Bullies and Scholarships

I liked to think of myself as a good girl. Everyone does. I mean, everyone loves me. I am an All Canadian volleyball wing spiker, chosen to go to the Own The Podium Olympics 2024. I am a good if not exceptional student, but the scholarship offers are competitive, I don't have to seek them out, recruiters book appointments through my school.

I am captain of the Volleyball team, and have been since my second year. I am a natural leader; I don't get down when the score or play is against us and I have always been very good at reading the players on the court with me. I know how to motivate the ones I am with, and how to target the weaknesses of the ones I am against.

I learned early that being a tall strong girl was going to draw lots of negative attention from the boys. They don't like girls stronger than they are. Just about the time I got used to putting them in their place, the titty fairy came, and the game changed. Suddenly I went from the ugly ginger bitch, to the red headed sex goddess. I still had no use for the smug little pricks.

That being said, volleyball's tight uniforms, my muscular ass and 46E chest, combined with almost continual jumping and we drew lots of crowds. Sure, the games were entertaining, but the boy's games had less than half our attendance. We won a lot, but I doubt half the men in the audience could tell you who we played.

I got along with everybody. Except the math geeks. I am a good student. I am not a freaking calculator. I hold an A- average. The A- is due to my calculus grade which hovers at the C+/B level no matter what I do. I keep getting pointed to the math geeks for help, but I have my pride.

Finally I got the harsh news that to qualify for my full ride scholarship, I would need to bring up my grade. I had a choice between taking Preston the Pimple, the string bean acne afflicted boy nerd who kept sending me awkward valentines since fifth grade, or Emily the Super-dyke.

I have nothing against the LGBTQ community in general, but Emily and her pet Ivy piss me off. There is a natural order to things. The strong, the beautiful, are admired and worshipped, and the painfully average accept their place at our feet and be thankful to share the same space as their natural betters. Emily and Ivy violate that natural sacred order.

Emily on the face of it shouldn't piss me off. Another ginger but darker, she is shorter than me, a little B cup that objectively is OK looking. She looks clean and neat. Dresses without any particular flare. She isn't a brilliant conversationalist. She is a math geek to rule all math geeks, but that is hardly something to be proud of outside the inner sanctum of your math class and certain select cubbyholes in academia and business far from the public eye where they can be undeniably useful.

What she is not is a sex goddess. While I do not want the title, and indeed have not actually yielded my much sought after cherry to any of the boys who pant so hard after it, I am the agreed upon sexual fantasy of the entire male student population, most of the faculty, and all the janitors.

But every day I watch Emily swan through the halls like a queen, with Ivy the Pet in her little black cameo choker. A gift from Emily, she put the black lace choker at her throat on Valentines day in grade 10. I was six lockers down, a full sized locker normally only grads get, while everyone else gets half lockers, but I volunteered with the book room, and two perks of that are a full sized locker and a second set of text books so I could keep one at school and one at home. No humping them back and forth. With my athletic gear, that is a god send.

On Valentines day, I saw Emily grab mousey little Ivy and kiss her full on the lips like some sort of period romance novel. Ivy swooned and melted into her. Then Emily pointed to the ground, and Ivy knelt. Knelt, like in church. Then Emily pulled out this black lace collar with a cameo on it, and Ivy threw her hair forward and bowed her head so Emily could collar her like a dog.

Emily then reached down and raised Ivy's chin, and called her "My pet".

Ivy burst into tears, grabbed Emily's hand and started kissing it like she had been granted the biggest favour ever.

I was rooted to the spot. I couldn't move. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't stop thinking about it all night. I had to call John over to get him to go down on me because every time I started to touch myself, I started thinking about Emily and Ivy. I wasn't a dyke. Not that there is anything wrong with lesbians, we have some on the team and I totally support them. Emily and Ivy piss me off. Oh god. When John was going down on me, I imagined Ivy doing that to Emily and came like a rocket. I actually let John jerk off on my tits, he did such a great job eating me. He wasn't getting into my panties, but at least he kept me from frigging myself thinking about those math geeks.

That is when the bullying started. I guess I may as well be honest about it. I couldn't let it go. What right did these two nobodies have, flat chested Ivy and floppy boob Emily, two plain looking math geeks, having the Great Romance right in front of us all?

