contemporary fantasy

The streets have been asking me when I’m gonna drop that sample for Splendificent 1 on them. Well, streets, with the release of Splendificent 2 I present you not just a sample…I present you the first chapter of Splendificent 1….FOR FREE! May the streets always be blessed and may you be blessed as well, dear reader…

Chapter One: Ain’t No Simple Bitches

How did Giselle Nyfall get to this point? The point where her college dreams and fantasy of living a schoolgirl anime turned into living the start of the kind of lesbian adult films she maybe sort of sometimes watched but wouldn’t admit.

Her new roommate, a petite brunette with strong biceps, was about to do something very unfortunate to that poor cucumber before a suitcase-lugging Giselle Nyfall walked into the kitchen of the Upper East Side penthouse that overlooked Manhattan.

She never could’ve fathomed that something she (shamefully) searched on Bing one day actually played out in front of her.

“You the Feds, bro?” the other girl growled in a Boston accent.

Standing to her full height, she looked up at Giselle with big pale blue eyes, while twirling the cucumber in a way that had Giselle thinking she would easily have won the eleventh-grade talent show. The talent show where Giselle’s rabbit-in-a-hat trick ended with her chemistry teacher contracting rabies.

The toned and fit brunette beauty wore a green shamrock decorated thong that sat just above powerful legs. Her supple breasts, accentuated by the muscles of her chest, were exposed. Her nipples hard with arousal that Giselle assumed came from the laptop in front of her.

A laptop broadcasting a webcam show!

Giselle saw her own heart-shaped lips, blonde almost white hair that she spent all morning braiding into a flower, and big eyes that expanded into blue pools of horror as the dismay that she was being shown to 650 people flooded over her.

Wait, she’s got 650 people watching her? My last video game stream topped out at 50 and my cat knocked out the PS4 cord!

Giselle jerked her heart-shaped face away from the camera and 650 horny chatters. Instead of leering at her chest that was behind a button-down baby-doll tank top, they could admire her bright pink backpack and hair braided into a flower. She doubted they were much impressed by the hairstyle she trawled Pinterest for.

They were probably admiring her perfectly rounded tush.

“You fucked up my cam show,” the girl barked through full red lips, slamming her laptop shut. “Someone’s gotta slide me a wad of cash to get girl-on-girl action.”

Darting behind the monochromatic island seemed like the best choice to ensure her continued safety. So that was exactly what Giselle did.

With ease of movement, like she was a speed skater, the other girl was around the island before Giselle’s Chuck Taylors were even halfway through her backpedal.

Luckily the other girl just wanted a thicker cucumber, which she proceeded to squeeze between her powerful boobie bombs for the delight of her viewers.

“I tried that once and got a terrible rash,” Giselle complained.

“You look like the type guys tug it to everyday,” the girl decided.

This is what she had been longing for since the fourth grade? This certainly wasn’t what she pictured or what she expected to find when she applied to New York City’s Hemera University.

The girl proceeded to perform an even more amazing stunt, she squeezed a bottle of milk between her own milk makers and let the white liquid slide down her shredded stomach to her sweet center thanks to her pulled open panties.

“Happy stroking, perma virgins!” The brunette with the full lips shouted.

“Do you want to immerse yourself in a culture of learning, diversity, and ideas?” the Hemera University website had asked underneath a bright banner of students of various races and genders and even hair colors, enjoying the carefree atmosphere of the student lounge.

Yes! Please, yes! Immerse me, submerse me, even inverse me just get me out of California away from my mom!

Everything started to go downhill when the school never told her who her roommate was. Not after one email. Not after two emails. Not after twenty emails. After the twenty-first unanswered email, her mother was making calls to get Giselle into UCLA.

That’s no biggie! My mom’s tweaking. That’s just how they do things on the East Coast.

Then came her arrival to her “dorm room,” which was actually a biology classroom. And the professor was dissecting a cow. And Giselle swore the cow was looking at her. She left disappointed and nearly induced towards vomiting.

Then came her visit to one Anika Lindgren, head of student services. Anika informed Giselle that there was no actual dorm room for her due to another “glitch” caused by Hemera’s fantastic IT department.

But Anika held the solution to her troubles.

***
A couple of hours earlier Giselle sat in a tailbone-breaking metal chair across from Anika, who sat in a plush leather massage chair behind her black obsidian desk that featured runic carvings across the outer edges.

Anika laughed as she regarded Giselle’s frowning face with cool protruding eyes. With Anika’s smirking lips, the laugh seemed doubly condescending to Giselle.

Given Anika’s powerful seat, Giselle almost felt like she was Snow White humbling herself before the queen.

The office could rival a fairytale queen’s throne room. A shield hung on the wall, emblazoned with a beautiful female figure rising from a pond over the word “Schwanhild.”

That wasn’t all. The door was hemmed between two stout limestone warriors. In Giselle’s video game obsessed mind she identified them as golems.

So while this hot, smirking thirty-something-year-old was spending her time custom ordering Dark Souls props, Giselle was twisting in dorm room limbo. Though there was a subway nearby she figured she could sleep in if her mom left her to rot.

“Darling, I have to put you somewhere,” Anika noted, looking at Giselle’s two suitcases. One pink. One with pink and white stripes. Cute.

Happy to hear that, Giselle settled herself back into the painted metal chair. She then felt she needed non-invasive spinal surgery more than a dorm.

“So where am I gonna go?” Giselle uttered, squirming.

Through the expansive window behind Anika, Giselle could see a scruffy-looking guy strumming a guitar on a bench under the clear New York morning.

You’re playing John Mayer on my bed, buddy!

In Union Square, Manhattan, Hemera imposed a time warp to the Middle Ages with a Gothic flair of buildings with flying buttresses, rose windows, and pointed arches that catch the eye with sculpture. Twitter hummed with rumors these buildings were haunted.

Given the legends, Giselle joked to herself that there might be a doorway to hell she can throw a sleeping bag in.

Ghosts did loom large in Hemera. The ghosts of the senators, CEOs, award-winning actors and well-known musicians who once roamed these halls. Present-day students were paying a pricey sum to learn in their shadows.

The sports teams, The Skylights, and Lady Skylights, even had to be spoke of in hushed tones. The bruising men’s hockey team had led the NCAA in penalty minutes for the last six seasons. The men’s basketball team was coached by a former Death Row Records executive. And the women’s volleyball team won two NCAA titles while being coached by a tier-one sex offender.

