Bound: the Gift of Desire

Chapter 7 - The Dragon's Den

For George, the latter half of the school day was typically the roughest. His curse had usually exhausted him so much by that point that he had barely any energy to give anyone, let alone pay attention to something he had only a passing interest in, like History class.

However, there were small mercies he could usually count on, and one of them was his teacher, Mr. Mars himself. He was a handsome and charismatic man in his late forties, with short brown hair graying gracefully and deep smile lines around his eyes. He had a reputation for being lenient with his students, caring less about homework and tests and more about weaving a story through the lens of history. Sometimes, he was so passionate about the material that his lectures came off like theater performances, with all the grandeur an overcrowded high school classroom could muster. As a result, Mr. Mars was regarded throughout the school as the history teacher you wanted to have. The alternative was Mr. Veiss's American History class, which all the football players took for obvious reasons.

He enjoyed dressing up in period-appropriate attire, or at least, as best he could on a teacher's salary. On this particular day, Mr. Mars was wearing a very cheap-looking Roman legionnaire costume one might find at a Halloween store. The kind that you might wear once and forget about. He'd used it many times during his tenure, evidenced by the copious amounts of duct tape and safety pins, giving it an even more shoddy appearance. But he never seemed to care about such things.

More importantly, for George at least, Mr. Mars never seemed to mind when he was late or uncommunicative. So when George quietly entered and tip-toed to his desk in the back of the room, he didn't break Mr. Mars's stride.

Mr. Mars was in the middle of a particularly graphic description of the second Punic war between Rome and Carthage. Specifically, the battle of Cannae, where Hannibal wiped the floor with the largest Roman army ever assembled. While he usually withheld most of the gory stuff, there was enough vivid detail to make it feel like you were really there. Indeed, Mr. Mars was so excited about history that George wouldn't have been surprised if he actually was. The presentation was so good that it stole the attention of the Genie, who gasped with awe and delight during the most exciting parts.

However, George was having trouble keeping up. His thoughts were drawn to his encounter with Ms. McCoole. He felt much better about the situation now that they'd had a chance to speak. But there was something mildly disconcerting about how easily he devolved into a lecherous beast when given the opportunity. A switch had been flipped, and now that he had a bit of distance and time to think, he wondered where that impulse came from. Even more surprising was how suddenly he could stop when Ms. McCoole used the safe word, given how all-consuming the feeling was. At one point, it was as if she were mere prey to be devoured. He was so engrossed in his thoughts that he missed one of Mr. Mars' famous puns, which had the whole class giggling or groaning.

The Genie was in stitches. "The elephant of surprise instead of the element, cuz of the whole crossing the Alps bit. That's clever! I like it!"

George had heard it before but was glad she was entertained at least. "Think about it. You have a nice cozy date; the fire is lit, and you're going in for the kiss when suddenly," George smacked the desk with a loud thwack, "Surprise elephant!"

The Genie giggled at his surprisingly silly display. However, George got a surprise of his own when Mr. Mars looked over to him and said, "Hey now, do yourself a favor and leave the funny stuff to me ay, George."

George bolted upright in his chair. He'd intended that to be for his companion's ears only and didn't expect anyone else to hear him. He'd already become so used to her ability to keep him hidden that he didn't even think to be sneaky.

"Oops!" said the Genie. "My bad. I must have let that one slip through somehow."

"Very funny," he said, using their connection.

"For serious! That elephant must have been super surprising."

"Sure, sure." He couldn't tell if she was joking, but nobody in class seemed to be paying attention to him, and he figured he'd need to practice speaking to her with his mind anyway, so he let it go and changed the subject. "That was pretty intense before, huh?"

"Oh gosh, yeah, it was! You two were magnificent! I loved seeing her boobs bounce and the noises she made..." She sent a shiver down his spine to bring her point home.

"You don't think I was too rough?"

"No way! Master, you did everything right. She loves the rough stuff. The choking was a nice touch, by the way. Didn't see that one coming. Made me squirt a little. So fucking hot!"

He grinned. "Yeah, I honestly don't know where that came from. I've never thought about it before. Um...she said something about knocking her up? She doesn't actually want that, right?"

