Chapter 8: Washroom Spill - R
SERICA
I rounded the washroom’s exit, Ains trailing my shoulder, "You did pretty good."
The emphasis she put on "pretty" did little to reassure me. I knew too little about eyeliner to apply it properly, yet enough to know that I’d botched it; the lines were uneven in some spots and smudged in others.
If Illia hadn’t insisted.
Everything pressed too tightly. The panties squeezed and clung, sticky with my still leaking after-release.
How does Cora put up with this shit?
Another tug hit our tether. I shook my head and pressed on at a speedy clip, holding it just short of a jog. Outside of exercise, running on campus was disallowed. A Bloom girl was either on time or late, and if late, they accepted the consequence. The periwinkle pleated skirt that Ainset chose for me rode too high for my liking. It’d likely belonged to someone shorter, or more brazen, or who didn’t have a dick to hide.
Not pretty good, pretty shit, I look like a cross-dresser.
My pack hung heavy, stuffed with half of Ainset’s haul; the other half waited tucked into the washroom footlocker for me to recover once my dorm room was assigned.
"You don’t have to patronize me-" I ripped wide around a corner and slammed my shoulder into someone, spun on my wobbly, too-loose kitten heels, and fell onto my ass, skirt flipped, bulge on display.
Fuck me...
"Watch where you’re going, you stupid- Serica you cunt!" It was Reilin, similarly splayed, with a cherry-red lace camel toe. She kicked a stiletto heel into my thigh, putting a rip into their off-white pantyhose.
What the hell happened to you?
She was a mess, hair disheveled, mascara in lines down her cheeks, over the smeared remains of a curly red lipstick mustache someone had drawn. Her expression was one of shock, anger, and sadness.
I pressed my skirt back down, wincing at the bruise blooming in my thigh.
Reilin ran a wrist across her face, and it came away looking like abstract art. "The fuck are you staring at?"
Serves you right. I wobbled back up onto my feet. Ainset looked back and forth between us, lips pursed wide. Reilin just looked away, legs splayed flat against cold tile, dress bunched around her shelf of an ass.
I’m not going to pity you.
How did this even happen? You have an Esprit, the Carillon.
Her leash was missing.
"Get up."
She kicked out a heel, clacking it to the floor.
Wrong audience.
A roar of applause echoed through the walls as commencement was well underway.
"Seriously? Move your ass Reilin." I nudged her with my foot, "Get up."
Another heel clack, a cheek twitch.
You look like a clown.
"Quit pitying yourself," I said and grabbed beneath her shoulder, dragging her up onto her heels, then swatted her butt, "Washroom, move."
She trudged, shoulders slumped, as I held pace from behind, Ainset watching like the two of us were a stage play.
Returning to the bathroom, I placed her in front of the sink, said "Hurry up," and slid the soap bar into her palm.
She just stood there, eyeing herself with scorn. Each passing second weighed upon my shoulders.
"Bitch, I’m done, you figure it out," I said, click-clacking to the door.
"Ser-"
"What? If you don’t want the help?"
Ditch her already. Three seconds, three...
"You know the Red Mill dancers?" she pressed the soap to her cheek, fingernails digging into it.
The fuck?
A bunch of men dancing and singing in lingerie, baudy, ridiculous. Yes, I was aware.
"Yes?"
Her chest shuddered, dragging the bar across her face, "That’s what you look like," she cringed, a stuttered giggle bouncing out of her, "Who dolled you up?"
"Hey you can’t-" Ainset pulled beside me, grabbing at my arm.
"Shut up Ains." I shouldered her off and stepped out of my heels, approached her in hose over a wet floor, and grabbed Reilin by her curls.
"Hey- hey!" she squealed, head yanking to the side.
"What the fuck is wrong with you!"
Her arms flailed, scoring a scratch across my elbow, "I don’t need your pity, you freak!"
"I don’t want to give it. You’re trash." I barked and let her go. She stumbled against the stall door, working her dress down her sides. Her left nipple peeked above its hem, breasts barely a handful.
I tore my gaze up to the ceiling, chest heaving, "Put your damn tit away."
"Oh- Whatever, you gonna pop an erection?" She hobbled closer, her hands lowering her top in the bottom of my eye. I couldn’t care less; the bathhouses were full of topless women, but I knew she’d take any stolen glance as an opportunity to hammer the nail. "Is there a pervert in the girls’ room?"
"That’s enough, you little shit!" Ainset said, swinging her bar at Reilin’s knees. She toppled, tits out, onto the floor,
"Ains!" I grabbed the bar’s end and wheeled the Esprit through the air like a banner, "Rei, are you okay?"
Reilin’s voice hummed like a bell trying to find rest, "No, I’m not okay! I think my leg’s broken, I was just humiliated publicly by that cunt Cechelle, somehow that got me all hot and bothered, and then you started acting nice..." As she blathered her cheeks flushed redder and redder, "so I had to knock you down a peg when what I really wanted was-" her hands clasped to her mouth, muffling the sound, but I still heard it, "for you to bend me over that sink and shove your filthy girl-cock in me!"
Holy shit.
"Bwa- whoops!" Ainslet began to cackle. I tossed the bar aside and she peeled across the room, legs kicking.
Tears were welling in Reilins eyes, but her mouth wouldn’t stop running, "Crap, crap, crap! Why can’t I stop talking? You, you evil bitch-" she turned to Ainslet, "I’m sure of it, you put some hex on me to, Nnnnnh- I can’t even lie? I was going to say you hexed me into saying all that but the fucking words didn’t come out right!" The noble brat thrashed her arms against the floor.