Hello everyone! Well, it's that time again ladies and gents! Due to real life being a real pain your authors have been unable to give this story the time and attention both it deserves and they would desire. Fortunately after kicking our asses for a good few months it got tired and had to take a break, just long enough for us to cobble together a little present for all you wonderful and patient readers! Lol.
And consider this being uploaded a few days before the New Year as a promise to be more diligent in the upcoming year. Here's to 2018 being a better, more frequently updated year! *Raise non-existent glass in a metaphorical toast*
Also, before I forget, I've got some big news. This story FINALLY has a TV tropes page! :) I've been waiting this since this story started and now I've finally got it! And my partner, Kenju, feels the same way. We can't thank you guys who have shown this story love for allowing us to get to this point. Thanks, so very much!
Here is the twenty-second chapter of Unbreakable Red Silken Thread: Chance: Died on Saturday
November 1, 2014 (11:30AM)
Gwen was glowering at several opened books sprawled across one of the campus library's wide rectangular tables as if trying to impose her will on the language tattooed paper. Her coal black eyes had been narrowed into hardened slits for several minutes now and it was doubtful that would be changing for the foreseeable future. The books had been checked out for another project for her 'History of Horror' class, this one about the disturbing similarities between the novel Demons by Dostoyevsky and the book series The Gulag Archipelago.
The assignment was part of her midterms and thus a sizable chunk of her grade would depend on it, though in terms of topics to be given, showing the ways in which the work of fiction predicted the conditions in Soviet Russia despite being written around forty years before its rise to power wasn't exactly an easy one, or enjoyable. The pair of displaying pages that were beneath the pale young woman's large heaving bosom offered proof that the notorious forced labor camps had their theoretical, legal, and practical origins with Lenin and not Stalin as many had believed since the 1930s.
Someone could have popped an air filled paper bag next to her ear and she wouldn't have even noticed it her mind was such a fortress at this point, blocking out all but what fluttered in her thoughts. Unfortunately, that didn't include the words on the pages, which became blurry squiggles. More...personal monstrosities denied the savagery seen in snowy Siberia warranted focus.
Instead, her mental landscape was currently dominated by the events of the previous night, by the deceptively ordinary horror she had discovered after entering Cody and Heather's dorm. She focused on a single moment from after she changed into her nightclothes, spurred by morbid curiosity after hearing the sound of softly running water.
Cody was washing the dishes with only the light above the sink turned on. He, ignorant of Gwen's presence, was acting as though he were walking through a minefield as he scrubbed the dishes as quietly as possible with only the most minimal of required noise. Ironic considering they both knew a little something about minefields from firsthand experience.
Now that the shock of the moment had pasted into recent memory, the Goth couldn't help but ponder some other details that had been obscured before.
She would have bet big money this was the result of Heather forcing Cody to do it. The mere concept of it being something he did of his own volition was foreign; alien even, something else they both discovered during the same challenge that had them running through a minefield. But most unsettlingly, that idea really bothered the Goth, even after twelve hours had passed. And the more she thought about it the more it bothered her, exposing new levels of vexation with each new probing contemplation.
Had it been Heather's doing, she would have been angry to see Cody cleaning up everything afterwards like he was some kind of servant to the Asian bitch. But it having been Cody that did it all…it didn't make her angry, it just...bothered her. She would rather be angry, anger could be comforting; you knew what to hate with clarity and the source of your discomfort could be a focal point eliciting pleasant notions like revenge or schadenfreude. It made you feel clean; burning away your neurotic failings. But bothered? Bothered didn't make one feel clean, bothered made one feel messy, impure…wrong.
Gwen thought about how wrong it all was. Cody had gone out of his way to cook a romantic dinner for Heather, and his reward for that kind of rare gentlemanly behavior was getting up in the middle of the night to clean up everything afterwards because he knew Heather would be in a bad mood if she woke up and saw the place was a mess.
She wasn't angry about that…she was bothered.
Part of what bothered the Goth was admitting to herself that she was wrong, at least partially. Cody's actions last night were enough to tell Gwen that he loved Heather. It effectively disproved her initial gut feelings that he was using the Queen Bee as an aesthetically pleasing cum dump that he paid for every spent load. It proved the Tech Geek wasn't just looking for a girl to sleep with as well, he chose to do everything he had for her, to cook and clean and do whatever he could to make her happy. More than that, he didn't seem the least bit put off by it. If anything, he seemed...happy, even humming a little tune while he washed the dishes. Who the hell could actually be happy washing dishes in the middle of the night?