"She's a grown woman with her contraception in order, so she's not worried. However, if the unlikely did occur, she wouldn't be that upset about it." George could feel her breath on his ear. "What do you think, Master? Is that something you want?"

George knew he had to be very careful. One unfortunate bit of phrasing, and he'd cross a line he was sure he was not ready for. "Someday, maybe. That's another thing I haven't really thought about. I didn't think I'd make it this far. What about you?"

Her voice sounded hot and heavy. "I think you already know the answer to that, Master."

George chuckled nervously and said, "Yeah...I think we understand each other." He quickly changed the subject, "By the way, during the, uh... romp, did you notice anything strange? About how I was acting?"

If Genie noticed his dodge, she let him off the hook. "What's strange is that you aren't doing me like that. I'm so jealous and horny that I might die. You don't want me to die, do you, Master?"

George smirked. "You're pouting. I can feel you pouting right now."

"I totally am! Dammit! What's a cosmic being have to do to get some dick around here?"

"Tonight, when we get home."

"You promise?"

"I promise. We'll make lots of inappropriate jokes, wish up a storm, and fuck each other's brains out all night. How's that sound?"

"Don't mess with me, Master. I'll choke you out if I have to."

He laughed out loud, prompting Mr. Mars to say to the class, "See? At least one of you appreciates my humor."

George's laugh faded into a nervous chuckle. "Genie, I thought you were hiding us," he said, faking a toothy smile.

"I'm sorry! I'm just so flustered right now. Can't we just, like, leave a clone of you here while we start the party early?"

"You can do that?"

"I dunno. Probably."

"Ugh," he groaned. "I really need to read your manual."

"Anytime, big boy."

However, as plans for their evening were taking shape, an unwelcome visitor knocked on the open door frame behind them.

Mr. Mars finished the joke he was telling, then responded, "What is it, citizen? Speak quickly!" The class giggled at his commitment to the character in spite of the interruption.

In the doorway stood Connor, who, with a casual sway, said, "M'bad. Mr. Veiss wants to see George."

"Crap," muttered George.

But Mr. Mars didn't break stride. "Mr. Everhart is duty bound to listen to my ramblings for the next..." he checked the clock above the door, "Thirty minutes. Is it urgent?"

Connor shrugged, "Dunno, but Coach wants him. If you want, I can go back and get a hall pass, but he's a busy guy."

The implication was clear from his tone. Coach Veiss wouldn't be happy if he had to wait, and the entire school seemed to understand that Veiss ran the show.

After a moment's hesitation, Mr. Mars looked at George and said, "Fine. Gods forbid our dear coach doesn't get what he wants." He grabbed a pad of hall passes out of his desk and filled it out while George gathered his things. As Mr. Mars handed him the hall pass, he said, "Hey, George?"

"Yes, sir?"

The wise history teacher had a glint in his eye and said, "Remember, if you can't find a way, make one."

"Huh?" he replied with a cocked eyebrow.

Mr. Mars smiled. "Quote from Hannibal. It'll be on the mid-term, so write it down."

Confused, George nodded and left the room.

Connor beckoned George to follow, and the two set off through the halls but said nothing. George was sure Connor was up to something and hoped his companion had some magical insight. "Genie, do you know what this is about?"

"Well, I can say with 100% certainty that he isn't planning to seduce you. Does that help?"

"It... doesn't not help."

She chuckled mischievously. "I'll keep a lookout. If I notice anything, I'll let you know."

The silence as they marched was getting on his nerves. George did his best not to let his annoyance show as he followed a step behind. To his surprise, he was beginning to miss the simplicity of attending class like a typical student and wondered if he'd ever return to something resembling normal.

Finally, after they entered the commons, George said, "So what's this really about?"

"I told you. Coach wants to see you," he replied calmly.

"Uh-huh. That code for something?"

"Nope," was his terse response.

"And why didn't he just come get me himself?"

"He's busy."

"Right. Don't you have class or something?"

Connor suddenly turned around and got in George's face, startling him. "Look, shithead, I don't like it either, okay. Coach saw the video and wants to meet you. End of story. Now shut up and follow me before I get rebellious and take a detour."

"Video? What video?" asked George.

Connor rolled his eyes and turned around to continue his march. "You need to check your socials, bruh."

