Splendificent Read online

  Roxy Kitty Publishing

  Splendificent © 2019 by Dacy Alex

  All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental. All sexually active characters in this work are 18 years of age or older.

  Cover design © 2019 Oliviaprodesign and Trung Bui

  First Edition, October 2019

  Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.

  Splendificent

  By Dacy Alex

  Contents

  Chapter One: Ain't No Simple Bitches

  Chapter Two: Prince Charming and The Foxy Lady

  Chapter Three: Laying the SmackDown

  Chapter Four: Aarab Tzereq

  Chapter Five: Krisdane, Move!

  Chapter Six: Lighthearted conversation

  Chapter Seven: Layin' Some Heavy Shit

  Chapter Eight: The Torture Rack

  Chapter Nine: A Great American Bash

  Chapter Ten: Constantina

  Chapter Eleven: It's Sexual, Baby

  Chapter Twelve: Time to Play the Game

  Epilogue

  About Dacy Alex

  Chapter One: Ain't No Simple Bitches

  How did Giselle Nyfall get to this point? The point where her college dreams and fantasy of living a schoolgirl anime turned into living the start of the kind of lesbian adult films she maybe sort of sometimes watched but wouldn't admit.

  Her new roommate, a petite brunette with strong biceps, was about to do something very unfortunate to that poor cucumber before a suitcase-lugging Giselle Nyfall walked into the kitchen of the Upper East Side penthouse that overlooked Manhattan.

  She never could’ve fathomed that something she (shamefully) searched on Bing one day actually played out in front of her.

  "You the Feds, bro?" the other girl growled in a Boston accent.

  Standing to her full height, she looked up at Giselle with big pale blue eyes, while twirling the cucumber in a way that had Giselle thinking she would easily have won the eleventh-grade talent show. The talent show where Giselle's rabbit-in-a-hat trick ended with her chemistry teacher contracting rabies.

  The toned and fit brunette beauty wore a green shamrock decorated thong that sat just above powerful legs. Her supple breasts, accentuated by the muscles of her chest, were exposed. Her nipples hard with arousal that Giselle assumed came from the laptop in front of her.

  A laptop broadcasting a webcam show!

  Giselle saw her own heart-shaped lips, blonde almost white hair that she spent all morning braiding into a flower, and big eyes that expanded into blue pools of horror as the dismay that she was being shown to 650 people flooded over her.

  Wait, she's got 650 people watching her? My last video game stream topped out at 50 and my cat knocked out the PS4 cord!

  Giselle jerked her heart-shaped face away from the camera and 650 horny chatters. Instead of leering at her chest that was behind a button-down baby-doll tank top, they could admire her bright pink backpack and hair braided into a flower. She doubted they were much impressed by the hairstyle she trawled Pinterest for.

  "You got my cam show fucked up, bro," the girl barked through full red lips, slamming her laptop shut. "Someone's gotta slide me a wad of cash to get girl-on-girl action."

  Darting behind the monochromatic island seemed like the best choice to ensure her continued safety. So that was exactly what Giselle did.

  With ease of movement, like she was a speed skater, the other girl was around the island before Giselle's Chuck Taylors were even halfway through her backpedal.

  This is what she had been longing for since the fourth grade? This certainly wasn't what she pictured or what she expected to find when she applied to New York City's Hemera University.

  "Do you want to immerse yourself in a culture of learning, diversity, and ideas?" the Hemera University website had asked underneath a bright banner of students of various races and genders and even hair colors, enjoying the carefree atmosphere of the student lounge.

  Yes! Please, yes! Immerse me, submerse me, even inverse me just get me out of California away from my mom!

  Everything started to go downhill when the school never told her who her roommate was. Not after one email. Not after two emails. Not after twenty emails. After the twenty-first unanswered email, her mother was making calls to get Giselle into UCLA.

  That's no biggie! My mom's tweaking. That's just how they do things on the East Coast.

