FOREWORD

 

This story is copyrighted. Please do not repost this without my express consent, or use it for your profit. The characters portrayed herein are not based on any real people - any likeness to any person living or dead is purely coincidental.

 

While this story is not intended to offend, it does contain material that you may consider offensive. If you find non-consensual sex, humiliation and blackmail (just a few of the themes in this story) unpalatable, then please, for your sake, do not read any further. For the rest of you fellow deviants, hi! I hope you enjoy it.

 

One last thing: further installments to this story will depend on feedback - and if it's rubbish, let me know! Also, your suggestions are more than appreciated, so if you have any ideas that you feel might enhance the story, feel free to email me: kaden890@hotmail.com.

 

Now, without further ado!

 

Welcome to Clementine Academy.

 

========================================== Chapter One, Part One

 

In which Chloe Anne Valentine sets herself up for an unhappy future.

 

(Section codes: slow)

 

Chloe Valentine sat cross legged on an unusually plush leather couch outside the headmaster's office of Clementine Academy, playing Snake on her mobile. She'd given up trying to make sense of the muffled voices of her mother and the head teacher, who were no doubt negotiating terms for her enrolment. Chloe was a bad girl, or so the education board had decided. She was a rebel. Some said was a disposition born from her unfortunate tendency to fall into the wrong crowds, others believed that it was the direct cause of an unhappy home. Whenever Chloe's will had been contested by a so-called authority figure, she'd had "violent episodes", according to the complaints on her permanent record. This was, in fact, the cause of her first expulsion, after she'd had an argument with her physical education teacher and attacked him with a badminton racket.

 

Her real problem was that she considered school to be a waste of her time. "Well, if that's how you feel," the guidance teacher of her last school had asked. "Why don't you just leave?"

 

Chloe supposed she just hadn't decided what to do with her life yet. School, to her, was youth limbo. 'Time to plan ahead' was what her guidance counsellor suggested she make of it, although this invariably translated into endless procrastination:

 

'I wanna be an artist'. She could; her doodles were excellent, but "artist" was rather a grandiloquent term for her talent. "Tattoo artist", perhaps. 

 

'I wanna be an actress'. She could probably do that too; she was clever, and could convince people of nonsense with quite the serious (or otherwise appropriate) face - but didn't that just make her a good liar? 

 

'Or maybe I'll be a model', she'd tell herself, striking poses in the mirror. It was another potential future for Chloe; she was a bit short of gorgeous, but that didn't mean she still couldn't turn heads with a little effort. Effort she rarely, if ever, made. She had beautiful, long, thick dark-brown hair and chestnut eyes, pale skin and a slender, lithe body; assets she undervalued. For whenever Chloe talked about a future in modelling, she was joking. When she struck a pose, she aimed for a caricature of herself. She had low self-esteem, but that was all terribly well hidden by a bad attitude.

 

Her snake took a wrong turn, missed the apple and went crashing into itself. It was Game Over. Chloe sighed and chucked her mobile onto the sofa beside her. It was a stupid game anyway, she thought. What use has a snake for apples? And why should coiling in on itself have such disastrous consequences? 

 

Chloe was bored. They'd been in there for almost forty minutes now. What on earth could they be talking about that should take so long? Chloe stuck the tip of her thumb in her mouth and chewed the nail absently, looking around the empty waiting room. The walls were dotted with weird pictures, what Chloe could only imagine were weak attempts at modern (and therefore abstract) art, but they had a distracting effect. Her eyes were inexplicably drawn to the mundane drawings; pictures of plants with legs and painted toenails, animals with sultry, pouting lips, a motorbike standing at a podium, giving a speech to hundreds of other vehicles. Chloe thought they were all pretty stupid. Probably quite expensive, though. Well, if she decided she wanted to be expelled from this school, stealing them might be a good way to go about it. 

 

The door to the office opened and the headmaster poked his head around the doorframe. He was a short, podgy man with a bald patch and kind blue eyes. He smiled politely at Chloe.

 

"Would you like to come in and take a seat, Miss Valentine?" he asked. Chloe grunted, snatched up her phone and slid off the sofa. She stepped into the office and took a seat next to her mother, in front of the headmaster's mahogany desk. "Dr Hodges," read the name-plate facing their direction. 'A doctor of what?' Chloe wondered, but the good doctor explained it for her.

