I had started on my next attempt, and was generally feeling pretty damn good about myself as I went to bed. I would have to deal with Sophia tomorrow, but several orgasms were enough to blunt any worry I might have felt.
It was a rather happy, if tired, Taylor Hebert that fell asleep.
* * *
School was nice.
That statement felt really damn weird just to think, but it was true.
Nobody bothered me. Emma stared at me every time she was within sight with the cutest mix of astonishment, curiosity, and a little bit of fear. All of the hanger-ons felt the shift, and avoided me as well. I went throughout the day without hearing a single mean comment, no pranks, no activity at all from her. If there was a paradise in high-school, this might've been it— if it weren't for one niggling little detail.
Sophia.
She followed me everywhere. It wasn't close enough to draw attention. But she'd always be somewhere behind me. She kept on watching, often with that creepy smirk from two days ago. It was only highlighted by the spectacular bruising she had from her nose. Apparently, I hadn't quite broken it, but it was a close thing— or at least, that's what school gossip proclaimed.
It was freaking me out. What did she want? What did she want from me? I just wanted some peace!
That was the reason I slipped out a back door once lunch started. I couldn't take it— I wanted to get away from her stares. I sat against a brick wall, eating and staring at the clouds, reveling in my solitude.
"Damn, Hebert. You almost got away from me."
I admit it, I almost shrieked like a four-year-old. I did tense up hard enough for it to hurt. My heart was pounding in my chest, and it took several seconds of deep breathing before I could slowly twist my head to stare at Sophia.
She had that fucking smirk again. I wanted to punch it.
"I've thought about it. You're a fucking ambush predator. You got enough evidence to try and put us down, and then got some more. You were gonna ruin us— and when I stopped it, you moved on. I ruined the ambush, so you did the smart thing and gave up on it, instead of charging into a trap to try and hurt us anyway. And now you just stalk around the school, fucking ignoring everyone like they're below you-"
Punching Sophia feels good. Even if I know she has to be allowing it. Still, a sock to the gut leaves her bent over long enough for me to pin her to a wall. She doesn't even look phased, just keeping that fucking smirk on and letting me hold her. And that just makes me even angrier.
"You think I want to be alone!? It's all your fault I don't have any friends in the first place! Thanks to you, everyone was too scared to so much as say 'hello' to me! You are the reason I don't have a single person to hang out with!" I practically growl the words into her face. Her smirk just grows and I barely restrain myself from attempting to break her nose again.
"You're doing pretty damn good on your own, Hebert. I know you know that I was following you— I saw the kids who tried to apologize. You just fucking looked down your nose at them, and made them run away with their tails between their legs. You-" I release her arms just long enough to get another punch in to her stomach, cutting her off in the middle of her sentence. Her hands curl around her instinctively, and I press forward, pinning them against her with a hand and the weight of my body. My other hand wraps around her neck.
"They were completely useless when I needed the help. They just stood by and let you do anything you wanted! They're completely worthless! I will not go crawling to the first set of idiots who try to cover their asses with lies and 'sorry's!" I'm actually panting by the time I'm done with that rant. Sophia is outright grinning now, even as I tighten my grip on her neck. I'm really tempted to go for another punch—
And then my back is against the wall, and I'm the one being held down. The way she moved so fast, and is barely even straining to keep me pinned, even as I throw all of my weight at her, makes abundantly clear what I already knew— she was letting me hit her.
"You're a tiger, Hebert. You stalk, you attack when they-we-would've least expected it. And you're perfectly fine without a pack, walking through the halls like you fucking own them." She's practically moaning this last bit out, and she's rubbing against me in a very distracting manner. I take a moment to catch my breath.
"If I'm a tiger, what does that make you? What kind of animal do you think of yourself as, in your messed-up predator-prey thing?" Sophia doesn't even hesitate. She answers fast enough that she must've been expecting this question.
"I'm a fucking lion, Hebert. I'm the leader of the entire fucking pride, and I take what I want!"