Ivy trailed after her like a puppy, and when Emily would reach across to brush some of Ivy's long brown hair out of her face and behind her ear, Ivy's face would transform into an angelic vision. Pure devotion, such a face would grace a stained-glass window in any chapel. Transformed by the touch of her, what, owner? Is that what pets have? She wore that collar like a badge of honour, like the Hope Diamond on a engagement ring from the Prince of Wales or something.

It pissed me off. I started to push between them; through them in the hallways. My team follows my lead in everything. I never told anyone to, but my teammates started doing the same thing. Pushing through them. Making them stand aside in the halls. Sneering at them.

Every time I would knock Emily down, Ivy would rush to her side and pick her up, treating falling on her ass like a three alarm fire, and then hugging her so hard with tears in her eyes that Emily had to pet her hair like calming a frightened puppy in a thunderstorm or five year old after a bad dream. It just pissed me off more.

If I went to knock Ivy down, Emily would inevitably step in the way. It made me feel like a jerk. Like a bully. That pissed me off more. How frigging dare SHE feel superior to ME? I always felt good about myself, but now she was making me feel dirty. I was eighteen years old, had letters guaranteeing me a full ride scholarship through an ivy league school with housing included. All my dreams were coming true. I was worshipped and adored by the whole school and yet I felt worse every single day because of Emily and her pet Ivy.

Tuesday before the awards ceremony, it happened. I am not proud. I crossed the last line. I make no excuses, there are no excuses. What followed I deserved. I accept that now. Of course, I accept a lot now.

I had grabbed my bag and jogged to school. I didn't bring a lunch today because Taco Tuesday was a guilty pleasure that the team routinely allowed, no matter how harsh our self impose diets were. The cooking class was actually pretty good, make a mean chipotle wrap, but the tacos are better than any sex available in High School. Taco Tuesday was my one cafeteria indulgence.

I got to school and unpacked my bag into my locker when I realized. I forgot my wallet. I usually kept it in my bag, but I had moved it to my car when I went out to get food from the vet for our dog (he has some issues, and has a special diet). I never put it back. I didn't have my cash, or my card to get tacos!

As I was fuming, angry with myself, Emily was loading books into her locker, Ivy was standing their holding them like some sort of domestic servant, if servants looked upon medium attractive short haired math geeks like the goddess Aphrodite stepping naked onto the beach. When the textbooks were loaded, Emily reached out and stroked Ivy's cheek. Ivy blushed and pressed Emily's hand to her cheek with both of hers and leaned into it. Her eyes closed, blushing and sighing like she had been given the best most romantic gift every. I don't look that excited when I cum.

I snapped.

I slammed my locker shut and shoved between Emily and Ivy the pet.

"It seems I forgot my lunch money today. It's Taco Tuesday, and I need ten dollars for my tacos. Now since you little DYKES are so lovey-dovey, why don't you give me ten dollars Emily, and you and Ivy can go eat each other's tacos for lunch today?"

I slammed the locker beside them with as much force as I spike a cut shot, and they flinched in a way that made my blood sing, and my soul recoil at what I was doing. In retrospect, this was the most fundamental violation of everything I believed in, and believed about myself, but I could not stop, I would not stop.

Ivy reached for her purse, but Emily stopped her. She reached into her locker and took out two fives, and handed them mutely over to me. Her eyes were blazing. She didn't say a word, but she was not in any way surrendering. I took the money, feeling like filth.

For the first time, I didn't enjoy Taco Tuesday. I watched Ivy and Emily share a chicken Caesar between them and felt like complete scum.

Wednesday was the award ceremony. I was so proud taking the stage, getting two awards I knew about, and three I did not. The big one was my full ride scholarship to UBC. Housing, tuition and a generous allowance. Unsurprisingly, one of the academic full ride scholarships to UBC was given to Emily. As much as I would love to hate her, she really was brilliant. Another went to Preston the Pimple, not much of a surprise. I don't know why he looked so excited, his parents endowed the University with enough to build a whole new wing, so whether he was a super math geek or not, they could have paid his tuition through PhD without noticing the cost. He tried to congratulate me and tell me how wonderful it was we were still going to be in school together. I smiled sweetly and told him it was unlikely we would ever see each other.

