“Quaint, charming. Definitely British…” murmured Soumita, as she took an expansive view of sprawling school campus in front of her. The Dalberg School, Khonsa (hereinafter referred to as “Dalberg”) had an impressive main building with a large arched entrance and a well maintained gravel road. Thin spires adorned the roofline, indicating the love of Gothic architecture in whoever had designed the place. The East and West Halls stretched away like arms welcoming her to her two remaining years of disciplined school life. Dalberg was known as a school of discipline. The trustees of the school claimed that this discipline was responsible for the school being a renowned talent nurturing institute.
But what really drew the eye was not the building itself; rather it was the grounds, and the richness of the horticulture. Sheesham trees grew everywhere. Their roots were covered by mounds of earth that had the most interesting plants growing in its shade. The shades of these trees were also where many students could be seen chatting with each other, or busy with books, music players and laptops.
Soumita walked down the main footpath, towards the office building. Entering the administrative office, she filled in her joining forms and kept them on a pile. Before she left, she quickly made a check of the other new joinee: Rimi Sen in Commerce. She made a mental note to catch up with her later.
The Dalberg uniform was navy and white. Navy jackets and white shirts/pants for the boys. For the girls it was a choice of either pants or skirts, the rest of the attire being the same. Soumita chose to wear skirts on her first day. The introductions done, Soumita sat through class, half absorbing the content. The class was English, and she was already familiar with the character of Shylock that was being discussed. A voracious reader, Soumita had read all of Shakespeare’s classics before she was 10. She had in fact idolised the character of Jessica. So when she was asked whether Shylock deserved vilification, she took a few seconds to compose herself, and said: “If you prick us, do we not bleed? If you tickle us, do we not laugh? If you poison us, do we not die? And if you wrong us, shall we not revenge? Wasn’t Shylock’s defense already penned by Shakespeare in the play? What happens to humanity when you are persecuted for centuries?”
Soumita completed her defense of Shylock in those words. The classroom was in murmur. Quite a few students were seen to be nodding their heads in assent. The English teacher, an elegant lady in her late thirties, smiled at her and said: “Soumita, well said, and in as many words. While Shylock was a flawed individual, one needs to understand the persecution faced by generations of the community before denouement in this case.”
Soumita had a smile on her face as she was mugged by a group of students after the class. Many handshakes later, a group of boys and girls cajoled her into joining them for tea and sandwiches during the break. So they walked down the corridor towards the canteen, Soumita flanked by Ria, Quasia and Prianka on the right and Jugal, Kamran and Larsen on the right.
They went to the end of the corridor, where an old metal frame lift was kept ready for them to step into. Jugal, bowing exaggeratedly, said: “After you, Ma’am…” And that got Soumita’s spider sense tingling. But she got into the lift nonetheless. And heard the gates slide shut behind her. She had expected this. So she asked the now cackling group: “OK Guys, what’s next?” The pretty Ria, the one with an angelic face, now had a nasty grin that distorted her features. “So you think you are an English prima donna? Let’s see you do a Marilyn Monroe now…” As she spoke, a loud hum began below her. “Say Cheese to the video camera…” laughed Jugal. The hum became a loud whoosh, as a giant blower threw air from the metal grills in the bottom of the lift capsule. Soumita could barely prevent the skirt from blowing up to her chest.
“Let’s see who’s prima donna then…” uttered Soumita in a husky voice. She spread her legs somewhat to balance herself. Pressing down the front of her skirt she smiled. While her vitals remained covered, the gushing air revealed her taut, toned thighs that were covered in tights upto her knees. Her calves bulged as she planted her feet firmly on the grill. As the boys eyes went wide with surprise (and the girls’, with shock), she looked at Jugal, her sultry gaze boring into him. She made a pout, and then winked at him. She quickly flicked her tongue over her upper lip. The gesture was not lost on the boys. The ‘having fun’ look was replaced by the adolescent gaze of lust.
The fan was shut down by the PT instructor who happened to pass by. He rushed towards the lift, forcing the false friends to scramble from there. “What’s happening here?!?” He screamed. Soumita, quickly produced a false tear, and said: “Sir, I was locked in by some people… please help me out…” The instructor opened the lift door and helped out Soumita. Seeing her in distress, he hugged her, trying to calm Soumita. “Don’t worry, I’m here now…” The hug was extended for nearly half a minute, and Soumita could feel the man trying to trace the outline of her bra.