And then she's kissing me. It's just as nice as I remember, the way she presses against me, the way she closes her eyes and puts her all into it. Especially the way she loosens her grip as she gets distracted. A rough push forward and we're back in the same position as we were at my house, with me hovering over her. Sophia is flushed, breathing heavily, and entirely too cute, trapped beneath me. As I stare down at her, it finally hits me— this is why I was able to tie her down. She's stronger than me, but when she ends up excited, all that strength disappears with her distraction.
So I take advantage of it.
"You don't look like a lion right now, Sophia." I end the statement by slipping a hand into her pants, rubbing up against her cloth-covered slit with my palm. She lets out a loud-too loud-moan, and I cover her mouth with my other hand. Her fingers go from clawing at the ground to grabbing my wrists with a near-painful grip, which only grows tighter as I make slow circles with my palm.
"In fact, you look adorable beneath me. I think you're more of a kitten right now." She actually focuses somewhat, angry, and starts to move my hand from her mouth— only to lose that clarity as soon as I push the bridge of her panties to the side and stroke the curve of her pussy with one finger, then two. My thumb comes down to grind her clit— at this point, she's actively pushing her hips up while pulling down with her grip on my hand. I can feel the muffled whimpers through my palm.
The feeling of having Sophia whining in need beneath me is incredible. The only way this could get any better...
I cease my movements— Sophia's eyes flutter open as she tries to force me to resume with her hold on my hand— but she's much to distracted right now to give it her all. I take a few seconds to make sure I have her attention— then I move my grip from her mouth to her throat and lean in.
"You want more, kitten? Then ask me for it. Ask me to rub your pussy. Beg me-beg Taylor-for it." The demand has Sophia focusing faster, and she starts to actually begin pulling my hands away. That stops as soon as I press down with the pad of my thumb and scrape across her button— she dissolves into panting and weak tugs on my wrists.
"Fuck.... You.... Heb-AAAAHH!" Sophia is loud. Loud and stubborn. It takes several more loops of attempted resistance, pleasure, and so on before she gives in. At this point, her hands have returned to clawing at the ground, no doubt ruining her nails beyond repair. My hand is soaked, and there's a giant wet spot spreading along her jeans. I'm careful not to overdo it— Sophia needs to ask before I finish her. Lunch ended a good while ago. When she gives in, I'm pretty relieved— I don't soak my clothing as easily as Sophia, but after all this, there's a large wet spot of my own making on my underwear. If it kept on much longer I'd end up with a stain on my pants as well.
"Fucking.. FINE! P-pl.... PLEASE! Please rub my pussy, Tay-Tiger! Please, oh fuck, fuck me hard, Tiger!" It's not exactly what I wanted, but it's close enough. I could get used to a nickname like Tiger. Especially if I heard it from a writhing Sophia. I push inwards with my fingers, pressing three inside her right up to my knuckles before wiggling them in a wave-like motion as fast and hard as I can.
She screams. Sophia announces her orgasm to the entire school with great enthusiasm and deceptively big lungs for a girl her size. I cut it off after a second of shock by tightening down my grip on her throat, but that just seems to increase her pleasure. She's whipping around on the ground, almost convulsing as she wheezes with her eyes rolling into the back of her head.
Holy crap. I don't enjoy my orgasms nearly that much. I'm actually kind of jealous— but mostly I want to pull down my pants, shove her hand into my crotch and demand that she please me. Now isn't the time for that, though— I'm already really, really late for class, and while I'm sure Sophia the track star can get away with it, I'm not that popular. Plus, I want to just leave her here after completely dominating her-and wasn't that such a nice thought, completely dominating Sophia-while using her for pleasure would give her a kind of power. Instead, I pulled back, releasing her throat and slipping my hand out of her pants, leaving her glassy-eyed and panting on the grass. I study my fingers— they actually glisten in the light, they're so wet.
Luckily, I have a solution for that.
I take Sophia's chin in my clean hand, pull her head towards me, and shove my fingers into her mouth. She instinctively closes her lips and begins to suck— I have to suppress a moan of my own when she starts to lick. I take a moment just to enjoy the sensations, then reluctantly pull my digits away. Sophia tries to hang on— the last one leaves her mouth with a pop and a whimper.
She's so adorable like this.
