But things are just beginning back at school.

"Wake up, slut. We're gonna be late." Abigail nudges you with her foot. From her tone, you aren't sure if she's still mad at you, or worried you are still mad at her. You aren't sure how to reassure her or apologize to her, and your more immediate concern is how you will sneak back into school unnoticed now that you are caked with cum. You take her hand and begin stepping over the slumbering studs on your way out the door.

You open your mouth to speak, but you cannot find the words. 'Sorry I talked down to you,' just seems so trivial compared to, 'Sorry I didn't see you were testing me with fragments of your fucked up personality as a survival mechanism and I missed it.' You also aren't sure whether you should accept her apology, if she ever chooses to offer it. Sure, you ended up safe and sound and learning a little more about yourself...more than you wanted to really, and she isn't your guidance counselor anyway! You didn't agree to gang bang group therapy and she had no right to sign you up for it without your permission.

Your internal argument continues, and just as you are about to win it, you walk outside and are stunned to see the sun shining in your face! You find the words now, shouting, "You stupid asshole! Your little prank is going to get us locked away in quarantine for ever!"

Abigail seems nonplussed. She stretches and shakes the caked cum out of her hair, calmly answering, "Eh...probably not. I mean, no one got infected and breaking out and returning on our own shows growth, right?" She shrugs as if either way, it doesn't matter to her. You can't believe how nonchalant she is, but you also think she might be right. She definitely seems to know what she's talking about, but then again, she has fooled you before.

You don't have to wait long for an answer. You make it to the curb of the SJC and the guards spot you right away. You are scooped up by men in hazmat suits and carried away in an instant. Your heart races and your guts tighten into knots as they separate Abigail and you and drag you deep into the facility. You are led into the quarantine area and you wonder where they are taking your...friend? Enemy? Lover? It's hard to say what Abigail is to you when you barely know who she is. You wonder if you might still be a little delirious, because you still find yourself wishing you had more time to get to know her despite getting you into more trouble than ever.

You are led to a new hallway you've never seen before and left in a room with a steel table with a new face sitting behind it. She has a warmth about her that makes you relax a little, which makes you worry that you are falling for another beguiling bimboi baddie. You are put in a chair opposite the stunning stranger, and your wrist is clasped in a pair of handcuffs affixed to the table. You try to ignore the instinctive eagerness you feel being bound, and focus on the situation at hand. The mystery woman is a blonde bombshell a blazer that screams 'boss', but there is something so dangerously disarming about her that you worry you'll spill your guts if she holds your hand.

She puts her hand over yours and strokes where the cuff bites into your skin, "Sorry about these. I wrote most of these rules and I still hate to see them in place. Oh, look at me being rude. My name is Samantha Jenkins. I put the SJ in the SJI. I'm here for your final assessment, which should be a breeze! Reviewing your folder, it looks like you've made all the right choices, save for last night's little relapse."

You feel the words tripping off your tongue, eager to blame the bimboi that brought you to that cesspool in the first place. Something stops you. Maybe it's how easy the words come. It seems too easy to blame someone else, and you can't help but feel this nagging doubt that you are the one that let Abigail down, and not the other way around. Samantha seems to see your hesitation, her hand radiates comfort as she slides it further up your arm. "Oh, don't worry. I don't think that will be too much of a problem. We know it was Abigail leading you astray. She was more damaged than we realized, or we never would have assigned to you."

Again the words beg to burst free from your lips, but you hold them in. There is something wrong here. It's like they found the ideal woman to tell you it's not your fault. You haven't felt this comforted since your mom was alive. It's especially confusing that you also want to make out with her and she is giving you a look that suggests it's not entirely off the table. She continues, cooing, "Aww, look at you, sticking up for your friend. You know, I really respect that. It takes courage, considering she's the only real obstacle between you and your freedom. We have to be sure you aren't going to be led astray by another bully, whether bottom or top."

It makes sense...after all, you were first led astray by a bully, and all these strange tests and hidden lessons have seemed to suggest that you need to learn who to trust. Abigail is manipulative, mischievous, and maybe malicious. She might also have a sweet side that isn't part of a honey pot. Maybe you've even seen it, but you wonder if it's hiding somewhere between the lines. Everything is telling you to toss her aside and try to find real friends you don't have to doubt if you can trust. Well, almost everything. There is something keeping you from denouncing her. Samantha's hand has settled on your shoulder and she looks at you with almost painful pity, "You have to choose, Amy. It's either you or her. We know you both broke out, and between you and me it's not like Abby is a close call."

Samantha looks at you with almost hurtful hope in your eyes. You want to make her happy, but you don't know what to do? Should you rat out Abby? It sounds like they know everything anyway. All you have to do is say the words...