Sephalla My Nightmare

***The characters referenced in this story are Sixth-Formers, aged 18, or they are teachers. No character is any younger than 18***

I'm...a little obsessed, I think.

Maybe it's just the turn of events, the weird happenings, but I never really paid a huge amount of attention to Sephalla before. It was always more in my interest to avoid her and, in doing so, prevent any pain from coming my way.

But she is, undeniably, hot. A fucking ridiculous smoke-show of a woman.

Tall and quite muscular, made especially obvious when she's in the midst of physical activity. When sweat glazes her finely black-furred body, it highlights the toned abs of her belly, the definition of her powerful thighs, the appealing lines of her shoulders.

I only spot her in passing, when PE has ended. She does kickboxing, not the lazy badminton I chose to avoid any serious effort. In a much-overworked sports bra, in shorts that sport a fat fucking bulge at the front and two huge hillocks at the back, I'm distracted. I find myself standing by the door, the other kids passing by and leaving for the changing rooms, while I stare dumbfounded at the nightmare's form.

She's so strong, so quick. A line of bags, sandbags upsized for the monster races, lie split and broken at the side of the room, a few meeker students looking on in terror as she slams and punches, spins and kicks, tearing and rending open the current article.

'Ms Magnificent!' her teacher shouts. 'It's time to go home!'

And thankfully the volume -- that PE teacher trademark bellow -- wakes me from my obsessive stupor.

But not before Sephalla catches me in her periphery, seizing me with a devilish smirk.

*

It's a mistake, but I'm powerless to prevent it. I go slow, feigning changing and washing and preparing for home, caught up on a stupid idea.

When at last the moment arrives I slip out the other way, towards the now-empty gym corridors, and make for the kickboxing room. Why? Maybe I hope that smirk meant something, or that she's dedicated, or that I can just...can just...

What's wrong with me? Sephalla's meant to be...I don't know what she is.

The room is empty at a glance, but I go in. It bends around to the side, forming an alcove, a storage cupboard. 'Ugh.'

Her moan hits, soft and low. I peek around the corner and there she is, sweaty and perfect, muscle and beauty. Sephalla the Magnificent, her vast demonic equine cock in both hands while she strokes it, milking it for all its worth. I suck in a sharp breath and she looks up, a playful, evil, dirty smile gracing her full blue-black lips. Her cheeks are flush, her eyes lustful.

'Wanna help me out, or are you gonna be a pussy?'

Blushing, heart thumping in my chest, I turn around, but only go as far as the room's main door. I shut it softly, locking it from the inside, and go back to the nightmare girl, sat as she is on a pile of discarded punching bags. At the threshold I hesitate, frozen, caught between the twin worlds of her beautiful, powerful femininity, and that gargantuan, deadly-looking dick. I really am a pussy, aren't I?

Sephalla, halfway to nine feet, stacked to hell and back. Powerful arms, strong shoulders, a curvy yet athletic body, a mixture of both blessings. Huge -- huge -- breasts packed inside a sports bra, the heft of them bulging over the top, out from beneath the seams below. Her nipples, prominently pierced, poke through with a barbell on each. That stomach, flat and rippling in defined muscle, sweaty from her efforts. Those hips, full and wide and curved, dipping down onto thick thighs and between those...a blue-flame crotch from which a sheath protrudes, a sheath from which a three-foot penis protrudes, a three-foot penis below which hangs a sack of fat orange-sized nuts between her wide-parted legs. Her shorts linger around her left ankle, not yet fully discarded.

'Don't be scared,' Sephalla says, patting a spot on the pile beside her. 'I won't bite, unless you're into that.' She winks, coal-flame eyes a marvellous thing.

I can't deny that I'm hard as a rock, and I can't deny that I'm deeply attracted to her, and...I can't deny that her cock, somehow, fascinates me. Wrist-thick and arm-length, big even considering the massiveness of her inhuman body. A horse-like cock, fat with veins, ending in a flared cresting helmet, its edges stellated with backwards-facing nubs of flesh the same dark violet as the rest of her length. Her glossy-skinned smooth glans, sticky and gooey, glazed in its own juices, bulges slightly at the top, curves inward below, nestling around a dark outlet just above a cleft at the base.

'This is mad,' I say, going over to her. Rounding her parted knees, stepping over her feet, sitting on her right upon the stack of punching bags. 'It's insane.'

'That I've got this?' she says, giving her enormity a shake.

'That we're...that I'm...'

Sephalla puts a hand on my back, stroking me kindly, up and down, up and down. Despite her sheer strength, the motion wouldn't so much as hurt a fly. 'You're crushing on me, aren't you?'