Within view of the rusted railroad tracks adoring the doorway beside her, Gwen's train of thought was derailed as the hushed hum of her phone vibrated in the academic air, the pulsation against her thigh like a sonic bee sting. She dug the phone from her skirt pocket before glancing at the caller ID and her mood picked up a bit at seeing it was from Duncan. Not that it should have been shocking; she rarely got messages from anyone else and hadn't for a good year or two. She gave no thought to that however as she opened her phone and softly answered, "Hey."
"Hey Pasty," Duncan's voice called from the other end, just loud enough to make the Goth slightly wince in the library's subtly tense atmosphere of silence. "Where are ya at, Hot Stuff?"
"I'm in the library, getting an early start on that big project for 'History of Horror.'"
"Ah, that's good, it means you aren't too far away."
Gwen paused for a moment in mild shock before answering, "Too far away for what?"
"Me and the guys are gonna be having a little game on the court today since it's not ball freezing cold yet, and ya know how much better I do when I've got my favorite cheerleader there with her big pompoms."
The conversation was without words for a few long moments, as Gwen bit down her swan diving excitement for what she knew was about to happen. But maybe not? Maybe…
"Listen…Duncan…" Gwen began, sounding less confident than she would have preferred. Nervousness crawled up her spine as her breathing increased ever so slightly. "I would like to be there for you…but—but I'm already behind on my project and I really need time to-"
"Relax, Pasty, there's always more time. I know you can get it done easily," Duncan said reassuringly, cutting her off without pause. "Besides, ya haven't cheered me on all week, and I miss you," he added softly, but with a sense of finality.
The Goth took another brief pause, before sighing into her phone. "I'll be there. See you at the court," the Goth said, sounding more like she had agreed to attend a funeral than a game. Barely hearing Duncan's pleased goodbye she ended the call and pocketed her phone.
Gwen honestly didn't know why she had bothered. Duncan always got what he wanted.
November 1, 2014 (2:45PM)
For whatever reason, despite it being November 1st, and northern Canada, it was surprisingly warm. Halloween had been temperate at worst but the day after was full of life and light, as if the fabled foul spirits wandering the earth had been truly put at peace by the costumed candy-collecting and promiscuous partying of the most recent All-Hollow's-Eve.
The sun shined brightly and asphalt baked under the shoes of the players, their bodies shoving against one another and dancing to the irregular PAP-PAP-PAP beat of the basketball hitting the pavement and scratching-rip of sneakers. It was music that Gwen was deaf too.
After an hour or two of watching several games between the same eight guys, the Goth was truthfully bored out of her skull. But that wasn't surprising; it had been the reason the busty beauty had dreaded coming here. Gwen never enjoyed watching or participating when it came to sports, of any kind, at any time, ever. She still got occasional flashbacks to the days her mother would force her outside to watch her little brother play football with his friends. And all the years since then had done nothing to improve her disposition toward this largely beloved pastime. So many of the reasons that made her hate it back then continued in the present. The uncomfortable bleachers that made her ass numb, the lack of understanding of the game and even less desire to learn, the dull escapades that played out like a work of mediocre fiction without any of the true excitement that others apparently enjoyed, the lack of narrative stakes and meaning outside of the brief vindication of a hollow meaningless victory.
The brownish-orange sphere adored with black stripes bounced and traveled all along the court, its rubbery rhythm sung frequently as the ball slammed the ground and passed hands. The eight players were putting their all into it, as though it were a matter of life and death. They dribbled, passed, bobbed, weaved, shot, and ran all at hundred percent. For them this would be something epic to recall with excitement and pride for decades.
Gwen was bored to tears.
One thing and only one thing made this game any different from the previous she had endured, only one thing made this horribly boring experience just barely tolerable.
The game was shirts vs. skins, and Duncan was on the skins'.
As long as she focused on the sweat glistening muscles of her boyfriend, she was perfectly content. She couldn't have given less of a shit about the game, but she did love watching Duncan in action. The way his pecs flexed, the taut muscles of his arms bulging and tightening, his face clenching into an expression of feral drive harder than his metal studs…it provided quite the feast for the eyes and even more fuel for her imagination. But it wasn't just his body that made this purgatorial escapade somewhat...enjoyable. Equally appealing to her was how Duncan played the game, how aggressive and dominating he was, just like everything else in life. None of the players were timid, but compared to Duncan they might as well have been newborn fawns, the Delinquent's ferocity and fervor were primal, bestial, raw.