He said his name was Mathur, and assured her that he would catch the culprits if she could identify them. She said that she had been so confused that she didn’t remember their names.
In a few days, Soumita had understood the power structure of her class. The batch of thirty-five students had this mix of class bully Sunil; the topper nerd Guru; the mousy, painfully shy yet prodigiously talented maths wiz Payel; and the gang of six rich, spoilt kids whom she met on the first day.
Soumita had proved popular with the entire class, and within a few weeks she had been nominated for house prefect as well. While she was friendly with all, she had oddly enough, bonded well with the bully, the nerd and the mouse.
Sunil was a powerhouse: a six plus footer whom everyone steered clear of. He was the loner that every student was scared of meeting alone in the locker room. His free time was spent largely in the gym. He was also good at shot put and the discus throw. Unfortunately he would display his strength to anyone who happened to cross his path. Many a black eye or sore limb could be attributed to him. And it was when he was actually about to twist Jugal’s arm out of his socket, that Soumita had managed to calm him down.
Jugal, a well-built lad himself, wanted to use the barbells in the gym. Sunil felt that Jugal was hogging the barbells for too long (while adjusting his music player). In the ensuing fight, Jugal managed to hold his own for about 10 seconds, before being overcome by Sunil’s greater power. Soumita, who had just then completed her hour long workout, walked over to the grappling boys. She looked into Sunil’s eyes and placed her palm on his cheek. Like a deflating tyre, Sunil’s rage subsided.
Leaving Jugal in the gym to nurse his arm, she pulled the big boy out of the gym into the canteen. Looking at him all the time, she coaxed him into telling her all about him. Over coffee, post the next few gym sessions, she got to understand Sunil, who essentially was a neglected kid who had been the victim of bad bullying. Until he had built up his strength, he’d suffered the ignominy of being teased and taunted by Jugal-like spoilt brats. Soumita slowly had managed to temper Sunil down. In a few weeks’ time, Sunil was now a more relaxed person, not fighting (at least not too much). He was now a part of the football team as well.
He was also spotting for her in the gym. Soumita also found that for such a strong person, he had the gentlest hands. Soumita would get him to massage her toes, shins and calves, and she found his hands to work magic, especially after a long ballet session. Sunil would sit down in front of Soumita, cradle her foot between his legs, and massage her feet, shin and calves, in that order. He would especially love massaging her calves. Those hard, heart shaped rocks that now so many students (and a particular PT instructor) had fallen in love with. Soumita had trained in ballet, as a result of which her legs, especially the calves and the thighs, were enormously strong.
Once, in the gym, she decided to use the leg press on the same setting that Sunil had just managed to finish 3 reps. She found that she could press the same weight with her legs at least 10 times, that too without much discomfort. When she saw Sunil gaping at her, she smiled at him. Soumita could also squat 400 kilos without much difficulty. That was as much as Sunil could ever manage.
That day, as Sunil massaged her calf, she felt his cock harden and touch against the sole of her foot repeatedly.
Soumita smiled at Sunil and asked him to squeeze her calf more. Sunil tried, but it was not enough. So she said: “Sunil, put in more force today… more than you have ever squeezed before. Let me see if your hands can match upto the hardness of my calves…” With that, Sunil squeezed with all he had. His face scrunched up, the muscles of his arms bunching up. But all Soumita felt was a good pressure on the muscle. She had pushed her toes on the bench, tightening her calf like a small rugby ball. All of Sunil’s might was proving ineffective in denting that ball of steely muscle.
In his desperation, Sunil’s groin had come up against her toes. As Sunil gave up in exhaustion, Soumita said: “Sunil, don’t let go… you are really strong. I just wanted to see if you could match your hand strength against my calf. Now we know who’s stronger… Continue to massage me.” So Sunil rubbed his hands tenderly on her calves, as Soumita closed her eyes. She extended her toes to lightly rub the tip of his engorged dick. Hearing him moan in pleasure, she caught the shaft between her big toe and the next. As he massaged her calf, she ran her toes up and down his shaft, moving the foreskin up and down in the process. In a few moments, she felt him arch his back. Opening her eyes, she saw Sunil, glassy eyed. His mouth was wide open and he was holding on to her calves for dear life. With a few deft movements of her toes, she made the muscled boy cum in his gym pants. Sunil uttered a hoarse cry and came forward, his forehead on her knees, his chest heaving from the wild orgasm he had experienced between Soumita’s toes.
