Witching Hour

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Freedom, Interrupted

Wednesday was a dirge for the zombie that was once known as Samantha. It was truly a question who was dragging ass more: her, or Ginger. Ginger at least had a (viable yet questionable) reason. Her “skin” was actually dead. BUT... at least it was new. After a month of Samantha being there and gods know how long before; a bloody miracle.

It seemed to have belonged to a bigger lass. Her breasts were far more pert with Ginger behind them than they ever were in life, and her face was more than a bloated balloon. It was as if the new tenant had more respect for the body than the old –which, considering it was Ginger, that was saying something. She even filled out the rump better. It still sagged, though, seen through the bright red nylon shorts Ginger put those cheeks in. Her black tank tore near the middle, even then barely covering the four thick folds there, showing off more of the pasty, white skin. It was so... pristine, shining, almost blinding in the light, but it wouldn’t be long before it would be ashy and gray. And so Samantha only cursed it a little as it scorched her eyes through the day... yet also thankful for it. It kept her awake, after all, and gave competition.

But mostly for keeping her awake. She did not want to close her eyes, and see those eight staring back again.

All night, every time she was about to nod off , she would see those purple gems glistening in the dark. She could hear its rasping voice and gnashing jowls try to form the simplest of words. With it came its ragged, bony body, its eight blackened, warped limbs reaching out, pulling her to her throbbing abdomen. It was free of all of its shell, showing the pale, rotting flesh under. Oh, how it squelched, how it contracted, pushing its curved needle out and towards her, dripping with green ooze.

Its eyes would brighten, and Samantha would jerk up in the bed, gasping at the phantom stinger that pierced through her middle. How she shook, cold sweat pouring out of her, coating her in a thick layer of rime that not even morning’s piss could clear. But it beat the poison that waited her every time she closed her eyes, again and again, repeating until her alarm gave her mercy.

After class, she would be able to pass out. Without even a chance of dreaming. Without ever seeing those eyes, but the students gave her worried looks come the next morning. She didn’t know why; the podium only left a slightly noticeable red bar across her face. Who really cared if she wore the same thing... three days in a row? It’s a free country! (Even if they were in a prison)... And what right did they have to judge? What about Ginger –especially Ginger!

Bunch of fucking hypocrites, I fucking swear, she thought, almost every hour on the hour, but she pushed through another day doing her best –only for Junmei to take over. Let him! Makes my job easier... Get paid the same- wait! I DON’T GET PAID! Lilith...

As class finished, though, and everyone was leaving -Marcy and Junmei “discussing” the lecture, Peter pulling his disappearing act, little miss skelington lurching out while Ayn stayed behind her- Norman was kind enough to help Samantha to her room. He even tucked her in, giving his sad smile. At least it was because of her sorry state in the room and not what awaited in her dreams once more. A fear he knew, as well. No one else seemed to, though; if they did, Bella would probably be down her throat or clawing up her ass, so that’s another mercy. For now.

By Saturday, Samantha was more than ready to be out of the halls, if only to feel fresh air on her face. The lavender scent that used to flow through the Halls had been swapped out for pumpkin. Samantha hadn’t realized this; it had become second-nature anymore that the air wasn’t exactly right. However, suddenly Jack started to chuckle while she taught Maths during the week –Thursday, she recalled. She wheeled about, away from a problem she wasn’t really sure she could solve without her book, and cocked her head at him.

“What? Did I do something wrong?” She said.

“Possibly, but no. Not that,” he said, and inhaled deeply, chuckling even more. “Oh, Kaylee would be so pissed right now.”

“What? W... wait. Is that pumpkin?”

“Yup! Oh, man. I wish- er, kind of hope she was down here right now.”

He shook, and shot a wary look at Norman, but the now orange-and-black-striped haired lad simply gave him a thumbs up. Peter, of all people, scoffed. He returned the day before, but now that Samantha was finally paying attention, she tensed a bit, wondering what would happen.

“How could you want such a thing on her?” He said, almost... offended.