Leaning back, Anika let her suit jacket fall from her shoulders. In place of prim businesswoman attire was an unprofessional, partially-unbuttoned blouse and plenty of skin atop a slim and elegant body.

Giselle shifted in her seat, feeling beads of sweat rose on her forehead. Many a naughty thought pooled in her head. She had seen on Pornhub how this sort of thing plays out!

“One year we had someone from Tulsa stay at Rikers,” Anika reminisced. “Which he was quite fine with because even a Sudanese prison would be better than Tulsa.”

“You can’t put me in Rikers. That’s a whole different island! That’s a crazy long commute.”

Anika looked at Giselle with steel-colored eyes as if to say, “Have our admission standards sunk so low as to let this breed of idiot in?”

Or maybe she was sizing her up for her latest student-teacher hook-up! Giselle could so read the vibes.

With a chesty figure, healthy thighs, and nicely thick butt, Giselle considered herself ripe for the latest round of this country’s inappropriate student-teacher relationships.

And people always said Giselle, with her pouty heart-shaped lips, heart-shaped face, wide blue eyes, and daintily upturned nose, had a face for the movies. If only she hadn’t forgotten half of her lines and triggered the sprinklers in the middle school production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream.

With her denim mini-skirt showing off her supple legs Giselle thought she looked like a snack. No, a whole meal!

As Giselle was congratulating herself over her banging body that her seventy-two-year-old principal had spent an unusual amount of time staring at, a thin onyx instrument on Anika’s desk began to flare with a red light. This strange object with its unique engravings snared Giselle’s attention.

Oooh, what a neat flash drive! Wonder what kind of craziness she has on there?

But then Anika’s manicured hands curled around it.

“Darling, I was teasing you,” her tone more laden with silk. “Big Sis Anika has a place for you.”

Victory, victory! Jumping out of her seat and whooping was a Giselle thing to do. But she was trying to be a mature young lady, so instead the eighteen-year-old pumped her fist and did a little dance.

“I was able to…” she trailed off as her smirk became a full-blown smile, “convince a wealthy alumnus to donate an Upper East Side condo for the housing of extraordinary young women.”

“Am I an extraordinary young woman? Because I always thought—”

“You’re a computer error.”

That was less worthy of a victory dance.

“How many of us will there be?” Giselle inquired.

Giselle’s heart thumped in her chest. One mystery roommate was nerve-racking enough. A gaggle? That’s heart attack inducing. What about their musical tastes? What if Giselle wanted to play

EDM and her roommates wanted to play neoclassical post-punk country gospel?

What if Giselle wanted to stream herself playing PlayStation and one of her roommates wanted to roll off a dime-bag like one of her babysitters did?

“There are four other freshman ladies,” Anika responded.

Four sets of claws to slash her self-esteem.

“Where are you from?” Anika queried.

“Beverly Hills, California.”

Giselle came from exclusive stock. Anika knew it, and her cold eyes warmed with appreciation.

An exclusive stock that warned Giselle about the dangers that infested New York City.

Giselle’s mother, Dawn Nyfall, did her best to instill terror in Giselle’s heart. “You don’t know all the crap the world hides from you, Giselle. You don’t know the truth about anything. The world is full of liars, my sweet,” she warned her before she flew out to Washington, D.C., to lie in a congressional hearing.

Giselle assured her mom and her dad, Stephen, a tech guru, that the East Coast held nothing but awesomeness for their only child.

Bring on New York City. Bring on homeless people pissing in the open. And bring on Hemera University, with its eight a.m. class she was forced to take because the registration system crashed three times and all the other sections were filled. Bring on the dorm rooms that looked like internment camps.

Now it’s “bring on the extraordinary young women?”

“These young women come from extraordinary families. I’d hate for you to be intimidated.”

Giselle would not be cowed by anyone. Except for her mother.

The silver-haired beauty got up to start sorting through a nearby ipad that rested on an oak cabinet. Giselle didn’t stop herself from appreciating that Anika’s short black skirt afforded a glorious view of her perfect pins. The skirt was so short Giselle could see the woman’s pink panties! Damn, Giselle could just reach out and…if Dawn Nyfall was hear she’d slap her daughter across the head!

“I may not seem like it, but I have a total main character aura,” Giselle noted.

“Of course you do,” Anika said with an eyebrow raise, not bothering to mask her disbelief.

I’ll show you!

“First, there’s Fleur Flannagan — she’s a real killer….”

***

Instead of pounding out Giselle with Whole Foods’ best, the real killer just tossed the cucumber into the sink.

“So you’re not gonna beat me up?” Giselle asked as she backed up near the brick pizza oven.

The girl gave a lazy shrug then dug into the monochromatic cabinets to rifle through the considerable amount of snacks.

“Did my dad send you?” the young woman questioned as she unearthed a bag of pretzels.

“Yes, wait, no! Damn it! Why do I answer questions without listening? Why is that your assumption?” Giselle’s heart-shaped lips puckered into a confused pout. “What’s your problem with your dad?”

“He’s alive.”

A pause. A very uncomfortable pause.

That ended with a big happy grin with baby fat cheeks bright red and a laugh from the Boston-accented girl.

Her shoulders relaxing, Giselle stated, “So, uh, I’m Giselle Nyfall.”

“Fleur Flannagan. Who gives a shit?”

Giselle noticed a green ribbon with white shamrocks pinned to Fleur’s head. What kind of savage wore the latest from Claire’s?

“I got assigned to this condo by Anika Lindgren,” Giselle stated. “I go to Hemera. My Nagggh! I bit my tongue!”

Giselle was caught by so much agony she fell against the grey countertop. She clutched the quartz surface with her dainty fingers, gasping in distress.

Fleur’s left eyebrow lifted, as she crunched into a pretzel. How she bit it though seemed off to Giselle. Almost predatory.

“Do you know who we are?”

Though pain contorted her face, Giselle still tried to look cool pulling herself upright and assuming a stance she thought might be worthy of this proud beauty in front of her.

“You’re not what I was expecting. Are you some kind of cam girl?”

“Sometimes. I get a lot of tips usually. Which is good ’cause I got mad debt.”

It was easy to see why Fleur could rake in the cash. Some people liked a mousy dorky girl, but there was something to be said for the easy confidence and uninhibited persona Fleur was broadcasting.

Giselle felt the need to assert her own sex appeal. Something to show she was not some sheltered girl.

“Hey, don’t worry, it goes down in my stream also. Before I left, I played that new Battlefield in my Princess Peach Cosplay, and I got mad donations.”

