Enjoy <3
She first hears it from her long line of comrades, none of whom she particularly cares about.
The Southside Serpents are being transferred to Riverdale High.
Her Riverdale High. The one where she resides as queen, at the top of the food chain, at the forefront of every admirer's imagination.
Cheryl prides herself on many things. Her intellect. Her wit. Her looks, of course. She wasn't just raised a Blossom for nothing. It had its perks. And she simply could not allow snakes into her garden.
"Thank you, Jessica. That will be all," Cheryl says tightly, dismissing her minion. Her heels crack down the hallway until she spots Reggie Mantle leaning over the railing. "Reginald," she says, shifting her stance into crossed arms.
He turns toward her, quirking an eyebrow. "Cheryl Blossom," he says with a smirk.
She rolls her eyes. "Eyes up here, you vulture. I came to ask for your help," she says before noting his expression and adding, "not for that, imbecile."
"And what is it that Princess needs today?" he mocks.
Cheryl steps closer to him and squints. "I need those trailer-park tragedies out of my school immediately."
Reggie turns his eyes to the floor below the railing as Veronica Lodge's welcoming voice echoes through the halls. "I dunno, that one there is kinda hot."
Cheryl's eyes fall on Veronica. "Veronica's not a serpent, you ghoul."
His eyebrows furrow. "I...didn't mean Veronica."
Fuck. Cheryl stands straighter as if it'll seep into her personality. "I know that."
He gives her a curious look before nodding below again. "I meant that short one, with the flannel around her waist."
Cheryl's eyes screw shut and she silently prays that one look at this girl won't break her.
Unfortunately for her, all the prayers in the world wouldn't be enough to rid her of the electricity she feels in her body as her eyes fall upon the serpent girl. Cheryl can only see her from a high-up view but her heart thuds out her chest all the same. As Cheryl lets her gaze drop down to the girl's full breasts, smooth brown skin and the flannel tied around her hips, she curses internally. She loses it when she sees that the girl is wearing netted tights and combat boots.
"Whatever," Cheryl breathes out, voice cracking on the one word. A familiar pulse breaks out in her groin. "Are you going to help me or not?"
"I'll do what I can, bombshell," he says finally. "Now come on. Let's get this shitshow on the road."
Cheryl looks smug as the two of them descend the stairs. "Stand down, Eva Perón," she calls out against Veronica.
She didn't notice so many of her crones following behind her and Reggie, but it's all the same to her.
Veronica tries to challenge Cheryl, but Cheryl shoots her down with insults pulled from a bag. She has no time to be clever while being this close to the Serpent girl who's caught her attention.
And, by God, has she caught it. Up close, Cheryl can see the defined arch of her eyebrows, the pursing of full lips, the way her leather jacket hugs her shoulders. She imagines herself clinging to the jacket on the girl's back, trapped underneath her small weight but unable to move nonetheless, the girl grinding her body against Cheryl's bare one.
The girl must have noticed Cheryl's interest because all of a sudden Cheryl hears her saying angrily, "Why don't you come over here and say that to my face?"
Cheryl panics as the girl steps toward her, boots scuffing on the ground. "Happily, Queen of the Buskers!" she returns immediately, gulping back her arousal. Really, Cheryl? That's all you could think of? Queen of the Buskers? God dammit you useless lesbian.
She might be imagining it but Cheryl is half sure she catches a glimpse of the girl looking amused at her words. She has no way of knowing it, but the girl is also feeling heat. Queen, huh? Give me a chance to prove it?
Before long, the serpent boys come to the girl's aid and pull her and Cheryl apart. Cheryl's eyes never leave the girl's, even when people by their lockers start to whisper at the obvious tension between the two of them.
Just like that Weatherbee dismisses the serpents and the school day is back to normal.
But Cheryl knows she'll have to cancel cheerleading today no matter what the cost. She's going to go insane if she doesn't get herself off in the next hour.
-
She thanks every god that she doesn't believe in anymore that Polly has volunteered to care for Nana Rose on Monday nights. She doesn't think she could take it if she was interrupted one more time in the middle of...taking her desires into her own hands.
She locks the front door and takes the stairs two at a time, the only sound in the silenced house being her own breathing.