"Dammit, he's gonna spoil my surprise," she whined.

"Genie..."

"I mean...what could he possibly be talking about?"

"You're up to something," he told her as he caught up to Connor.

She giggled mischievously but didn't elaborate.

Connor said little else as he led George past the main office and into the athletics wing, where the walls were lined with enormous trophy cases devoted to all the different sports the school accommodated. Stafford Regional was known for excellence in several areas, including soccer, lacrosse, track and field, and badminton. But the main attraction was football. There were so many accolades for football alone that it needed an entire wall to itself and was starting to bleed into other displays nearby. Under Coach Veiss's leadership, they'd gone undefeated for thirteen seasons, with a fourteenth all but inevitable. A whole generation of students came and went through that school without ever losing a single game. It was common for second and third-string players to get full scholarships, and many played professionally. It was rumored that Veiss had received countless offers to work for any college program he wanted but turned them all down, citing a passionate devotion to his homegrown team.

They entered the gymnasium, crossed the basketball court to the new locker rooms, and then cut through to a heavy door leading to a small hallway. This was an older part of the school that hadn't been remodeled in decades. It was dimly lit by old dusty fixtures with metal cages around the bulbs, spewing harsh, unfiltered light from the glowing orange filaments inside. The paint was gold and brown, the original color scheme from the early seventies when the school was built. George had never been back there as he'd never had a reason, and going there now felt like he was entering the den of some dangerous beast. It was off limits, not through any policy, but from an unspoken rule that this was the domain of the Dragons and outsiders were not welcome.

Connor held a door open at the end of the hall and beckoned George to enter the old locker rooms. Typical of a setting from an old sports film, each locker was overflowing with sporting equipment, smelly practice jerseys, and well-worn cleats. Above those, the player's name and number were scribbled in black marker on easily replaced masking tape. The room smelled musty, its floors were scuffed, and various bits of dragon-inspired graffiti could be found in every corner.

In the far corner was another door with a clouded window embossed with Coach Viess' name. They could hear the man having a loud, jovial conversation on the phone.

Connor pointed at a bench nearby and said, "One sec," then entered alone, shutting the door behind him. Mr. Veiss put his call on hold to address Connor, but they kept their voices low enough that George couldn't quite make out what they were saying.

While he waited, the Genie said, "Master, look at that."

The only wall not lined with lockers had several whiteboards marked with esoteric football scribblings, but there was a corkboard to the side covered in pictures of dozens of women, most of whom were either students, teachers, or alumni. George didn't recognize all of them, but a spicy photo of Ms. McCoole stood out to him. She was younger; the picture was probably taken during her college days. She was posed in a way to maximize her cleavage, her breasts pouring out of a blue and white bikini. The stunning picture looked like some kind of thirst trap posted on some social media platform and had some serious production value put into it.

"What's that doing here," mused George.

"Our dear English teacher got through school posting naughty pictures and videos of herself online. Back then, she modeled under a different name, but a body like hers is hard to hide. Hmmm," she thought. "It seems she's being blackmailed to keep her true identity from leaking. That's only the tamest of pictures they have of her."

George felt indignation rising within him. "What a bunch of assholes," he muttered.

Genie read the header above the corkboard, "The Dragon's Whored... clever."

He suddenly understood. "Are they blackmailing all of these people?"

"Some of them. Others are just girls they've, quote, conquered, end quote. Or aspire to."

"That's...fucked up." A sudden surge of new, unfamiliar emotions flowed through him. He felt a primal urge to protect what was his. He shook them off quickly but still felt compelled to act. "I'd like to make a wish."

Genie gasped, "Ooooh! Tell me, tell me, tell me!"

"I wish any compromising depictions of Ms. McCoole, including mine, remain hidden unless she wants them to be seen."

One happy tingle later, Genie announced, "It is done. Take a look."

George checked the board again, and sure enough, Ms. McCoole's picture was gone. "Nice! And you know what? I wish the same for anyone else in the Dragon's Whored be removed unless they want to be there."

Another tingle and several more pictures were removed from the board.

"There we go. Wow, that board is looking rather sparse."

Several pictures remained, and George remarked, "I'm surprised there is anything left. Does that mean they want this?"