 

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Chloe," he said, smiling again. "My name is Dr Hodges, but I am the headmaster for this school, I assure you. The degree is in psychology."

 

'Great,' Chloe thought. 'Psycho-analysis time. More fucking inkblots that look like badminton rackets'.

 

"Don't worry though," said Dr Hodges, as if reading her mind. "I won't be analysing your every move and mood: we have staff here that are paid to do that instead." He laughed, and Chloe's mother chuckled. Chloe cast her a sidelong glance, irritated.

 

"Now," said Dr Hodges. "Shall we get down to business? I have a few things for you to sign, Miss Valentine. For official purposes..."

 

Chloe hadn't anticipated that she could possibly pushed to further depths of boredom, but Dr Hodges exceeded himself in that capacity. Not only did he lavish her with careful praise - a naked tactic to try and warm her to the forthcoming lecture on school policy - by pinpointing the few, isolated lines in her permanent record that actually spoke well of her; mostly her achievements in art. Of course, the compliments didn't keep coming for long. There was only so much you could say about a girl like Chloe to make it sound as though she might have a promising future. At one point, the headmaster had even requested that he take Chloe's photograph. "For official purposes", of course. Chloe didn't smile.

 

"You understand, Chloe, that due to your prior... misadventures, this school will not tolerate any bad behaviour on your part?" Dr Hodges asked.

 

Chloe dug a finger into the pocket of her jeans and fished out a packet of Juicy Fruit chewing gum, unwrapped it with one hand and popped it in her mouth. She started chewing, and nodded.

 

"Good. I'm glad. Also, seeing that you're both here together," Dr Hodges glanced at Mrs Valentine, and then back at her daughter. "It might be an idea to discuss our "buddy system" policy for children with behavioural issues..."

 

And he did. What Hodges went onto outline in the next fifteen minutes left Chloe aghast, and on the ride home, she expressed her feelings calmly and succinctly to her Mother:

 

"This is fucking stupid, Mom!" she'd said, and her Mother had shrugged. Secretly, she was actually quite pleased by Dr Hodge's system; it would mean Chloe wouldn't have the chance to associate with whatever "bad elements" Clementine might have, at least to begin with. The buddy system, as far as Mrs Valentine was concerned, was ingenious. For the first three months of any pupil's enrolment to the school, they are assigned a voluntary "buddy": a capable, exemplary pupil of both academic and social proportions. This buddy is allocated a seat next to, or near the pupil in every available class and encouraged to associate with the pupil during lunch and break times. In exchange, the "mentor" is compensated with extra credit, which allowed them to drop a class or two in some cases.  The idea of the system is that the positive qualities of the accomplished buddy rub off on the bad-apple pupil. 

 

Chloe was in a strop for the rest of the ride home. She glared out of the passenger window, her delicate features scrunched into a brattish frown. She spoke only once, and that was to snap at her Mother for turning the radio station to a "the golden oldies" channel.

 

Chloe's mood lessened in intensity as the evening progressed. The Valentines had just recently moved house; a necessity after Chloe's banishment from her previous school. As such, the house was full of boxes that dotted the hallway and swarmed what her Chloe's Mother had decreed would eventually be the guest room. Chloe's room was in particular disarray. Mrs Valentine had left her to deal with unpacking her own gear, and it was a decision she was sorely regretting. Two weeks and all Chloe had managed to do was turn each box on its head and empty her belongings out onto the floor. Clothes and CDs made up her carpet, along with the occasional bundle of notes from her last school. Chloe didn't really seem to own anything else.

 

However, the strain and stress of moving and unpacking meant that, for the last few weeks, Mrs Valentine had been too exhausted to cook, which meant Chloe got to feast on a variety of free take-aways and this always seemed to lighten her mood. By the time she'd consumed her body weight in sweet and sour chicken and noodles, she was her lightened self again.

 

About an hour after their meal, Chloe lay stretched out on the sofa, while her Mother sat contentedly in a dowdy armchair that she'd bought from a charity shop two days ago; a furnishing Chloe had refused to touch due to the fact that it, quote, "looked like a skin disease". They were both watching television, but there wasn't really anything on. The telephone rang.

 

"Phone," Chloe announced, without taking her eyes from the screen.

 

"You're closest," her Mother protested.

 

"It's never for me," Chloe replied.

