Posted by Kewpid on January 21, 20011 at 13:21:21:
“So you see, girls,” said Miss Goldsmith crisply, “the role of the sword in literature is always sexual. It represents an obvious phallic symbol, and usually the man wields it to win a female prize …”
Lauren chewed her pen and made a show of looking earnest but in truth she really wished she was outside. The gardens of the country house were basking in the sunshine. They should be sitting on the grass, not gathered in the stuffy library.
Six of them had signed up for this weekend seminar, staying on after the end of term to boost their chances of a good degree. Romancing the Sword – the title had intrigued them and it was for female students only, promising a liberated slant. But now Lauren was having doubts. The house and grounds were lovely, but as she scribbled dutifully, a part of her kept saying, this is tosh!
Pushing her glasses up her nose, she shifted in the armchair. She knew the specs made her look mousy, what with her pale skin and straight brown hair. Her figure didn’t fit the studious image, but she kept her boobs demurely buttoned up. She took another sip of the strong coffee and wondered if she’d missed the point somehow.
Miss Goldsmith was warming to her theme. “We can witness this in Shakespeare. Romeo’s prowess with his sword reflects his power over Juliet ...” Corinne chewed that over and decided it was bollocks, but a nineteen-year-old student wasn’t going to say as much. She preened her mop of honey-coloured hair and pouted boredly. Her tight tee-shirt revealed she wasn’t shy about her boobs.
Sitting behind her, India let her gaze stray to the window, as keen to catch some sun as Lauren was. A winsome girl with chestnut hair and eyes like chocolate buttons, she had hoped the seminar would feed her interest in romance. But it was all so wordy and pretentious. She stole a quick glance at her watch and gave the grounds another wistful look.
Hannah, sitting next to her, was lapping up the lecture. She was a rather ditzy blonde who’d spent most of her first year partying, then realised that she had a bit of catching up to do. This study weekend seemed like a smart move. Miss Goldsmith clearly knew her stuff, but the concepts took some grasping. Hannah felt a little cowed, like the schoolgirl she had been so recently.
“The dichotomy of lace and steel has been popular since Dumas …” Miss Goldsmith took her glasses off and eyed her group of students thoughtfully. She was in her thirties, humourless, her dark hair tied back primly, but her figure looked voluptuous squeezed into a smart suit. “The weapon of the Musketeers has always been the rapier … although you would have thought the musket might have been more apt!”
Jess tittered to show she’d got the joke and bent over her notepad. She had an impish little face, framed by a bob of hair dyed cherry red. It was the sort of thing a girl did when she went to uni – along with choosing courses that turned out to be quite hard. She’d lost the thread a while ago but was trying not to show it. Hopefully it would all make sense when she read through her notes.
“The rapier, from the French rapière – a light sword, made for thrusting. The sexual symbolism is evident. In fact some linguists think that our word rape derives from it …”
Kathy hadn’t heard that one. She wrote it down before she could forget. Picking up such pearls of wisdom made her feel more clever. She came from a less privileged background than the other girls and put up a brash front to hide her lack of confidence. Her heavy breasts and bulging lips gave a tarty look. She fiddled with her long dark hair and peered over her glasses – the pair she was always wore to lectures, hoping they lent her a bookish air.
“Now girls, I hope that you’ve been paying attention.” Miss Goldsmith looked severe. “We have a test lined up for you.” India pulled a face. She really wasn’t in the mood. Her head had started throbbing and she wished she could just lie down on the lawn.
Her friends were also showing signs of flagging. A sort of queasy lethargy was creeping over them. Lauren tried to focus on her notebook and hoped the wooziness would go away. But it worsened and her heartbeat seemed to thicken. She felt the pen slip from her hand and dimly heard it clatter on the floor.
“Excuse me, Miss …” said Corinne, standing up unsteadily. She pressed her hand against her mouth and headed for the door. But the drug in the coffee brought her down in moments, and she dropped on to her hands and knees, befuddled like a cow at slaughter time. Feebly she tried to crawl, then crumpled to the carpet. The others barely noticed as they struggled to stay conscious – and succumbed
Miss Goldsmith waited patiently till all six had stopped moving. Then she called the men in and they started to undress the lolling girls. As healthy teenagers they would be used to getting naked. Their jeans and tee-shirts were tugged off and bra-clasps pulled apart. Soon they had been stripped down to their panties, which ranged from Lauren’s purple briefs to Jess’s thong, which matched her crimson hair. One man toyed with Kathy’s swollen nipples; another slid his hand down Hannah’s pants. But they didn’t violate the sleeping beauties, just left them slumped like limp, discarded dolls.
