A modern retelling of a classic story from a time long past. Following in the footsteps of Tiffany Daniels, Kylie Morgan stars in her own story. In the end, it's a classic blackmail story within a modern setting. AI-assisted story telling. All characters are over the age of 18.

Chapter 12

Her mother’s voice crackled through the car speakers. “Sweetheart? Hello?” Kylie’s fingers tightened on the wheel. “Yeah, yeah—sorry, ” she said. “Just... thinking about Sadie Hawkins.” The dashboard clock blinked 7:07 PM. The forced a laugh. “Do I have to ask someone?” Static filled the pause. Then her mother’s chuckle. “Well, your father wore lederhosen to mine." Kylie giggled at the images as semen dried tacky between her thighs. "I'll think about it, " she said ending the call.

The phone buzzed again, Maya flashing on the screen. Kylie exhaled through her nose before answering. “Hey.” Maya’s squeal nearly ruptured her eardrum. “Ohmygod, you have to ask someone to Sadie’s!” Kylie’s stomach lurched. “Uh... maybe?” Maya barreled on. “Ezra and I already picked matching outfits—” Her voice dipped conspiratorially. “—and you know what that means.” The words lost my virginity in a the school parking lot hung between them. Kylie forced a giggle.

“Sooooo...” Maya drew the word out like taffy. “Liam’s like totally into you.” Kylie’s knuckles whitened around the steering wheel. Liam, who’d lent her a pencil in trig last week. Who smelled like cinnamon gum. Who didn’t know what they’d done. “He’s... nice, ” she conceded. Maya snorted. “Nice? That boy undresses you with his eyes.” Kylie’s thighs stuck to the seat, plastic squeaking as she shifted. “Shut up, ” she hissed a little too forcefully, but her cheeks burned. Not from embarrassment. From shame.

The awkward silence stretched until Maya sighed. “Just ask him.” Kylie’s laugh sounded tinny. “What if he says no?” Maya gasped like she’d suggested the sky was green. “Um, impossible, he’s obsessed with you.” The word obsessed slithered down Kylie’s spine like lightning. Jameson’s fingers pinching her nipple. Ben’s camera flashing. She swallowed. “I’ll... think about it, ” she murmured, forcing the conversation away to homework.

Her house loomed ahead, windows dark except for the flickering glow of the porch light. Kylie killed the engine, sitting in the sudden silence. No texts from Harrington. Just Maya’s last message: Liam’s totally gonna say yes :P. She stared at her reflection in the rearview mirror, mascara smudged from earlier tears. The girl looking back almost looked normal. She fixed her makeup with a tissue after she pulled into the driveway.

Her house was dark, parents at some afterwork event, siblings at grandparent's. Kylie stood under the porch light, staring at her shadow stretched long across the lawn. For the first time in weeks, nobody demanded anything from her. The relief washed over her.

Upstairs, she cranked the shower to near-scalding and watched the water swirl down the drain. The loofah scraped too hard over her ribs, leaving angry red streaks, but she didn't stop, needing to feel clean, even if it hurt. Conditioner turned her hair into silk ribbons between her fingers, the rosemary scent masking everything that lingered underneath.

She emerged pink-skinned and wrapped in a towel thick enough to hide in. The razor waited on the sink like an old friend, one she'd avoided looking at since Harrington made her keep herself bare. Tonight, she took her time, stretching each leg over the edge of the tub, dragging the blade in slow, precise strokes. No rushed nick this time, no trembling hands. Just smooth skin emerging under her own command.

The fridge light stung her eyes when she cracked it open in her baggy pajamas, leftover Chinese takeout. She grabbed it, dumping it onto a plate. Instagram loaded on her phone, endless sunset photos and dog videos. She tapped 'like' on a golden retriever wearing pajamas, the algorithm feeding her more of the same. Someone from gym class had posted a meme about trigonometry. She laughed, genuinely, before realizing Liam had commented beneath it. Her thumb hovered over the screen. She swiped away instead.

Netflix autoplayed some rom-com she'd seen three times, the kind where the girl always says no until the grand gesture. She shoved a forkful of cold lo mein into her mouth, chewing as the heroine tearfully reunited with her ex. The actress onscreen gasped as her love interest kissed her in the rain. Kylie's toes curled against the cushions. For a heartbeat, she almost looked like someone who hadn't been fucked raw in a faculty lounge hours earlier. Almost.