She shucks off her heels haphazardly and takes off her formal red dress, unclipping her bra and pulling on a thin long-sleeve shirt to get comfortable. She uses the bathroom and comes out, heart beating and ready to get rid of the tension that's been plaguing her body since the minute Reggie pointed out the girl with pink highlights.
Cheryl flops onto the bed and under the covers, pulling her underwear down long legs and flinging it onto the lounge-chair by her nightstand. She begins scrolling through her phone for something juicy to read but finds nothing she hasn't seen before. Finally tossing her phone across the bed she brings her left hand to rest on her warm belly, giving it a light squeeze, and opens her folds with her right hand, reaching in to gather arousal as her own personal lubricant. Her head falls back on the pillow and her eyes close as she brushes the wetness onto her clit, circling it slowly and letting out a light groan reflexively.
She wonders when the first time she'll have sex is. Why has the universe cursed her with boys falling to their knees at her presence and girls avoiding her like the plague?
Her mind turns to the serpent girl, standing so close to her and demanding to see her face. Cheryl could so easily dominate her, lift her off the floor and throw her onto any luxury sofa in the parlor, spread her open and go to town. Yet she more easily imagines the girl knocking her backwards onto Cheryl's king-sized mattress, ripping her clothes off and slithering down her body like the serpent she is. Snaking her tongue into Cheryl's center as Cheryl grabs hold of pink highlights like a lifeline. Murmuring praise with her hot mouth to lead Cheryl on.
Cheryl can feel herself getting wetter with every vivid detail of the imaginary encounter and speeds up the winding on her clit, pressing down on her lower stomach with her left hand to contract as she thrusts upwards indefinitely.
She imagines being pressed up against the girl's backside in those death-trap motorcycles she's seen their gang on, pressing a wet kiss to the girl's neck and driving her insane until they reach the girl's no-doubt cramped and littered trailer. The girl shoving her back into the walls of cracked paint, backing her up until she falls on an almost rock-hard mattress. So dirty, Cheryl scolds herself. A rose should never concern itself with a rat, she remembers her ex-mother's words, but she fantasizes it all the same. She pictures pulling the flannel off the girl's waist and working her up until she grits her teeth and moans obscenely, what the girl would look like as her face scrunches up and her jaw drops open in orgasm, curses falling from her mouth in a chant. She hears the girl husking in her ear, "Why don't you come over here and sit on my face?" and Cheryl physically bites her lip, dreaming of getting to move languidly against the girl's full lips, her wetness going to good use.
Cheryl feels her body tensing, on its way to a surefire orgasm, fire begging to erupt from her skin. Her legs start to shake and with one final press to her clit she climaxes with a loud moan, the feeling indescribable as pangs of pleasure erupt in her lower region and the thudding finally slows down. She contracts involuntarily as if a ceaseless butterfly is twitching inside her. She keeps her finger pressed hard against her clit and shudders contentedly.
Fuck. That was good, she thinks, but she's not yet satisfied. She just now realizes that she doesn't even know the girl's name.
She got herself off to a stranger. A dangerous thrill runs rampant inside her at the thought.
She opens her instagram page all the same, determined to find out who the girl is. Surely Beanie Boy has posted some photos of them at a...gang party? Or whatever troublesome convention the reptile gang gets in on the daily. She types in jughead_jones3 and scrolls down his photos, and she doesn't have to look far before she finds a photo of the two of them by the campfire, a red flannel around the girl's waist, ripped black jeans on her legs and her hair in two long pigtails. She looks smugly at the camera, one arm slung lazily around Jughead as he distractedly blows out the flames on a marshmallow stick.
Cheryl's heart warms as if she's there with them by the fire. How can one girl look so hot yet so cute at the same time. Her eyes catch on the tag in the lower left, eagerly clicking. The name that pops up is unfamiliar. antoinette_topass, Cheryl reads aloud to herself, eyebrows furrowing. The second word she takes granted; the girl was undoubtedly fine in that category. But Antoinette? She has to laugh. No one's been named that for centuries!
She clicks on the profile.
Only a few photos. Here is a girl who doesn't know she's beautiful. Her bio says only two words: Toni Topaz.
Toni Topaz. TT. Has a nice ring to it. She hopes one day it'll fall out of her own mouth in breathless moans.
She groans in frustration and reaches down her body again.
Only four orgasms later does the girl's--Toni's--sculpted face clear out of her dirty mind.