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Bianca Barclay had always looked down at her. Literally: The siren was substantially taller. It had made defeating her in their duel just now a challenge. But Wednesday Addams had battled Hydes and lived to type the tale. She could take a Siren with superior reach.
So it was that Wednesday found herself pressed up against her taller rival, swords crossed against the chest of the Siren’s white fencing jacket. She was here to find out what Bianca knew about Grandmama and Principal Dort; the salty smell of siren was all over the Frump family matriarch’s sudden decision to leave her fortune to Nevermore, after turning Dort down all year long.
The prospect of proving herself the superior swordswoman in the process had not been the purpose of the exercise. But of course, it hadn’t hurt. Wednesday took no small satisfaction in seeing the defeated, frightened look in Bianca’s baby beluga blues. What kind of sadist would she be if she didn’t? Wednesday had played to win, and she’d played rough; some of those last maneuvers were not, strictly speaking, regulation. But if she had to get corps a corps with Bianca to get what she needed out of her? So be it —
FWOOM
Wednesday jumped. She’d know that dislocating, disorienting, delightful feeling anywhere. She was having one of her psychic visions.
Only her Outcast ability had been switched off. And she didn’t recall her head snapping spasming and her eyes rolling into the back of her head either. That sort of thing only happened to her for two reasons, both of which tended to be memorable.
She looked up, looked around. They were still in the gymnasium, its white columns and hardwood floors were intact, and Bianca was still pinned against the wall, on the verge of cracking. She certainly wasn’t dying in the post-apocalyptic ruins of the school, which is how these visions usually worked. Nothing had changed.
But Wednesday knew what she felt, and she knew when she felt it. She —
“Did you feel that?” Bianca asked, snapping Wednesday to attention.
She decided to play it her only temperature: cool. “Feel what,” she replied.
“Something…something happened just now,” Bianca stammered. Her eyes seemed to search the air for what she was looking for. “When you touched me.”
“I believe the word you’re looking for is ‘defeat.’”
Bianca shook her head, looking both confused and distraught. “Damn it, Addams, I’m serious! When we made body to body contact…it felt like I was using my Siren song, but that’s impossible. I’m still wearing my amulet.”
This new information set Wednesday back on her heels. She dropped her sword and Bianca’s, pilfered during the (so-called) contest. The time had come to come clean.
“It felt like I was tapping into my Raven ability,” Wednesday said. “But that’s impossible. I haven’t — ” She realized what she was saying and cut herself off.
“Haven’t what?”
“Haven’t…got time for this,” she recovered.
“Oh, I’d say you have all the time in the world, Miss Addams,” said a punishingly posh voice that had become all too familiar.
Wednesday’s head snapped around. Standing there — still dressed like she shopped exclusively from the Alfred Hitchcock Collection, her hair done up in a windswept kercheif — was Larissa Weems.
“What does that mean,” Wednesday growled.
“What does what mean?” Bianca asked.
“It means, Miss Addams,” Weems said, “that your malfunctioning Raven ability and Bianca’s muted Siren power, brought together under conditions of intense physical exertion and bodily contact, formed what is known as a psychosiren convergence.”
Wednesday stared at her. “That sounds made up,” she said finally.
“What sounds made up?” Bianca asked, more confused than ever. “Wednesday, who are you talking to?” She frowned. “Is it that invisible lackey of yours?”
Weems was slipping off her driving gloves, though where she’d been driving was anyone’s guess. “Bianca can no more see or hear me than she can on the physical plane,” Weems said nonchalantly. “And no, Agnes did not make this journey with you, for once.”
Wednesday shot Bianca a ferocious look. “It’s my spirit guide,” she said, deciding to leave their late principal’s identity out of it. She tilted her head, her eyes narrowing. “Bear with me.” Bianca understood it was not a request.
Wednesday snapped her head back to Weems, who looked bored. “Your spirit guide is, unfortunately for me, exactly that — your spirit guide, and no one else’s.”
“Except my mother,” Wednesday retorted. “She can see you just fine.”
“Yes, well,” Weems said, straightening out her coat. “There are certain…circumstances there.”