“Gee, I don’t know. Maybe it’s because she’s the reason I’m down here!”

Peter got to his feet, and loomed over his desk.

“You are here because of what you have done.”

Jack, also, stood. “And what do you know about her, huh? There’s plenty of girls named Kaylee, you know. Maybe we’re thinking of two different bitches.”

Peter shook his head. “There is only one Kaylee I know that absolutely detests the orange gourd... Though... she still had a soft spot for it because of her sister, Jasmine.”

Jack was taken aback, his face pale. “How do you know that?”

Peter sighed heavily, and leaned back against his desk.

“Because she gave me blood. When I needed it most.”

“Can fangs give other fangs blood?” Junmei said. “I always wondered that.”

“In dire situations.”

“And how dire was it?”

“The Great War... or, I suppose it’s only known as the first World War now.”

“You’re that old?”

“Older,” Jack answered for him, and shook his head. “Older than me, more than like.” He shook his head, and an odd emotion crossed his face. It was so strange that Samantha wasn’t sure, exactly, what it was. It was so... unbecoming on Jack, so out of place. “So, you met her out on the front lines, huh?”

“You could say that... but I digress. You should not speak about Kaylee that way. She is a kind, strong woman. A caring lass. A-”

“Girl you have the hots for,” Marcy finished for him. Bitter. Definitely bitter. Which made Samantha feel oh, so elated. Karma is a bitch. And I love her.

Peter recoiled, and sat in his seat, shaking his head.

“No... No! I don’t, and I would kindly ask that you don’t say that again.”

“I mean, you’re the one getting all huffy about what Jack said and saying how she’s so great. If that’s not attraction I don’t know what-”

“Says the harpy,” Ayn mumbled.

Marcy... and Buffy both shot to their feet, fluttering up to her.

“What did you say?” They squawked, and continued to prattle and crow away. They pecked at her with such cruel words, raked at her with their talon tongues, but she didn’t even bat an eye. She simply gave them a bored look, and, before long, even grew tired of that, looking to Samantha. Ayn rolled her wrist, and the harpies jumped as Samantha slammed her book. Which made Ayn smile; no one was a winner there.

“On that note, let’s move to Science. Junmei?” Samantha said, and gestured to the front of the class.

“With pleasure,” he said, already hurrying to the front, and once more took over the class, entrancing them with his teachings –which finally left Samantha to check her phone. She tapped her foot, grumbled softly, cursing at herself. She should have stopped that far sooner, but the juicy gossip, and actually knowing more about her students, was too good to pass up. She raised her cell a little, reflecting, looking back at Jack. He was still a touch flustered, the mask he wore day-to-day shattered by what Peter told him... but why?

And then there was Peter.

Even after all this time, she still knew nothing of him... but... why did he deny he was attracted? What else was there?

If it wasn’t for those bird brains, I would have known, she thought, and sighed... She opened her phone, and shot a message to Lola..

Sup, bich. What are we doing tonight?

She waited... and waited... and listened to Junmei in the background talking about tissue and how it was different between human and himan due to- oh look! A reply.


Samantha blinked. What? Why?

Lilith put us back on our old schedule. We’ll be lucky to even have Sunday off. Students’ grades slipping hard.

But we haven’t even had our first (official) tests yet; that’s not until next week!

Down there, maybe, so make sure they all pass with flying fucking colors... got to go. ‘Lunch break’ over; she even cut that.

What got into her craw?

But there was no reply. It had been read, the dots had shown she started to type, but, after a couple minutes, they disappeared.

“Dammit,” Samantha blurted... a bit too loud. She looked up, and Junmei stood before her. Eye-level with his crotch. His slit was throbbing a little, creeping open with the attention it was receiv- the rest of the class was staring at her. She shot to her feet and cleared her throat, finding the board was cleaned, cleared, and ready for the next segment. “Thank you, Junmei. You did a great job.”

“Thank you?” He said, and slithered to the back as Ayn walked up the other aisle, a routine. “It was only review.”

