S.O.L. Games: What’s the Time Mr. Wolf? part 1 of 2 by SKOLL
Dive into the tantalizing world of "S.O.L. Games: What’s the Time, Mr. Wolf? Part 1" by SKOLL. This erotic sex story explores desire, intrigue, and playful seduction in a captivating narrative. Uncover the secrets of passion and connection—read now for a thrilling, immersive experience!<br/>
Teachers and 18yo senior women abducted for sex games on remote island replica of their school. ‘choose your own adventure’.
This chapter is long. Choice is greedy, 2 students and 1 teacher from previous games, and 1 new girl, a skinny blonde. Game is exactly What’s the Time, Mr. Wolf in cafeteria. While writing chapter, dice were rolled to help generate outcomes. READ DISCLAIMERS
DON’T START AT THIS CHAPTER
How to read S.O.L. Games (pronounced ‘soul’) :
Start with the Prologue and one or more Level 1 chapters in any order. (Jump Ropes, Floor is Lava, Pet Teachers)
Then read one or more Level 2 chapters in any order. (Web Design, Teacher Taut, Chemistry, Tug of War)
Then read one or more Level 3 chapters in any order. (Hide & Seek, Pencil Sharpener, Anatomy, Dodgeball)
Then read one or more Level 4 chapters in any order. (What’s the Time, Mr. Wolf, Stations of the Cross, LockHer, Four Square)
And so on. More to come!
Link to all my stories and more chapters to this story are in my profile.
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DISCLAIMERS
In this series, I write from the perspective of the VILLAIN. That means I don’t agree with his choices, and you’re not supposed to either. We’re all acknowledging he is evil and wrong. Obviously nothing he does should ever be done in real life! Please be mature adults and separate fantasy from reality. This SHOULD evoke visceral, icky feelings. That’s the POINT. This is HORROR.
This is more PORN than PLOT.
All characters are 18+.This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to events, locales, or persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
FETISHES / WARNINGS
-Non-con, Violence, Male-dom
-Gross Tasting/Smelling, Bodily Fluids, Sweat, Feet, Armpits
-Electrocution
-Scalding Syrup/Food Fetish
-Blood
-Piss
-Unconscious
-Anal
-Bondage/BDSM
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What’s the Time, Mr. Wolf? Part 1
It was a greedy choice. Four females in a single game. I didn’t have to do that. I could try to tell myself I made the choice out of some benevolent attempt to help the girls get off this island quicker — group them together and get us out of here in fewer days instead of dragging the games out one girl at a time. Or I could use the justification that it might be easier on the girls if they have companions to share the burden. I’m sure it’s far more terrifying to be singled out and face a game alone. But in reality, I made the choice simply because I wanted more females to myself at one time. An orgiastic indulgence without a single thought for anyone but myself. Because in this place I’m free to take whatever I want, hidden under the cloak of anonymity.
Now I find myself in the middle of the cafeteria with butterflies in my stomach. At the Announcer’s command, I stand staring across the huge room at four blindfolded women lined up facing me on the other end. As instructed, I lean against one wall, the ladies on the opposite wall. I’ve been deemed simply ‘the male’, and each of the women have a big number drawn on their foreheads in what looks like Sharpie, each now referred to as ‘Female 1’ through ‘Female 4’. 8-bit music blares all around us from the PA speakers, making me feel like a character in an arcade video game.
This is the only time I can remember feeling this excited to be in the cafeteria. Back in real life it had been full of cliques and self-segregated friend groups. Social hierarchies and the constant buzz of teens chattering and laughing and enjoying their brief freedom in the middle of the school day. What a curious location for a game.
Now the cafeteria is eerily empty. Tables and chairs all pushed off to the sides to leave a vast open space in the center for us to stand. The walls of the cafeteria are adorned with posters promoting healthy eating habits, flyers for extracurriculars, and bulletin boards showcasing student achievements. All of it exactly like my real school. It’s so fucking creepy how accurately they replicated every detail of St. Isidore’s.
Several TV screens are scattered around the cafeteria hanging up high on the walls. These used to be for displaying boring school videos and events, along with weekly food menus. Now, they all show the same School of Lust intro title screen.
At the far end is the familiar serving area, similar to a food court at a mall, with counters that would normally separate the kitchen staff from the students lined up waiting for food. But there’s more going on, contraptions hanging over the counters?
Before I can make out exactly what I’m seeing, my attention is returned to the girls as the Announcer speaks through the PA system again. Her unfittingly serene voice echoes all around us, “As always, the chosen male is not permitted to speak, and the chosen females must remain blindfolded at all times. The male must use his remote to make seIections on the screens throughout the game, while the females must use their voices.”
I gaze at the ladies across the room from me. They all look so dumb, feet shifting nervously, heads tilting and turning in blind bewilderment. 18-year-old seniors in cute schoolgirl uniforms. A teacher in stylish blouse, slacks, and cardigan. I smirk, realizing I’m the only one not terrified right now.
The Announcer continues matter-of-factly, “All participants must now strip completely naked.” The immediate gasps and cries of shock from the women across from me almost make me laugh out loud with giddy excitement. The command to undress includes me, but I’m not complaining. All those times I came to eat lunch in this place — never in my wildest dreams would I have expected to be standing here with some of the hottest girls in my school and even one of my teachers, getting naked together, preparing for a sadistic sex game!
We’re told to toss our clothes off to the side out of the way. My eyes stay glued to the women across the room as I happily comply, kicking my shoes off and shedding my shirt. But the ladies all hesitate, mortified. I hear one curse under her breath. Another one next to her begins sobbing. They can’t see me, but they know there’s a boy from their school in the room with them, waiting to see them disrobe.
“You sick monsters! These are students!” Female 1, Aadya Mandal, the man-bashing feminist art teacher of Indian descent, refuses to strip. The loudmouthed woman in her mid-30s is probably intent on protecting her female students from the twisted patriarchal nightmare she finds herself in. Despite her sour attitude, her face is gorgeous and sultry. Her hair is lush black swirls sweeping down over soft shoulders. Her body is tall, curvy, and full, with mocha skin. She carries herself with an intimidating self-assuredness.
“You can’t do thi–!” Mrs. Mandal’s shrill voice is cut off as electricity courses through her body, sending her thick figure into a dance of convulsions before doubling over and spasming in a heap on the floor. Her voice becomes one steady groan, unflattering and involuntary, a taser-like clicking sound coming from the collar around her neck.