“And I’m sure they’re fascinating,” Wednesday snarled. “Now tell me what is going on.”
Weems sighed. “I already have. You’re in a psychosiren convergence.”
“I still don’t believe that’s real.”
“Wednesday?” Bianca was dying to know what was going on.
Wednesday looked at the popular girl again. “Have you ever heard of something called a psychosiren convergence?”
Bianca’s face, normally as lustrous as the sea, went ashen. “Is that what we’re in? Oh, no.”
“‘Oh, no’?” Wednesday repeated.
“Oh,” Weems replied, “yes, Miss Addams. A psychosiren convergence is a rare but reliably documented phenomenon in which physical contact between a Psychic and a Siren with weakened abilities creates a symbiotic reaction. Drawing strength from one another, their powers interact erratically but exponentially. They create a sort of —” she gestured around the gymnasium “— pocket universe, within their shared subconscious.”
Suddenly Wednesday realized the sunlight streaming in from the windows wasn’t sunlight at all, but a sourceless white glow. The hallways into and out of the gymnasium seemed to retreat into dark nothingness.
“The psychic pocket universes created by convergences are small. As you can see, this one’s height, width, and length are no greater than that of the Weems Memorial Gymnasium.”
“Nevermore didn’t name the gymnasium after you.”
“But we’re not in Nevermore anymore, are we, Miss Addams.” Weems smiled and blinked several times.
A pause. Then: “Fine. The Weems Memorial Gymnasium it is.”
“Weems?” Bianca said incredulously. “What kind of spirit guide is this?”
“The kind that doesn’t like being interrupted,” Weems said imperiously.
“I’m almost to the bottom of this,” Wednesday stage-whispered to Bianca.
“I’m afraid you’ll find there is no bottom,” Weems said. “While pocket universes are quite limited in terms of the first three dimensions, they have no limit whatever where the fourth dimension is concerned.”
Wednesday furrowed her brow. “Are we referring to time, or the realm of the Great Old Ones.”
“Time, Miss Addams,” Weems said. “During a psychosiren convergence, time stands still.”
“For how long,” Wednesday asked.
“Forever,” Weems replied casually.
Wednesday’s eyes flashed.
“Unless…”
“‘Unless’?”
Bianca grimaced. “The spirit guide got to the ‘unless’ part, huh.”
Wednesday turned to her. “You know about all this?”
Bianca scowled incredulously. “And you don’t?” She loosened the gorget of her jacket. “Oh, that’s right — they covered psychosiren convergence before you enrolled at Nevermore, while you were still at some normie school maiming the swim team.”
“I’ve never done well with water signs.” She returned her attention to Weems. “How do we get out of here?”
Weems fixed her prim gaze at Wednesday. “As we’ve discussed, intense physical contact initiated the convergence, in the form of your little duel.” She leaned forward and smiled conspiratorially. “I could have taken you both in my prime,” she whispered.
“Tell me!” Wednesday said, actually raising her voice.
“Haven’t you guessed?” Weems replied, her cheeriness insufferable. “Intense physical contact.”
“Fine,” Wednesday said, dropping to the ground to pick up the fencing blades. “We’ll do this one more time. And then,” she said, spinning to face Bianca, “I want some answers about —”
Bianca was naked.
Wednesday dropped the swords again.
“I’m afraid dueling won’t cut it this time,” Weems said behind her.
“Bianca,” Wednesday said. “Why are you —”
“Naked?” she asked. The word, Wednesday found herself thinking, badly understated the case.
Bianca stood in the ambient light of the pocket universe’s infinite exterior, its glow coating every curve of her, admittedly, magnificent body. Her brown skin looked impossibly smooth in the light, like the still deep waters of a quarry lake on a sunny day in late summer. Her legs were long and powerful, ending in two full globes of ass-flesh Wednesday could see glimpses of even from the front. Between those legs, below a thatch of curly black hair and smooth outer labia, two lips the color of Wednesday’s own nightshade lipstick hung down just enough to see.
“Fighting starts psychosiren convergences,” she said impatiently, her dark nipples stiffening as Wednesday watched. “Fucking ends them. You know, you need to ask for a new spirit guide. This one is not keeping you informed.”