Not even Lightning was able to keep up with him or stop him, at best he could slow her boyfriend down, inconvenience him for a moment or two, but then like a skilled predator he would simply overcome his larger friend.
Gwen found herself getting just the tiniest bit moist as she watched Duncan doing what he did best, standing above the competition and leaving them in the shadows of humiliating defeat. Whenever Duncan would slam dunk the ball and hang from the basket, he would subtly bend the tall metal pole and roar with pride. She liked seeing him get worked up, but she loved seeing his borderline animalistic passion even more.
It wasn't just power and passion that made Gwen so aroused while sitting on the uncomfortable bleachers however. It was also a feeling of security, of feeling secure whenever she was around her boyfriend. She was with Duncan for a reason, and seeing him in action was like an affirmation that he could protect and provide for her, and with that on her unconscious mind she would cheer him on with every bit the same ferocity he showed on the court. Normally she would have been embarrassed for shouting like a bleating howler monkey, finding her raspy voice awkward to her own ears. But she could overlook that, knowing how much Duncan loved it when she shouted and cheered him on.
During one such moment, while she was standing up with a pumped fist and calling out for him to show them who was boss, a flicker of moment caught the corner of her eye beyond the furthest edge of the metal fence of the campus' outdoor court. For the first time since the game had started, Gwen's onyx eyes moved from the spectacle and flicked over to see a group of four joggers running. The Goth quickly deemed this to be of no importance and focused back on Duncan.
After only a few more minutes of intense playing the dance for diminutive dominance over each other came to a halt, the ball suddenly losing its voice and Duncan called out to Gwen while the other players made their way to their girlfriends or went off on their own. Feeling about sixty percent pleased and forty percent disappointed Gwen started down the bleacher stairs, her high-heeled boots lightly pinching her feet as she descended. She immediately noticed Duncan's hungry gaze, no doubt already planning out what he was going to do to her later as he lapped up her enormous, heavily exposed bust and thick curves. If it had just been the two of them she might have put on a little show, treating the bleacher stairs as if it was a runway. But due to the other equally hungry gazes from Duncan's friends she didn't indulge him, hoping he either didn't think of that possibility or wouldn't care even if he did. Though she knew that the former was far more likely.
While still walking down the stairs, another flicker of movement just out of her direct line of sight caught her attention, moving away from Duncan and towards her. She slightly turned her head this time to get a better look.
Once again, she noticed the quartette of sprinters, who were now growing nearer and nearer to the basketball court, with nothing but a simple chain-link fence separating them as they zipped past. Her eyes widened when she could finally identify the group she had first noticed earlier. Through the gaps between the woven zigzag diamonds of metal, she stared at the foursome passing by, two of whom she was mostly indifferent to, one who aroused conflicted emotions somewhere between pity and disgust, and one she wished would drop dead right now (if only so she could see it with her own eyes and spit on the corpse).
Brick, Jo, Cody, and Heather.
They were dressed in what you would expect of someone working out, the guys in old tee shirts and ratty shorts while the girls wore loose tank tops and tight fitting yoga pants. None of which was too surprising. Despite that though as she continued down the stairs, her mouth partially opened. This was mostly due to the mere fact that she would bump into them at such a random point. She hoped with all of her being none of them noticed her on the bleachers, or god forbid record it. She quickened the pace of her descent, suddenly finding the idea of being hidden that much more appealing. Nearing the last step however, a new detail leapt out, one that demanded her full notice and attention.
Cody and Brick were in the front of the pack, with Heather and Jo following closely. That was how it appeared at first glance, but when she put effort into seeing what was happening, she realized Cody and Brick were running from Jo and Heather, who were shouting that they would "make them pay for that" whatever 'that' was. They were glaring daggers at their beaus and radiating auras of palpable irritation, yet, there were also tight smiles on the Queen Bee and Jockette's faces. That was...odd, but it didn't push the visual into the territories of surrealism. That line into irrational sub-consciousness was crossed by the fact that while it appeared they were running for their lives based on the hurried pace of their sprint, the two guys couldn't seem to stop laughing.
By the time Gwen reached the bottom of the bleachers, she simply stared stupefied by the carefree and, oddly...happy spectacle. Her focus on the fleeing foursome was brought to an end when a familiar powerful arm wrap around her waist, pulling her forward to crush her against a rock-hard though sweaty chest followed by an even more familiar tongue entering her mouth.