 

"You never know. It might be Grant," her Mother teased, not yet aware that Chloe had finished with him shortly before the move. He was a good-looking guy, but he hadn't really interested Chloe for long. He was a bit wet, she thought, for a guy. She hadn't given him much thought since she'd left. And she certainly hadn't given him a forwarding telephone number.

 

When Chloe didn't move, her Mother sighed and dragged herself out of the skin disease. There was a short exchange, which Chloe didn't listen to, until her Mother announced:

 

"It's for you, love."

 

"Who is it?"

 

"Here," her Mother dodged the question. Chloe scowled, and hopped off the sofa, taking the telephone from her Mother. 

 

"Hallo?" she spoke into the receiver.

 

"Hi, Chloe?" asked the voice on the other end. It was male, but she didn't recognise it.

 

"Maybe. Who's this?"

 

"My name's Chris. I'm sorry to call you so late. You aren't busy, are you?"

 

"No," Chloe replied. "But I don't know anybody called Chris."

 

"No, not yet you don't," the voice smiled, charismatic. "I'm at Clementine's, too. Dr Hodges asked me to give you a call this evening. I've been assigned to you as your buddy."

 

Chloe hung up.

 

 

 

========================================== Chapter One, Part Two

 

In which Christopher Allan Walker expresses his disappointment.

 

(Section codes: slow)

 

Willing to give Chloe the benefit of the doubt, Chris first checked his mobile, making sure that the battery hadn't died or he hadn't run out of credit. Then he redialled her number, but the telephone had apparently been left off the hook. Chris tossed his mobile onto the bed and walked over to the mirror, scrutinising his own reflection. Pinching two fingers together, carefully, he plucked at a few strands of hair until the gel held it spiked in a more pleasing manner. 

 

Chris was a lot of things, but his vanity was what he considered to be his worst quality. Not because he believed self-obsession was something to be ashamed of, but because taking care of his looks ate into so much of his free time. And style wasn't exactly inexpensive, either. Chris had once taken the time to work out that in some weeks, he actually spent more money on hair gel, hair wax, hair putty, hair spray, shampoo, conditioner, moisturising cream, exfoliating gels, scented scrubs, pore-cleansing wipes and various other hygiene-enhancing products than he did on food. Which was, he fully realised, insane. But if that was the price of looking so good, he thought, then he was getting off light.

 

After a few long, careful moments of preening and self-maintenance, Chris tore himself away from the mirror and returned to his biology revision. Chris was Clementine's star pupil, its pride and joy: a student that excelled in almost every subject, with an aptitude for anything he seemed to put his mind to. He was validation for the school's grandiose claims that it educated and bred "some of the finest students the country has to offer". 

 

But Chris Walker wasn't exactly a boy to follow by example, for the large majority of his successes and achievements were wrought through crooked activity. Chris was an extremely bright, clever young man, but he was lazy, too. And from this blend of intelligence and sloth, his conniving, deceitful ways had been born. Chris was a liar, a thief and a man as manipulative as they came. He attained test scores through prior insight to the test's content, and his expansive list of achievements could invariably be credited to someone else's effort. Through bribery, blackmail or other intimidating method, Chris usually got what he wanted. If he didn't, someone else wound up in a bad way.

 

Chris flicked open his biology textbook to reveal a sheaf of paper tucked between its pages, the answers for his upcoming exam scrawled there by one of his many informants. As he suspected, he'd be committing to memory various obvious definitions as well as a few specific nuggets of information. Osmosis, diffusion, species indicators - bitch - genetic formulae, cell structures, Darwinian theory - fucking hang up on me - and its contestors, various differences between animal and plant base cells - nobody fucking hangs up on me - and so on and so forth.

 

Eventually, Chris got bored. He slapped the book shut and loaded up his pc, selecting a few tracks for easy listening to help him relax. He picked up Dr Hodge's letter, which had been delivered to him during English class earlier on in the day, and stared at the request with disgust. The buddy program. It was a ridiculous concept. Reform the convicts! Chris snorted, and read over the juicier lines of the headmaster's request. One such gem read:

 

"... in assisting Clementine Academy in making the new girl, Chloe Valentine, feel welcome. As you may have heard, Chloe was ejected from full-time education in her last school under extreme circumstances which, in the interests of confidentiality ..."

 

Chris wondered what exactly "extreme circumstances" amounted to, but didn't give it too much thought. Such official terminology was too vague to assess. Extreme circumstances could mean anything from threatening a teacher to burning the school down. Heck, he'd seen some student profiles that had seen them seriously reprimanded for refusing to conform to Clementine's strict religious attitude and attend church every Sunday morning. Expulsion usually meant extreme over-reaction, as far as Chris was concerned.