Silence filled the library. The sunbeams swirled with dust motes. The drug’s effects did not last long. The prostrate girls began to stir again. But it took a loud metallic crash to jar them from their slumber. Dumbly Lauren raised her head – and saw a pile of swords in front of her.
It looked like a collection of old rapiers, their pewter-coloured metal dull with age. She peered at them in bafflement. The blades were long and slender. Some were fitted with cup hilts while others had protective spiral guards.
“Don’t just sit there gawping, girls,” Miss Goldsmith’s voice said briskly. “We’ve finished with the theory and now it’s time to take your practical.” The students blinked at her, still feeling horribly hung-over. The lecturer’s pale cheeks were flushed and she’d loosened the tight jacket of her suit. The prim bitch of the previous hour seemed like a different person. Now she was unbuttoned, and unnervingly aroused.
Having dropped the swords she retreated to the doorway. “You’d best defend your honour, girls. Some gentlemen have come press their suit.”
Hannah squinted up at her. “What’s happening?” she bleated. The others were just realising that they were almost nude. Miss Goldsmith watched them cringe and try to cover their plump bosoms. “You’d better arm yourselves,” she said, “or be deflowered right here.”
She turned and walked away, her high heels clicking down the passage. Kathy knelt up groggily and ran her fingers through her hood of hair. “What the fuck is going on?” she muttered. The house seemed very quiet now. The fine hairs rose on Lauren’s naked skin. Jess’s hand went to her mouth as if to hold her sobs in. India cowered behind her chair, not even sure what she was hiding from.
Corinne crawled towards the swords and picked one off the carpet. The weapon weighed about two pounds. She swung it awkwardly. Lauren’s head was aching but an instinct got her moving. She took a rapier of her own and gripped the hilt. It steadied her frayed nerves.
Then India gave a squeal of fright which almost made her drop it. She turned and saw the dark girl scooting backwards on her arse. Beyond her were French windows giving access to the terrace.
A man wearing a Guy Fawkes mask was peering in at them.
The students stared back numbly for a moment. The man was draped in a long cloak and wore a wide-brimmed hat. His mask was deathly white and leered grotesquely. He held an ornate rapier in one hand.
“Oh my God,” squeaked Jess. She made a grab for the dropped weapons, and the others scrambled after her. The rapiers rattled as they snatched them up. The masked man shoved his way in through the windows and raised his own sword with a flourish. Terrified, the students shrank away. Hannah fled out through the door and India followed, panting, but Jess froze by the mantelpiece like a rabbit fascinated by a snake. Lauren backed off round the coffee table, her bosom swelling as she gulped for breath. Kathy was still shitfaced, having drunk too much drugged coffee, but she flailed out with her sword defensively.
“Come on!” hissed Corinne wildly from the doorway. The white face turned to stare at her and she cowered back behind her levelled blade. Lauren edged across to Jess, who was quivering and tearful, and clutched the redhead’s arm with her free hand. The empty eyeholes followed her but the man had stopped advancing. He waited in a duellist’s stance as if daring the girls to take him on.
Lauren bit her lip, her own sword ready as she slowly drew her fellow student clear. Kathy swayed and curled her lip, defying the intruder. She had a coarse, aggressive streak which tended to come out when she was drunk. “What the fuck d’you think you’re looking at?” she asked the swordsman. The faceless figure cocked his head, then brought his rapier up.
“Have at thee, thou wobble-breasted wench,” his voice mocked grimly. Kathy pursed her pouting lips and pointed her own blade. “Back off, babes,” hissed Lauren as she sidled for the doorway, but Kathy simply shook her long hair back. She plucked her glasses off like someone making a grand gesture and dropped them on the nearest armchair. “Come on, then,” she challenged the masked man.
He came towards her languidly, then struck out like a cobra. She blocked the blow instinctively and the clash of steel went ringing round the room. The impact almost jarred the rapier from her sweaty fingers. She lurched back awkwardly and he came prowling after her. Her guard was down and her large breasts were wide open, but he didn’t lunge to puncture one of them. Instead he let the girl regain her balance, while Jess and Lauren looked on with wide eyes.
