A Call to Action

Half an hour later, I stumbled out of that jizz plastered utility closet with my drained balls sluggishly churning together another load of thick, selectively-potent, baby-batter. The only other time I had cum that hard and long had been on a whim with Amy *making* me, and that was no simple feat by any means.

So I was like 90% sure that my mystery lover had been a parahuman of some sort; my money was on her being a Thinker that specialized in pressure points or another Striker-biokinetic. If so, no capes or rogues I knew of sprung to mind.

But I wasn’t overly concerned if she was a parahuman or not. Beyond getting her to do it again, preferably after I returned the favor and made her cum like crazy on my cock. She had seemed nice enough, and I had no intention of outing someone I didn’t even know for no reason.

*bangbangbang*

Sigh. Sounded like some of the tweakers were throwing trash cans down the stairs aga-

“Let me ooooooout!” a girl began to wail hysterically over the metallic racket, a ghostly tenor in her voice like she was speaking through a metal pipe.

“The fuck?” I wondered aloud. This didn’t sound like your typical gangbanger beat down, did someone crawl in the air ducts and get stuck? Again?

Before I noticed, I was following the sound of her cries and banging at a brisk jog. She paused mid word, retching and coughing as her breakfast vacated her stomach. Before she could even resume her gargled pleas I found myself sprinting down the hall.

“Oh God, someone help me! Please!” she was begging now and I honestly couldn’t say what was worse: the raw agony in her voice, or the snide giggling and jeering that I could now hear answering her cries.

I skidded around the corner to see a crowd of students mingling around a section of 6-foot tall lockers, various gang tags layered the halls in an territorial pissing contest that the faculty had long since stopped bothering to care about.

From here a putrid stench was wafting in the air, stinging my nose with the fetid odor of rot and sickness. I could also see flecks of paint and rust break off from one of the locker doors with each pounding clang from within. A heavy duty pad lock latched to the door handle was similarly rattling with each impact. I could only imagine how bad it smelled on the inside, seeing as our shitty school didn't even have lockers with slits (i.e. air holes) on the doors!

Some kids were hurrying along with sullen looks, just trying to keep their heads down to get through the day so that they might not be targeted themselves. Those that stuck around, taunting and casually talking about someone being better off dead; the obvious perpetrators, were not a member of any “official” gang. No skinheads or Asian kids dressed in red and green or bloodshot addicts to be seen.

No, no. These particular little psychopaths were our school’s cheerleaders.

School spirit. Yay……

Maybe it was confidence born from the past month getting whatever I wanted, or a sense of heroics that Vicky and Hannah rubbed off on me, or maybe it was just the sheer shock of seeing something so gritty and wrong after a month of living in a fantasy, but something in me snapped at that moment.

“What the FUCK is wrong with you!?!” The words exploding from my chest so forcefully that one of the girls actually fell over in fright, dark laughter dying away in my presence.

Spinning around, the girls were like deer in a headlight, flummoxed that anyone would speak out against the most “popular” group in school.

“Hello?!” The trapped girl sobbed pleadingly, “Please! Get me out! I can’t breath! Oh God! They keep biting! It hurts so bad! Make them stop! Make them stop!!” Her words became more and more frantic and painful, struggling to move about in the confined space.

Hearing their victim speak out snapped the cheerleaders from their daze. With such brazenness that impressed even me, one of the girls stepped forward, a facade of fake sweetness undermined by how readily she was checking me out.

“Isn’t it sad?” she asked coyly, “A loser with no friends crying out for attention. It’d almost be funny if she didn’t smell like she lived in a sewer, right…?” Starting strong and confident, her bravado petered out as she glanced back at her posse. Not sure why, nor did I care.

“I doubt she locked herself in from the inside.” I shot back with my best Armsmaster impression.

“She, uh, had help?” The bitch, Julia I think, supplied, suddenly on the back foot. “Yeah, that creepy Veder kid, we saw him messing with the lock before he ran off! She must have told him that she’d put out for him if he-HEY! What are you-Ow!Ow!Owwww!”

Fed up with her games, I reached out and grabbed her firmly by her perky breasts, not an ounce of tenderness or care given as I squeezed the sensitive flesh as hard as I could. Julia crumpled with a scream from the sudden pain, the weight only adding to her suffering as I kept her standing by the soft tissue.

Her friends began to panic and call out for help, pointing at me and shouting ****. I just willed my card to one hand and thrust it in their direction and the accusations petered out into frightful looks at being confronted by a figure of authority.

“Well then, I suppose if you can’t help me help her, maybe I should just fuck you all while your classmates watch.” A number of my male peers suddenly taking an interest and egging me on. “I should warn you though, I’m feeling pretty frustrated right now, things could get… rough.” I growled, twisting a nipple as she clung to my arm to hold herself up on her tiptoes.

She was crying piteously, looking to the approaching teachers for help only for them to turn away and pretend not to have seen anything when they caught sight of my card. ‘Karma’s a bitch, isn’t it?’

“I can’t!” She shouted at last, mascara running down her face.

“Is that your final answer?” I asked her dangerously, “Think carefully now.”

“I-I swear! Emm- Someone else brought the lock! I can’t open it! Ple-ease shtop!!”

Fuck! She really didn’t know the combination! Looking back at the offending loop of steel, I knew there was no way I could open it on my own. That was sort of the point of lockers. If only I had some bolt-cutters or a-

“Crowbar!” The thought hit me like Archimedes in the bath. Releasing Julia, I clapped the locker door in a hopefully reassuring manner, “Hold on! I’ll be right back!” I promised the girl currently dry-heaving inside then took off at a full sprint back to the janitor’s closet.

Pushing past the ghoulish old man cursing at the state of his work place, I grabbed the old tool from the corner where my mysterious lover had carelessly tossed it earlier. Ignoring the old man’s call I booked it back down the hall with tool in hand. -Not an innuendo for once.

Setting the pry bar in the door crack, I heaved. It gave, a little. I set it deeper, heaved again, mentally thanking Amy for literally giving me the strength to do this.

Abruptly, the lock gave, and the door sprang open. The poor girl fell out in an avalanche of crusty used tampons and pads soaked with puke and a scattering swarm of creepy crawlies. Alternatively gasping, dry-heaving and sobbing as she crawled away from her septic prison.

Without the metal door to ward away the worst of the miasma, I was struggling to keep down my own breakfast, when I noticed the reddening bug bites that littered her arms and face (her baggy clothes probably didn’t offer much protection for the rest of her either).

‘Please don’t let there have been any widows nesting in there with her!’ I prayed, doing my best to flick off as many of the tiny invertebrates as I could.

She was tall and lanky with long curly locks of dark brown hair. I recognized her from computer class with Mrs. Knott; quiet, actually seemed to apply herself in class, name began with a “T”.

“T” surprised me by throwing her arms around my shoulders, quaking and thanking me over and over between sobs.

‘...Well,’ I thought ruefully, patting her on the back and trying my best not to breathe through my nose. ‘At least I can’t say that today was uneventful, can I?’