Nihilistic
Nihilistic
Part one
Surrounded by an abrupt silence, Max looked about him in disbelief, then back to the device in his hands, a rough amalgam of wires, radio parts, and a component of unknown origin. After fruitless experimentation with the device in what little personal time he had, checking and re-checking that he had followed those mysterious instructions to the letter, an idle press of its solitary button during class had finally revealed its function – it could stop time.
With a faint ‘click’, everything in the classroom, his fellow students, their history teacher, Miss Belle, all of them froze, motionless, not so much as a breath stirring them. Nervously, he pressed the button again; to his great relief, time was immediately restored. Miss Belle continuing to scratch upon the chalkboard the various names and dates that chronicled the collapse of nations that had once been The Empire’s feckless enemies, the harsh sound underscored by the faint rasp of two-dozen pencils as her students dutifully copied everything down.
Miss Belle seemed to sense his distraction and turned her imperious gaze upon him. “Max, do you have something more important to do than – what is that?”
He quickly brought the device beneath his desk, but Miss Belle was already advancing quickly, heels clicking against the wooden floor. Her tone becoming increasingly stern, she repeated, “I asked you, what is-“ he thumbed the button, halting her progress mid-stride - but he noted that instead of immediately freezing, she finished her step, both feet firmly on the ground before she stopped completely.
He looked around the room again and realized the clock still ticked away seconds – outside the window, a breeze stirred through the trees distant hedging the Academy’s sprawling manicured grounds, grey clouds moving in the distance. It wasn’t freezing time, he realized, just the people around him. He carefully put the device on the floor, took up a pencil and a sharpener, and triggered the button with the toe of his shoe.
“-that thing you’re holding?” Miss Belle resumed, striding up to his desk. He presented his hands, and she seemed deeply troubled what she saw, her dark lashes fluttering in confusion. “I… pencil…?”
Max said nothing, taking a surprising amount of pleasure from seeing his beautiful yet unfailingly harsh instructor so bewildered. “Yes, well – this time is for taking notes, not sharpening pencils.” She pivoted and strode back to the board. “You will remain after class and prepare a stock of pencils for yourself and your classmates by sharpening my entire supply-“
He clicked the button with his toe, then leisurely stood up and walked past his frozen fellow students, humming the chorus of the Empire’s bombastic anthem to himself. Rummaging through her impeccably organized cabinet, he found her ridiculously vast stockpile of pencils and pulled every box. Thinking that he should do more than simply throw them in the class’s bin, he returned to his desk to claim the device and stepped into the hall.
You’ve got a bloody time machine – or something of the sort – and you’re wasting it on pencils? He was, after all, an adult now, along with every other student at this school, all on the cusp of “graduation” – and this current use of his newfound powers seemed incredibly puerile.
“Why not the girl’s locker room?” he said with a start, and began heading toward the gym, tossing the pencils at his earliest convenience.
Moving through the dimly lit dark wood halls of the Academy, Max could not help but feel on-edge. Its many rules were strictly enforced, every student’s time tightly controlled, going back as far as his earliest memories of childhood here – if he were caught out of class, unable to explain himself, he would lose what precious free time he had, possibly meals as well.
But how would he be caught? He had stopped time, hadn’t he? As he passed by a classroom door, he cautiously glanced through the window to see students intently taking notes, untouched by the device’s effects. What sort of range did it have? Would the stoppage ‘wear off’ in Miss Belle’s classroom? As other questions about its use and limitations came to mind, he had to face the most obvious ones – what was it for? And who had wanted him to have it?
Two nights ago, Max found a folded sheet of paper and a wafer-thin component tucked into an engineering textbook. The paper was covered in impeccably written directions on how to construct some sort of transmitter, how to attach the component to the finished product. There was no hint as to what it might do or who had created the schematics or the tiny component itself, but these were not great concerns to Max. Obviously they had intended for him to have it… and in the absence of instruction, they presumably were leaving its use to his own judgment.
Arriving at the girl’s locker room, he considered that this might be a test from one of his instructors, and that ogling his female co-eds in the shower was not likely to earn him passing marks. But this was not how tests at the Academy were conducted; there was never any room for creativity, only the rote memorization and regurgitation of whatever subject they were studying. Looking at the clock, he believed that class C would be getting ready for P.E. Before he could give any real thought to the moral implications of his actions, Max hit the button on the device and stepped through the door.