“Everyone’s a critic,” Weems sneered in Bianca’s direction.
Wednesday rounded on her. “Tell me there’s some other way.”
Weems smirked. “Perhaps the Ghostbusters will cross the streams and create an interdimensional crossrip for you.” She stared Wednesday down, knowing the girl had been beaten. “Well, Miss Addams?” she asked, triumphant. “Who ya gonna call?”
Practically vibrating with rage, Wednesday began to undress.
“I thought you’d come to your senses,” Weems said, and began putting her driving gloves back on. “It has something to do with the way Psychics envision possibilities and Sirens ignite desire. Put two and two together and you get, well, this.”
Her jacket and undershirt on the floor, Wednesday was now undoing her breeches with furious efficiency. “I don’t want you watching.”
“Don’t flatter yourself, Miss Addams,” Weems said, snapping her glove. “Believe it or not, some of us have better things to do. And besides, my tastes tend to run more…mature.”
Bianca sat cross-legged on a nearby bench, studying at her fingernails impatiently. “Can we pull the band-aid off now, please?”
“Coming,” Wednesday grumbled, down to her underwear now.
“That’s the idea,” said Weems, turning to walk into the long dark hallway. “When both of you have climaxed, the convergence will end, and you’ll be restored to the physical plane. And before you ask, no, they needn’t be simultaneous.” She paused, thinking. “Though it would save you some time, of course.”
She tugged absently at her kerchief. “At any rate, you needn’t worry about any awkwardness between you afterwards. Once you’ve both orgasmed you will be restored to the exact time and place you were in when the convergence began.”
“With my sword at her heart.”
“If you want to be purple about it, yes. You might shake your head for a moment as if clearing away the cobwebs, but beyond that, neither of you will remember any of this upon your return. It will be as though none of it ever happened. And I, as your spirit guide, am sworn to secrecy about your time here.”
Wednesday nodded, relieved, and finished undressing. Then she paused, her black panties halfway down her calves. She stood up straight, her underwear falling around her bare feet, and scowled. “If no one ever remembers anything, and spirit guides can’t say anything, how do we know anything about psychosiren convergence to begin with?”
Weems shrugged. “I don’t write the rules, Miss Addams.” She walked away, seeming to fade as she went. “Oh, a word to the wise: Since neither of you will remember it anyway, you may as well let go and make the most of it.”
Weems nodded back over her shoulder in the direction of Bianca. The girl was leaning back on outstretched arms, blowing bursts of bored breath through her lips. lf if she was aware of how incredible her breasts looked in the light, she wasn’t letting on.
Wednesday swallowed. Now it was her turn to look disturbed and confused.
She turned back to Weems, but her spirit guide was all but gone. “What happens in a pocket universe stays in a pocket universe,” Weems said. Winking, she disappeared.
Wednesday stood there for a moment, glaring with near-incandescent rage in Weems’s direction. She wheeled suddenly and faced Bianca, her hands balled up into skinny fists of frustration.
She marched over to where Bianca was sittng and stood in front of her. “Some ground rules,” she said. “One: Do not Siren-song me. If I’m going to do this, I’m going to do this.”
“Um, honestly offended you felt the need to say so? That’s a red line even for me.”
“Keep it that way, or the only red line you’ll have to worry about will be the one across your throat.”
Bianca made a face. “Easy there, Sweeney Todd.”
“Two: We do what we have to, as quickly as it can be done. Save the creativity and theatrics for the Gala. We’re in, then we’re out.” She paused. “So to speak.”
“Agreed. But —”
“Third…” She thought about what Weems had said: They’d have no memory of this place. So there was no harm in what she was about to tell Bianca: “You’re very beautiful.”
Bianca looked back in disbelief. “Wednesday!” she said, with genuine surprise. “I —”
“The most beautiful girl in the school, in fact. It’s extremely intimidating. Pugsley schedules his classes so he doesn’t accidentally look at you in the hall and pass out.” She unclenched her fists. “While you are in no way a suitable romantic partner for someone like myself, if indeed any such partner exists, I have always found you very attractive.” Her eyes got a faraway look. “The time I told someone anything like that, he threw me through a window.” Her voice softened, almost imperceptibly. “The point is, I’m rushing through this because I’m in a rush, not because the thought of having sex with you is unbearable.”