Payel Raha was the acknowledged maths genius. Two years back, she had won the top prize in the International Maths Olympiad. Her talent was recognised when the school organised special tuitions from math experts for Payel.
Payel was a rock star. In Maths. Where teenagers idolise Virat Kohli, Kristen Stewart, even Kim Kardashian, her idol was the mathematician Leonhard Euler. Her warden used to say: “Your room is in chaos!” Something that would make her smile, as she knew even chaos had a mathematical basis to it. Her wild hair made her look like a witch; the big specs hid most of her facial features.
On a class expedition to the nearby reservoir, a stupid prank played by Ria resulted in Payel losing her balance and falling out of the boat. The girl immediately sank into the waters without surfacing. Soumita took all of 5 seconds to drop her jacket and kick off her shoes. She dived like a cormorant, reaching out quickly to Payel who had already taken in water into her lungs. She pulled the girl to the surface, with other students helping to get her inside the boat.
Payel was resuscitated. As she began to cry, Soumita held her close, until the sobs subsided slowly. Soumita straightened Payel’s hair and caressed her cheek to comfort her.
She stared at Ria, who just shrugged, as if saying “So What?”
As Soumita held Payel close, she realised that this mousy girl looked quite different with her glasses gone. Unlike a typical bookworm, she could also feel a toned body beneath the damp clothes. “I’ve got to learn more about this girl.” She thought.
Later at the dorm, Soumita brought Payel to her room. Over the next few days, Soumita patiently coaxed the painfully shy Payel to be more open. But Payel remained hopelessly reticent. Until one day when Soumita saw a photo album in Payel’s cabinet. Soumita saw that she had been a talented dancer, with photos of her receiving numerous awards at many levels. When Payel saw Soumita leafing through the album, she wanted it back. As they played tug with it, Payel started crying. Soumita let go and hugged the little girl, who started sobbing on her bosom. Slowly, Payel started to tell her story – a rich little girl with great talent for dance. Who lost her parents at an early age. Went to live with her uncle, who used to touch her inappropriately. Payel tried to escape many times, until her uncle got frustrated and admitted her into Dalberg. Payel had spent a few years here, eschewing dance for maths (though she still danced in her room). She had not cared about her looks, and had ended up looking like Bellatrix.
Soumita said, “Payel, you’re the maths Olympiad champion and a talented dancer. And god knows what else is locked up within you. You’ve gotta let go of the past. Throw away these baggy clothes. Love your body. The sun is shining for you, Payel…” As if on cue, the sun peeked out from behind a cloud, throwing golden rays into the room. Soumita played her favourite song on her player: Roar. On her feet, she pulled Payel to her feet. Soumita’s exhorting and the lilting tunes of the song got Payel swinging. Soon, it was a brilliant duet, with the couple performing Roar in the small dorm room.
Soumita took out Payel for a makeover. A visit to the ophthalmologist for contact lenses. A visit to the hair parlour for a trim over the weekend. And then some shopping, for clothes that really suited her.
The mousy Payel had transformed. And how. Though of short frame, her arms and legs were muscled with years of dance practice. With short hair, a tank top and a pair of jeans, her figure was revealed to the world at last. Strong looking forearms, muscled abs and thick thighs. She looked like the singer Pink. The buzz of the week was the transformation of Payel into the hot rock chick.
Guru was the brain of the class. The repository of classroom knowledge. The boy with the encyclopaedic memory of what theory on which page. He was good in all subjects. Better than all others – except for maths, where a certain girl named Payel (“…A whit of a girl”) would always outscore him, and English, where he was average (“What’s the point? Who sees English scores when you are in Medical school?”).
In the earlier years, many boys and girls used to borrow his immaculately written notes from him – smiling sweetly, treating him to a sandwich… only to ignore him outside the school. Guru was the class nerd, to be approached only during exams, or to be approached at risk of losing social status otherwise. No one wanted to be with him. Guru had also erected his own walls – his speech was typically haughty when explaining things. He felt that the others were not his intellectual equals.
He had rebuffed Soumita, saying: “What will you give me in exchange for notes? A smile behind my back? I think I should charge fees for my notes.”