The scene was less engaging that he would have thought, the tableau of students frozen in their underwear far more clinical than titillating. Girls he had known throughout his years at the Academy were in various stages of undress – but they all seemed so… inert. All of them staring blankly forward, methodically getting out of their uniforms and into their gym clothes. He supposed it was silly to think he would find a private show full of girls in pin-up poses, but this…
Following the sound of running water, he rounded a corner and immediately forgot to breathe. There stood the surpassingly lovely Megan, frozen in the steaming shower. Shining rivulets ran over her statue-still body, tributaries collecting in streams that flowed over her pert curves – she would not have looked out of place as the marble centerpiece in a fountain of frolicking naiads. She held her golden hair back with both hands, facing the stream, her lips slightly parted, water overflowing from her mouth…
Upon registering that last detail, Max rushed to her in a panic – were her lungs flooded with water!? When he unfroze her, would she drown? Was she drowning already? He grabbed her beneath her raised arms and pulled her free of the shower, finding her heavier than anticipated – his foot slipped on the wet tile, and he dropped her before falling himself on to the hard floor.
There was a sharp pain in his tailbone, but that seemed to be the extent of it. Megan had fallen on her side, still locked in that nymphean pose – she seemed unharmed, except her face was… askew. As if it were a mask on crooked, only partially concealing something beneath, something silver and glinting. Max leaned closer, trying to make sense of what he was seeing in this ‘gap’ between her face and her head. Was that… machinery?
A sudden bright burst of electricity flared from her temple as her blue eyes snapped open, staring directly at him – Max gave a startled cry, scrambling to his feet and rushing out of the locker room, halfway back to his classroom before he managed to stop himself. He realized his device was not stopping time it all – it was an on / off switch for robots. Oh, and by the way, just one more tidbit – everyone he had known his entire life was apparently a machine.
He wondered if he ought to be outraged or upset or if he was simply going insane – for in truth, he felt none of these things at all, but rather, a powerful curiosity. In a lot of ways, the Academy made more sense to him now that before he knew he was surrounded by robots. Of course his classmates could effortlessly breeze through subjects that seemed designed specifically for his torment: they were just following programming, he actually had to learn this stuff. But why? For whose benefit? Why go through all this trouble?
Max tried to think if there was anyone he might suspect was human. There was the nebulous headmaster, the authority he had never actually seen, who seemed to exist more as a vengeful deity than an actual person. Perhaps the transfer student, Maya Green, his former girlfriend and partner in crime, right up until her expulsion.
He had found her so unlike everyone else in this place, spontaneous, willing to take risks… affectionate! But he had to consider that she had been a robot too, one programmed to serve as a cautionary tale instead of another perfect student to emulate. If so, it had worked, hadn’t it? When they were both caught committing the grave offense of trying to escape the school grounds, Maya had pleaded desperately to the Disciplinarian on his behalf, tears streaming down her pretty, freckled face from those dark, almond-shaped eyes. She claimed it had all been her idea, that she had pressured Max into it, refuting Max’s insistence that he was the one behind it all. In the end, she was expelled while he was allowed to remain – and before she left, never to be seen again, Maya drew from him a promise her that he would not squander her sacrifice, that he would stay out of trouble, if only for her sake. A promise he had kept, to this day.
To hell with it, he decided. Now it’s time to play.
Max returned to the frozen diorama of his classroom, carefully scrutinizing Miss Belle and his fellow classmates. Even knowing they were all machines, he just couldn’t see it. He went in for a closer look at Miss Belle, her soft brown eyes staring straight ahead, her red lips parted mid-syllable, her mahogany hair in a bun wound almost as tightly as she was – but no matter how closely he looked or where he touched her cold, satin skin, he could not discern where her face might ‘detach’ in the way Megan’s had.
He idly undid the buttons on her blouse and parted the white fabric – beneath he saw the creamy hemispheres of her bountiful chest, cupped in a floral print bra, frilled in lace – but all of it unmistakably human. A thought struck Max, and he pulled off her blouse completely, then returned to his desk and activated the transmitter. Miss Belle continued right where she had left off, discussing his punishment, “-so that no one else will need to spend time fiddling at their desk instead of taking notes. Now then…” Miss Belle picked up the chalk and resumed her lecture, apparently oblivious of her missing apparel. He glanced at his fellow classmates, noticing brief flashes of confusion on their faces of each as they looked up to see far more of their teacher than they were accustomed – and just as quickly, every one of them seemed to accept the situation and resume their note-taking.