I sigh. 'Yeah.'

But she kisses the top of my head. 'You really are pathetic.'

'You're still so cruel to me, man. I thought we were...are...'

'What? Lovers? Sex-friends?' Sephalla sniggers. 'Jeez, dude. Your bully gives you one blowjob, and you're smitten?' She runs that hand up, tussles my hair with it as though I'm a child, despite her being the same age as me. 'Shit, what if I'd let you fuck me? Would you crawl up my arse and live there?'

'Fuck you, Sephy.'

She turns and grapples me, hands about my throat, tumbling the both of us to the floor. I do my best to grin through the primal fear of death, rolling about with this dangerous creature from another world. Sephalla smirks all the while, devilish and deviant, pushing me onto my back and planting herself down on my stomach, expertly applying only enough weight to pin me to the ground.

'Cheeky little shit, aren't you?' She pushes against my throat with one hand, holding onto her towering cock with the other. It looms overhead, pulled up by her grip, such that the leaking helmet is positioned just above my face. 'See how you like being splattered in precum, how about that?'

I shift uneasily on reflex but I'm excited, scared, confused. 'Where are these...these people lining up to give you head?'

Her face changes minutely, a severity leaking into the dark humour. 'I blew you, a little human, and what you took away from it was that I've got plenty of outlets?' Sephalla screws up her face, mocking me. 'Jeez, dude. That's sad.'

I turn away, eyes shamefully wet. I'm possessive, aren't I? I really am crushing on her, hard. This beautiful devil, out of my league. 'There wasn't anyone else in your book.'

She sighs loudly, rolls her eyes, and regains her feet. 'Way to kill the mood, loser.' Sephalla goes and fishes up her shorts, but then hesitates. 'The book was just stupid dirty stories, all right? I only picked you, out of every boy in this shithole, because you're the biggest loser of them all. Got it?'

'Yeah. Got it.'

I sit upright, eyes hazy with tears. Stupid. Incredibly stupid. What was I expecting, mixing emotions into this, when all she wants is sex? It hurts, feels awkward to look to her, so I just roll onto my feet, make for the exit.

'Are you for real?' she says, stopping me in my tracks.

'What's that mean?'

'Are you really jealous? Like, did you get hit in the head?'

'Fuck you, man.' I turn, try my best to glare, but she's gorgeous, terrifying. 'I preferred it when you were beating me up. It was fucking clear where I stood.'

Her hand comes down upon the back of my neck, pressing me to the wall beside the doorway. The damp heat of her body, the sheer mass of the towering nightmare, easily sandwiches me against the smooth cold plaster of the storage room.

'Don't get all sappy with me, idiot,' Sephalla says. Her dark-syrup voice is warm, edged in humour. 'But I didn't take you for such a dirty little masochist, either.'

She slams her hips forwards, pressing something incredibly hard, incredibly hot, up against my backside. That pole of demonic equine meat finds no resistance. She must always get her way, I imagine, and her cock is just an extension of that privilege. I shudder and shiver, try to extricate myself, but Sephalla is too strong, too heavy.

'Seph...'

'How are you going to make it up for me, for ruining a good moment?'

'What?'

'Come on, dickhead,' she says, and chuckles. 'You really think I didn't expect you to come find me? I've been waiting.'

She leans down, kisses my throat, predatory, violent almost. Hot wet lips, followed by a lap of a tongue, the strange warmth of that metal stud. Sephalla reaches around and below, snatching upon my clothed erection, giving it a firm squeeze.

'You're so easy, jeez. Do you have any idea how hot it is, bullying you, getting this reaction?'

It's scary how strong she is, how malleable I am in her hands. Sephalla grabs my shoulders and twists me about to face her such that the tip of her erection is pushed downwards, sliding up between my legs. Her stink is strong, sweet and sulphurous, exotic and feminine. I'm facing her muscled belly, slick and glistening. To look up is to stare at the underside of her breasts, bulging plumply below the poorly-fitted confines of the sports bra.

'Kiss my abs, loser,' she says, teasing fingers through my hair. 'Lick them clean.'

'I...'

But what am I really going to say? Sephalla sniggers, that hand cupping the back of my head. I'm so pathetic and yet so ridiculously aroused by her, madly attracted to her. I lean in, pressing my face against her damp belly, the muscles firm as rock, hot against my skin. She strokes my head like I'm a baby, a pet, as I press my lips to her abdomen, wetting my mouth with salty demonic sweat.

'I did mean it, you know,' she says. 'You are cute.'

'I thought I was the biggest loser of them all,' I say, between gentle kisses.