The Goth surrendered to the powerful advance, letting it overtake her unease at what she had seen. After about a minute or two of Duncan's tongue greedily marking its territory, the Punk pulled it out and looked down with satisfaction at his girlfriend being light of breath. He then motioned with his head off to the side, "So…was something up earlier? What were you looking at?"
Gwen paused for a moment, before responding, "Oh, uh…I saw Jo running by, chasing after Brick. But, the funny thing was, I could swear Jo was…smiling...she looked…happy?" Duncan looked at her in disbelief for a long moment before rubbing the back of his head.
"So...it wasn't just me," he muttered to himself before continuing, "Yeah, I can't believe it either, and I saw it happen."
She and Duncan shared a brief laugh at that, shaking their heads and trying to wrap the impossibility of what they just admitted seeing. While laughing, Gwen briefly wondered why she had chosen to omit Cody and Heather having been there as well.
Why did she do that?
Breaking the moment, Duncan spoke up, "Hey, so, some of the guys and me are gonna be going to that sports bar we hit Thursday, another party's gonna happen tonight."
Jet-black lips morphed into a frown, followed by a pout as Gwen soured at the news. "Need I remind you that it's too far away with my midnight curfew? You know, as much as I love having to share living quarters with the Devil in human form, I was really hoping to have some time with you today," she groaned sarcastically.
"Yeah, I know. Listen, I'm sorry about that, Pasty. But I can't change the guys' minds. I promise once you're out of lock-up, I'll take you to every single party on campus."
Gwen wanted to be mad at him, but she couldn't. Not with this being her fault. "Is that a promise?" she asked, eyeing him with more than just a little hope.
"I swear on it." Duncan said putting one hand over his heart while the other was raised as a mock Scout salute. He held the gesture for a few moments, before he developed a glint in his eye. "Besides, let's look at the silver lining here. Just because I'm gonna be out most of the night doesn't mean we can't have a little time together before I leave."
That caught Gwen's undivided attention. As much as she hated Duncan leaving her all night again, the chance to do something with him beforehand did make the prospect slightly more bearable. Her mind started to venture into rarely traveled topographies, optimistic ones. She started to think of the fun things they could do with the hours they had to play with. Go to a local art museum? Watch a movie marathon? Fuck each other's brains out? She would have gladly accepted any of those; especially given how little time and attention she had been getting from him this week.
Noticing that he had his girlfriend's interest piqued, Duncan continued, speaking in an amusingly hushed, conspiratorial tone, "Its early evenin'. Not lotta people will be on campus. Everyone's either eating or 'eading in or out for the night…so the showers will be empty." While saying that, his hands briefly came up to Gwen's breasts.
Within a microsecond, the soft smile on Gwen's face was obliterated and her pale cheeks erupted into crimson supernovas. She knew instantly what Duncan was suggesting. "No—no way!" she refused flatly while struggling to overcome her shock at the request. "I—I enjoyed doing that when it was just us in your apartment, but I am not doing that in a public shower!" she hissed before looking away, as if turning from the blazing sun at noon.
Besides...she would have preferred not doing anything involving her tits in the campus showers after her near slip-up while recalling Heather and Cody's cacophonous coitus. That voice, leaping up from some unknown pit of her being still rang in her ears occasionally, mocking her, taunting her, attempting to corrupt those three simple words forever. Just approaching that memory felt like creeping up on a cavern within a dark jungle, which may or may not contain a lethal predator. But not just any predator, one of subtlety hidden by shadows, one so insidious and cunning that within a heartbeat it could inflict irrevocable harm, resulting in Gwen being deformed, turned into someone else, someone flawed, ruined and unworthy of love. Aside from her giving Duncan a few blowjobs and/or titty-fucks she hadn't even considered doing anything of a sexual nature since that day.
Duncan frowned theatrically, hunching his shoulders like a toy someone had removed the batteries from. With a few wide steps, he moved himself behind his stationary sweetheart. "But Pasty," he moaned childishly, then leaned in to whisper in her right ear, "I miss my favorite luffa's." While whispering, he groped Gwen's bust from behind, squeezing the massive orbs of mammary and struggling to twist the nipples hidden beneath shirt and bra cups.
Gwen's body briefly wavered under the attempted advance, but she held firm against it. The protection her clothing offered helped resist those wonderfully strong hands. Something...burned within her as he continued pushing, trying to guilt her after she already told him no. Her spine straightened, and glaring over her shoulder though keeping her voice low she barked curtly, "I am not giving you a tit-wash in the public showers! Someone could walk in!"