Those mad donations came because she tripped over her yorkie and her dress rode up to show that she was one supreme ass goddess.

Giselle gave a flick of her white-gold hair, which she thought looked cool but really made it look like she had a nervous twitch.

Giselle leaned against the countertop and tilted her head up like she thought cool people were supposed to, making a smooth recovery.

“Fleur, can I get the Wi-Fi password?”

“Yeah, the network is f-u-c-k and the password is y-o-u.”

While Fleur sat her bethonged butt on the island in disregard for the laws of sanitation, Giselle started scanning the networks on her iPhone.

“I don’t see f-u-c-k listed,” Giselle said. She wasn’t always the quickest-witted.

Another big happy grin with perfect teeth on full display and Fleur said, “I’m just messing with you, bro.”

Immediately Fleur stopped “fucking with” Giselle, as her bare feet landed on the tiled floor—her pale blue eyes intense, creeping into Giselle’s deepest regions.

Giselle took her eyes off the pizza-ready brick oven to dive libido first into the pale orbs, squirming at Fleur’s deep gaze. Giselle’s mind was fast to come up with the wild things they could get into.

Whip cream, salsa, chocolate syrup. Even strawberries!

The Boston bred babe kept her eyes planted into Giselle’s. Blue on blue.

“Do you know who we are?” Fleur said, asking not just to Giselle, but some faraway place. At least that was how it felt to Giselle.

“Are you trying to hook up with me?” Giselle inquired.

Despite her obvious sexual liberation, Fleur took a step away from Giselle. The brunette’s head bobbed back, her full lips formed an “O” of shock, and her once smoldering eyes blinked rapid-fire.

Giselle stammered out a recovery, “Because you totally wouldn’t do that and I was just joking.”

“Just answer the fucking question.”

“You’re students at Hemera and extraordinary young women. Just like me.”

Fleur’s doll face became red with mirth as her pale eyes blinked in astonishment. Returning to her perch on the island, she took a moment to laugh a deep throaty sort of laugh, big cheeks again blushing.

“No room here.” Fleur nodded to the entry to the foyer, “Back the way you came.”

Giselle was starting to wish she’d read a BuzzFeed article on how to deal with intimidating people. But for now, she’d have to trust ol’ reliable whining and begging. The same tactic that got her a driver’s license and spared her from being cut from JV cross country all four years of high school.

“I need a place to stay.”

“Ya wanna bet?”

“Bet you that I need a place to stay?”

“I got a bad gambling problem.”

“Please!”

“Jeez, you’re weirdly pushy. I guess you can stay in the storage room until Big Sis Anika collects you. I’ll give you a tour.”

Fleur chucked the bag of pretzels at the trashcan and shouted, “Celtics for the win!”

And missed.

“You should have shouted LeBron,” Giselle offered.

Fleur’s pale blue eyes nearly flashed orange fire at the comment.

Why must the most basic part of collegiate life be so difficult? Would poor Giselle have to go through Job-like trials to get her meal pass?

Putting on clothes was apparently not a part of Fleur’s tour as she remained thonged up and sexed up throughout.

There was a certain quality that Fleur walked with, but Giselle just couldn’t put her finger on it. Almost with the weightless ease of Sonic the Hedgehog.

Fleur probably would’ve dropped her with one punch if she knew Giselle was comparing her to a spiny mammal with no pants.

As an art major and a girl with a lot of home decor pins on Pinterest, Giselle stared, awed and stunned at the hallway Fleur took her down. She’d seen extravagance in her own home, but now she was standing in a marble foyer with a Shakespeare quote stenciled in delicate cursive on the ceiling.

“Hell is empty and all the devils are here,” Giselle read the quote aloud.

“Some of them anyway,” Fleur remarked casually.

Various paintings and ornate moldings of fang barring gargoyles dotted the walls. Yet one specific piece of artwork halted Giselle. On the canvas, layered sepia and brown brushstrokes formed a nude man, while green and gold snakes around him proposed an imminent death.

“That’s a Basquiat?” Giselle wondered, still rooted in place.

Fleur’s lips spread wide and big into one of her goofy smiles that Giselle found more adorable each time.

“If it is, I can sell it,” Fleur noted. “That’d cover two percent of my debts. I got a bad gambling problem.”

“Well, the first step to stopping your problem is admitting you have a problem.”

“Oh, I ain’t gonna stop,” Fleur stated calmly, as she looked behind the painting for a way to remove it from the wall.

Apparently coming up short on a way to heist the painting, Fleur nodded as a gesture for Giselle to continue following her through the hallway.

Fleur commented, “Anika says we can have all the food we want. I like vodka and the blood of my lovers.”

“That’s… very poetic.”

“English major,” Fleur said with a lazy shrug.

The duo strolled down the hallway, Giselle marveling at the diamond-like wall coverings and colossal waterfall-like diamond chandelier.

“Who donated this condo to Hemera?” Giselle had to ask.

“Don’t know. Don’t care.”

“Can I ask what makes you all so extraordinary?”

Fleur’s pale blue eyes widened in shock.

“What makes us extraordinary? Who the fuck you think you’re talking to? Ain’t no simple bitches here.”

Giselle threw up her hands half in defense, half in pleading for forgiveness, “I agree!”

Fleur wasn’t playing with no bullshit.

“What makes us extraordinary? You might as well ask what makes Larry Bird the greatest basketball player of all time.”

After her LeBron gaffe, Giselle knew better than to remind Fleur that Kobe Bryant is the GOAT.

That still didn’t answer Giselle’s question. But the emphatic delivery of the response had Giselle questioning why wouldn’t they be extraordinary?

Fleur resumed her tour and guided Giselle in front of a closed bedroom door adorned with cutesy rainbow stickers of various animals and strings of rainbow beads. Even the thong hanging on

the door was rainbow-themed.

“This is Dusty Blackwood’s room. Here’s the rules, kid,” Fleur nods her head at the thong. “If there’s a thong on the door, that means someone is fucking, and you’re free to enter and join in, no permission needed. If there’s boy shorts on the door, that means you gotta ask before you turn this ménage à -trois into a gangbang.”

“Are you kidding?” Giselle’s jaw nearly dropped not just to the thirteenth floor, but the twelfth, eleventh, and tenth as well.

“Yeah.”

“Thought so.”

“Dusty’s at volleyball practice right now.”

Fleur took Giselle further down the hall where Giselle marveled at the wall installation of floating jewel boxes each encased with a diamond ax-wielding leopard.