She held out as long as she could, but in the end she couldn’t stop her big brown eyes from looking down at Bianca’s tits for a split-second, then back up. The look on Bianca’s face told her she’d noticed.
“Yeah,” Bianca said. “I think we’ll manage. I mean…” She stood up, standing directly opposite Wednesday, naked as she was except for the amulet that modulated her ability. “It’s not like there’s never been a vibe, right?”
“I don’t do vibes,” Wednesday said, “but there’s been…something.”
“Even just now,” Bianca said, inching closer. “When we were fencing, and you had me up against that wall.”
“You looked terrified, not turned on,” Wednesday said incredulously.
“I…I have my reasons to be afraid,” she said. “But you’re not one of them. We may not always get along, but I don’t worry you’re going to murder me in my sleep.” She shrugged with her eyebrows. “Anymore.”
“So my handily defeating you brought out your tender side.”
“No, dumbass,” she said, with a warm smile that belied the word. “I just thought you looked hot as fuck.”
Bianca held eye contact with Wednesday. They were inches apart now. If Wednesday were taller, their erect nipples would have brushed together. “Remind me again how I look?” she said.
Wednesday looked at Bianca then, really looked at her. Her dark skin was so luminous it appeared to generate its own light from within. With her height and her curves and her toned physique, there was so much more skin to see.
To touch.
To kiss.
To lick.
“You look beautiful,” Wednesday said, and kissed her.
They embraced then, and it was already very hot, very fast. Wednesday’s hands roamed the skin of Bianca’s arms, her back, all of it soft as a baby’s fontanelle. Bianca reached up to stroke Wednesday’s hair, feeling the coiled coal-colored braids of her pigtails in each hand. Gently, she pulled back on them to expose Wednesday’s neck, which she kissed with a mouth open enough to press teeth on flesh.
Wednesday’s gooseflesh broke out in gooseflesh. She lowered her hands to Bianca’s ass and sighed aloud. She’d wrapped her hands around a lot of body parts in her seventeen years, most of them throats, but nothing compared to this. Instinctively, she pulled Bianca in toward her, settling the girl’s thigh in between hers. Wednesday pressed her own leg forward in turn and felt something hot and wet press back. I feel the same way to her, she thought, and plunged her tongue into Bianca’s mouth.
As they made out, groping and grinding, Wednesday realized she’d assumed they’d fall into the usual power-exchange groove. Either she would bow to the Queen Bee of the Sea, or Bianca would get on her knees for the girl who’d defeated her. Maybe it was the symbiotic nature of the psychosiren convergence, but this didn’t feel like a game of dominance and submission. This felt like —
Bianca broke off the kiss. “This is wild,” she said, breathing heavy. “No cap? I kinda figured I’d just wanna rail the shit out of you and call it a day. But it’s like I’m —”
“Fucking a friend,” Wednesday finished for her.
Bianca blinked. “You feel it too?”
“Yes,” Wednesday said, planting kisses on Bianca’s collarbone without really meaning to. “I feel this…strange need to…ugh…please you, and treat you in a respectful manner.”
“Right? Like, what the fuck?” She licked the side of Wednesday’s face.
Wednesday groaned. Whatever vestiges of self-control she had left were slipping fast. This couldn’t be less like her if she were still possessed by Enid and running around dancing to K-pop. Weems! That sad excuse for a spirit guide hadn’t told her a psychosiren convergence makes its participants supernaturally horny. She was going to get an immaterial earful about this…
Then Wednesday remembered that she wouldn’t remember long enough to tell Weems off at all. This was like a dream unremembered upon waking.
Her hand slid down between Bianca’s legs, curved her middle finger, and pushed it up and into the Siren’s soft, slick pussy.
A wet dream.
“A Siren’s seductive power,” she said, forcing the words out with great effort. “A Raven’s penchant for twisted visions. No wonder we’ve been — unnnh — thrown together like this.”