Max froze the room again and approached Miss Belle, unfastening the grey tweed pencil skirt that hugged her hips and offered tantalizing glimpses to the exquisite form of her round backside. Sliding the skirt down, he carefully took her ankle and lifted – she cooperated, balancing on one foot, then the other as he stepped her out of the grey fabric. Her matching floral panties were a snug fit against her pale, perfect rump, and he gave her cheek an appraising squeeze – her soft skin was initially cold to the touch, but warmed under his caress, pink blossoming beneath the smooth, fair surface. Not wanting to get carried away, he hastily disposed of the skirt and returned to his desk, activating the device once more.
Just as before, she continued her lecture in her underwear, her forceful gestures at the chalkboard sending delightful tremors through her voluptuous form. His classmates had additional difficulty when they noticed their instructor’s new state of undress, and not all of them recovered. To his immediate right, Grace (programmed, as near as he could tell, to be a condescending know-all) seemed to be having particular trouble. Her cute head wobbled strangely upon her neck, her typically-smug expression now screwed-up in confusion.
Max leaned close to her and whispered, “Where did her skirt go?”
Her hazel eyes darted between him and their teacher, her head-tremors worsening. “M-M-Miss Belle,” Grace stammered, ineffectually brushing aside the auburn bangs that kept falling across her eyes as her head shook. “I-I-IIIIIII fffffeeeelllll… funnyyyyy…” She took on a digitized tremulo whenever her voice caught on a vowel, her pink her lips not quite synchronized with her words.
The teacher turned and looked at her favorite pupil with distaste. “Well, go to the nurse!” Surveying the rest of the class and evidently seeing something she did not like in her students, she asked, “What is going on with all of you?”
“We’re all just wondering why you’re in your underwear,” Max said calmly. A few barks of artificial laughter sounded from the class, but were sharply cut off by Miss Belle’s glower. He noticed ticks spreading across the room while Grice rose, moving stiffly yet quickly toward the door.
Miss Belle glanced down at herself and gasped in surprise, backing against the wall while doing her best to cover her immodesty with her hands. “I d-d-do not understannnnnd-“ she groaned, looking about helplessly. A moment later her head snapped sharply forward and she straightened, relaxing her arms at her sides, crisply announcing, “Class dismissed.”
The students rose, some with great difficulty, colliding with one another in their awkward shuffle out the door. A few annoyed remarks of, “Watch where you’re going,” or “Excuse you,” could be heard, but they were all delivered in flat, impersonal tones. With the last of them gone, Miss Belle sat at her desk, staring blankly ahead.
In the ludicrously prolonged silence that followed, Max couldn’t help but crack a smile. Finally, he prompted her with, “Miss Belle, am I dismissed?” he said.
“You have quite a bit of sharpening to do,” she proclaimed, suddenly animate as she strode to the supply cabinet, opening the drawer that had held the pencils – she stared blankly at the empty space for several moments, before wordlessly pushing it shut.
“Trouble, Miss Belle?” Max asked, casually approaching her.
“That is not your concern,” she said flatly. “And you are still to be reprimanded for your disruptive behavior. You… you will… you…”
“I have an idea or two,” he said with a smirk.
“And I’ll have no more of this cheek from you!” she insisted her elegant features narrowing in suspicion.
Max hit the button and once more she froze, her cross expression preserved. ”Miss Belle, you’re so tense!” he exclaimed. “Let’s see what we can do about that.” Sliding his hand into the cup of her bra, he fondled the softness beneath, feeling a spreading warmth, her nipple hardening visibly even through the padded cup. “Better already!” he remarked, then slipped his hand down the front of her panties, gliding through the tuft of hair, fingers caressing and then moving within her chilled labia – in an instant, he could feel heat coming from her, her face suddenly flush with a rosy glow. He withdrew his hand and unfroze her.
“<Hahhhhh!>” she gasped, chest heaving, one of her hands taking hold of the breast he had just released, the other cupping lightly over her groin. She held it there, trembling, before a finger shyly pressed in against the fabric of her panties, soliciting another gasp. Max approached put his arms around her, taking hold of her rump, reacquainting himself with her familiar softness with a tender squeeze.
She stared at him in stunned surprise, her red lips gaping as she struggled to find her voice. Suddenly, her head snapped rigidly into place, her expression resetting to its customary haughtiness as she said, “Come with me.”
She broke from him and walked stiffly to her desk, then turned to face him, stating, “Take off your uniform.”