“So you’re not at all curious who donated this condo to us? Like, how did Miss Lindgren get this condo exactly?”

Fleur moved in on Giselle so close Giselle’s nostrils were full of her scent. A scent of bewitching flowers. A scent of smoky, sexy, sensual notes.

“How do you think she got this condo?” Fleur whispered. Breath sending explosions straight to Giselle’s sex so hard she shuddered.

And then Fleur pulled back with a goofy smile and said, “I’m just fucking with ya, new kid. Who cares how she got the condo?”

The duo continued until a 40-something-year-old man staggered out one of the bedrooms. He didn’t smell like he had taken numerable shots of Jack, but he moved like it. His whole body was disheveled, with his dress shirt undone, black hair a mess, and red lipstick marks around his face.

As he passed by the girls with a sheepish grin and downcast eyes Giselle asked, “Who’s that guy?”

“Got me,” Fleur replied. With a casual I-don’t-give-a-shit tone, she informed Giselle, “The guys here love us.”

Fleur moved to a tasteful room contrasted with white walls, dark furniture, and unique light provided by movie-set spotlights. It would have been pleasant were it not for a rifle lying atop a coloring book.

“A gun!” Giselle screeched loud enough for Fleur to wince.

“Calm down, Mayor Doom and Gloomberg. It’s a BB gun. Our corn-on-the-cob, banjo-strumming, moonshine-running, rainbow-thong wearing, volleyball-swatting, good ol’ girl roommate, Dusty, left it. She likes to shoot at books.”

“Shoot at the books?”

“That’s what Southerners do. Race cars, love Jesus, and shoot books.”

“I don’t think that’s accurate.”

Finally, after all the mockery, cultural insensitivity, and outright insults, Giselle was led to the grand finale. The storage closet.

“Your bedroom, my dear,” Fleur said, as her big lips turned into a cheery smile.

Giselle noticed the storage closet was empty aside from a box brimming with unusual trinkets.

“I can’t stay here. It’s literally just a closet.”

“It’s classically cozy.”

“It’s classically cozy for a Maltese. I’m a human!”

Giselle didn’t know what did it, but something caused Fleur’s lips to compress into a frown. The pale blue ice of Fleur’s eyes burned.

“I feel like if we were in a video game, we’d have negative sixty relationship points,” Giselle bemoaned.

“Fleur Flannagan!” came a voice from an unseen party. Accented. Almost theatrically so. Elegant with sumptuous undertones. Like nothing Giselle had ever heard before. “Your harassment of this child will cease at once!”

Fleur’s flame wilted, “Viking Barbie.”

Viking Barbie appeared as glorious as an angel from above. She was carried in by gorgeous powerful legs that reached up to a slender waist and a rock-hard ass. Beneath a luxurious, albeit too small, silk robe, a pair of juggilicious, as Giselle would term them, breasts filled out the outfit, bursting through the emblem of a dancing woman. Bright red lips formed in a cupid’s bow, resting above a rounded chin and square jaw. Her hair had been fussed over into a blond bob of rolling waves. The way she looked, the way she walked, the air around her seemed like slow motion. If Fleur was a doll under a Christmas tree, then Viking Barbie was a goddess blessing The Empire State.

Who the F is that?

“Welcome, Giselle. My name is Tristabelle Elvrina,” deep-set almond purple eyes appraised the newcomer. “If Fleur had only bothered to check her communications from Big Sis Anika, she would have known we would be receiving a perfectly simple girl.”

The way Tristabelle said simple sounded to Giselle like it was tinged with pity.

“Simple?” Fleur hissed.

“Simple,” Tristabelle replied

Barely looking at Giselle, Fleur stated, “You’re in the fast lane, and you got a slow mind.”

“Fleur, I am obliged to think you the dimwitted one for not directing Giselle to the den the old owner converted to a fifth bedroom. Giselle, I shall show you.”

Tristabelle waved a long finger in such a magnificent way she could direct a man to stick his head in a woodchopper.

“Opened the wrong door,” Fleur said with a half-hearted shrug.

This otherworldly beauty took the other two girls around the corner and through a pair of double doors–double doors that bore the same bejeweled ax-wielding leopard Giselle saw earlier.

The grey infused bedroom reminded Giselle of Anika’s silver hair. Nearly everything was shades of striking grey. The accent rug, the dusted ceiling and floor, cushioned seats, and the wall-length night sky painting were all one color scheme.

As happy as she was to have a real room, and a stunning one at that, Giselle was distracted. Viking Barbie as Fleur called her, or Scandinavian Cleopatra as Giselle thought of her, had reduced all to insignificance.

“You talk pretty, uh, different? Different good though! I talk like I was born in a portable toilet. You talk like you were born in a royal palace.”

“That is because I was. I am Princess Tristabelle Elvrina of the Elvrina royal family of Golden Land.”

Giselle was a calm and mature adult. She would not scream in amazement or squeal or break down in tears like she did when Gigi Hadid liked one of her comments on Instagram.

Actually, fuck that. Giselle let out the squeal to end all squeals, her heart-shaped lips exploding with noises she never thought possible.

The princess of Golden Land took it all with a pleasant smile, perfect teeth, perfect cupid’s bow lips.

Fleur just rolled her pale blue eyes and gave a “gimme a break” huff.

“Wowie! Princess Tristabelle, I swoon!” Giselle exclaimed. “I don’t know much about Golden Land. But I’m a Wikipedia master, as proven by my keen article writing skills about Rick and Morty.”

Giselle whipped out her iPhone and started pulling up Wikipedia.

Fleur asked, “Are you that bad at social interactions that you’ll slog through wiki articles rather than ask an actual princess from the country you’re interested in.”

“Yeah, I totally am!” Giselle noted, too consumed with her article reading to be anything but honest.

“Okay, here’s what I got,” Her blue eyes narrowed. “This article has multiple issues. This article relies too much on conjecture. This article does not cite any sources? W-T-F?”

A perfect smile from the princess.

“It does say you’re located west of Norway. And your flag is…” Giselle had to squint to make sure her phone didn’t betray her eyes. “It’s just gold. No stripes. Just gold. Your capital is Elvheim.

Your government…” Giselle squinted even harder. “Ahahahhaha! Wiki vandalism at work! No way are you actually a just hereditary monarchy.”

A perfect smile from the princess. Wide blue eyes betrayed nothing, showed nothing but cultured civility.

“Ack! You already know all this crap anyway.”