Furious, Kathy went on the offensive, as if this was a catfight on a drunken Friday night. She swiped at the sardonic mask and the man retreated smartly. “Bastard!” she exclaimed and swung the sword at him again. He let her drive him back, his slim blade parrying her efforts – then lunged to jab the point into her gym-toned abdomen. Kathy gave a throaty squawk – it felt as if he’d kicked her – while Jess cried out in horrified dismay.
The sword jerked out and Kathy gasped, her boldness quite deflated. She dropped her sword and grasped her stomach, crippled by the nauseating blow. Whimpering, she reeled away and flopped into an armchair, her body wriggling feebly as her belly filled with pain.
The swordsman stalked towards her and her bosom heaved in terror, her panties soaking up a gush of pee. His sword point flicked one of her juicy nipples, then nicked the roundel of the other one. Grimacing, she tried to plead, but he just drew his blade back and thrust it through the bulge of her left breast.
Kathy jerked, then screamed and threw her head back as he forced the point into her pounding heart. He put his weight behind the hilt, transfixing her slim body, not stopping till he’d pinned her to the chair and pierced it through. Her hoarse shriek made the others flee in panic; it dwindled to a gurgle as her body humped and kicked. At last her head fell forward, tongue protruding. Her knickers were transparent now, her crotch a soggy nest of pubic hair.
He straightened up, his death-mask face impassive. Leaving her slumped corpse impaled, he picked another sword up from the floor.
Lauren and Jess ran wildly down the passage, the sounds of anguish ringing in their ears. They reached the foyer and stopped short, breaths quickening in horror. The front door stood wide open and more men in masks were coming up the drive.
They wore the same archaic garb and each man held a rapier. The white masks made them look like evil clones. Lauren goggled at them through her glasses, while Jess began to snivel, her mascara like black tears. Still clutching their swords, they scrambled up the staircase.
India and Hannah had run out through the back door.
A flight of steps led down into the gardens, a maze of shrubs and flowerbeds where they could lose themselves. Gasping, Hannah hesitated, glancing left and right. “Oh sh*t,” she whimpered plaintively as more masked figures came around the house. She scurried down the steps, her bosom joggling, but India felt a plunge of dread and halted in her tracks. Maybe they’d be trapped down there. She squirmed with indecision, her scared gaze flitting to and fro between the swordsmen bearing down on her. There was no chance of slipping past – no hope of trying to fight them. She hurried down in Hannah’s wake, her bare feet scuffing on the sun-warmed steps.
Hannah was casting round the sunlit gardens. They didn’t seem so spacious from down here. The thought of going to ground made her feel queasy. Those white-masked men would root her out. There had to be a way through to the woods.
She scampered down a pathway to an ornamental fountain and leaned against the rim to get her breath. Too many cigarettes, she thought. Her mouth tasted like ashes, as if she’d just awoken from a night out on the town. She glanced round nervously and scooped some water from the fountain, swilling it around her mouth. A few cold droplets spattered her bare breasts.
“Madam, wilt thou dance?” a muffled voice said from behind her. She swung round with a little shriek. Another Guy Fawkes masked smirked through the leaves. The man emerged from cover as she cringed against the fountain, her rapier held out at arm’s length. “Just keep away from me!”
His unseen eyes were savouring her shapely teenage body. He gestured with his blade invitingly. Hannah edged away around the fountain, her scruffy blonde hair in her eyes. She tried to shake it clear. Next moment the masked man was lunging panther-like towards her. She squealed again and beat his blade off, skittering behind the fountain’s bowl. He followed her, implacable. She parried wildly, sobbing. If only she had done more work and skipped this seminar …
He let the spunky blonde believe that she could hold him off, then casually broke through her guard and pierced her midriff with a single thrust. Hannah’s mouth gaped open in an O of disbelief. She aimed a clumsy swipe at him, then sagged back with a girlish, grieving sound. He gave the blade a sharp twist and withdrew it. Hannah pulled a face and groaned, then turned and slumped against the fountain’s rim. Wheezing, she stared down into the water, as if the man no longer mattered now. A last, deflating sigh and she pitched forward, face down in the cool water with her silk-clad arse upturned enticingly.