Bianca’s eyes had gone positively phosphorescent with lust. Wednesday could tell that whatever was happening here was happening to Bianca as well.
“I tried to warn you,” she said between, planting slow, wet kisses on Wednesday’s upturned breasts. “The arousal.” She tongued a nipple. “They told us about it in health class.”
“No one told me,” Wednesday gasped.
“Ugh, you seriously need a new spirit guide,” Bianca said. Then she put her hand on top of Wednesday’s head and forced her to her knees.
Wednesday grabbed Bianca by her curvilinear hips and spun her around. “Not for this I don’t,” she said, and buried her face in Bianca’s ass.
She spent a few seconds licking up and down the length of her crack, from the base of her spine to the base of her cunt, but she didn’t take long before getting down to what she really wanted. She stiffened her tongue and dug it into Bianca’s puckered asshole, feeling her sphincter clench shut around the tip.
“Unhhhhhhh,” Bianca groaned. She reached her hand back and grabbed Wednesday by the hair, forcing her angular face deeper into her butt. Wednesday withdrew her tongue from inside her and traced it around the wrinkles of her anus, before lapping at it like a dog, and finally tongue-fucking it again.
“Holy shit,” Bianca said, her voice feverish. “Not that I’m complaining, but what happened to ‘get in and get out’?”
“I-ih laah wuhh I ooiih?”
“What?”
Wednesday took her tongue back out of Bianca’s butthole. “Isn’t that what I’m doing?” She put it back in.
“Fuuuuuuuck. Fair enough.”
But Wednesday took the hint. After another minute or two of rimming her, Wednesday backed off, got on all fours, and crawled between her nude frenemy’s legs before turning to face front.
She looked up at Bianca with hunger. Bianca looked back down at her.
This, at least, felt familiar.
“Give it to me,” Wednesday said. Bianca took a step forward, two steps, and rested her cunt on Wednesday’s waiting mouth.
“All yours,” she said.
Wednesday got to work.
She was slower to focus her efforts this time, languorous even. She kissed Bianca’s, making out with her between her legs, pressing lips against lips, probing the warm wet slit with her tongue. She nuzzled her nose against Bianca’s perineum, into her vagina, against her pubic hair. She lowered herself until she felt Bianca’s wetness against the taut skin of her forehead.
Then, only then, did she take Bianca’s engorged clit between her lips and suck.
Bianca gasped as Wednesday began flicking her tongue against the stiff round nub within her mouth’s grasp. Wednesday switched it up, using the breadth of her tongue to stroke the length of Bianca’s clitoris, before returning to the sharper, more mechanical motion of her tip. With her right arm wrapped around Bianca’s spectacular ass, she raised her left and slid two fingers, then three, into a pussy so pink she was worried she’d have an allergic reaction. Good thing I’m on the pill for that.
Wednesday kept alternating her attack, not out of any conscious application of technique, merely for the pleasure of experiencing Bianca’s cunt in as many ways as possible. I was born to have adventure, she thought, eating the pussy of a girl she’d been at crossed swords with just minutes before, with a gusto that would have shamed Pugsley in front of a plate of Megaloblatta longipennis. But when she chanced into an angle and rhythm she could feel was doing something special for the Siren, she locked in.
Before long Wednesday could feel a familiar clenching around her fingers. Bianca’s gasps were sounding louder, fuller, higher in pitch and volume. She was building to something.
Wednesday slid her little finger into Bianca’s asshole, still slick with her spit, and pistoned her hand in and out of both of Bianca’s holes. She let a glob of saliva spill out of her mouth and coat Bianca’s clit, which she licked with the same giddy confidence she’d felt when she’d won their duel.
Nails dug into her scalp, then pulled clear. Hands gripped her ponytail and pulled up hard. Long, strong legs trembled on either side of her head.
“Oh…” Bianca said, as if on the verge of some revelation. “Oh…” She froze. “Ohhhh….!!!!!!!!!”
Bucking against Wednesday’s face with a force and vitality that put her performance with a sword to shame, Bianca came, her pussy spasming around Wednesday’s hand as she thrust her clit against her mouth. She was bracing herself against Wednesday now, using her purchase on her hair as to keep herself from collapsing in waves of sheer pleasure.