Fleur smacked her forehead so hard she staggered.

“We are but a small Scandinavian country of little note,” Tristabelle said with a sweet small smile.

The princess’ long legs strode back down the hall with Fleur and Giselle trailing after her like royal retainers.

When Giselle entered the living room, she was stunned by how picturesque everything was. It was something off of HGTV with rich cream-colored furniture, a movie screen positioned between two marble pillars, panoramic windows, and another crystal installation. This one was of a voluptuous woman extending her hands forward, her lone eye a red ruby on her forehead.

“That is Maya, the Hindu personification of illusion,” Tristabelle offered, as she motioned Giselle to a wide chair. “It is said she shows humans certain phenomena.”
Giselle fell back into the chair and squealed like she had just met Aquaman.

“Holy crap! She is so smart! And she’s a future queen? Staaaare!”

“Stare at what, Giselle?” Tristabelle asked, leading Giselle to feel like an idiot in front of Her Highness.

“Future queen?” Fleur scoffed, as she fell onto the sofa and flipped on NBA TV. “She’s the youngest of ten children. She’s a future chambermaid.”

Nine siblings! Giselle only had an imaginary sister, whom her mom put up for adoption.

“So where are all the bodyguards to protect you?” Giselle’s eyes searched for heavy weaponry, cameras, and hidden rooms.

Tristabelle’s titled her head ever so slightly, “Protect me from whom?”

“From terrorists and stuff.”

There was a moment where Tristabelle’s princess demeanor faded, her face trembled and her mouth crept into a smile. Then she merely said, “Giselle, my darling, it is the terrorists who need protection from me.”

Upon hearing that Giselle knew she was in the wrong building. She was far from an extraordinary young woman compared to Wakanda Norse Edition.

The familiar sound of an iPhone cut through the conversation.

“That’s mine,” Fleur grumbled, more focused on NBA Summer League highlights. “I gave my number to some asshole here. Seamus. Irish guy. Says he’s a rapper.”

“SeaSeaSea!” Giselle shouted, gripping the edge of her seat. “His shit bangs!”

Tristabelle declared, “Explosive bowels are no reason to exclude him as a smart match.”

Giselle sunk back into her seat, suddenly feeling the fool. Though maybe she had much American culture to impart upon this foreign princess. And much to learn from her as well. Studying in

Golden Land for a semester brought a rush of excitement to Giselle.

“Do you have a boyfriend or whatever is the royal equivalent?” Giselle questioned.

Tristabelle gazed beyond Giselle with a smile. Once her eyes came back to Giselle she noted, “Why, I have many boyfriends and girlfriends.”

Whoa!

“It is my family and my kingdom that are my loves.”

Giselle, you perv, think straight.

“Giselle, your presence here is a most curious matter,” Tristabelle started. “What brings you to this land of New York?”

Now it was Giselle staring into the distance.

“I wanna study art, I guess. And I guess I wanna start over. Not be klutzy Giselle who must ruin everything she touches. I want to be,” Giselle paused, “extraordinary.”

“Splendificent,” Tristabelle declared, clapping her hands together.

“That’s not a word,” Fleur grumbled.

“But I can’t even imagine what you’re doing at Hemera, Princess,” Giselle gushed. “What could you possibly be majoring in?”

There were a series of guesses floating through Giselle’s mind. All of them hovered in the political science realm.

“Not only am I the best swordswoman in Golden Land, but I am also the best of all beauty and elegance, so it’s only natural I major in dance.”

Tristabelle’s bow-shaped lips formed a smile that Giselle thought people would sacrifice their first-born to see.

However, Fleur turned from her NBA highlights to make a disbelieving face at Giselle. One that was caught by the keen almond eyes of the princess.

“Appalling!” Tristabelle stood her full 5’10” figure over Fleur. “You dare doubt me? I am the finest figure skater and exotic dancer in all the kingdom!”

Fleur rose to meet Tristabelle’s gaze, full lips forming a sneer, “Ha! Excellent exotic dancer? Figure skater? I don’t see no ones in your purse or medals around your neck, Gracie Gold.”

Princess Tristabelle’s bright red lips formed a snarl, as she stomped around a cream-colored ottoman.

“What misfortune is it to have placed me in the same dwelling as you, Fleur Flannagan. I’d rather nurse a toothless prostitute than live another second with you.”

“Oh, wow, she even insults with dignity!” Giselle marveled.

“Prove me wrong, ho,” Fleur demanded, arms folded as she followed Tristabelle around the ottoman.

“How?”

“You can’t produce ice in August, but you can damn sure shake that Swedish ass.”

Tristabelle’s hands found her hips, and her lips formed a pout that Giselle snared every fiber of Giselle’s lusty being. So much so that Giselle put out a choked cry.

“If it is proof of my sexual powers you seek, then it is proof you best brace yourself for,” Tristabelle declared in a way that sounded more like a declaration of hostilities.

“I’m already running for my dildo,” Fleur retorted with bemused satisfaction.

Whoa! A private dance from a princess! This is better than my Princess Kate fantasies.

“This is, like, totally every day for me. Girls giving me dances,” Giselle lied. Badly. “So don’t be intimidated, princess. I’m way used to this.”

The Bostonian muted the TV, then called out, “Alexa, play Three 6 Mafia.”

” Juicy J!” Tristabelle yelped with a clap of her hands. “A fine American bard!”

“Yeah, yeah, we all know you fuck with The 36,” Fleur commented.

“Did you know each other?” Giselle wondered, their familiarity and comfort with each other was striking to her.

“Anika got us acquainted,” Fleur responded quickly as she dropped back into the chair. “Let’s go, Princess Zelda.”

As the hip hop thumped, Tristabelle ground her torso while peeling her robe to the side, then hauling it above her stomach. Two large breasts were exposed just enough for drool to almost appear on the corner of Giselle’s mouth. The sight of her glorious chest and Tristabelle’s toned tummy had Giselle reduced to a dazed oaf.

“Major points for under-boobs!” Giselle announced while having to wipe away drool.

Tristabelle traced one finger up statuesque golden brown legs, demanding their eyes follow to her pelvis. With a semi-pirouette, Tristabelle deftly flipped off the robe to display a firm ass encased in a bejeweled thong.

Even Fleur almost bowed in worship as Tristabelle did a handstand and spread those magnificent legs in an inverted split. The princess sent her ass into rocking jumps in ways Giselle wouldn’t have thought possible. With unerring ease, the royal flipped her lithe body to the floor in a perfect landing of supreme booty. The bouncing of the honeyed flesh was hypnotizing. Giselle wanted to speak her delight but it came out like she was gasping for air— when she was really gasping for booty.