Her fingers drifted between her thighs but recoiled when she her tender flesh throbbed. They didn't even try. The thought slithered in, unwelcome. Harrington had made her scream before, twisting pleasure from her like juice from a rind. Today was different. Purposeful. Like her climax didn't factor into their equation anymore. A notification buzzed, Maya sending Liam's Spotify playlist. Kylie stared at the screen, the neon-green heart icon pulsing mockingly. Outside, a car door slammed. Her pulse spiked before she recognized the neighbor's laughter.

She paused mid-step toward the dishwasher, the plate trembling slightly in her hands. The leftover lo mein congealed at the edges, slick with grease. Would Liam treat me like that? The thought flickered unbidden, her mind conjuring hazel eyes widening as she unbuttoned her blouse. Not like Harrington's clinical detachment or Ben's hungry leer, but... different. She shoved the plate into the rack with more force than necessary, the ceramic clattering against the metal prongs. Stupid. A flush crept up her neck, equal parts shame and something hotter, darker. It’s not supposed to be this way. The dishwasher door hissed shut, sealing away the evidence of her solitary meal.

In bed, she fisted the sheets, trying to imagine Liam, grasping his shoulders, but Harrington’s broad figure kept taking his place. Her fingers twitched lower, skirting the oversensitive flesh between her legs. The neon playlist link glowed accusingly from her phone on her nightstand. She squeezed her eyes shut, summoning cinnamon gum and crooked smiles, but the scent that filled her nostrils was Ben's aftershave mixed with the musk of her own humiliation. Her fingers moved with practiced efficiency, circling the swollen bud in tight, punishing spirals. Not like they did it. She arched into her own touch, chasing the ghost of Harrington's lips on her collarbone, the way Jameson had gripped her wrists, the feel of the green dressed bunched around her waist, the tightness of the lingerie, the exact moment Harrington's cock had... Her breath locked, hips jerking off the mattress as the orgasm ripped through her, sharp as a backhand.

***

The dry cleaner’s bell chimed at 7:15 AM, the sound was too cheerful for the dread pooling in Kylie’s stomach. The clerk, a paunchy man with salt-and-pepper stubble, barely glanced up from his newspaper as she approached the counter. “Pick-up for Morgan, ” she mumbled, fingers tapping the laminate. He disappeared into the back, returning with the emerald dress draped over one arm, plastic sheath crinkling. Her throat tightened at the sight, clean, pressed, innocent again. “That’ll be $27.50, ” he said. Her wallet yawned empty when she flipped it open. Shit.

Time ticked audibly from the wall clock. First period started in twelve minutes. Harrington’s warning about “consequences” for tardiness slithered through her mind. The clerk drummed his fingers, eyebrows lifting. Kylie’s pulse hammered in her ears. Before she could second-guess herself, she leaned forward, letting her hoodie gape just enough to reveal the lace edging of her bra. “I... might have another way to pay, ” she murmured, tracing a finger along the counter toward his belt. His Adam’s apple bobbed. “Miss, I—oh.” Her hand was already cupping him through his khakis, feeling the sudden swell beneath her palm.

Internal screaming drowned out the clerk’s stammered protests. She dropped to her knees behind the counter, the linoleum biting her skin, and fumbled his zipper down with practiced efficiency. His cock sprang free, semi-hard and ruddy. The sour tang of stale coffee and starch filled her nostrils as she took him in, hollowing her cheeks on the downstroke. His knees knocked against the counter, a muffled thunk as his hips jerked. “Christ, ” he gasped, fingers tangling in her hair, not gripping, just there, like he wasn’t sure if he should push her away or deeper.

Ejaculate hit the back of her throat three minutes later. She swallowed on reflex, the bitterness making her eyes water as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. The clerk zipped up hurriedly, face flushed beet-red, and thrust the dress at her without meeting her eyes. “Keep—keep the change, ” he croaked, waving away the imaginary money. Kylie clutched the plastic bag to her chest and bolted, the bell’s chime chasing her like laughter.

Rain slicked the pavement as she sprinted toward her car, hoodie absorbing the drizzle. Her tongue probed the roof of her mouth, still tasting him, and bile rose in her throat. Two weeks ago, you had never even seen a dick. And I just did that! The absurdity almost made her stumble. A car horn blared as she jaywalked, the driver’s middle finger flashing in her periphery. Normal people didn’t drop to their knees for dry cleaning. Normal people didn’t— She popped a few breath mints in her mouth to cover the taste and smell of the clerk.