I wasn't being particularly nice. This was my moment of triumph and it tasted like ash because I felt like shit from Taco Tuesday. Ivy was hugging Emily and kissing her, babbling about how proud she was of her and how all of her dreams could come true now.

Fucking slut. What did she have to be happy about? She didn't win shit. How could she be this happy when her precious Emily was going away and she couldn't? Sure Ivy got accepted, but its not like she could afford to go.

I am not proud of what I did next.

Pushing between them, I smiled sweetly at each in turn.

"I don't see what you are so happy about. Your little affair is over. Emily goes on, Ivy gets left behind. Your little pet will have to find a new owner." I hissed.

Emily reached out and stroked Ivy's hair, turning her face up as Ivy's face had teared up and turned down as the ugly truth was laid before her.

Emily spoke, looking into Ivy's eyes.

"Do not worry my pet, I am going to win a scholarship for you tomorrow. You will enjoy it. This will be a full ride scholarship in every sense of the word." Emily smiled, then turned to me. My blood went cold.

We played the regional finals the next night. I was on fire. My serving game was only so so, my power was off the charts but that left the occasional serve going just the wrong side of the line. My arial game was unmatched. I kill blocked enough that they abandoned my side of the court at all, and my spikes were doing so much damage they ended up parking their libero behind two blockers just to face me. Half their defence on me, we slaughtered them. I was planting line shots on the paint, cut shots just off the net, and blasting them off the arms of the blockers so hard they were landing on their asses, not their feet when it tore through.

I was queen of the whole damned court.

The gym has the big shower with ten heads, and another ten individual stalls for those who are shy. I have always used the main shower. I am queen bee and accept that in my presence everyone feels intimidated by my confidence naked. It's a funny thing, there are girls as attractive as me on the team. Honestly, we are all fit, tight, and take pride in our bodies, but when it comes to nudity, nine out of ten girls breaks, and that little stream of self hatred at their appearance fed by every magazine and TV add marketed to women forever takes over. The one girl who can stand unashamed naked in front of the rest and make eye contact while washing herself will be acknowledged as more beautiful, just because she has zero fear to be seen. Half of leadership is tricks like this. The moral is to the physical as three is to one said Napoleon, and in athletic competition that is true.

I was last out, taking the time to work out some kinks because I pushed pretty hard out there. I heard a lot of giggling from the locker room as someone came into the shower. I wondered which of my girls had come back for a second rinse.

Imagine my shock when I heard Ivy's voice.

"Do I really get her My Lady?" Ivy asked.

"I promised you a scholarship," Emily said. "a full ride scholarship at that." Emily gloated.

I turned around and there they both were. Naked.

Ivy was working her fingers into herself, while Emily held a long black chain, heavier than a normal necklace in one hand, swinging it before her like a threat.

I was shocked, not threatened because honestly I could put both of them down without replacing any of the sweat I just washed off.

Emily was looking at me, not with fear, not with deference, not even with anger. She was looking at me like prey. I froze.

"Do you know why you hate us so much?" Emily asked softly "Because I do."

She pulled Ivy to her and cupped her small breast. Turning her head she pulled the skinny little thing to her and their bodies, individually awkward compared to the pure athletic grace of my team mates and the union of them was heart stoppingly beautiful.

Ivy yielded to Emily so perfectly. That kiss owned Ivy, yet it completed both of the. I moaned, backing against the wall. My thoughts scattering, my body conflicted between the urge to run, to fight, to sink my fingers into myself.

"You hate Ivy because she has the courage to admit her love, her worship. You hate her because she is stronger than you, better than you. She admits she is my pet, she glories in being my pet, and she knows I cherish and protect her. She is first, because she admits it." Emily pushed me against the wall, her right hand cupping my sex, the left hand, whipping the black chain around my throat, and with it pinning me to the wall.

Ivy giggled as she cupped my breast with one hand, and took the other into her mouth.

I should have fought. Could have fought. I mean I was physically powerful enough to toss them out of the shower, but something inside me was unwilling to resist. Something inside me was howling, shrieking, clawing at my willpower, demanding I let what was happening unlock what had been struggling since grade ten to get out.

Emily continued, her fingers rubbing up and down my wet sex, the chain around my neck forcing my face up to hers; to look into her burning eyes.