“You say no to royal pussy, Juicy J can’t!” Fleur exclaimed, kneeling behind Tristabelle.

Fleur hands traveled right for the good stuff, worming through Tristabelle’s thong. The princess immediately moaned. Either Fleur had the hands of Aphrodite or Tristabelle was exceedingly sensitive. Then Tristabelle moaned again as Fleur started to nibble on her neck. Fleur targeted just one spot on the middle of the princess’s neck. Yet she did so with such expertise that

Tristabelle fell into Fleur’s body, sinking into the pale-eyed beauty’s total control.

Giselle realized Fleur’s viewers really should have come up with the money for the girl-on-girl action.

Fleur claimed Princess Tristabelle’s mouth with an intense kiss. The apparent sex crazed princess started moaning as if she were on an endless roller coaster of climax. The brunette cam girl had two fingers slipped behind Tristabelle’s thong to penetrate her on two fronts.

The princess was suddenly thrust into a submissive position by the dominant brunette, splayed out rather lewdly with her legs wide and her hard ass in the air.

“Do you want it, bitch?” Fleur barked.

“By all the gods in the nine realms yes!” The princess barked.

Fleur moved like a wildfire ripping through the forests of California. Before Giselle could properly process everything, the muscle bound babe was 100 percent naked.

Fleur looked like a statue brought to life to terrorize helpless damsels as her fingers tore into Tristabelle’s most intimate hole.

“Mercy me!” The princess cried.

The princess was in a horribly embarrassing position as Fleur stuffed her tight rear to the point the blond almost collapsed from her strange setup.

“Beg me for it, bitch!”

“I shall do anything in my power to feel you inside me, Fleur Flannagan! By my father and the Allfather!”

“You’ve got some wild dirty talk,” Giselle commented. “Kinda Skyrimish.”

“Oh hell, what a loser,” Fleur groused

There had to be a steaming heat in Tristabelle’s cheeks, Giselle figured, that was matched by the sizziling in her front passage. The voyeuristic blond watched in awe as an actual princess leaked all over the million dollar condo.

Bolts of pleasure surged into Princess Tristabelle’s brain and had her screaming like she was on a porn set.

“Hey, I saw a drawing of the girls from Persona 5 in this exact same position,” Giselle commented.

“Shut. Up.” Fleur responded.

Giselle almost killed the mood. But Fleur couldn’t stop pounding away with such ferocious speed her hands became a blur. That made Giselle think she was seeing things. It was also a testament to god knew what that the long legged princess was able to hold her position for so long.

RRIIIIING!!!! The doorbell sounded. The situation came to a halt with the princess quick to compose herself. Fleur, however, was quick to anger, face darkened.
Giselle looked towards the hallway, “Ooooh that’s probably a hot pizza delivery boy here to join the party.”

“Shut. Up.” Fleur repeated.

RIIIIIIING RIIIIIING RIIIING, the doorbell bleated to draw out a growl from Fleur.

RRRIIIIING RRRRRRING RRRIIIING

RIIIIIIING RIIIIING RIIIIIING

“Argh! Someone is gonna die!” Fleur shouted. Giselle thought she saw a flash of red in Fleur’s pale blue eyes.

RIIIIIIING RIIIIIIIING RIIIIIING

“I’m just gonna get that,” Giselle decided.

Fleur decided to follow Giselle, which had Tristabelle hurrying to throw her robe on Fleur to cover up nipples that could cut to the center of the earth.

Unfortunately the robe fell off.

Minus one princess the other two walked beneath the Shakespearean quote and past the expansive kitchen to reach the front door.
When Fleur pulled open the door, a dark-skinned woman in her mid-forties was present with the scowl to end all scowls. At her side stood a chubby woman with grey hair in a pixie style cut.

Using them as a shield of sorts was a trembling pale waif. Her dark hair stood on end like the by-product of a mad science explosion.

The woman stared at Fleur who’s dishevled hair and half worn robe left bad thoughts in their hair.

“You have my man,” The chubby woman announced in a Nigerian accent, right hand balled into a fist. “Or Mister Jaja to you.”

Her cute haircut and her now bright red face made Giselle think of a very angry Nickelodeon character.

“Where are our husbands?” The dark-skinned woman spat at Fleur. Literally spat. “We know they’re up to no good. And that no good is all of you.”

“How do you know that?” Giselle questioned, keeping her body language open with spread arms.

The dark-skinned woman replied, “Because all my Tyrone can blabber about are the new college girls who just moved in.”

“My sweet Blake,” the waif shrieked. “Bring him back!”

Fleur cut in, “Why are you yelling like we need to free him from a concentration camp?”

“Do something about this!” The taller woman flung a finger into Fleur’s face, as her companion’s hair seemed to stand further towards the ceiling.

“We ain’t seen no whoever the fuck,” Fleur challenged. Though her being naked slaughtered her argument before the words were even formed.

“Are you going to do something?” The chubby woman demanded, now with both hands balled into fists.

“Sure am.”

SLAM! Fleur shut the door on the infuriated faces of the wives.

“I hate living in this condo,” she said, as she stalked back through her multi-million dollar dorm.

But blocking her way to watching more NBA-TV was Tristabelle. The thong-clad princess stood directly under the “devils” in the Shakespeare quote.

“This has got to be Sofi’s doing,” Tristabelle remarked. ” Fleur, you said you could corral her naughty behavior.”

Fleur brushed past Tristabelle, clearly in no mood to be bitched at.

“That was before you made the no chokeholds outside of sex rule,” Fleur whined, as she glided towards what Giselle guessed was her room.

Anika had said, “There’s Sofi Poe, everyone loves her.”

Did that adoration extend to married men? Could it circle back to create ireful wives?

Fleur entered her room with Giselle and Tristabelle trailing.

“Bedroom” is not the term Giselle would have used to name what she stepped into.

Lair would be more appropriate.

The walls were black, covered with paintings of a purple night sky hanging over distressed and battered sections of Manhattan. The bed rested on a stone slab, which itself sat on a plush purple rug.

Fleur started thumbing through a giant black leather book that rested upon a stone desk. The desk was ornamented with carvings in a language Giselle couldn’t read.

“Whoever owns this place must be a straight-up weirdo,” Giselle opined.