“Which a good review is the difference between a D and an A.” She cleared her throat, and creased her fingers incredibly tight. Her cheek was going to be sore, if not bleeding, as she fought back her giggles and pulled out the art book, building anticipation for what still awaited under. “Today we will be doing some art, and, because I know all of you are so anxious to get back to the music hall, we’re doing...” She reached under again, and pulled out row after row of ramekins. The table clinked joyously with them, easily a hundred in all, as well as several bottles of water and cases of paint, ready to be put in and used on the paper she pulled out last. “Finger painting!”

She boomed it, and could no longer keep her giggles in as they groaned. Junmei and Bella gave her the evilest of looks, while Monica looked absolutely ecstatic. Junmei, especially, looked indignant to the sight of those cups. Bella, though not as insulted, was almost as sullen.

“What do you take us for, children?” Junmei spat.

Samantha tittered, waving it off.

“Nonsense! Finger painting is fun regardless of age-”

“If you are mentally ill,” Ayn blurted.

“Have you seen where we are?” Buffy said. “You would have to be insane not to be.”

“But it’s lovely down here,” Lisa interjected, pouting. “It’s better than living in the forest.”

“Okay. Let me rephrase: You have to be fucking senile to love finger painting,” Ayn said.

“Haven’t you learned anything?” Monica shrilled. “Art is about expression, about creativity and freedom! Age, mentality, sexuality; there are no boundaries. Finger painting is the oldest form of art.”

“Well said,” Samantha grumbled, indignant herself for taking Monica’s side... She shook her head. “You might as well all try. We’ll be getting to more of the other styles too, so humor me.”

“Okay!” … Ginger, of all people, said. She hopped over the others, landing with barely a noise before Samantha –save for her rolls slapping together. She heaved them back into place as she righted, as she pushed back her neon blue-and-pink hair from her face, and smiled at Samantha. “Let’s do this! I’ll hand them out.”

Samantha... nodded, and gulped down what little breakfast she had as she handed the supplies off to that... thing. Even if it wasn’t rotted flesh yet, fat was still unappealing, especially on a frame not made for it. With time, it will be trimmed down by its new tenant, again shown more care, more activity for it than its original keeper, but still watching it in motion made her stomach churn.

Thankfully, Samantha had her own reason to move around the room. One by one, she placed a long sheet of plastic wrap over the desks, covering down to the floors. It squeaked so much as Ginger walked back and forth along it, setting down paper, water glasses, napkins, and, of course, paint. There were three cups of each of the primary colors, as well as nine extra for each person –and additional if any were, say, too proud. Samantha even covered her podium and the table, ready to begin alongside. What better way to teach than to lead... said someone far more wise than her, but she’ll say she said it if they ask.

“Now, before we delve into the primitive, any questions?” Samantha said... though most were already painting. The only ones that weren’t were the usual suspects. Jack simply shook his head as he readied his; Norman was all smiles, mixing and creating colors in two of his cups... While Lisa accidentally got her hand under one and was in desperate need.

“Why are we doing this again?” Junmei said, though. “I asked this for music, and I’m asking it here. This is... pointless! Futile. This won’t help us at all out in the real world-”

“Especially since it’s fucking finger painting!” Ayn boomed, and glanced back at Monica. “Well? You’re the Renaissance woman here. Got a... response for...”

Monica didn’t even notice Ayn talking to her, simply humming away, lost to the motions. Ayn went dead silent, which made Junmei ask what was wrong –or start to, turning his head back. His jaw dropped, the question lost, as he watched her hands squelch on the page. Her index was stained brown, a heavy mix of all three, creating borders, while her other hand seemed to weave a tapestry of color, create a fabric of beauty right before their very eyes.

Ayn turned completely around, watching, mouth agape as well as the unwilling of the class watched Monica work, birthing such delicate lines, such intricate webs of vibrant shades. Samantha couldn’t help but be attracted as well, looking down upon that growing tapestry, showing a pair of lovers in the thralls of intimacy, the woman upon the page smiling so softly in the dim light.