India heard the clash of blades beyond the rosebushes. Her dark eyes widened like a deer’s. She wondered if she ought to try and help. But she was as self-centred as the next nineteen-year-old, and fear got the upper hand. She turned and started up the steps again. But one of the men was already coming down them. India snivelled in dismay and brought her rapier up.
The fixed leer of the white mask seemed to mock her. He kept on coming, step by step, and she retreated slowly, mesmerised. “Please,” she begged pathetically, “I’ve had enough of this.” He thrust his rapier in response. She wailed and parried, just like Hannah had. His sword kept probing and she stumbled backwards, then risked a glance behind herself. Another man was waiting down below.
Her pretty face contorted as she struggled not to cry. It wasn’t fair, she thought. What had she ever done to them? She turned back to the swordsman she was fighting and struck out at him desperately. His blade flashed back and stabbed her in the breast.
India whinnied like a mare. He’d just missed her broad nipple. The point dug deep into her flesh, then slid back out again. For a moment her pierced boob felt numb, as if he’d merely punched it, but then she felt a biting pain that made her sob for breath.
“A tit!” the man’s voice jeered at her. “A very palpable tit!”
Groaning, India dropped her sword and clutched at her hurt bosom, blood dripping through her fingers as she slumped against the carved stone banister. The shock had made her knees go weak and she half-fell down the steps, then caught hold of the rail again. The man below moved in. “No…” she whimpered helplessly, but the mask showed no emotion as he stuck his blade into her other breast.
India screamed as it sank in, the sound incongruous amid the scent and colour of the summer flowers. Her body writhed and twisted for a moment, until her cry was choked in blood from a collapsing lung. The man withdrew his rapier and she crumpled, like the swooning heroine of a Victorian romance.
Corinne heard the scream from where she cowered in a bedroom. Its anguish gave her goosepimples. She chewed at her plump lip. The house was very still and she could hear her heartbeat pounding. Lauren and Jess must have come upstairs but she didn’t know where either of them was.
Wearing just her briefs she felt acutely vulnerable. Her perky breasts were moist with sweat and the handle of her sword felt slippery. Holding her breath, she padded to the window, but it looked out over empty lawns. She pouted miserably. Judging by the screams, two of her friends had just been murdered. A surge of panic rose inside her like a saucepan coming to the boil.
However many men there were, they’d surely search the rooms – in which case she’d be trapped in here. She ventured to the door. A peek into the passageway confirmed that it was empty. Nerving herself, she tiptoed out. Perhaps there was fire escape somewhere.
She headed for the rear of the building and came across the servant’s stairs. They looked as if they’d creak with every step. She hesitated at the top, still trying not to snivel. There was no sound from down below, but her fine hairs prickled with a sense of dread.
Wiping her cheek, she glanced around, and saw an unmarked door. It didn’t have a handle and was almost of a piece with the plain wall. She moved towards it, wondering if it was just a cupboard, and hooked her nails into the crack but couldn’t get a grip. It might be somewhere she could hide. She tried using her sword point, working it against the crack till she got a purchase, prising it ajar.
The space beyond might once have been a box-room but was now crammed full of electronic kit. Corinne felt the heat as if she’d stepped into a kitchen. The low hum of the hardware filled her ears. She realised this was where the house was run from. A bank of flat screens flicked through a kaleidoscope of views. Miss Goldsmith sat in front of them, her back turned to the doorway. She’d taken off her jacket and was fondling one breast inside her blouse.
It was clear she hadn’t noticed the intrusion. Her attention was still focused on the scenes in front of her. Shots of empty passageways. A view of Jess and Lauren. A body lying in the garden. Kathy, slumped and skewered in a chair …
Corinne gasped in horror and Miss Goldsmith looked round sharply. She seemed more peeved than startled to be interrupted thus. “What the fuck are you doing here?” she snapped and Corinne bridled. She’d always been a bolshy girl, and suddenly her fear turned into rage.
Belatedly Miss Goldsmith seemed to realise she was cornered. She eyed the rapier, wondering if Corinne had the nerve. As she started to her feet, the student thrust impulsively. Miss Goldsmith tried to fend her off but the point embedded just below her breast.
Numbness gripped her midriff for a moment, but then she gave a barking cry as pain burst from the wound. The point had pierced the soft lobe of her liver. She went down awkwardly and wailed, while Corinne freed her blade and stumbled back. Horrified by what she’d done, she watched Miss Goldsmith squirming. A crimson stain was spreading on the lecturer’s silk blouse.