Whatever reading material Fleur was perusing was slammed shut by Tristabelle. Sparks flickered in the brilliant blue eyes of the Golden Land princess.

“If word gets back to Miss Lindgren, we shall find shame to clan and peer. As princess I decide who is shamed in this world. The shaming does not do me!”
Giselle questioned, “Are you saying we could lose the condo over this?”

“Perhaps. Action must be taken! We must find Sofi! Then we will find the missing husbands. And then I shall abolish the no chokeholds outside of sex rule.”

“Good idea. New kid, you go,” Fleur ordered.

“Me?”

“She’s probably at her new favorite restaurant. Just look for the light-skin chick with green eyes. Prince Charming downstairs will help ya find her.”

After meeting these two, Giselle couldn’t begin to fathom who Prince Charming could be. Though from what Giselle gathered about Fleur, it could be nothing more than a mocking ironic nickname for an unabashedly gruff asshole.

“Prince Charming?” Giselle asked, voice unsteady.

The black book held more interest for Fleur, and she went back to it with a giggle. Giselle could see it was merely a list of names.

Tristabelle appraised Giselle with a look that otherwise said nothing as she walked to the door. “My brother, Prince Krisdane.”

“Half-brother,” Fleur corrected.

“Brother nonetheless,” Tristabelle said, not unkindly. “He is in the lobby. I shall tell him to expect your arrival.”
***
Before stepping onto the elevator, Giselle shot a few photos of the place and sent them over with an update of how she fell upwards to her mom and dad. Stephen replied with a couple of dancing cat gifs he personally created. Dawn was dazzled by the existence of a princess in the condo.

“Invite her to the Young Republicans club!” Dawn demanded.

As Giselle slid past the parting elevator doors, she wondered if she’d even be allowed back into the condo after getting Sofi. Her main character aura was but a dim gleam compared to the two girls she encountered. They probably wouldn’t even be impressed that she almost won a JV cross country race once. She’d leave out that she tripped before the finish line, hit her head on the ground, and had to be airlifted to the hospital.

On the ground floor the brightness from the lobby’s floor-length windows was so great it took a moment for Giselle to adjust her eyes.

Her new accommodations were so impressive that Giselle had forgotten about the equally staggering opulence of the complex’s ground floor. A large circular fountain sat in the middle of the floor. In the center of the fountain was a sculpture of a woman, her clothes clinging to only the right side of her body, left breast bared. Her triumphant pose reminded Giselle of Nike of Samothrace. Bursts of water rose and fell around her, like worshipers rising and bowing at her feet.

A woman strolled out of an expensive purse store. There was a giddiness lined across her face as she proudly bore her new bag over her shoulder. The croc-embossed bag was so pretty it made Giselle want to beg her mother for an early birthday gift.

There was almost a bit of drama as the woman bumped into two roaming men, her bag clattering off her shoulder and onto the floor. Her giddiness was shattered. Annoyance filled her face. But when she barked at them to watch their step, their response was to stare blankly at their shoes then keep going.

Giselle swore she recognized the dazed man with the elegant mustache. Some subway ad about selling brand new condos. It didn’t seem right to make a key purchase from a man who walked around in trance worthy of a Lakota shaman.

His dazed state aside he has to unload a bevy of condos to put him in a place like this, Giselle told herself.

The smaller of the three men had distinct dark skin and wore a pin of the Nigerian flag. Giselle briefly thought he was pixie woman’s John. For him to get into that state Sofi had to be a master hypnotist, which Giselle didn’t think she was.

A black man stood in front of a cafe with a dark blue awning and glossy blue chairs. Just standing there. Just standing there and not doing a goddamn thing. Giselle thought he might be one of the missing husbands. Her fear of the imposing wives from earlier was great enough she didn’t even want to be seen in the same area code as one of these guys. Forget the same building.

“Where is Prince Charming? Where, oh where, is my prince?” she mumbled to herself. Probably a little too loudly because a five-year-old started telling her mom about the crazy teenager talking to ghosts.

Giselle sighed inwardly and looked up in exasperation. That’s when she was greeted with her condo complex’s next splendor. Hanging from the ceiling were crystal ravens, soaring to a mural of a woman shrouded in black, rising from some shadowy depth to lay her hands upon the earth.

I couldn’t create something so cool if you gave me ten times the talent of José Orozco.

Giselle’s moment of self-pity was interrupted by a text message from her first Hemera friend, Stuart Logan.

You make it to condo? Had fun 2dgayyy!!*daygy
*day

If only those ravens could see what “fun” Little Miss California had earlier!

***

Fresh off her meeting with Anika, Giselle gathered herself outside the student services offices. She decided someone had to share her good news. Someone had to know she’ll be sharing a bathroom, a kitchen, maybe a Hulu password with extraordinary young women. Her friends from high school dropped her after her klutziness burned down the prom floats. But surely there was someone who’d hear her boast?

Why not Stuart Logan? He was a freshman from Queens she met on a Hemera social media page. The boy veered well left of normal, but Giselle loved staying up well past one am in the summer, sending text messages and cheesy gifs and crazy Photoshopped pics of celebrities. Even if Stuart was a little odd, Giselle enjoyed his insane theories. The one about Alex Jones being a vampire-thought-terrorist was her favorite. Though she didn’t follow why he felt taking “dick pics” with a cellphone killed sperm. Which was all part of the cellphone companies doing population control for the government.

With the school being one of the largest landowners in Manhattan, Giselle thought she’d be in for a lengthy sight-seeing friendly walk to Stuart’s residence hall. Instead she had a quick trip to the James Grey dorm. She passed underneath the Gaia Archway, which Internet commentators said shines the prettiest of anything in the New York night. Then she reached the hall, which Internet commentators say smelled worse than the 125th Street station.

They were right. Giselle opened the front door and detected faint traces of toxic sludge, cat piss, and halal carts.

A different smell, one of weed, rotten eggs, and skunk filled the stairwell Giselle took towards Stuart’s third floor room. It all reminded her of the smell-walk tour her dad forced her to go on when she came to Hemera for her first visit. She was proud to have held her own, while he dry heaved numerous times.

Loud sounds of ’90s hip hop were blaring from the room across from Stuart’s, so Giselle banged the door hard.

Fortunately, when Stuart opened the door the only scent that emerged was that of five-dollar gas station body spray. With the huge boner popping through his Nike shorts, a sighing Giselle could only assume he picked up some five dollar gas station erection pills to go with that body spray.

“Giselle! It’s you!”