  Then came her arrival to her "dorm room," which was actually a biology classroom. And the professor was dissecting a cow. And Giselle swore the cow was looking at her. She left disappointed and nearly induced towards vomiting.

  Then came her visit to one Anika Lindgren, head of student services. Anika informed Giselle that there was no actual dorm room for her due to another "glitch" caused by Hemera's fantastic IT department.

  But Anika held the solution to her troubles.

  ***

  A couple of hours earlier Giselle sat in a tailbone-breaking metal chair across from Anika, who sat in a plush leather massage chair behind her black obsidian desk that featured runic carvings across the outer edges.

  Anika laughed as she regarded Giselle's frowning face with cool protruding eyes. With Anika's smirking lips, the laugh seemed doubly condescending to Giselle.

  Given Anika's powerful seat, Giselle almost felt like she was Snow White humbling herself before the queen.

  The office could rival a fairytale queen's throne room. A shield hung on the wall, emblazoned with a beautiful female figure rising from a pond over the word "Schwanhild."

  That wasn't all. The door was hemmed between two stout limestone warriors. In Giselle's video game obsessed mind she identified them as golems.

  So while this hot, smirking thirty-something-year-old was spending her time custom ordering Dark Souls props, Giselle was twisting in dorm room limbo. Though there was a subway nearby she figured she could sleep in if her mom left her to rot.

  "Darling, I have to put you somewhere," Anika noted, looking at Giselle's two suitcases. One pink. One with pink and white stripes. Cute.

  Happy to hear that, Giselle settled herself back into the painted metal chair. She then felt she needed non-invasive spinal surgery more than a dorm.

  "So where am I gonna go?" Giselle uttered, squirming.

  Through the expansive window behind Anika, Giselle could see a scruffy-looking guy strumming a guitar on a bench under the clear New York morning.

  You’re playing John Mayer on my bed, buddy!

  In Union Square, Manhattan, Hemera imposed a time warp to the Middle Ages with a Gothic flair of buildings with flying buttresses, rose windows, and pointed arches that catch the eye with sculpture. Twitter hummed with rumors these buildings were haunted.

  Given the legends, Giselle joked to herself that there might be a doorway to hell she can throw a sleeping bag in.

  Ghosts did loom large in Hemera. The ghosts of the senators, CEOs, award-winning actors and well-known musicians who once roamed these halls. Present-day students were paying a pricey sum to learn in their shadows.

  The sp
orts teams, The Skylights, and Lady Skylights, even had to be spoke of in hushed tones. The bruising men’s hockey team had led the NCAA in penalty minutes for the last six seasons. The men's basketball team was coached by a former Death Row Records executive. And the women's volleyball team won two NCAA titles while being coached by a tier-one sex offender.

  Leaning back, Anika let her suit jacket fall from her shoulders. In place of prim businesswoman attire was an unprofessional, partially-unbuttoned blouse and plenty of skin atop a slim and elegant body.

  Giselle shifted in her seat, feeling beads of sweat rose on her forehead. Many a naughty thought pooled in her head. She had seen on Pornhub how this sort of thing plays out!

  "One year we had someone from Tulsa stay at Rikers," Anika reminisced. "Which he was quite fine with because even a Sudanese prison would be better than Tulsa."

  "You can't put me in Rikers. That's a whole different island! That's a crazy long commute."

  Anika looked at Giselle with steel-colored eyes as if to say, "Have our admission standards sunk so low as to let this breed of idiot in?"

  Or maybe she was sizing her up for her latest student-teacher hook-up! Giselle could so read the vibes.

  With a chesty figure, healthy thighs, and nicely thick butt, Giselle considered herself ripe for the latest round of this country's inappropriate student-teacher relationships.

  And people always said Giselle, with her pouty heart-shaped lips, heart-shaped face, wide blue eyes, and daintily upturned nose, had a face for the movies. If only she hadn't forgotten half of her lines and triggered the sprinklers in the middle school production of A Midsummer Night's Dream.

