Chapter 1

Molly couldn't believe what she'd gotten herself into. It was only her first day at Oakwood Academy, and the sophomore was sitting in the car of a girl she'd just met. A car which was barreling through the streets of New Bristol to the house of a girl she'd never even seen. Molly badly wanted to text her parents, so they'd know that she was just going to an afternoon party with the girls from art class — nothing that scary. But Tessa had forbidden it, and, well, she was the driver.

She could tell Tessa to turn around. No doubt she'd do it. But ... then she might never talk to Molly again. And despite Tessa's ambivalent coldness, the art girls' social circle was the only one she seemed to have a chance of joining. Molly's dad had suddenly changed jobs in mid-October, which had swept her, with barely a chance to say goodbye, into the land of the rich kids with their pretentious "Academy." Needless to say, she hadn't quite mastered the social protocols. Still, if Molly wanted acceptance, she'd better try to behave herself. The redhead sighed, smoothed out her blue blouse, and stuck her purse in a corner below the glove compartment, hoping she could forget about the phone inside it.

After a certain point, New Bristol all looked the same. Or, at least the parts Tessa was driving through did: trees, interspersed with gabled roofs, sculpted lawns, and scaled-back mansions. Suburban grandeur. More and more, Molly's eyes drifted from the monotonous houses to Tessa herself. She tried not to make it obvious, though the blonde seemed unnaturally focused on driving. Tessa wore a bold red scarf draped around her neck, offsetting a black blouse. The elegant senior's voluminous pale-blonde hair was delicately curled into ringlets; her full lips were painted ruby-red, outlined in a slightly darker shade.

Molly had heard heard that one of the major activities at the art parties was trading fashion tips. She hoped she could one day look as striking as Tessa. The blonde's natural beauty was formidable, but Molly had never really done anything ambitious with her makeup or clothes. And, at her old school, people had called her cute anyhow. She'd just have to work a little harder here. Someone would take Molly under her wing, and Molly would be fine. Really. I will be. Calm down, self.

The nervous sophomore was considering Tessa's lacquered red nails, wondering how they'd look on her, when the car slowed and stopped. Molly looked up, realizing she'd been in a bit of a daze. The car was parked, along with several others, alongside a mansion that made no attempt to show restraint. It reminded Molly of the Biltmore House, which she'd visited once, in its size and ostentatiousness; but with Neoclassical twists, such as the engaged columns delineating segments of the house. The grounds were enormous, with large fields on two sides, and a forest surrounding the whole affair. A winding road disappeared behind the trees in the direction they'd come.

Tessa put her hand on Molly's shoulder, making the new girl flinch and look up, embarrassed. Tessa calmly, superciliously grinned. "I don't blame you for ogling, but you'll be doing plenty of that later. The party's about to start, kiddo, and we still need to go through security."

Security? But she found out quickly enough, as a cop — or pseudo-cop — approached the car. She was over six feet, perhaps in her thirties, with severe demeanor and a seriously short haircut. She wore no obvious makeup, but was quite striking nonetheless, with blemish-free skin like porcelain. The cop unholstered her gun — a little excessive, no? — and ushered them both into a small security hut in the mansion's shadow.

The building contained little more than a metal detector and an oddly sweet smell, which Molly assumed was a new air freshener. The redhead quickly went through without setting the detector off. Which suddenly made her realize that she'd left her purse in the car. Shit. She had hoped it would go unnoticed as a fashion accessory, but if she bolted now, Tessa would know she was getting her phone. She would just have to do without, and nervously hope Tessa's promise to drive her home held up.

When Tessa went through the metal detector, it quietly beeped. The cop grinned, which struck Molly as quite inappropriate.

"Oh, riiight," the short-haired woman said. "Tessa. You're the one with the nipple rings. Well, let me just make sure. Arms at your side, all right?"

The elegant blonde was blushing hard, but complied. Molly tried to shrink into a corner as she watched the cop running her hands up and down Tessa's legs in a very unbusinesslike way. This impression was confirmed when she flipped up Tessa's white skirt and started squeezing and pinching Tessa's generous ass through her lace panties. Molly watched with wide eyes as the cop went around to the front, stuck two fingers into the panting blonde's snatch, pulled them out, and licked them clean. She gave Molly a meaningful look. The redhead didn't quite get the meaning. But she knew two things: one, she had gotten in way over her head; two, her pussy was doing the same gushing thing as Tessa's was. Her mouth opened in a silent moan.

Eventually the cop made her way to Tessa's modest swells, pinching and prodding them vigorously and inducing ragged moans from the elegant girl. After rolling up Tessa's blouse to display the mounted golden rings to the overwhelmed Molly, the grinning cop finally withdrew and sent Tessa on her way. Molly tried to follow, but the cop caught her arm with an incredibly strong grip.

"You're new here. Full name, please?"

She gulped, and hastily said, "Molly Carson."

The cop nodded, her expression and voice lecherous. "Tegan will have fun with you, I'm sure."

She waved them away, and they headed back towards the mansion. Molly turned the cop's words over in her mind. Tegan would "have fun with" her. It seemed a weird turn of phrase. As if Molly were a doll for this Tegan to play with, or something. About all Molly knew about Tegan Stone was that she was rich, and the undisputed leader of the art girls' social circle. Molly was in the afternoon all-levels art class, while Tegan attended in the morning, so they hadn't ever met.

Molly had seen one of Miss Stone's sculptures, though, displayed in the back of the room: a painted-ceramic mountain lion, snarling with almost absurd realism at the class. It was a little hard not to look at the beast when taking down notes, although the fashionable girls in the class were a good distraction. She'd only appreciated them aesthetically at the time. But Tessa and the cop had flipped a switch. She shivered as she began to relive her afternoon memories, this time focused not on her classmates' jewelry, but on their luscious lips, and what they could do to her...

Tessa interrupted that train of thought by ringing the doorbell. Molly shook her head, trying to clear it. A black-haired girl stood in the doorway, whom Molly recognized from afternoon art. She hadn't ever caught her name, nor did she remember the girl's most notable feature: very generous breasts, now exposed in a delectable low-cut green dress, and emphasized with a golden necklace. The olive-skinned girl greeted Tess with a lengthy but seemingly chaste hug, and turned to Molly.

"You might not remember me from class," the girl said, extending her hand. "I'm Miranda." She spoke warmly, with a clear Spanish accent. Her complexion was perfect, and she had wide, brown eyes with gold sparkles in them, which Molly thought she could easily get lost in.

"Molly. Nice to meet you again."

They shook hands, and Molly felt a pleasant tingle up her spine. Which was followed by a resurgence of the heat she'd felt earlier. She recognized the same, cloying smell inside as in the security building, but it seemed more intense, and cut with something deep and rich. Dark chocolate and berries, maybe. The scent had a strange spice, almost pungence to it. Molly couldn't stop thinking about the scent.

At one point she noticed that she was sweating. This fact barely registered.

Molly followed Miranda through the foyer. It was clear that the scent was coming from all around -- but Miranda seemed like she'd been sprayed with it. Something about that scent compelled her. Compelled her to do things. Nasty things. It was all Molly could do not to grab hold of those toned legs and beg to be allowed a taste of Miranda's delectable pussy, no doubt unblemished, slick and sweet like berries...