"Uh-huh. Or they don't mind. Some of them consider it a badge of honor."

George didn't understand that line of thinking, but before he could ask further, he was drawn to a picture still hanging in the bottom corner. Under a section labeled 'Princess?' were candid photos of several classmates. But one in particular, a girl with long, shiny, voluminous red and gold hair, practically jumped off the board and tackled him.

"Not her," he whispered.

"What is it?" she asked.

His heart sank as he remembered yesterday's rainy death march. "That's Piper, there."

"Your Piper? Which one?"

George pointed to the girl's picture, obviously taken without her knowledge, as she walked through the halls.

"Wow," she marveled. "She's so pretty."

That wasn't the first thing that came to his mind, but the Genie was correct. Piper was uncommonly gorgeous, with blue upturned eyes, adorable freckles, and a lithe yet curvaceous body. However, though George had always thought she was attractive, she'd never looked so lovely.

"Weird," said the Genie to herself. "I didn't even notice her until you pointed her out."

"Is that strange? I mean, I didn't notice her picture until now."

"Yeah, but you made a wish involving all the people on the board. And that would include her, but..." She groaned as if she were exerting herself and said, "I'm getting all kinds of juicy tidbits about these girls. Lots of desire swirling around them. But not her. I can't get anything on her."

"What does that mean?"

"I don't know," she said, sounding baffled.

Suddenly, the door to Mr. Viess' office swung open, and Connor stormed out. "Alright, whatever, I get it!" he shouted over his shoulder.

He turned to George and glared menacingly at him. "You're still a snowflake," he growled.

George stood up slowly, and even though Connor was trying to be intimidating, he came off as genuinely unnerved instead. Connor didn't seem so scary all of a sudden. He looked more like a spoiled child who was told to share.

In one final show of dominance, Connor tried to push past him, deliberately bumping into George's shoulder. But much to Connor's surprise, George didn't budge.

"Mr. Everhart," called Mr. Viess pleasantly in a steady, authoritative voice, "come on in and have a seat. I'll be with you in a minute."

Connor backed out of the room, his angry gaze fixed on George until he left. Once he was gone, George let his tough guy mask fall and turned his attention to the coach. Mr. Veiss motioned for him to sit, indicating with a finger that he'd be with him in a minute.

"Sorry, D-Money, had some monkey business to deal with... no, I'm not busy... yeah, we're ready for tomorrow. You're gonna make it, right?... Nice..."

While Coach finished his conversation, George sat in an uncomfortable metal chair across from him. The office was a tiny windowless space with rusty, exposed pipes, making it look like it was once a boiler room. Chunky filing cabinets were overflowing with papers, and an old padded table once used for examinations by trainers was stuffed in the corner. Its surface was held together by duct tape and covered in unopened packages stacked high. There was another door secured by a heavy padlock that George figured must lead to an equipment closet. Hanging on the gray brick walls were old team pictures from years gone by, newspaper articles from when those were still a thing, lewd images of young women, and a flat-screen TV. Every article was about him or his team, every spicy photo had lipstick marks and affectionate affirmations, and the TV was currently playing a professionally produced highlight reel of some of his team's greatest moments. Coach Veiss' legendary reputation as a genius leader of young men was on full display and overflowed the cramped makeshift office to bursting. It might have been inspiring to most anyone else, but not to George. Though he considered it to be uncharitable of him, George couldn't help but feel unsettled by the ego-driven decor.

Then, George spotted something odd. On the coach's desk was a framed picture of Farah and a woman he assumed to be her mother posing for a typical family portrait.

"...yeah, already taken care of. Will I get to see June and the kids?... Awesome!" As he sat at his desk, Coach looked across at George, rolled his eyes, and gestured to signify that D-Money was a talker. "Yeah. Well, look, I'm gonna letcha go. Lots to do... okay, I will... okay, pal... Right, see you soon... Okay, bye." He hung up, tossed his phone on the desk, and took a deep breath.

"Sorry about that, son. I swear, some of these kids never really grow up. Know what I mean?" George didn't have time to answer before the coach moved on. "Anyway, you probably already know why you're here. Some big balls on you, kid. Respect."