Harrington’s classroom door loomed ahead. She skidded to a stop, heart pounding, just as the final bell rang. His silhouette darkened the frosted glass. Kylie’s fingers tightened her backpack straps. The door swung open before she could knock. Harrington’s eyes dropped down her body, then back up, slow as syrup. “Cutting it close, Miss Morgan.” His smile didn’t reach his eyes.

Behind him, Liam glanced up from his desk, pencil frozen mid-doodle. His lips parted, whether in greeting or shock, she couldn’t tell. Kylie’s cheeks burned as rainwater dripped from her hood onto the linoleum. Harrington stepped aside with exaggerated courtesy. “After you, ” he purred, fingers brushing the small of her back as she passed. Kylie stared straight ahead, counting the tiles to her seat—twelve, thirteen, fourteen—each step echoing the clerk’s stifled groans.

Harrington’s lecture on cellular mitosis blurred into static. She stared at the chalkboard, her own page blank except for a single doodle, a dress with a price tag reading $27.50. Harrington’s pointer tapped the projection screen, circling a dividing nucleus. “Note the spindle fibers, ” he said, the laser dot skating over the image like a second pupil. His gaze flicked to Kylie. “Alignment is critical for proper separation.” A girl in back giggled as Liam leaned over. “You okay?” His whisper smelled like cinnamon. "I'm fine, " she said, trying to smile.

The bell’s shriek cut through the room. Chairs screeched, backpacks zipped, laughter bubbling toward the door. Liam hesitated; Harrington cleared his throat. “Miss Morgan. A word.” The temperature dropped ten degrees. Liam’s smile faltered. “See you at lunch?” She nodded, throat tight. The door clicked shut behind him, leaving her alone with the hum of lights and Harrington’s cologne, vetiver and something musky.

He perched on his desk, loosening his tie. “Sadie Hawkins, ” he mused, tapping a manila folder against his thigh. Inside, Kylie knew, there were photos of her. “Planning to ask someone?” His smile was all teeth. She gripped the seat’s edges, plastic biting her palms. “N-no.” Harrington tsked, flipping the folder open.

“Liam Pierce, ” he said. “Three-point-eight GPA. Football player.” His finger traced the folder. “He’s been staring at your tits since September.” The folder snapped shut. “Ask him.”

Kylie’s pulse roared. “What if—”

Harrington leaned in. “What if I CC his parents on your pictures?”

The folder slapped onto his desk, photos scattering across the smooth wood, her bare back arched in orgasm, Ben’s fingers stroking her clit. Harrington tutted, gathering then back up. His cufflinks gleamed gold as he stacked the photos neatly. “Here’s the deal, Princess.” His thumb pressed into her clavicle. “Ask him to Sadie’s. Wear the green dress.” His breath smelled like coffee grounds. “You can do whatever you want, hold hands, slow dance—” His fingers trailed lower. “—but that pretty mouth? That’s mandatory.”

Her stomach clenched. Liam’s laugh echoed from the hallway, bright, oblivious. Harrington grinned. “He’ll say yes. Boys like him always do.” He flicked the folder open again, a screenshot of Liam’s Instagram like on her gymnastics photo. “Let him taste what he’s been dreaming about.” His palm slid roughly over her jeans. “Fuck him, to say thanks for taking your slutty ass to the dance.” The statement hooked beneath her ribs. His grip tightened. "Make his dream come true."

The hallway clock ticked. Kylie swallowed, imagining Liam’s shocked gasp when she unzipped him in his dad’s Camry. Harrington’s fingers twisted in her hair. “Nod if you understand.” She nodded, scalp stinging. He released her with a shove. “Good girl.” His phone buzzed, Miller's name flashing. “Ah. Miller’s bringing lunch.” The dismissal was clear. “Practice your smile, Princess. You’ll need it.”

Her knees wobbled rising. Liam’s forgotten biology homework lay abandoned on his desk, his doodles in the margins: a starburst, a cartoon frog. Innocent things. She traced the frog’s grin with one finger, then snatched her backpack and fled.

Around the corner, Maya materialized, waving a flyer. “Finally! They’re doing karaoke at Sadie’s—” She froze, squinting. “Why are you sweating?” Kylie wiped her upper lip. “Ran here, ” she lied. Maya jabbed the flyer at her chest. “Liam’s singing.” The paper crinkled, a badly photocopied list of approved songs. Kylie’s pulse stuttered at #14: Iris by Goo Goo Dolls. Liam had referenced it once during a poetry unit. Kylie had never heard of it and didn’t know why Liam would pick an oldie.

