Thread: Fox at Bay (Alan23 x Sweetred)

As he leaned against the wall of the gymnasium smoking a cigarette, John Hartfield thought about the events of a few minutes before. Anyone who had not known him long would have taken John for an affable, slightly shy eccentric. The sort of kid that reads anime and plays with computers, makes a joke of every situation, and turns away wrath with soft answers and quips. In fact, they would not have been entirely wrong. In most encounters, he was exactly like that. Even though the teachers despaired of him - for, they said, with his high intelligence, he could easily become a star student, if only he'd attend more than twice a week - most of them still all liked him. He had contempt for authority, but this manifested itself in refusing to follow fads, cleave to fashion, or adopt the typical manner marking one out as cool. John was able to do this, and remain unmolested and persecuted by his peers because of another of his ability - one not immediately apparent on first glance, and probably not until one treated him badly or unfairly. In short, John's upbringing in the very worst part of town had given him the ability to fight like a rabid rat. Trying to bully him would probably result in a sarcastic quip that reduced the bully to ridicule, but if said bully persisted it was usually John that walked away from the fight a victor, and the bully that limped away clutching his testes, or blinded by a swift eye-poke. John had no use for the Marquis of Queensbury's ideals. To him, the rules were simple. Don't fight unless you have to. And if you have to fight, don't lose. Having proved himself, and gained without trying a reputation as a hard man, John found himself welcomed in the groups and cliques that run any school, including that frequented by Snowflaik Leary. Now, he guessed, that was one group that no longer welcomed him, which, he thought, would probably cost him little sleep. None of the males that hung around her would willingly take him on, after all. He had, in fact, not lied to Snowflaik. He did think her constant bullying of poor Xianna Fox was going too far. But his chivalry in lending Xianna his jacket had not been entirely on the grounds of chivalry. Male fetishes are a strange thing, and John's was stranger than most. It was, in fact, a sexuality that might well have been at home in medieval England. The sight of a damsel in distress did things to his libido that sent it into overdrive. Seeing Snowflaik rip off Xianna's skirt the day before had given him a charge that meant he'd had to go immediately to the washroom and sexually relieve himself. When, earlier that morning, he'd heard about how Mrs Leary had humiliated Mrs Fox in front of Xianna, he'd felt even hornier! And then, when he'd seen Mrs Fox, making her shame-faced way to the Head's office, and seen how attractive she was... He decided he wanted to get to know Mrs Fox. And the sooner the better! Eventually, Xianna's skirt had dried enough for her to be able to walk the streets without making a total exhibition of herself, and she let herself in to her home with a sigh of relief - and with two thoughts fighting for place in her mind. The first was an entirely negative one - the humiliations of the day. And that since that horrible Snowflaik had contrived to damage so much of her clothing, her mother was bound to find out. One item could be put down to an accident I spilled ink on my blouse and it was ruined, so I threw it away, and in fact she'd already thrown the blouse into the bin. But unless her skirt dried out fully before Mum did the washing, it would be discovered. And Mum would also want to know what had happened to her panties. Three missing items could not be explained away. The dreadful thought struck Xianna that Mum might be so angry she'd again try to tackle Mrs Leary, which would mean even more humiliation for Mum and herself! She shuddered at the thought! The second thought, however, was more pleasant. She was remembering how John Hartfield had given her his jacket. At first she'd suspected some cruel game on his part, maybe using it as an excuse to relax her, then turn on her and do something even worse. Yet he had done nothing untoward, had spoken to her quite softly and sympathetically, and treated her as well as anyone ever did. For most people of course, such a simple kindness would not have been especially notable but for Xianna - who had never had the sniff of a boyfriend, or any true friends, that tiny incident was one that had worked its way into her mind. She had made much out of very little, and was already thinking of him fondly. Very fondly! Paul Dennisson was actually on the verge of agreeing to Mrs Fox's suggestion they have coffee. After all, he was, at this time, between lady friends, and he could sense how difficult she had found it to pluck up the courage to ask him. For her to overcome her shyness to that extent, he felt, must mean she had a pretty strong desire to see him. But just as he was on the verge of agreeing, and beginning to make plans, Sianelle Leary entered the shop. Paul decided to wait until they were in private before discussing it - Angela Fox might, he felt, be shy about anyone knowing. She was that type of woman. Why Angela, trilled Sianelle, in the friendly voice she had used in the office at the school. How nice to see you again, so soon. It amused her greatly to see how Angela's face had gone white when she'd entered, how she started shaking... and then relaxed when Sianelle had pretended to be nice. It was like manipulating a child! As Angela stammered out a greeting, Sianelle rapidly made her plans. She could see that Angela was flirting with Paul... that was twice today this useless red-headed bitch had intruded on the territory of her betters. Oh, Angela, Mrs Wilkinson was asking me something, yesterday, she continued, and I thought you might be able to help. You know Mrs Wilkinson, don't you? The slightly overweight lady who lives in Oak Tree Street. In fact, Mrs Wilkinson - whatever her weight - was an entirely imaginary person, but necessary for Sianelle's plan. She's planning to try out those spanx pants, you know, like you wear, she went on, an innocent smile one her face. But she was worried they might, you know, ride up. Well, I never wear them myself, but I know you do, so I wondered if you could help. No don't bother - I'll check. She moved swiftly, before Angela could react. Though even if she had been quick enough, Sianelle knew Angela was nowhere near strong enough to resist. Nor, for that matter, would she dare even try, for fear of Sianelle doing something worse. Sianelel giggled inside as she flipped up Angela's skirt, giving her and, more importantly, Paul a clear view of Angela's white Spanx, standing out clear against her off-black pantyhose. What was even better from Sianelle's point of view was that her guess about them wrinkling up was correct, adding authenticity to her claim that she was only checking on Mrs Wilkinsons behalf - for, through the course of the day, Angela's Spanx had, indeed, bunched up along her thin legs, making her look even more ridiculous than if they'd stayed properly in place. Ah yes, I see, giggled Sianelle. Perhaps I'll tell her she'd better think again. Honestly, aren't they uncomfortable, the way they ride up like that? Anyway, thanks for the help. She left the shop, trying to hide how she was shaking with laughter. Well, that was her territory defended as far as Paul Dennisson was concerned. There was no way a guy could have any interest in a woman after seeing she wore such ridiculous and ill-fitting underwear! Talk about passion-killers! She almost wished she could be a fly on the wall, to see how Angela reacted once she was alone with Paul again!