"Come on Pasty, we've had so little time together all week," he bemoaned, not swayed by her refusal, "I miss you," he whispered, pulling her closer to him while cupping her breasts and squeezing them together.
Given the week she had been having, Gwen wasn't moved by the plea. Normally it would have worked, but this time it had the opposite effect. She was not happy, and Duncan's prodding was only making her more irate. For a moment, just a brief moment, his thick arms were thin, his strong hands small, and his face was that of another.
For a heartbeat, in a flash of anger not felt in years she saw not her pouting boyfriend, but the face of Heather mocking her.
"Then why can't you just stay with me for the evening!?" she snapped, raising her voice.
For the briefest of moments Gwen noticed a subtle flinch, Duncan's body wasn't leaning into her as markedly and his hands had stopped their incessant squeezing; no doubt as surprised by the venomous tongue-lashing as she would have been was she not so angry. Usually Gwen would have felt bad for that, but not this time. For a second or two, her stunned boyfriend said nothing. Then he recomposed himself, and explained, "Gwen, me going out with the guys is just me blowing off some steam. After classes, I wanna relax while I can as much as I can, you know that."
"If you stayed with me I'd be more than happy to help you 'blow off some steam.'" Gwen pointed out with narrowed eyes.
"Counter offer," Duncan said smirking, as he turned Gwen around so that she was facing him, "How about we do that tomorrow?"
"Yeah right," Gwen barked, allowing her bitter annoyance again to enter her raspy voice, "You're just gonna get shit-faced tonight and have a hangover all day tomorrow!" After nearly a week of the painfully perpetual dog-and-pony show that was Duncan seemingly leaving her high and dry every night to the lacking mercies of Heather, the Goth's usual submissiveness in avoiding challenging her boyfriend was weathered down, weakened considerably. Lake a dam that had gone too long without maintenance, it was starting to buckle and crack from the pressure of what it held back.
The Delinquent pondered this for a few moments, his face a guarded expression of contemplation, a hand near his stud filled chin. Gwen could almost see the gears turning in his head as he gave it serious thought. Her recent flare-up started to fade into the forgotten past however as she actually kind of respected that he didn't have the gall to lie to her about it. He never lied to her. After appearing to have a face made of chiseled stone, a cocky grin grew from his lips as the light of clarity flashed in his blue eyes.
"Tell ya what. How about a trade, Pasty?" he asked her, confidently, full of sexy swagger, "If you give me a tit-wash, I won't have a single slip of anything but root beer at the party, so we can have all day tomorrow to ourselves. Sound like a fair deal?"
As he awaited her answer, the Goth weighed out the two choices like a shifting scale. On the one hand, she didn't like the idea of doing anything with Duncan in the guy's showers. She wasn't a prude, but that didn't mean she liked the idea of them being walked in on by some guy who just had to take a piss. But on the other side of things, the prospect of an entire day with her boyfriend, really with her boyfriend, was very pleasing. She thought of all the things that would be possible, especially since it meant she would still have plenty of time to work on her project and knock out her assignments this evening. No hangovers. No homework. No Heather. After her week of Hell, she had been so lonely for some company that it was almost physically painful for her. Ever since she and Duncan had gotten together she had never been alone for more than a few hours at most.
Eventually, despite it being a difficult decision, one side of the scale was definitely raised. Releasing a sigh, Gwen made her choice, "Okay, fine. You've got a deal, Duncan…but only if there isn't anyone in the showers. I don't wanna see you have to beat someone up for seeing my breasts. Understood?"
Truthfully, the Goth didn't care how badly her boyfriend would kick the crap out of anyone that might peek in on them. She just didn't want anyone seeing her naked but him.
Giving her boobs a much more powerful squeeze, Duncan kissed her with even greater passion and hunger. After releasing her lips, he smirked. "It's a promise and a deal."
Gwen gave a faint smile of her own and steeled her nerves for what was to come, looking forward to what tomorrow would bring.
And that was the latest chapter! As always, we both hope you enjoyed it!
Okay, let me be honest with you guys. I'm sorry for this chapter being a little lacking after the long wait. But don't worry it's like this for a reason. This chapter is basically set-up for the final part of the Hell-week arc that comes next chapter. It seems minor and pointless, but you'll see what we're doing next chapter and it will all make sense. Odds are pretty good you already figured it out based on a few little things from this chapter. Please let us know what you thought and have a great holiday!
Until the next chapter, please: read, review, alert, favor, and spread the word!