“Bitch,” hissed Corinne shakily. She started backing off, and something struck her from behind. It felt as if her kidneys had been crushed. The student groaned in agony, and then her eyes bulged open. A sword blade had appeared from nowhere, poking from her belly like a spit.
“Cunt,” a muffled voice said from behind her. Corinne made a mewling sound and let her tongue loll out. She felt her bladder fail and flood her knickers, and then her legs gave way and she collapsed on to her knees. The jolt sent anguish scalding through her belly and she writhed and grimaced, clutching at herself. The man behind her stared down for a moment, then stooped to grasp the hilt that still protruded from her back. Bracing a boot against her spine, he dragged the rapier clear and Corinne howled, then doubled up to grovel wretchedly on hands and knees.
Miss Goldsmith looked on, gasping with a spiteful satisfaction, one hand pressed gingerly against her wound. Corinne whimpered, hunched around the burning in her belly. The white-masked man bent over her and took hold of her mop of sandy hair. She whinnied shrilly as he pulled her upright and bent her head back till she almost choked. Her mouth gaped helplessly. He let his rapier hang above her, then dropped the blade straight down the student’s throat.
Corinne jerked and gagged, but couldn’t help but swallow it. He gripped the handle in both hands and forced it further down. The girl managed a guttural croak and arched her spine against him, her big tits trembling with the spasm. Her hands clawed upward blindly, then fell limp. He let her body spend its final twitches, then drew the rapier out again. The student flopped aside, exhaling blood.
“Serves her right, the little cow …” Miss Goldsmith caught her breath. “Now finish off the other two so I can get some help.”
The Guy Fawkes mask regarded her, inscrutable as ever. She didn’t even know which guy it was. “Think ye we can summon a physician?” he said dryly.
“Never mind the play-acting!” She bit her lip. “I need a hospital.”
The swordsman cocked his head, as if considering her plight. “I think thou need’st a priest,” he said and lunged to drive his blade into her chest. Miss Goldsmith’s eyes snapped wide with shock behind her trendy glasses. Again the blow brought numbness first – then suffocating pain. She groaned despairingly at him, and then her heart was ruptured and she jerked back in the orgasm of a cardiac arrest.
In moments she was just as dead as Corinne. The swordsman eyed her crumpled corpse, then ducked back out of the surveillance room. He strained his ears against the house’s silence. Four maids had been deflowered now, but two more were still waiting for their turn.
Lauren and Jess had gone to ground in one of the main bedrooms. They’d heard Corinne scream horribly from deeper in the house, but now an eerie stillness filled the building, as if they had been left alone. “Perhaps they’ve gone …” Jess sniffled miserably.
Lauren wondered if her friend believed that. Jess sat slumped against the wall, her arms around her knees. Her cheeks were streaked with eyeliner, and she looked even younger than the kooky nineteen-year-old that she was. She gave Lauren a forlorn look. “Oh God, they’re going to kill us.”
Lauren was listening at the door. She shook her head. “We’re getting out of this.”
Even as she spoke, she heard a noise from down the passage: the measured creak of footsteps and a rasping sound that made her hackles rise. Somebody was climbing the main staircase, and as he came, she realised he was scraping at the handrail with his sword.
She crossed the room, seized Jess’s arm and hauled her to her feet. “We’ll have a better chance outside. We’ve got to make a run for the front door.” The flame-haired student stared at her in horror – and Lauren shared the sentiment, but knew that staying put was suicide.
Gripping her rapier tight, she went back over to the door. Her breasts tensed as she held her breath. The footsteps were approaching stealthily. Perhaps because the door was slightly open, he must have thought the bedroom had been searched. He walked on past, and Lauren pounced, erupting from the doorway. She jabbed her blade into his ribs and the swordsman staggered with a muffled curse.
Lauren turned and fled towards the staircase as her victim went down awkwardly. Jess darted in her wake. But the man kicked out and caught her shin. The red-haired girl fell headlong. “Bitch!” the masked man grunted, trying to find his feet again. Whimpering, she glanced over her shoulder, then scrambled up and pelted for the stairs. Lauren was well ahead of her. She reached the entrance hallway and ran towards the open door. Another man emerged from the front room. “Look out!” squealed Jess and Lauren dodged him like a hockey player, her upraised rapier blocking his. She fled on through the door and disappeared.