 

Besides, he thought, unclipping a photocopy of Chloe's polaroid from the letter and stroking her face with his thumb, this girl was too cute to be mean. Why, if you squinted, she almost looked like that chick off Neighbours. And that was no bad thing. 

 

Rubbing his crotch absently, Chris resolved to add Chloe to the list of achievements. Sure, she was being uncooperative at the moment, but she hadn't met him yet. Let her resolve weaken a little, have her conform to this stupid buddy program so Chris could have his extra credit and drop a class. This little project was easy points for the lucky Clementine student appointed to handle it. The only downsides, as far as Chris could foresee was that, one, he'd actually have to work on this one himself and two, he'd have to spend time with a potential social reject.

 

But hey, he reminded himself. She's cute. And if she did prove to be a stubborn little fox, well, Chris had ways of dealing with that, too.

 

Sighing, aroused now, Chris sunk down in his chair and fired up his internet browser. Destination, porn.

 

 

 

========================================== Chapter One, Part Three

 

In which a very naughty girl meets a very nasty boy.

 

(Story codes: slow)

 

Mrs Valentine had offered to give her daughter a lift to school, but Chloe had opted to take the school bus instead. It wasn't that she particularly wanted to associate with her future classmates as soon as possible, it was merely that she didn't want to be seen being dropped off by her Mother. She could be... unpredictable, sometimes. So, slumped over two seats and her legs kicked up over an arm rest, Chloe rode the bus.

 

Clementine had prescribed a school uniform to Chloe's Mother, which Chloe had opted not to wear despite such action contradicting the agreement Dr Hodges had had her sign in his office two days previously. Chloe had taken one look at the stuffy, maroon abomination and had turned her nose up to it. Defying every point of the school dress code, Chloe was wearing pumps instead of shoes, trousers under her pleated, grey school skirt and a comfortable black shirt that used to belong to her father, who had been a small man. The maroon overcoat bearing the Clementine insignia, shirt and tie that had been donated to her during administration had been deliberately left neatly folded at her bedside back home.

 

Chris was four seats behind Chloe and very curious indeed. He sat, ignoring his friends, staring at her dangling legs and thinking his perverted thoughts. Unlike the adorable little rebel a few seats ahead, Chris adhered strictly to Clementine's school policy, claustrophobic and abhorrent though it was. It was a means to serve an end, after all. 

 

The fact that Chloe shared the same bus as Chris was good news. It meant she lived nearby, which meant if she became a problem for him in school over the buddy program, he could become a problem for her outside school hours without having to walk too far.

 

The bus crawled to a halt outside Clementine's gates and discharged its student cargo, before trundling off again. Chris caught up with Chloe on her way to the school entrance. She was heading to the office to collect her timetable for the school year.

 

"Hi there," Chris said, appearing by her side and matching her pace. It was a little slower than he liked to walk; it felt like a stroll without purpose.

 

Chloe glanced at him. "Hallo," she replied.

 

"We've been introduced already," Chris said, flashing his best smile. He'd spent seven minutes brushing and four minutes flossing this morning.

 

Chloe stopped walking, and Chris turned to face her. He was pretty sure she thought he was cute. He registered a slight blush and inconsistent eye contact. 

 

"The stupid buddy system?" Chloe asked. "Hey, Craig, no offence-"

 

"Chris," Clementine's pride and joy interjected casually.

 

"Chris, then. I don't mean to offend you or anything, but you can hang out with me all you like. It's not going to inspire me to think happy thoughts and be a good girl for Hodges. So, if you don't mind-"

 

"Actually, I do mind," Chris said. His mobile phone started ringing in his pocket. Irritated, he clamped one hand over his leg, muffling it.

 

"That's a pity. It would've been easier if you didn't," Chloe said. "Your phone's ringing."

 

And with that, she turned on her heel and marched indoors. 

 

"Fuck," Chris said, pulling out his phone. "What?" he demanded.

 

"Hey, Walker. News from the hub, buddy."

 

It was Mitchell. Mitchell was the closest thing Chris had to a friend, but was still not an individual he was beyond manipulating, especially given his exceptional computer skills. Hacking was his middle name. Well, it was if you pronounced "George" really badly. The "hub" was what Mitchell referred to as Clementine's head office which, in this instance, meant he'd done Chris' homework on the new girl for him already.