“So?” Maya hip-checked her. “Gonna ask him or what?” Harrington’s email threat coiled tighter in Kylie’s gut. She pictured Liam’s startled exhale when she’d press against him in the dark, his fingers fumbling with the emerald dress’s zipper, how he’d recoil if he knew what that fabric had absorbed. Maya snapped her fingers. “Earth to Kylie!”

The cafeteria’s roar crescendoed as they entered. Liam sat with the football team, gesturing wildly about some game. Sunlight caught his wristwatch as he laughed, the face glinting. Harrington’s voice slithered through her memory: Mandatory.

Maya shoved her forward. “Go *on*.”

Liam’s head lifted as she approached, his smile faltering when he registered her trembling hands. “Hey, ” he said, scooting over. The football team’s chatter died. Someone coughed. Kylie’s tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth.

“Sadie Hawkins, ” she blurted. The table erupted in ooohs. Liam’s ears turned pink. “I—uh—” His pencil rolled off the table. Kylie bent to retrieve it. Liam’s breath hitched. He’s staring, she realized with a flush.

“Yes, ” Liam said suddenly, too loud. His knee bounced under the table, knocking hers. “I mean, if you—yeah.” The football team whooped. Maya squealed, already texting. Kylie forced a giggle, nausea rising as Liam’s grin widened. Innocent, she thought, watching his Adam’s apple bob. He has no idea what he’s saying yes to.

The bell rang.

***

The gym shorts rode up with every squat, seams biting into the damp skin of Kylie's inner thighs. To the side, Miller's whistle shrieked, three sharp blasts that cut through the squeak of sneakers and grunts of exertion. "Morgan! Form's slipping, " the coach barked, twirling her clipboard like a baton. Kylie's quads burned as she sank lower, arms outstretched, sweat trickling down her temples. The clock above the scoreboard taunted her: 12:47 PM. Only thirteen minutes until Liam would text about Sadie Hawkins playlist ideas. Thirteen minutes until she could stop counting the seconds between Miller's critiques.

"My office. Now." Miller's fingers grazed Kylie's lower back, too brief for anyone else to notice, but too deliberate for Kylie to mistake. The walk past gawking classmates felt endless, her damp shirt clinging to toned body. Inside the office, Miller kicked the door shut with her heel. The framed team photos rattled as she yanked open a drawer, putting her clipboard inside. She hooked her thumb hooking under the waistband of Kylie's shorts. "Can't have our star gymnast losing her strength."

Miller sprawled on the futon, legs splayed like she owned it, like she owned her. "Tongue's a muscle too, Morgan." The coach's smirk widened as she lifted her skirt, no panties, just wiry blonde curls glistening under fluorescent lights. Kylie's stomach lurched. "I—I don't— I'm not a lesbian." The protest died when Miller grabbed a fistful of her ponytail.

"Maybe not yet, but you are a slut." Miller's free hand cupped herself, fingers gliding through slick folds. The scent, musky, hit Kylie's nostrils like a physical blow. "Moaned quite a bit when I ate you though, for a straight girl." Her grip twisted, forcing Kylie's face downward. "Lick. Or I email your parents the gangbang videos Ben took. Tick Tock Princess, ten minutes until class ends, you don't want to be late."

“Now, be a good girl, and show me how you use that tongue, or I can introduce you to my little friend, ” Miller said as she looked toward her desk, the emphasis on the word little made it clear exactly what she meant. “Your choice, Kitten.” A shiver ran down Kylie’s spine as she envisioned Miller’s massive dildo.

Kylie's knees hit the carpet. The first hesitant swipe of her tongue tasted like salt and musk. Miller's thighs clamped around her ears, muffling the coach's groan. "Deeper, princess." A calloused hand pushed her closer to Miller's pussy. "Show me that perfect form."

Outside, sneakers squeaked across the court. Someone laughed. Kylie's tears dripped onto Miller's inner thigh as her tongue licked her lips. The coach's hips jerked. "Fuck, you straight girls always—" Her words dissolved into a gasp. Kylie's jaw ached, saliva pooling under her tongue. Liam likes cinnamon gum, she thought wildly.

Miller's fingers speared into her hair. "There's the clit, slut. Like a—Christ—like a little pearl." Kylie's tongue flicked the swollen nub tentatively. The taste flooded her mouth—musky, earthy, nothing like a man’s cock. Miller's thighs trembled. "Suck it, " she ordered, voice cracking.