Monica coated her lips in a small shade of pink, and kissed that woman, giving her the final touch on hers... and finally looked up.

“What?” She said, wiping the paint away.

“... I need to talk with you after class,” Samantha said, and returned to her desk. As it went on, though, she felt... embarrassed, overwhelmed. She was barely able to draw a “dog” before her alarm buzzed on her phone. And was more than happy to wipe her hands clean before it did. She gathered the assorted cups and pictures --and felt a bit better seeing Ayn’s. She was still glaring at Monica, but it was obvious why, seeing the... squiggle in comparison to the lovers under a moonlit sky, twinkling with stars, as they waded with the waves in their intercourse of raw bliss. “Right. We won’t be able to play today because, you know, Murphy’s Law. No matter how much we scrub, there will always be that one bit of paint that will get on the instruments and that’s a price we all don’t want to pay. So... it’s an early day. Enjoy the rest of it.”

Bella huffed, and was the first to leave. She slammed the door behind her, opened again as the rest of the students filed out. Save for Minos and Monica. Monica stood before the podium, bouncing- no, hopping on her heels, making her white tube top bound with each. Completely clean... How? Her rear was no better, accentuating a pair of tight blue shorts, starting to rip in between those cheeks.

“Yes, teach?” Monica said, giggling. “Are you finally going to have your way with me?”

“Absolutely not.” Minos stated.

“Eh? You’re still here?”

“I’m simply making sure Sam is fine.”

“Afraid of little old me doing something?”


She tittered, and looked back at Samantha, at the picture in her hands. “Ah! I take it you aren’t a fan? Sorry-not sorry. It’s art. You cannot contain art! Vive le Revolution!!!”

“It’s... it’s not that,” Samantha said. “At all. In fact, I love it. I’m just wondering... how.”

“How what?”

“You know... how someone like you could be so... talented.”

She scoffed, puffing her cheeks, flushing a touch as she looked away.

“I’m not only about sex, you know. I’ve been around long enough to learn other things.”

“Which raises the question: just how old are you?”

“Don’t you know it’s not polite to ask a lady- another lady her age.”

“Just curious... Give me a hint, at least.”

“Alright, alright... Um... Okay! When I was turned, Cleopatra was still queen of Egypt... though she was declining fast.”

“No way. Y... you don’t even have an accent.”

“Of course not, silly. I’ve been in the States for, like, ever now. I spent a lot of time in the west.” She sighed, hugging her front. “Those were the days. So many rugged men wanting a piece. They all sucked, but it still felt so good to have so much adoration. Especially in Tombstone.”

“So you’re not only a whore, but an old whore,” Minos said.

She stuck out her tongue. “Yup! Now, at least, and I’m clean! No diseases ever!” She leaped onto his lap and grabbed his horns, playing, teasing them, tittering as he moaned and squirmed. “I mean, I’ve been in every walk of life at least twice, but I always found sex the most... unsatisfying.”

“Unsatisfying?” Samantha said.

Monica nodded, and nipped Minos’s nose, squeezing his horns even tighter as he bucked up against her. She cooed, and rode in his lap, giggling.

“It’s why I want to be the best. Literally no one has before. Some got close -good old Freddy for example- but I want to show the world it is possible to master sex, and... when you do...”

She nipped the tip of Minos’s right horn, and he brayed, falling back into a moan as he exhaled. His hands clawed at his desk, trembling, carving away underneath his nails, but they refused to move from there. She let go of one of his horns, and pulled his hands free, letting them fall on her rump, to grope it as she continued to lick and stroke the other horn. He grunted, and Monica cried out, squealing a touch as he buried his face in between her breasts, the fabric audibly ripping under his teeth.

“You see, Sam? Even the wildest beast can be tamed,” she said, and kissed the top of his head. She giggled, and climbed out of his lap onto the desk. His red eyes were heavily lidded, looking after, tongue lulling as she continued to pinch and stroke his horn. Meanwhile, her other hand had gone lower, pulling aside her shorts. “Why don’t you put that tongue to good use, Minos? Show teach what she is in for.”