Once there was a canteen discussion on ‘geniuses. Proper nouns like Einstein, Hawking and Mozart were bandied about. Until Guru, who’d been sitting separately, announced rather grandly: “I am the most intelligent, the most brilliant student in this class!” A bemused silence was followed by catcalls and jeers. More angered, Guru said: “I’ve the highest grades in class. I’ve been topping class for the last four years… I’ve scored 92 in physics, which is a record in this school…” More jeers and catcalls followed, which didn’t bother Guru much. “But your English is so-so, Guru!” said Ria. “Bah! Who needs English anyway! Essays and poems? Isn’t it enough to solve theorems and derive solutions from statistics?” He went on to slander the languages as school subjects. By now he was angry. And Soumita quietly spoke: “By the way, when did you score higher in Maths than Payel?”
That was the last straw. Guru was now screaming: “That little dimwit who’s lost her brains after she cut her hair? She’s got nothing else to do! Why, I top in all the science subjects. And it’s got all applied maths in them. She’s nothing but a half crazy stupid girl. Maybe she should become a maths teacher some day. Or…or…she should just get married and teach her kids primary maths…”
That outburst seemed quite excessive, even for such a young group. More jeers and boos followed as Guru stormed away to the library in a huff.
So one Saturday, when the classes were out, Soumita saw Guru walking towards the library, past a row of empty classrooms. She knew Guru would get some books and return the same way, so she and Payel hid in one of the rooms. As he came close to the door, Soumita grabbed him by the collar and pulled him inside the classroom. Before the startled Guru could protest, Soumita had already shut the door.
“Wh…Wh…What is…what is this…” he blabbered. Soumita just smiled and came towards him. She took off her jacket, her ample bosom revealed in the process. “Guru… You have been a good student. Very good, if we go by the report card. But by offending my friend here, you’ve made a big mistake…”
Guru saw Payel walk slowly towards him. She was wearing a sleeveless top that accentuated her strong upper body and abs.
Guru just stared at her, his Adam’s apple bobbing in nervousness. The brainy student had ignored sports and fitness, so his naturally drooping shoulders sagged further. He defensively held the books in front of him, though the heavy references were beginning to strain his weak, soft arms.
Soumita snatched the books from him, putting them on the desk beside her. Guru retreated back. “Wa-wait…gimme back those books…” Soumita and Payel both advanced slowly yet purposefully towards him, making him go back, until he was against the teacher desk. Soumita had now come upto him. Soumita put her left hand behind Guru’s neck, pulling him closer to her. The little boy was now quivering in fear. Her right hand found Guru’s belt. A few seconds later, she had opened his pants which fell in a heap around his ankles.
“N..N..No…don…don’t..do this…don’t do this…n-no p-p-please..S…Soumita…” he cried. Soumita just laughed. “Guru, you may be the guru of many subjects. But I know how boys like you behave. And I know how to make them right…” Soumita put her right hand on Guru’s hip. With a deft twist, she had turned him around, and pushed him down so that he was bent over the edge of the table.
“Payel, would you like to teach this little boy how to talk about ladies… And how to treat them with respect?”
Payel smiled and came towards Guru. Soumita sternly told the blabbering Guru to shut up. Taking over from Soumita, Payel pressed Guru harder on the back, so that he lay flat on the desk. Holding him down like this, she softly ran her right hand over Guru’s exposed bumcheeks. “Mmmmm…ripe little peaches, aren’t they?!?” With a quick tug of her powerful arm, the underwear too had joined the pants at Guru’s ankles.
Now Payel squeezed Guru’s butts softly, caressing the soft flesh, until she could see goose pimples form on his naked thighs and back. And then… WHAACK..SLAAP…THACK… her open palm rose and fell a dozen times with great speed to leave Guru with a tender, rose-red butt. She stopped only when she realised that Guru had pee’d on desk.
She let go and Guru fell at her feet… bawling, begging her to stop hitting him. He grovelled in his miserable condition, his fragile ego shattered in less than a minute.
Soumita took out her gym towel and told the shaken Guru to clean up the desk and his torso. Once he was done, Payel grabbed him by the hair and slammed him against the wall. “You pathetic little boy…” she said, and grabbed him by the nuts. Guru had a silent scream on his face. He was desperately trying to push Payel’s arm away from his groin. But only she could remove it. “I could probably take you right here, right now. I could break you, little one!” It was a sight to see: The top student of the class, at the mercy of a small whit of a girl. A girl who could rip out his nuts any time.
Soumita smiled. “Personality transformations are picking up momentum.”