  With her denim mini-skirt showing off her supple legs Giselle thought she looked like a snack. No, a whole meal!

  As Giselle was congratulating herself over her banging body that her seventy-two-year-old principal had spent an unusual amount of time staring at, a thin onyx instrument on Anika's desk began to flare with a red light. This strange object with its unique engravings snared Giselle's attention.

  Oooh, what a neat flash drive! Wonder what kind of craziness she has on there?

  But then Anika's manicured hands curled around it.

  "Darling, I was teasing you," her tone more laden with silk. "Big Sis Anika has a place for you."

  Victory, victory! Jumping out of her seat and whooping was a Giselle thing to do. But she was trying to be a mature young lady, so instead the eighteen-year-old pumped her fist and did a little dance.

  "I was able to..." she trailed off as her smirk became a full-blown smile, "convince a wealthy alumnus to donate an Upper East Side condo for the housing of extraordinary young women."

  "Am I an extraordinary young woman? Because I always thought—"

  "You're a computer error."

  That was less worthy of a victory dance.

  "How many of us will there be?" Giselle inquired.

  Giselle's heart thumped in her chest. One mystery roommate was nerve-racking enough. A gaggle? That's heart attack inducing. What about their musical tastes? What if Giselle wanted to play EDM and her roommates wanted to play neoclassical post-punk country gospel?

  What if Giselle wanted to stream herself playing PlayStation and one of her roommates wanted to roll off a dime-bag like one of her babysitters did?

  "There are four other freshman ladies," Anika responded.

  Four sets of claws to slash her self-esteem.

  "Where are you from?" Anika queried.

  "Burbank, California."

  Giselle came from exclusive stock. Anika knew it, and her cold eyes warmed with appreciation.

  An exclusive stock that warned Giselle about the dangers that infested New York City.

  Giselle's mother, Dawn Nyfall, did her best to instill terror in Giselle's heart. "You don't know all the crap the world hides from you, Giselle. You don't know the truth about anything. The world is full of liars, my sweet," she warned her before she flew out to Washington, D.C., to lie in a congressional hearing.

  Giselle assured her mom and her dad, Stephen, a tech guru, that the East Coast held nothing but awesomeness for their only child.

  Bring on New York City. Bring on homeless people pissing in the open. And bring on Hemera University, with its eight a.m. class she was forced to take because the registration system crashed three times and all the other sections were filled. Bring on the dorm rooms that looked like internment camps.

  Now it's "bring on the extraordinary young women?"

  "These young women come from extraordinary families. I'd hate for you to be intimidated."

  Giselle would not be cowed by anyone. Except for her mother.

  "I may not seem like it, but I have a total main character aura," Giselle advised.

  "Of course you do," Anika said with an eyebrow raise, not bothering to mask her disbelief.

  I'll show you!

  "First, there's Fleur Flannagan -- she's a real killer...."

  ***

  Instead of pounding out Giselle with Whole Foods’ best, the real killer just tossed the cucumber into the sink.

  "So you're not gonna beat me up?" Giselle asked as she backed up near the brick pizza oven.

  The girl gave a lazy shrug then dug into the monochromatic cabinets to rifle through the considerable amount of snacks.

  "Did my dad send you?" the young woman questioned as she unearthed a bag of pretzels.

  "Yes, wait, no! Damn it! Why do I answer questions without listening? Why is that your assumption?" Giselle's heart-shaped lips puckered into a confused pout. "What's your problem with your dad?"

  "He's alive."

  A pause. A very uncomfortable pause.

  That ended with a big happy grin with baby fat cheeks bright red and a laugh from the Boston-accented girl.

  Her shoulders relaxing, Giselle stated, "So, uh, I'm Giselle Nyfall."

  "Fleur Flannagan. Who gives a shit?"