'Yeah, and? Those aren't oxymorons, dude.' Sephalla tussles my hair. 'You're a complete fucking loser and you're pretty cute.' She chuckles. 'Which is why I'm letting you make it up to me.'

I lick my lips, tasting the salt of her finely furred belly. 'What an honour.'

She reaches down and pinches the tip of my cock. Light, but enough to provoke a wince, a shudder. 'You should be thanking me. I'm your fucking goddess, got it?'

'Y-es, Sephalla, oh Magnificent one,' I say, through gritted teeth. 'Thank you for letting me kiss your sweaty muscles.'

And while I attempt humour, and while on some level I feel stupid for even going along with this, on another -- and what is thankfully in line with my fate -- I want to taste more of her perspiration, to feel the chiselled definition of her gorgeous flesh against the delicate contours of my tongue.

'Oh, you're very welcome, loser.'

She does something, as I'm digging my tongue into her sculpted muscles with a newfound lusty abandon. Sephalla reaches down and unhitches the tip of her length from between my legs, nestled as it was against the underside of my balls. Out it springs and she guides it up, giving me pause, making my heart thump away behind my ribs. Dirty, pseudo-gay excitement, that interest in her equine phallus.

'Don't stop,' she says, releasing my head, then fiddling with the underside of her sports bra and stuffing the flared head of her meat up inside it, stashing it between her enormous breasts. 'Work around it.' Sephalla giggles, pats my head. 'You can always kiss that as well, if you want to. I won't mind.'

I pause, press my hands to her damp hips, relishing the feel of those fatty curves, that womanly give and softness. The perfect, powerful female body is distorted now, the vertical intrusion of her mammoth and undeniably male component having scrambled the vista. Not ruined, by any stretch -- try as I might to be sane, to be straight-forwardly straight, I'm fascinated by her penis -- but it's certainly made confusing.

Below, strained and made obvious by the angle, her gigantic balls wobble and bounce, sagging in their smooth blackish-blue sack against my belly. Above me her cock disappears under a flap of fabric, nestled in the most marvellous environment I can imagine, between the two mountains on her chest.

'I don't feel that mouth, dickhead.'

'Sorry, I'm just--'

'Stop apologising,' Sephalla says. 'Give me your hands.'

'My hands?'

'Yeah.' She reaches down, takes each hold of each wrist. 'I'll keep them, put them to use. You just keep licking my belly, okay?'

Blushing, horny, trembling, I nod. 'Y-eah.'

As I lean in again, moving to the right of her disruptive shaft, Sephalla lifts my hands up over my head. She casually brings them down upon two soft, slightly moist surfaces, clearly fabric, but...

'Woah.'

'Yeah.' She chuckles. 'Titties, huh? But don't stop. Get licking.'

I lose myself in the moment, the heat and wonderful musk of her body enchanting. The sensation of my hands, pressed upon by hers, sinking into the fat heft of her enormous boobs, is otherworldly. Her nipple bars press into my palms, each a protrusion of solid heat amid the pillowy softness of each massive breast.

'Mhm.' She moans, calm and low, as I lick her abs. 'Good boy. Worship your queen.'

'Y-es. Schlup. Slurp.'

I realise what she's doing, now. Her cock, sandwiched up in her bra, is being milked by her milkers, my hands the masturbatory implement, made to shift her resplendently heavy chest up and down, though I realise she's doing the actual work. It must be tight enough without any real pressure, given that the bra is a size or two too small, and that her chest is so overwhelmingly gigantic.

Her tail swishes wildly as I kiss and lick, as my hands are forced to heave against those incredibly heavy tits. I'm jealous of that cock, so fat and huge and thick, getting massaged by her perfect chest. Sephalla grinds slowly against me, her weighty balls bouncing and pressing into my gut. There's definitely more than four, and each is like a big orange, round and bulky, pleasantly warm.

'Mhm-hm, that's it. Damn, my tits feel good.'

'I bet,' I say. 'Mhm. Schlup.'

'Bet you wish it was your dick, huh?'

'Y-eah.'

She giggles. 'Yours would get lost, idiot. We'd never find it again!'

I should be upset, insulted even, but her words come to mind: nice cock, by the way. She loves this, mocking me, mistreating me, and...I think I like it, too. The proof is in the pudding, don't they say? If she really didn't like me, really was disgusted by me, I wouldn't be here. This wouldn't be happening.

So...Sephalla likes me. And I, obviously, like Sephalla.

Which is why, when I forget what I'm doing and follow the line of an abdominal muscle horizontally until my tongue comes into collision with a bulging vein on the side of her enormous penis, I'm struck with strange and erotic thoughts.

