensely busty girl with the owlish glasses and too-tight sweater vests does. That's not what you're here to talk about, though. "We've had to build up a new herd. You know, since the war started."

"Ahha~" The woman tosses you the drained cup, giving you another cluck of her tongue as she sashays back towards her desk. "So that's why you're here, then. To talk about your little tiff." She settles herself down in her chair, spinning around to prop her elbows up on her desktop and lace her fingers together professorially. "Where are your two partners?"

"They're waiting for me in the parking lot. We decided that it would be better if just one of us came. So it seemed less official."

The New Dean raises her eyebrows. "Less official? What do you mean?"

"I mean, we don't want this to come across like we're demanding your services."

"Mmhm~" The woman rests her chin on her fingers, her huge breasts spreading across her desktop as she leans towards you. "Why ever not? You can, you know. Give me orders. I'm your docile cow. You own me."

The sickly sweet taste builds up stronger and stronger in the back of your throat as she talks, her wide smile curling up at the corners as you quietly will yourself not to vomit. Rhys and Donna warned you about this, you've prepared yourself for this, and honestly? She doesn't seem like she's even trying that hard. Your practiced response comes automatically to your lips. "We are in no way in charge or in control of you. We'd be willing to formally renounce any claims we inadvertently hold over you if, against our wishes, they exist."

The woman smiles faintly, that same simmering light roiling behind her eyes again. "Well. Before I respond to that, let me ask you a question: Why did you offer to call me 'Ma'am'?"

"I...guess it seemed polite?"

"Oh? Is that it? Someone didn't suggest that flattery is effective against my kind? A certain elfy someones, in fact?"

You briefly wonder if you need to make a break for it, only to realize you aren't actually nervous. This seems like the sort of situation that should lead to a person getting magicked into a puddle of goo for being presumptuous, but you simply aren't sensing even the slightest bit of affront from the woman. "Well, yes. It was mentioned."

The New Dean chuckles, leaning back in her chair. "I'm sorry to say, but your friends have been misinformed. Directly by us, probably. The idea that we can be tricked by praise or outsized courtesy is one of many lies we've fostered over generations. Despite this,"--She frames her face with a hand--"Charming packaging, we are not humans. Any display of human emotion or feeling is roughly as genuine as the similarities between an angler fish's lure and a nice juicy worm. And with the same underlying intent, I might add."

Well that is fucking terrifying. But once again, you can't resist pushing back. "I don't think I believe that. Are you saying you weren't actually angry with the Dean? After being her ****?"

"Well. You have to understand a rule before you can learn the exceptions, don't you know. It's true that we do experience a few states of mind that are similar to the ones you people feel. Close enough for something like a shared frame of reference, at least." She starts ticking them off on her fingers. "Anger is certainly one. You didn't miss that. Anger might be the universal language, in fact. I'm pretty sure moss gets angry every now and then. Amusement, too, though I doubt humanity would appreciate our taste in humor."

"Anger and amusement? Is that it?"

"Also Greed. So take it from me: if you really want to make nice with one of my kind, which I absolutely do not recommend, you should skip the honorifics and just offer up your tastiest acquaintance. The old 'I don't need to outrun them, I just need to outrun you' gambit is a classic for a reason."

Huh. Good to know. And also deeply unsettling. Still, despite the woman's confident pronouncements, you're certain there's more to this story. "You do like it though. Don't you?" The woman arches an eyebrow again, so you lean forward and meet her eyes. "You like being shown respect. Don't you, Ma'am?"

The simmering behind the New Dean's eyes is practically boiling before she squeezes them shut, spinning her chair away from you for a moment. At length, her voice trickles out. "Yes. I do."

"Why is that, then?"

A sigh warbles out from behind the woman's chair, and when she slowly spins back around she's sporting an almost sheepish expression. "You don't understand what that milk did to me, do you." She waves her hand dismissively as you start to respond. "No, no; it's fine. I don't fully grasp it, either. That stuff would have melted any human's brain, and I suspect it did the same to me. Now, I don't have a human brain. Or any literal brain at all, really. But make no mistake: to another of my kind, I'd seem like no less of a drooling vegetable."

"You seem perfectly fine to me."

"Of course I do. You're an up-jumped ape. Do you think ants can tell when something is wrong with you?" The woman sighs again, offering you a helpless shrug. "Anyways. I'm certainly not an ape myself, but in all honestly I'm probably closer to you now than to one of my kind. So yes. I do like being shown courtesy. I watched three hours of cat videos online last night. I can stare my reflection in just a bra for hours. I'm even having fun with my little experiments around the office."

You take that moment to jump in. "About that. Do you think you could maybe keep things at least a bit reasonable around here?"

The New Dean purses her lips. "Why?"

"Isabelle's mom still works here. We really don't want her getting embroiled in any sort of insane magical sex games."

"Hm." The woman taps a finger against the desk, weighing that over. "And that isn't an order?"

"No. We'd just appreciate it."

"Ha!" She lets out a laugh, slapping her hand down on the table. "Okay. I owe you for freeing me from Mistress anyhow. Consider it done, with no strings attached. The scales are balanced, and all of that noise."

You stare at the pleased looking woman for a moment. "...We could have gotten a lot more. Right?"

"Oh, so much more. But honestly? Undershooting is always the smarter option. Better to know you lost a bit of value than always wonder whether you accidentally put yourself in debt. Any~ways." She pushes back from the desk, rising from her chair to start towards you. "I'm still technically in your thrall." She raises her hand when you start to protest, perching herself down on the desk beside you. "Sorry, but there's nothing that can be done. It's not really your fault; the shackles binding me to to Mistress's seat of power are so strong that they even outlasted Her."

You frown. "If I know anything about your kind, it's that they don't give a shit who's 'fault' something is. Just who's left holding the bag. Or is that another tall tale?"

"Oh no, Ashley. That one is absolutely true." She gives you a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. "But let's forget about that for now. Okay? You don't treat me like a servant, and I won't treat you like my attempted master. So--" She straightens her blazer, taking a moment to adjust her overflowing breasts before giving you the most professional smile you've ever seen. "What did you come here to ask me?"

Well, this is it. "Will you help us with the war?"

"No."

"Will you promise not to help the Others with the war?"

"No."

"....will you think about it?"

"Mmmm~..."The enigmatic woman isn't even trying to hide the seething pleasure behind her eyes anymore. "Maybe. Bringing me some more of your new friends to taste wouldn't hurt your chances."

"Why don't you come by yourself? You can have all the magical girl milk and chocolate curls your not-a-heart desires."

The woman lets out a disappointed breath. "Aww, Ashley. And you were doing so well. Now that you've invited me into one of your personal places, you've given me ultimate power over you. Sorry!"

"Wait, that story was true?!"

She reaches over and flicks you on the forehead. "No. Dummy. Now get out of here before your friends start worrying that I evaporated you or something."

She doesn't have to tell you twice. "Yes, Ma'am. Thank you for your time."

You've almost managed to open the door and flee when her voice calls out from behind you, a touch of ice trickling into her otherwise teasing tone. "This went well, Ashley. You're obviously a smart girl. But I hope you'll have a better plan for when the others of my kind come calling. Come looking for me. And they will. Tradition dictates no outside interference during a conflict, but as soon as the dust settles? Well. You do remember which emotions we share with humans, don't you?"

"Amusement?"

"Cute. Let's hope that works out for you. Bye-bye now."

You slip out of the office without another word, reaching up to wipe the sweat from your brow as you practically power walk away. Goddammit it, let's hope that winds up being the hardest part of your day. Because otherwise, this is going to be the most trying Saturday ever.