Jess was hurtling down the stairs, but now she grasped the handrail. Her breasts jounced as she came up short. The rictus-mask below had turned to her. The man began to climb the stairs towards her. She goggled at him, paralysed, the sword forgotten in her sweaty grip.
“Prithee, pretty maid – wilt thou cross swords?” He thrust his rapier. She parried it unthinkingly, deflecting the sharp point from her bare boobs. He jabbed at her again and she retreated, trying vainly to retaliate. The sword blades rattled as they traded blows. Gasping with the effort, she went up another step, the sunlit door receding as he forced her back into the gloomy house.
She sobbed and flailed at him in desperation. Her rapier caught his wide-brimmed hat and sent it flying off. Ducking, he withdrew a step. She made to take advantage – and cried out as a sword was thrust between her shoulder blades.
She hadn’t heard the other man behind her and the penetration was a horrid shock. She squirmed like a stuck piglet on his sword point, her hurt face pleading with the man below. But all he cared about was that she’d left her tits unguarded. He punctured one and pierced the other, then stabbed Jess’s navel very hard. She gasped and squeaked and wailed with each new impact, her body caught between the cruel blades. The two men kept her writhing for a moment, then dragged their rapiers from her flesh and the girl slumped like a punctured rubber doll. Her body flopped and slithered down the staircase. She was lifeless by the time she came to rest.
Lauren ran down the front steps, her hapless friend forgotten – along with her timidity. There was just the single-minded will to live. No more the skinny swot with boobs and glasses, she felt like an escaping Amazon. She’d fought her way out of the house and nobody could stop her. Or so she thought until a man stepped out into the drive.
She skidded to a halt, her bosom heaving, and flexed her fingers round the rapier’s hilt. The white mask wore a look as supercilious as the others. Its wearer closed with her, his own sword braced. She lashed out at him wildly and his parry jarred her muscles. The rasp of metal carried on the breeze.
She hadn’t time to wonder if she was the last girl standing, but the clash of rapiers fell on lifeless ears. Jess was crumpled loosely at the bottom of the staircase, while Corinne lay like a dropped coat and Kathy sprawled inert in her armchair. Behind the house, Hannah floated in the fountain, and India slumped half-sitting at the bottom of the steps. She looked as heartbroken as all the others. The sunlight she had yearned for couldn’t warm her cold bare skin ...
Lauren drew back, breathing hard. Sweat glistened on her body and her sticky briefs were clinging to her crotch. There was just this brute in fancy dress between herself and safety. But then she glimpsed a movement from the corner of her eye.
“Oh no,” she bleated to herself and shifted her position as a second Guy came prowling into view. Her sword point swung from one man to the other. She felt their eyeholes ogling her boobs. The newcomer lunged forward and she blocked him with an effort, then stumbled back and bit her lip as tears came welling up. She blinked and pushed her glasses up her nose, regaining focus. The men came at her, left then right. She turned one blade and beat the other off.
Then a third man joined the fray. She sobbed with rising panic. They spaced out in a triangle, and Lauren twisted round defensively. A voice inside her said she wasn’t getting out of this, but she could not accept the fact. No teenager believes she’s going to die.
The men toyed with her for a minute longer. One pricked her buttock and she yelped. Another aimed a thrust that made her cower. But the day was hot and the girl was getting weepy. To end the skirmish now seemed almost kind.
Two men struck together. Lauren parried the first rapier but the second found its way beneath her guard. It was a low and dirty thrust into her solar plexus. She doubled forward with a whoop, and the first man’s rapier skewered her left breast. Lauren wailed in horror but the white masks showed no pity. The third man stabbed her from behind and her pretty head flipped back convulsively.
“All for one,” a gloating swordsman leered, “and one for all.” They forced their blades in deeper and the helpless student screamed in agony. Then something burst inside her, spurting blood out of her mouth. Her spasms grew feebler and she sagged. The men withdrew their rapiers with a jerk.
Lauren dropped as limply as a puppet with cut strings, her glasses breaking as she hit the drive. The echoes of her cry were still receding in the distance. The men stared down at her with blood-flecked masks.
The
seminar was over for the students, and none of them had passed the
final test. But at least they’d learned one thing about the symbolism of
swordplay. A blade in a girl’s body was the ultimate in penetrative
sex.