“Stuart! Uh, everything okay?” Giselle cried, as she fixed her eyes on his collection of fitted caps and definitely not his penis

A summer of Samuel L Jackson gifs leads to a fall of unnaturally big erections!

Cute in a weasely sort of way, standing 5’7″, with thick glasses, curly hair, and pale skin, Stuart beamed a vermin pride. The two had a friendlier more free and liberated relationship than most girl and guy friendships. Giselle would gush about k-pop stars she crushed on, while Stuart would openly lust after bikini try-on videos on YouTube then come back an hour later with “post nut clarity” and announce that “detachment from women and believing in God’s kingdom” was the only thing left for the male gender.

Giselle muttered, “Well, anyway, if I can just slide through past that, uh, thing of yours I have super big news.”

Giselle could see Stuart was debilitated by the massive amount of blood surging down to his crotch and being incredibly horny, but he had to hear her news. He had to!

The weasel’s burrow was cluttered with a bevy of video game systems, including a Nintendo Switch, a PlayStation 4, a PlayStation 2, and an NES classic. There were two laptops, and one computer shaped like some sort of spaceship from Mass Effect. How Stuart expected to share this space with another human being Giselle couldn’t fathom. A New York roach couldn’t find a place to exist.

Not wanting a hard drive to poke her in the ass, Giselle found a seat on the yet to arrive roommate’s bed.

“Welcome to this pimping,” Stuart announced, by licking Giselle’s ear.

“Ah! What the hell?”

“I thought that was our greeting,” he replied then licked his lips.

Giselle started rubbing her ear against her shoulder. “It’s so not our greeting. That was never agreed upon.”

“My fault. What’s going on?” Stuart asked as he took a seat on a red, white, and blue patriotic gaming chair.

Ear dried and sexual harassment forgiven, Giselle’s mood brightened. Her fingers dug into the mattress as she leaned forward with a gorgeous smile full of perfect teeth.

“I have super huge news. The extraordinary Giselle Nyfall has been sent to a special condo for extraordinary young women.”

“By who?” Stuart blurted, so excited that he seemed to shiver.

“Uh, you’re sort of twitching all crazy. Are you okay?”

“Might need to roll up to the ER at some point. But I’m good for now,” he said, just shaking his head was painful enough to get him to grimace.

“Anika Lindgren, the director of student services, placed me there.”

Fear flooded Stuart’s weasel face. On video chatting Stuart produced grandiose reactions to the simplest things. To see his expression live though? Giselle’s lovely heart-shaped lips could only grin.

“Anika Lindgren?” Stuart gazed out the window to see if she’s coming. “Yo, that bitch is low-key crazy. If she sends you left, go right. If she sends you to heaven, go to hell.”

Giselle’s elation faltered. Had Anika’s sexy smirking lips and first rate beauty led Giselle to drink her poison?

Stuart continued, “My psychic, Madame Wanda, told me specifically to watch out for her.”

No. It’s Stuart who had been drinking.

“Is this the same psychic that said Saudi Arabian werewolves clone humans for their blood sports?”

Stuart leapt off his chair, fists held at his side, body tense, “You don’t believe Samir is on that shit?!”

Giselle leaned back, arms folded, “Stuart, are you gonna trust a psychic over a qualified professional?”

“Hitler was a qualified professional,” Stuart responded, sitting back in his Uncle Sam approved chair.

Well, he’s not wrong.

Giselle tried to ease Stuart’s heart with a carefree smile. And a toss of her white hair. That always did the trick with boys.

“If it turns out bad, maybe this can turn into a battle manga or a magical girl anime.”

“On my duty as a stone cold pimp of the nation, I will protect you!” he roared, exploding upward.

As soon as he jumped up his gym shorts take a nosedive to the ground.

“Eeep!” Giselle yelled. “That doesn’t look very normal tbh.”

Stuart looked down upon his member with pride.

“I took three BigStense pills before you came. Found a badass tranny who’s selling nudes for twenty bucks a pic. The last one scammed me. But I got a good feeling about this one. So I gotta get my shit right for this treasure.”

Stuart placed his fists against his hips and gave a proud nod, which looked frankly ridiculous as he’s a 120 pound man who has overdosed on gas station dick pills.

“Three pills?” Giselle asked, rising from her seat in disbelief. “What’s the daily recommended dosage?”

“Zero.”

“Ugh, Stuart. Do we need to go to the hospital?”

He started rambling, “These women don’t understand the true value of my pimping.”

“The real value of your pimpin is probably gonna cause you to have a stroke.” Giselle snapped.

Stuart’s face flushed, his mouth panted, but he managed to say, “Yes, humiliate me, Giselle. Tell me what a shitty person I am.”

“Stuart, be quiet. I need to think about what to do with you.”

There was no silence from Stuart as he said, “Good, make me feel like crap. Tell me what a shitty son I am, what a shitty father I’ll be. Tell me I got an unlikable face with a stupid haircut,” He shouted.

It wasn’t a stupid haircut, it was kind of cute, how it was a half-fro sort of thing.

But he continued, “Tell me I’m a failure. But you don’t know how it is when you’re a man that’s authentic, Giselle. When you have no choice but to scrap your way from the dirt alone. We all can’t all bend over and take it up the ass to secure our economic cheese and crackers.”

This was getting weird. Weirder. Giselle decided she was just going to leave.

But he was blocking the door and rambling, “Some of us gotta make that sacrifice so people can live the good life. I’m an artist.”

He was a computer science major that Photoshopped celebrities’ heads on porn stars’ bodies.

“To be an artist, you gotta hurt on the inside. You gotta experience heartbreak. You gotta see the world for what it truly is and be forced to pretend it isn’t just to co-exist.”

Stuart stood up, trembling with passion.

“They hate on me because they know I’m real. Money can’t buy what I possess and they know that! They know that, Giselle! They know that!”

Stuart spewed forth a stream of white, aiming for Giselle. But with disturbing experience in this sort of thing, Giselle was quick to the blast with his Calculus textbook.

“Ya won’t be selling this one back anytime soon,” she said, tossing it to the floor.

Stuart was left wheezing and lying against his gaming chair. Though again Giselle didn’t know if his exhaustion was because of his overdose or his insane spiel. But more importantly, his erection had diminished to flaccidity. The cold, clammy hands and explosive bowels side effects from BigStense would remain, however.

“We saved ya,” she pointed out with a wink, “aaaaaand I think I better take those pills from you.”

Stuart wanted a high-five, but Giselle was so not down for that shit.