  Giselle noticed a green ribbon with white shamrocks pinned to Fleur’s head. What kind of savage wore the latest from Claire’s?

  "I got assigned to this condo by Anika Lindgren," Giselle stated. "I go to Hemera. My Nagggh! I bit my tongue!"

  Giselle was caught by so much agony she fell against the grey countertop. She clutched the quartz surface with her dainty fingers, gasping in distress.

  Fleur's left eyebrow lifted, as she crunched into a pretzel. How she bit it though seemed off to Giselle. Almost predatory.

  "Do you know who we are?"

  Though pain contorted her face, Giselle still tried to look cool pulling herself upright and assuming a stance she thought might be worthy of this proud beauty in front of her.

  "You're not what I was expecting. Are you some kind of cam girl?"

  "Sometimes. I get a lot of tips usually. Which is good 'cause I got mad debt."

  It was easy to see why Fleur could rake in the cash. Some people liked a mousy dorky girl, but there was something to be said for the easy confidence and uninhibited persona Fleur was broadcasting.

  Giselle felt the need to assert her own sex appeal. Something to show she was not some sheltered girl.

  "Hey, don't worry, it goes down in my stream also. Before I left, I played that new Battlefield in my Princess Peach Cosplay, and I got mad donations."

  Giselle gave a flick of her white-gold hair, which she thought looked cool but really made it look like she had a nervous twitch.

  Giselle leaned against the countertop and tilted her head up like she thought cool people were supposed to, making a smooth recovery.

  "Fleur, can I get the Wi-Fi password?"

  "Yeah, the network is f-u-c-k and the password is y-o-u."

  While Fleur sat her bethonged butt on the island in disregard for the laws of sanitation, Giselle started scanning the networks on her iPhone.

  "I don't see f-u-c-k listed," Giselle said. She wasn't always the quickest-witted.

  Another big happy grin with perfect teeth on full display and Fleur said, "I'm just messing w
ith you, bro."

  Immediately Fleur stopped "fucking with" Giselle, as her bare feet landed on the tiled floor—her pale blue eyes intense, creeping into Giselle’s deepest regions.

  Giselle took her eyes off the pizza-ready brick oven to dive libido first into the pale orbs, squirming at Fleur's deep gaze. Giselle's mind was fast to come up with the wild things they could get into.

  Whip cream, salsa, chocolate syrup. Even strawberries!

  The Boston bred babe kept her eyes planted into Giselle's. Blue on blue.

  "Do you know who we are?" Fleur said, asking not just to Giselle, but some faraway place. At least that was how it felt to Giselle.

  "Are you trying to hook up with me?" Giselle inquired.

  Despite her obvious sexual liberation, Fleur took a step away from Giselle. The brunette's head bobbed back, her full lips formed an "O" of shock, and her once smoldering eyes blinked rapid-fire.

  Giselle stammered out a recovery, "Because you totally wouldn't do that and I was just joking."

  "Just answer the fucking question."

  "You're students at Hemera and extraordinary young women. Just like me."

  Fleur's doll face became red with mirth as her pale eyes blinked in astonishment. Returning to her perch on the island, she took a moment to laugh a deep throaty sort of laugh, big cheeks again blushing.

  "No room here." Fleur nodded to the entry to the foyer, "Back the way you came."

  Giselle was starting to wish she’d read a BuzzFeed article on how to deal with intimidating people. But for now, she'd have to trust ol’ reliable whining and begging. The same tactic that got her a driver's license and spared her from being cut from JV cross country all four years of high school.

  "I need a place to stay."

  "Ya wanna bet?"

  "Bet you that I need a place to stay?"

  "I got a bad gambling problem."

  "Please!"

  "Jeez, you're weirdly pushy. I guess you can stay in the storage room until Big Sis Anika collects you. I'll give you a tour."

  Fleur chucked the bag of pretzels at the trashcan and shouted, "Celtics for the win!"