by Dacy Alex
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.
"I also cannot say no to royal pussy," Giselle announced.
A threesome was about to ensue when... 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, "Maybe we should get that?"
"Hell no," Fleur barked. "This princess is clapping, and she ain't using hands."
Fleur went deep into Tristabelle's thong. The princess's eyes fluttered, her lips curling into a soft smile.
RIIIIIIING RIIIIIING RIIIING, the doorbell bleated to draw out a growl from Fleur.
"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.
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.
"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 half-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 BigS
tense 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.