 

"What've you got, amigo?"

 

"Valentine, Chloe. Seventeen years of age. Fuckable. There's a photo of her here," Mitchell said.

 

"I've got her mug shot. Hodges sent me a copy from his private collection when he drafted me in on this stupid program," Chris replied.

 

"Got her ear-marked yet?"

 

"I'll be making her scream my name before the week's out, dude."

 

The bell rang, indicating the beginning of the school day.

 

"Hah, 'course you will. Let's just hope this little rabbit's of the willing variety this time."

 

"Doesn't matter if she's not, really. I'm too clean-cut for a delinquent like her to damage my name, if there's cause for drastic measures. But yeah, I'm trying for consensual, but she's just so fucking... ah, never mind. Look, I gotta get to class. What's the news?"

 

"Oh, right. Well, seems like she's a real firecracker, that one. Her last head teacher practically wrote a thesis on her anti-social behaviour. Comes from a wrecked home, lonely background, typical tear-jerker stuff. Daddy's dead. Something to do with narcotics and hookers, but no juicy details. Mom's got herself a mental disorder. "Simple" schizophrenia, whatever that is. Chloe... well, she's a wannabe drug dealer, man. Got caught peddling her Mom's brain medicine to a bunch of fourteen year-olds on school premises."

 

Chris laughed. "Thanks, buddy. Hey, fill me in on the rest at lunch. Gotta go or I'll be late."

 

"See ya," Mitchell said, and Chris hung up and went to class.

 

 

 

========================================== Chapter One, Part Four

 

In which the rebellious Miss Valentine is reprimanded for her dreadful attire.

 

(Section codes: slow)

 

"This is a most displeasing attitude you're displaying, Chloe," said Hodges. "I had hoped you might show some interest in fitting in here."

 

Chloe had made it to fourth period before a teacher, well-known amongst the student population for being anal, had sent her to the headmaster as a result of her dress.

 

"Sorry," Chloe wasn't. She'd spent fifteen minutes staring at Dr Hodges' mind-boggling art investment outside his office, trying to comprehend what level of stupidity or madness would compel a man to buy such a selection of monstrosities. Sitting in his office now, Chloe wasn't feeling inspired to behave all dilligent and respectful in lieu of such poor taste. Even the decor of Hodges' office was rife with ill taste, from the gold-plated name plate on his mahogany desk to the psychiatrist-plush leather chairs and mauve wallpaper. Who did this guy think he was? The head teacher of a sub-standard school, or a rich and successful psychiatrist? Or, perhaps the more apt question was: what did this guy wish he was? Chloe couldn't respect a guy that refused to come to terms with his own reality.

 

Hodges tried another approach. "How's the buddy program going? You've been in... two classes with Chris, now? How are you two getting along?"

 

"Oh, famously. He's like my best friend already," Chloe said, twirling a lock of hair around one finger.

 

Dr Hodges wasn't stupid. He picked up the sarcastic undertones immediately, somewhat proud at his speed of detection and, indeed, his expectation of Chloe's tone. He clasped his chubby fingers together on his desk and leant forwards.

 

"Miss Valentine, the buddy system is there for your benefit. If you aren't going to take it seriously, then-"

 

"I'm not going to take it seriously," Chloe said, flatly.

 

"-THEN I will take steps to ensure that this school has at least done its best to involve you. This Sunday, instead of attending church, I'd like you to meet up with Christopher to study for your English aptitude test on Monday. He's an excellent tutor. That's the deal, Miss Valentine: I let you out of church for the day and you study. Is that fair?"

 

Church. Chloe had already expressed her opposition to its imposition on her life in their first meeting and Dr Hodges knew perfectly well that it was a useful bargaining tool already.

 

"Fine," Chloe said.

 

 

 

========================================== Chapter One, End Part

 

In which the two study buddies take their relationship to a new level.

 

(Section codes: M/f, nc, violent, humiliation, blackmail)

 

Checking her watch, Chloe knocked on the door at the address Chris had provided a second time and resolved to wait another minute before she gave up and left. Mentally, she started counting the seconds. Under her left arm was a wrinkled assortment of English notes from her previous school; she wasn't sure if she'd need them, but she'd brought them along just in case. 