Should I...? I should, shouldn't I? I want, more than anything, to pleasure her.

'Ugh. Well, um, I didn't actually expect that.'

It's hot, against my tongue. Hot, throbbing, salty. Where it rises from her sheath, beyond the confines of the leathery black flesh that ends in a thick black ring, her cock becomes this beautifully deep shade of indigo-violet, glossy almost, smooth and slick. It shouldn't be tasty, but it is. I like the saltiness, the faint bitterness. It's musky, heady, potent, bestial, demonic. And ever so hot against my tongue.

'You wanted to be worshipped, right?' I say, not fully believing my boldness, the low sensuality in my voice. I kiss the underside of her shaft, where that broad cum-vein bulges prominently. 'Besides, whatever your plan is, maybe I want to see it blow up in your face. Literally.'

She thrusts forwards, balls slapping my gut and pinning me against the wall, keeping my mouth pressed to the underside of her cock. 'You're fucking naughty dude, jeez. Did I make you like this, or were you always a filthy little human pervert?'

I find myself laughing. 'You definitely helped.' I smooch, kiss, lap. 'Is it good, uh...Mother?'

'Mother?!'

Eroticism gives way to laughter, stupid laughter, starting from her and reaching me and going back again. Sephalla releases my hands, almost buckles over, pressing against the wall for support, in the process flattening the backs of my fingers and palms against the plaster, her bountiful breasts warming the other side. Her monstrous cock smashes against the side of my face, a hot lance of horse-meat.

It's stupid. We're stupid. This is silly, insane, weird, wonderful.

'I just...Christians call their God Father, right?' I say, managing restraint, and to tilt my head sideways enough. 'And if you're my goddess, then, uh...you get where I'm coming from?'

She pats my head. 'I do, you fucking weirdo. I do, but jeez! I'm meant to be cumming, not laughing.'

'Sorry, Seph.'

Sephalla cups my chin. 'What did I say about apologising, loser?' She steps backwards, still holding me, putting enough distance between us that our eyes can meet, though my neck does ache to look up at her pseudo-equine face. Her muzzled beauty is breath-taking, her coal-fire eyes alive and aglow with humour, her voluptuous blue-black lips fending off a goofy smile that does nothing to diminish the womanly gorgeousness of her usually controlled, sultry looks. 'You need to stop talking, all right? Your mouth chats utter shit.'

'Sor--I mean, I'll stop.'

She moves towards the discarded punching bags, then turns about. Sephalla smirks at me as she descends, legs in a wide stance. The nightmare sits down on the pile of bags, her heaving testicles drooping over the edge, her mightily erect phallus pointing up from out of that azure fiery shock of pubic hair.

'Kneel,' she says. Seph makes a show of pointing at the floor between her parted knees. 'Go on, Jake. Get on your knees.'

I hesitate, frozen. Knowing what she means, knowing what she wants. Her monstrous demonic erection rises up from beneath those perfect muscular legs, its stellation-ringed crown vertically-clefted, staring at me cycloptic. The vaguely heart-shaped flare-tip, narrowest at the bottom, widest at the top, glistens a smooth dark purple in the artificial light of the equipment cupboard.

'You want me to...to give you head?' I say.

Seph rolls her coal-fire eyes. 'Duh. Don't you? You can't take your eyes off it.'

She's right. I can't. 'Last time...wasn't exactly comfortable.'

A pang of something, almost certainly guilt, passes her looks. 'That was a one-off. I give you permission to suck me as slowly as you want, so long as you do a good job.'

Beyond the nervousness, the curiosity, I find myself smirking. 'Permission? Lucky me.'

'Yes, permission.' Sephalla grins at me, all mischief and naughtiness. 'So get on your knees, and take advantage of this one-time special offer.'

It's...it's not that I don't want to.

Sephalla is gorgeous, drop-dead-gorgeous. Her demonic equid cock, intimidating as it is, is not so foreign to me. Its colour is beautiful, its shape oddly alluring. Were it on a man, I'd have no interest, but for it to be hers makes it something rather special.

But a thought occurs. A self-affirming thought.

'I want something in return,' I say, with only the faintest tremble in my voice.

Something swims across Sephalla's coal-flame eyes. Something I've not seen before. It's fleeting, momentary, but it's sexy as hell. 'What makes you think you can ask?'

When she speaks, her voice isn't as confident as usual. That dark sultry syrupy sweetness has to it just a hint of uncertainty. And the look, instantly, makes sense: as much as she acts contrary, she doesn't want to just have her own way.

'The fact that I'd be doing you a favour, as well?' I manage a shaky smile. 'I'll give you a blowjob, and in return...I want to see your tits.'