"You hate me because I didn't choose you. I chose Ivy as my pet. I love Ivy. You hated me because some part of you knew you wanted to be at my feet, but you never had the courage to. Ivy had the courage, you didn't. You chose to be a bully. She is a pet, you are a bitch."

I moaned. Her fingers slid into me. I felt one hand move behind Ivy's head, holding her to my breast, the other reached for Emily, holding her hip. Staring into her eyes and whimpering.

She leaned in. Lips just in front of mine, she felt me lunging against the chain at my throat, trying to reach her lips. She laughed. Ivy bit my nipple. Pinching the other nipple, Ivy made me whimper and writhe. I did not resist. Could not resist. I felt helpless. Needed to feel helpless. I was on fire. This was better than John's mouth or fingers, better than my own fingers.

"Beg for it slut. Beg to be my bitch. Beg to be my property. Beg to prove how sorry you are for being cruel to my Ivy because you know you don't deserve her place at my feet."

Emily sawed her fingers into me. I was bucking against them like a wild animal, thrusting into them. I had never wanted to be taken, to be fucked before, not by any boyfriend I had, but I wanted her to fuck me now. Fingers, fist, foot, I didn't care. I wanted to be HERS. To be taken, to be owned.

"Please, please, make me your bitch. I want to be like Ivy. I want to be your pet!" I screamed it, loud enough to be heard in the locker room, thankful the hallway was out of range.

Emily wrapped the chain about her fist and leaned back, glaring at me. She spat on my face. Then she let go and stood back.

"You don't get to be my pet. You don't get to be my bitch. You are a whore. That is all you can be to me. You can be my whore if you want. Do you want that? If you do, I will have another name for you and you may have a place at my feet."

Ivy laughed, pulling back from my breast. Now she slapped my breasts, first one then the other. I stood against the wall and let Ivy the pet spank my breasts red. Watching them bounce and whimpering as the flat chested girl made me whimper and beg, making my breasts bounce left and right, up and down as she spanked my breasts and spat on my face, laughing all the while.

I broke.

"Please let me be your whore. Please. I promise to be a good whore. Please collar me like Ivy!" I begged.

Emily pounced. Her fingers were back in me. Her mouth was on my ear, biting it, biting at my neck. Ivy was on the other side, fingers playing with my nipples, one hand grabbing my ass in surprisingly strong fingers as she kissed the side of my face.

Emily was whispering in my ear.

"You are going to be mine, but you won't get to taste me until you have earned it. You won't get my kiss until you have earned it. Your first kiss will be a whore's kiss to her pimp. You will be broken my little bitch, broken to the leash, to the lash, and to be a good three whole whore, but you will be broken by MY LITTLE IVY, before you ever touch me." Emily was rubbing my clit so fast, I screamed as I came, and collapsed to my knees.

On my knees, I looked up at Ivy. She stepped close in front of me. Brown bush over a surprisingly pretty pussy. I looked up at her and begged.

"Please?" I said, inching closer to her on my knees, face before her pussy.

Looking down in triumph, the little nothing girl, the shy little flower I had hated and bullied so long for daring what I could not, spat on my face one more time, then stepped over me, grinding my face into her pussy as she grabbed my wet hair and humped my face.

"Be a good whore, and eat me bitch." Ivy said, then she giggled. Soft voice, a fragile delicate flower, and yet I was her plaything because Emily willed it so, and I loved it.

I kissed her pussy. Moaning as I gave into the lust I had denied. I gloried in her scent. The delicate petals of her sex. She was such a fragile flower; I drank her nectar like I was starving. My fingers grabbed her ass so hard to pull her into my face that only Emily's steadying hand kept us from falling.

I make no claim to being good at eating pussy. I know what I like to have done to me, and I tried to do that to Ivy. I guess I did okay, because in too short a time for my liking, she came on me. I kept licking, lapping at her like a bitch dog in heat until it got too sensitive and she pushed me away.

They stood before me then, in the shower. Kissing so lovingly. There I was on the ground, covered in spit and cum, at their feet.

They shut off the showers, and led me to the change rooms. Ivy and Emily walking hand in hand. Me crawling at Ivy's side, with her hand holding me by the hair. Thank sweet Jesus my teammates had already left.