“If you insist,” Max said with an exaggerated sigh, and was soon naked before her.
“Now, remove my undergarments.”
He slid her panties down her shapely legs, taking the opportunity to retrace those elegant lines with his fingertips as he stood. She ignored this bit of foreplay, spun on her heel, and bent over her desk, brazenly presenting her porcelain white derriere and still-flushed sex. “Make love to me,” she demanded airily. “If you are able to perform to even the most modest of standards, we shall consider your punishment served.”
With another forced sigh, Max entered her slowly, her body tensing at the introduction. He took hold of her cool, white hips, rapidly bringing her to warmth and color as her cushioned backside compressed against him.
“I… would have… expected more from you,” she announced between quiet grunts, casually undoing her bun and shaking her lustrous mahogany hair loose over her pale shoulders, then resting once more on her forearms. “You do realize… you’re attempting to… pleasure me, correct?”
Noting her physical response was far more reserved now than when she was frozen, Max leaned over and hit the device, her body abruptly stiffening. He gave her a few quick thrusts, her body reacting vigorously to every push with a rush of warmth and fluid, her smooth skin soon coated in a sheen of sweat. When he unfroze her, her legs buckled as she wailed in ecstasy, trying to stifle her cries with the back of her hand. Her body succumbed to a series of convulsions, and for the first time since he discovered what she truly was, she betrayed something of her mechanical nature beyond freezing – a high-pitched mechanical squeal from inside her chest.
“Well…” she panted, pausing as another shiver passed through her, the squeal quieting. “I suppose that will have to do. If you’re done, that will be all.”
“I’d rather not leave you wanting, Miss Belle,” Max said, casually massaging her sweat-soaked posterior.
“And as per usual,” she said, her voice with its trademark condescension, “your abilities fall well short of your ambitions.”
With a chuckle, Max said, “I’m going to enjoy this,” and tapped the device, freezing her mid-sigh.
After a series of thrusts brought her back up to a feverish temperature, he withdrew and rolled her on to her back, manually coaxing her legs down from her ‘standing’ position amidst the protest of whining servos. He pulled off her bra, her impressive breasts jostling lose, his hands massaging them as he entered her once more. Her face remained frozen mid eye-roll, but as he glided in and out of her, his hands fondling her chest, he saw tremors beneath the surface of her wet skin, her lips quavering, her eyelashes developing minute ticks. He leaned in to kiss her red lips, feeling them quiver in response as the mechanical squeal from her first orgasm returned, now accompanied by a strange buzzing. Despite her immobility, her face was slowly shifting from indifference to rapt ecstasy, her sex radiating heat, her body glistening.
He pulled out of her and re-oriented himself, sliding a cock awash in her fluids into her mouth, bringing his lips to her simmering sex. He devoured her pussy, his hands gripped tight against her pillowy thighs as her mouth slowly trembled to a close around his manhood. He began feel a faint electrical flicker across his tongue as he serviced her, and the mechanical sounds of her internal machinery went from a mere curiosity to a distressing series of pops and bangs. When he dismounted her, Max saw areas of her shapely body glowing incandescent, a burning smell filling the air as dozens of tiny tremors ran through her form.
“Satisfied, Miss Belle?” Max asked, hitting the device.
Her response was closer to a siren than any human voice, an ear-splitting wail as her back arched, her arms flailing uselessly, the mechanical cacophony inside of her reaching a shrieking crescendo. There was some internal detonation and Miss Belle tumbled from her desk, her smoldering body landing at Max’s feet, charred machinery visible through her damaged frame.
“C-c-class disssmisssszzzzzz<bzzzzt>” she moaned, twitching with the odd electrical burst.
“Hello, Max,” he heard a cheery voice call from the doorway. Glancing up from his damaged teacher, he saw Megan in disarray – her shirt buttons misaligned, her tie simply hanging in a loop over her shoulders, her skirt pulled indecently high, and without one of her socks – however, her face was no longer crooked.
“Hello there, Megan,” Max said, pulling on his trousers. “What brings you around?”
“I think we should see headmast-t-ter,” she said with a coy smile, a finger tangling in her damp golden hair.
“The headmaster?” He only knew him by title and reputation, but presumably the head of the Academy would have answers as to why someone saw fit to throw him in a school full of robots. “Well, why not?” Looking down, he asked, “Miss Belle, are we finished?” She buzzed before emitting an electrical pop. “Very well, Megan,” he remarked, adjusting his tie, “to the headmaster.”