Samantha scoffed, but couldn’t help but feel a touch... betrayed as Minos did. He leaned against her, starting soft, for even him, lapping at those folds. Monica’s moans softly rose, rising with his slurps, with his sucks against her bud down there, all the while still stroking his horn. She raised her left breast to her lips, sucking on it, only to let it flop out as she mewled and panted.

It wasn’t long before Monica grabbed both horns again. Her legs wrapped around his neck, pulling him in as she laid back on the desk, looking back at Samantha. There was such a rosy hue in her cheeks, only burning brighter with each snorting lap, with each long suck, before her mouth creased into an O. Minos spluttered, but gulped, face shining with a soft musk as she climaxed on his face, and only then did Monica let him truly go.

But he was not done.

He bolted to his feet, and held down her wrists above her head. She squealed, terror fleeting over her face before giving back into pleasure as he sucked on her breasts. Samantha couldn’t see, but his hips were grinding against her, his pants still in the way, but whatever was rubbing against her was still making Monica grunt and pant so much.

“Let my hands go, Minos, and I’ll pull them down,” she whispered, but her speaking must have broke whatever spell she had on him. He looked up, up at Samantha... and shook his head. His cheeks were a bit greened under the sheen she had left, and he looked furious as he stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind. Monica sighed, a disdainful look on her face as she glanced over her breasts, only finding them somewhat reddened by his lips. “He definitely needs work.”

She ran a hand down between her legs, licking them clean.

“But he is a cumming machine! Damn! This is just pre, and it’s already so thick. I can only imagine what the real product will be like.”

“You guys never did it?” Samantha said, freed at last as well. She reached into her drawer and pulled out the cold water bottle –more for herself.

“Nope. We cuddled, but that’s about it... Really, I didn’t expect him to give in now, but I suppose he’s getting absolutely pent up. Wouldn’t doubt it that later he will allow me to suck him off.”

“Just... just go. Oh, and next time you do that, I’ll spritz you down with the entire thing.”

Monica simply shrugged. “Why didn’t you do it this time? Methinks somebody has a voyeur feti-”

She yowled as Samantha got her right in the lower lady lips, and collapsed the desk. She rolled off to the wall, where she received a thorough dousing of the water before she could stand and bolt out of the room, little more than a watery blur. A “shadow” of herself was left in her wake, a frigid shell from all that water, and it was holding up a middle finger, and two fingers, where her tongue pushed in between. It collapsed soon after, though, and Samantha waited for her door to slam, then doused herself, shivering, and left the classroom.

Going to Minos’s.

She knocked on it, not daring to slide the shield away, and waited for the soft grunting to stop. Feet slowly lumbered to the door, and Minos pulled the slide away, giving her a rather perturbed look.

“What,” she asked, shrugging. “It’s not her fault your horns are so easy.”

She giggled, but heaved a weary sigh as he slammed the shield shut.

“You could have stopped her,” he grumbled.

“And why would I do that, Minos? You seemed to be enjoying it. You waited after class for it, and even seem to care for her.”

The metal rung, and was pushed out in a solid circle near the center.

“I do not care at all for that fucking whore!” He boomed.

“Oh, come now, Minos. You two are meant for each other. After all, she wants every dick in her. You want your dick in everything-”

“I don’t!”

“Could have fooled me... In any case, I’ve got to go rest. No idea what I’m doing tomorrow, but can’t stay here all the time.”

“... You’re right... you’ve got to go whore, yourself.”

She punched the metal back into place and stormed up to her room... dousing herself one more time, though that didn’t stop her hands from wanting to roam. The need had never been stronger... she needed some way to get her mind off it.

And somebody knocked on her door.

Buffy entered, holding her machine and smiling away.

“Thought we’d get in a bit tonight. Show those asses up for rushing ahead,” she said, and plopped on the bed with her... before seeing the look on Samantha’s face. And the tears that had rolled without any attention. “You okay?”

“Y... yeah,” she said, and wiped her face, pulling out her own device. “Right... What are we doing?”

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