 

Chloe glanced at her watch again, sighed, and smoothed a crease out of her top. She hadn't planned on doing anything today in spite of Dr Hodges' demands, except maybe laying about in bed in her pyjamas eating cereal and watching cartoons, and yet here she was, standing on what she presumed was Chris Walker's doorstep and obnoxiously ringing the doorbell. It was her Mother's influence - that bastard Hodges had phoned her at home and explained the deal he'd struck with her daughter and, while Mrs Valentine hadn't exactly pressured Chloe to comply, she'd emphasised her disappointment in all the subtle ways a parent can. Chloe had eventually consented to Chris' Sunday morning tutorial, and here she was.

 

Chris was inside making the last few adjustments to the stage when the doorbell rang. It had been awkward to arrange, and he'd had to pull in a lot of resources in order to occupy someone else's house for the day, but here he was. He even owed people favours now, for fuck's sake. Oh, Chloe had better appreciate the effort being made for her here, Chris thought, a wry grin on his face. He strode over to the television set and picked up its remote, tucking it into his back pocket. Caught momentarily by his reflection in the dark screen of the tv on standby, he paused to fiddle with his hair and smooth an eyebrow. The doorbell went off a second time, distracting him. He tore himself away from his reflection long enough to make it to the doorway, before he turned and gave the room one last perusal. It looked like a normal teenage boy's bedroom, which was good, because that's exactly how it was supposed to look. A carefully stacked books masked the "on" light of a sneakily placed camera on the bookshelf, while another sat atop Chris' pc in plain view (if asked, "it's a webcam"). Having to make do with only two camera angles was rather limiting, but so long as Chris paid attention to his positioning on the stage, that shouldn't be too much of an issue. Of course, if Chloe just cooperated, all of this would prove to be uneccessary. Still, it was better to be safe than sorry. With that thought in mind, he checked his pocket for the penknife. Still there.

 

By the time Chris made it to the door, Chloe was practically leaning on the buzzer.

 

"Chloe, hi!" he greeted her with a warm smile and gestured for her to come in, widening the door. "Come on in." She looked good; better than before. His predatory eyes trained on her body as she stepped past him, and Chris decided that Chloe was making a definite effort. Her clothes were coordinated today; a short, close-fitting aquamarine top and hip-hugging jeans made a simple yet complimentary casual outfit and, indeed, it even seemed as though Chloe had straightened her hair. It had lost its slight curl. As she passed, Chris even caught a whiff of perfume which, to him, smelled of summer gardens and swimming pools. He liked it.

 

He guided her through to where he remembered the kitchen to be. Chris had spent a short while making damn sure he'd memorised the layout of the house before Chloe arrived. He certainly didn't want to open a door and walk into a closet by accident; mistakes like that on an operation as delicate as this could not be risked. Chris successfully navigated her to the kitchen and the two sat at the table briefly, exchanging polite conversation and mundane pleasantries. Chloe didn't seem to be so stand-offish either, which surprised Chris. In fact, the closest thing she came to being rude was declining a glass of orange juice when offered.

 

In the past, this might have frustrated Chris, who had been known to use the strong taste of orange juice as an effective disguise for whatever drug he wished to administer the girl of the moment. Chris had experimented with a variety of mind-altering and mood-bending drugs, from ecstacy to rohypnol, usually in order to try and enhance a girl's sexual drive and make her appear more willing when setting situations such as these up. They had been universal failures, and Chris had determined that there just wasn't a drug that could put a bitch in heat. If there were, he imagined that the open market wouldn't have need for its absurd variety of worthless "aphrodisiacs" and herbal supplements which claimed to boost the sex drive. They'd have the definite article and the masses would be buying.

 

Rohypnol, while useful for fucking a girl and leaving her with no memory of the event, left her about as responsive as a fish for the act itself. Chris had thought he might as well fuck a coma victim for all the fun it was. On camera, rohypnol girls did not look like they were enjoying themselves. Indeed, it looked as though they had passed out and he was merely having his sick way with an unconscious drunk. He couldn't possibly use any of those videos for leverage.

 

Ecstacy had also been a disaster. Having never experimented with the drug himself, Chris was assured by various texts found on the ever-reliable internet that the stimulant enhanced a person's pleasure centres. While not strictly inaccurate, Chris had nonetheless gotten the wrong idea. Upon spiking a girl with the stuff, he'd waited and he'd waited for the girl to get so horny she just pounced on him, but it never happened. Instead, she just started talking and talking and wouldn't shut the fuck up. No, Chris had decided to lay off the drug approach and rely on good old fashioned blackmail. It was 100% effective in his experimentation, and damned if it didn't make him feel fantastic. Blackmail was a drug Chris had faith in.