"Bye, kitten. I'll see you soon!" I finally stand up, just as Sophia begins to regain her senses.
"F-fuck... You.. Hebert..." I actually snort. I wish she had. Walking away, I leave Sophia there to rest.
.....Tiger, huh? I could work with that. I'd have to stop by the boardwalk on the way home.
* * *
The next day at school, I show up in an orange t-shirt with black stripes.
Sophia takes one look at me and turns right around to walk in the other direction.
* * *
Sophia didn't stay away for long.
The day I wore the striped shirt to school was a Friday. A long weekend of laziness, a small amount of homework and way too much assisted masturbation in the basement, tied together with my new, bully-free status did wonders for my stress. It turns out that making a not-skintight suit was much more difficult than a tight one— I had to account for slack, both as I worked on it and where I wanted that slack to be further in. After the first failure, one that ended up sagging on me in all the wrong places, I rationed the silk much more stringently. I had a limited number of spiders, and if I depleted the local population by working them to death I'd have to go further and further to gather more. In the end, experimentation lead me to a couple of interesting discoveries.
The first one was that I had been severely underestimating the strength of the silk. I heard bullet-proof, but I hadn't taken into account the actual details beyond 'I can do this!' My first experimental creation was a light, eight-layer glove. My original suits had been layered down tightly, in stacks of twenty or more. That glove? It took a lot of pulling before I could so much as tear it. Going back and taking a pair of wire cutters to my original gloves revealed that once I was finished, I could probably take a sword to the face and fail to bleed.
After that, I went a little bit crazy with the stuff.
I messed around with ropes, cloth, and clothing. A double corded skein of silk (or threads wrapped around threads to form a rope, then wrapping those ropes around more ropes) wasn't hard to make. The thinnest one I created was only a little above half an inch in diameter, but it took my entire weight easily and endured five minutes of hacking with the aforementioned wire cutters before I could even see the start of a tear. Actual cloth weaving meant I could create blankets capable of acting like incredible heat retainers that were mild flame retardant and could hold under the strain of hundreds of pounds— and all of it could fit in a pocket, neatly folded.
When I started with the clothes? Well, I hadn't ever been one for excessive shopping, and had been annoyed more often than excited when Emma had dragged me around to look at 'the cutest dress!' when we were still friends. This, however? Weaving my own clothes? This was fantastic!
I started off simple— robes. I made two versions, with plans for a third once my production rate could handle it. The first one was fairly thin, with fifteen layers. It was light enough that I felt uncomfortable wearing it with anything less than full clothes on beneath. When I first tried it out, naked, I had to constantly glance down to remind myself that I was actually wearing something. The planned one was going to be a whopping seventy-five layers thick— it would be heavier than regular street clothes at that point, but still lighter than any non-synthetic material used to as clothes. With numerous folds planned, I expected to be able to take burst fire from a fairly high-caliber gun and make it out with nothing more than bruises! I would soak in damage from small arms fire like they were pellets! I would be able to freaking stop any kind of bladed weapon cold!
....but that was in the future. Right now, though, my third robe? It was amongst the lightest pieces I'd pulled together, at only six layers. And wearing it nude was an experience like no other. The cloth was so light on my skin I honestly wouldn't have been able to tell the difference between wearing it and not wearing it. It was almost see-through. If it laid flat against my skin you could see the difference in color as my flesh pressed against it, and due to my inexperience with such a light weave there were parts that hadn't come together tightly, forming patches where it was transparent. The whole thing was so light that the smallest breeze would send it fluttering like mad, and simply waving my arms shifted the whole thing. It straddled the line between 'technically covering all the necessary parts' and 'was that a nipple? I'm pretty sure that was a nipple.'
I had to retire that one. I didn't want my hero-ing to start with being arrested by the legal heroes for public indecency.
I had made a single pair of pants that were effectively business slacks with very small pockets. Two kinds of shirts had been created— the t-shirt and a t-shirt that made it abundantly clear that I wasn't wearing a bra. Even with my low bust size. The second had been my first try at actual clothing, thicker than the robe but still too thin. My last creations were also my favorite.
Namely, accessories and underwear.