Bianca dropped her ass onto the bench, gazed up at the ceiling, and let out a long, high “hoooooooooooo.” She turned to Wednesday. “How’d you get so good at that?”
“You may have noticed: I’m good at everything.”
Bianca smiled crookedly, her pupils dilating. “Bitch.” She patted one thick brown thigh. “Get your weird Addams ass up here.”
Wednesday took the suggestion, stood up, and straddled Bianca’s leg. She lowered herself and leaned forward, forcing Bianca to swing her other leg around and lean back agains the bench.
“Better,” Wednesday said, and began to ride.
She bucked her cunt against Bianca’s thigh, her hands on the Siren’s tits to steady herself. Her eyes, closed with pleasure, soon narrowed with determination.
When she opened them, she saw the most beautiful girl at Nevermore staring back at her. Her amulet was bouncing rhythmically against her chest.
Wednesday spit in her face.
Bianca reeled with arousal. “Now we’re fucking talking!” she said, a delightfully lewd smile spreading across her face.
“You like it like that?” Wednesday asked, deadpan as ever.
“Wednesday, we’re being supernaturally compelled to please each other. If I didn’t like it like that, you wouldn’t have been able to do it in the first place.”
Still humping Bianca’s leg, Wednesday thought about it. She lifted up one hand, looked at it, then brought it down against Bianca’s spit-wet cheek with a smack. “That too, huh?”
Bianca’s mouth hung open with dumb desire. “Uh-huh.”
Somehow Bianca’s acquiescence only angered Wednesday. Yes, they were in a pocket universes created in a psychosiren convergence ignitable only by combat and extinguishable only by congress — a thing that apparently happens — but even so…
Admit it, Addams. You feel outclassed.
“Why,” she growled into Bianca’s blissed out face. “Why would someone so beautiful let me do this to them?”
“Because you’re beautiful, Wednesday Addams,” Bianca replied, smiling like a saint. “You know that, don’t you?” Wednesday glared at her. “It’s okay. You can tell me. We’re both going to forget it anyway.”
Wednesday was preparing to tell Bianca off when the angle of her hips dragged her clit across the Siren’s thigh in a fashion that forced out the opposite reaction. “I know,” she said, as if admitting some horrible secret.
“Say it, then.” Bianca grabbed Wednesday by the chin and forced her to look up into her eyes while she rode. “Say it to me, go on, it’s okay. Say it, Wednesday.”
“…I know I’m beautiful.”
“Again.”
“I know I’m beautiful.”
“Again, Wednesday. Tell me the truth again.”
“I know I’m beautiful!” She had gotten close, so close, so fast, so fast.
Wednesday looked between Bianca’s perfect tits. The amulet was still on. She didn’t use her ability, but she Sirened me all the same.
“Are you gonna cum now, Wednesday?”
“Yes.”
“Yes? You’re gonna cum? Is that what’s gonna happen?”
“Yes.”
“It’s gonna happen because you’re beautiful, do you understand?”
“Yesssss.” She couldn’t take it anymore.
“Go ahead then. Go ahead and get that nut for me. Fucking cum us out of this universe.”
She did.
—
Bianca Barclay had always looked down at her. Literally: The siren was substantially taller. It had made defeating her in their duel just now a challenge. But Wednesday Addams had battled Hydes and lived to type the tail. She could take a Siren with superior reach.
So it was that Wednesday found herself pressed up against her taller rival, swords crossed against the chest of the Siren’s white fencing jacket. She was here to find out what Bianca knew about Grandmama and Principal Dort; the salty smell of siren was all over the Frump family matriarch’s sudden decision to leave her fortune to Nevermore, after turning Dort down all year long.
The prospect of proving herself the superior swordswoman in the process had not been the purpose of the exercise. But of course, it hadn’t hurt. Wednesday took no small satisfaction in seeing the defeated, frightened look in Bianca’s baby beluga blues. What kind of sadist would she be if she didn’t? Wednesday had played to win, and she’d played rough; some of those last maneuvers were not, strictly speaking, regulation. But if she had to get corps a corps with Bianca to get what she needed out of her? So be it.