Kylie obeyed, sealing her lips around the bud. Miller's back arched off the futon with a choked cry. The office chair rolled away as her arm flailed, bumping against the file cabinet. Kylie's nose pressed into wiry curls with each suctioning pull, her own breath coming in hot, damp bursts against Miller's skin. The coach's fingernails scraped her scalp. "Don't—fuck—don't stop."

Miller's orgasm hit like a truck, her whole body locking up, a guttural moan ripping from her throat as she ground against Kylie's face. The lights buzzed overhead. Somewhere, a volleyball bounced in slow, lazy thumps.

When Miller finally shoved her away, Kylie's lips gleamed with juice and saliva. The coach wiped herself lazily with a crumpled permission slip. "Not a lesbian, huh? I’ll have to tell Harrington you’re a natural at eating pussy, " she panted, lowering up her skirt. Her knees trembled slightly as she stood. "I knew a slut like you would be good at it."

Kylie wiped her mouth on her shirt, the fabric scratching her swollen lips. Her tongue felt heavy, coated in Miller's musk, a taste she couldn't scrub away with her teeth. She stared at the floor, waiting for the dismissal that would let her flee.

Miller adjusted her whistle lanyard, the plastic clip clicking against her collarbone. With a flick of her wrist, she gestured toward the door like she was shooing a stray dog. "Go on, " she sneered. "Run back to your little boyfriend. But remember, " She tapped the phone on her desk. "One wrong move, and Liam gets a front-row seat to your greatest hits."

The gymnasium sounds crashed over Kylie as she stumbled out, sneaker squeaks, bouncing balls, the too-loud laughter of girls who didn't have Miller's juice drying on their chins. Her legs shook as she crossed the court, her shirt still damp where she'd tried to scrub her mouth clean.

Liam's text buzzed in her pocket mid-stride. Her stomach lurched when she saw the song title he'd picked: Iris. The lyrics about being honest burned behind her eyelids. She typed Perfect with fingers that didn't feel like her own, then yanked her gym bag from the bleachers. The locker room offered no refuge, just echoing tile and the scent of industrial cleaner masking deeper stenches.

Under the scalding shower spray, she scrubbed. But when she closed her eyes, she didn't see Miller's smug face or Liam's hopeful smile. She saw Harrington's grin as he'd mentioned the emerald dress. "Wear the green dress, " he'd whispered. "Make his dreams come true." The memory twisted in her gut alongside Miller's threat and Liam's guileless text.

The bell rang. Somewhere, Liam was waiting. Somewhere, Harrington was watching. And Kylie, lips still tingling, was caught perfectly between them.

The shower pounded against her shoulders, steam curling around her like the ghostly hands of all the people who’d touched her. She ran her hands over her thighs, pressing too hard, as if she could scrub away the memory of Miller’s taste, bitter and musky, but softer than Harrington’s cock, gentler than Ben’s fingers. I’m not a lesbian, she reminded herself automatically. But Miller’s thighs had been warm, her gasps sharp but not cruel, and when she’d come, it hadn’t been with the violent thrusting that left Kylie’s throat bruised. Just trembling. Just... release.

Her fingers stilled over her abdomen. The water sluiced between her legs, carrying away suds and, she hated herself for noticing, the faintest moisture that hadn’t been there before she’d remembered the way Miller’s hips had stuttered. It wasn’t that bad. The admission slithered through her, sticky as the steam. Worse was the traitorous flicker of curiosity: had Miller liked it more because Kylie wasn’t some desperate dyke? Because she was her slut, on her knees for someone else to order around? The shower rod rattled as she gripped it, forehead pressed to the tiles.

Outside, lockers banged. A freshman giggled about some boy’s Snapchat. Normal sounds. Kylie’s fingers crept lower, tracing the sensitive skin of her inner thigh—not quite touching herself, just... testing. The memory of Miller’s clit against her tongue bloomed, vivid and unwelcome. Her fingertip brushed her own slickness, and she jerked back as if burned. No. She twisted the shower knob to cold, gasping as icy needles stabbed her skin. But even the shock couldn’t erase the image: Liam’s sweet smile when she’d asked him to Sadie’s, Miller’s sweat-damp thighs, Harrington’s imagined voice in her ear—good girl—as she’d swallowed the dry cleaner’s come.