 

"Chloe," Chris started, tentative. They'd moved the proceedings into the bedroom. Chris was a fast worker. "If you don't mind my asking, what caused you to change your mind? About the buddy system, I mean."

 

"I haven't," Chloe said quietly. "I still think it's a dumb idea, but... I didn't want to upset my Mother. With all the stress of moving and all," she added, quickly.

 

Yeah, right, Chris thought. The stress of moving, THAT'S what would make her so easily upset. Not the fact that she was a head-case, oh no. But Chris mouthed friendly understandings instead. Why, it seemed as if the two were getting along quite well, given the shaky start to their relationship. Chris went through the motions of trying to sound informed on the subject of the Canterbury Tales, having spent a painful hour the previous evening researching the material. Himself, again. But Chloe seemed to appreciate the effort he'd put in there, so it hadn't been a waste of time. They worked for an hour before Chris suggested a break, which Chloe was glad to accept. 

 

In the adjacent guest room, sitting at his laptop, watching the scene through the two camera angles they'd set up, Mitchell was getting bored. He sent Chris an impatient text message:

 

"hurry the fuck up"

 

Mitchell was tech support here. He'd been through this routine with Chris a few times already. Primarily, his function was to make sure nothing went wrong, to ensure that everything recorded. But he had another role, too: routing the image through the television screen in the bedroom when Chris gave the signal. Timed humiliation for the hapless victim of Chris' twisted set-ups. 

 

Upon receiving the text, Chris gave the "webcam" camera a sly wink. Mitchell scowled and opened a beer. What the fuck was taking him so long? 

 

Back in the bedroom, Chris was sitting on the bed next to Chloe, fixing her with one of his smokey looks, trying to look ravishing. Chloe was sitting cross-legged on the bed, surrounded by notes, chewing the tip of her pen. She watched Chris close in, infringing on her personal space a little more with every cute remark until he was right in front of her. Chloe didn't give him any signs that she wasn't impressed; she was too amused by his behaviour. Oh, let him make a fool of himself, she thought with a smile. Tease him a little. Couldn't hurt bringing the self-obsessed idiot down a peg or two, right?

 

Eventually, Chris was so close he could smell her sweet breath. Close enough to kiss her, and so kiss her he did. Chloe hadn't been expecting such a rapid advance. It took her by surprise, but that didn't stop her shoving him off him instantly.

 

"Hey! HEY! Keep your tongue in your mouth, big shot" she said hotly, starting to gather up her notes.

 

"What?" Chris was surprised, too. He was certain that she'd been flirting with him, begging for him to kiss her with those big brown eyes. Fucking tease. "Hey, c'mon, don't be like that. We're buddies."

 

"Not that kind of buddies. I know we're supposed to be best friends under this program, but I don't think you're supposed to get THAT close."

 

It was then that Chris seemed to lose it. He freaked out, pulled a knife on her, held it to her throat. He had her pinned to the bed, crushing her with his weight. It was so sudden Chloe barely even had a chance to realise the severity of the situation, but she reacted violently the instant she felt under assault, old habits dying hard. Chloe thrashed, but he held her steady. His first impulse was to punch her in the face. Bitch! How dare she be so snide! To him! But no, he couldn't mess up her pretty face for the camera. This all had to come off smoothly and her appearance was important. This was the hard part.

 

And Chloe wouldn't calm down. Despite Chris' threats to slice open her throat if she didn't shut up and stop struggling, she was kicking and screaming. In the next room, Mitchell was peering out of the window to make sure the whole neighbourhood wasn't coming to investigate.

 

Chris pressed the blade into the flesh of her throat, the point of the tip yet to draw blood, but close. It was a fine line. Chloe was in pain now, and that seemed to quieten her.

 

"I'm going to stick this in your fucking throat if you don't stop behaving like a little baby, you bitch,"

 

"You're fucking crazy!" Chloe shrilled. Chris elbow was crushing her breast, and it was hard to breathe with his weight pressing down on her tummy, pressing the air out of her. And the knife was against her throat so hard that Chloe was sure if she flinched, she'd bleed.

 

"Don't try me, Chloe," Chris warned. And they lay like that for a while. Chloe, too scared to move in case her psycho study buddy got slash-happy and Chris trying to catch his breath. He repositioned himself on her body and Chloe felt something hard pushing into her side. Oh, God.

 

"All I want is a blowjob, Chloe," Chris said softly. "I'll let you go afterwards, I promise."

 

"Fuck you!"

 

"You bitch! I'll slash your throat!"

 

"Get off me!" Chloe's struggling started anew. Chris took the risk. Aiming carefully, he hit her in the face. Not hard enough to mess her up, just hard enough to get her attention. Chloe was crying now. Anger, whack, fear. The change was that quick. Like flicking a switch.

 

"Please," her struggles were weak now, too. Being so feisty all the time was obviously draining. "Don't hurt me. Let me go, I won't tell anyone." Her hair clung to her face in bangs where her tears had made her cheeks hot and sticky. Eye make-up was running. Shit, Chris thought, and tried to clean it up with a thumb. She couldn't look too upset. Poor image quality would mask her distress so long as she didn't look too bad.

 

"Shh," he comforted her. "It's okay. Just a blowjob..." and, while Chloe sobbed, Chris unzipped his pants and pulled out his rigid dick. He slid off her chest and, helping her sit up, navigated her off the bed. Chloe seemed like she was in shock: confused and frightened. Her bad-girl demeanour had been shattered so easily. Chris was rather proud of his handiwork.

 

He guided Chloe to her knees, concealing the knife from the view of the cameras, pressing his dick to her soft lips. He reminded her of his threat to cut her if she didn't cooperate, "keep those teeth out of the way" and "be a good girl". To Chris' immense satisfaction, Chloe's lips parted, and he slid his aching dick into her mouth, sighing.

 

"Suck it," he commanded, and she dutifully obliged. The little trooper actually started swirling her tongue around the head of his penis, suckling at his prick wetly. He placed one hand on her head, sliding his fingers through her soft hair and began to slide the thick shaft in and out of her wet, slurping mouth. Tears were steadily trickling down her cheeks as Chris slowly, almost lovingly fucked her face with his tool. His free hand remained in his pocket, clasping the knife, ready. Just in case.

 

"Oooh, yeah," Chris moaned as Chloe's oral ministrations did the trick. After a few minutes of forced sucking, Chris jerked his dick free of her cock-sucking lips and squirted hot cum in her eyes. Give her something to cry about, Chris thought, leering. 

 

"Lick me clean and we're done," he told her, sounding so sincere. Her eyes stinging and her throat convulsing, trying so hard not to break down and cry, reapplied her lips to his dick and sucked the rest of the goo off his penis, swallowing it. Chloe felt as if her brain had locked her body out, as if it was flat-out refusing to cooperate and let her resist. She was burning with hate and evil thoughts, and yet, she was still sucking his dick right until it went soft and he stashed it back in his pants.

 

Laughing, Chris nodded to the camera.

 

"Cue the movie," he said, for Chloe's benefit, since Mitchell couldn't actually hear him. Chris whipped out the remote control from his back pocket and, winking at Chloe (who was on her knees, bewildered and smearing his cum over her face in an attempt to wipe it off), pointed it at the big Tv set that dominated the room. The image filled the screen in all its glory, and Chloe watched in horror as a girl that looked a lot like her sucked some guy's dick in a very amateurish pornographic short. As a joke, Mitchell had overlaid the images with a song he'd brought along for this specific purpose, "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun" by Cyndi Lauper.

 

"The phone rings in the middle of the night,

My father yells 'what you gonna do with your life?'

Oh daddy dear you know you're still number one,

But girls they want to have fun.

Oh girls just want to have--

 

That's all they really waaaant,

Some fun -- when the working day is done.

Girls -- they want to have fun,

Oh girls just want to have fun!"

 

Chloe sucked dick to the music. Like a girl who just wanted to have some fun.

 

When the video ended, Chris looked down at a horrified, degraded Chloe and sneered.

 

"Let's talk ground rules, shall we?" he said.

 

========================================== Coming, in Chapter Two

 

The enterprising Mr Walker unveils his evil plans for "Chloe Domination", well aware that a girl like Chloe wouldn't be bound to sexual contract by a video of her demonstrating her oral skills alone. But Chris is cunning, and hits precisely upon the one thing that Chloe will do anything to protect: her Mother's tenuous sanity.