My arm bres with the cheerful optimism of something that hasn't been fucked into oblivion by a disgusting otaku's monster cock. I sm my hand down on it with more violehan necessary, every muscle screaming in protest.

  "Oh my GOD," I groan, my voice a raspy wreck that sounds like I gargled broken gss.

  The m sunlight filters through my blush pink curtains, illuminating my perfect princess bedroom with its inspirational quotes in rose gold frames, colle of cheerleading trophies, and the massive cum stain on my 400 Egyptian cottos.

  Wait. What?

  I lift my head, wing at the way my neck muscles spasm in protest, and stare in horror at the dried yellowish crust beh me. Apparently, I was still leaking when I colpsed into bed at 2 AM after three desperate showers.

  I roll over, immediately regretting the movement as my thighs stick together with a wet SCHLICK. There's still cum inside me. After THREE SHOWERS. How is that even possible? It's like Oliver's disgusting sperm factory produces industrial-grade adhesive instead of normal jizz.

  My phone buzzes for what feels like the millionth time. I grab it from my nightstand, squinting at the s through crusty, mascara-glued eyeshes:

  27 Missed Calls from ??CHAD?? 16 Missed Calls from ??AMBER?? 43 Text Messages 12 Instagram DMs 8 Snapchats

  I scroll through Chad's texts, which progress from "Where r u babe?" to "Seriously wtf Bir" to "Are you fug kidding me right now" to the final o 3:17 AM: "Whatever. Call me when you decide to stop being a bitch."

  Perfect. Just fug perfect.

  I swing my legs over the side of the bed, immediately gasping at the raw, throbbiioween them. My pussy feels like it's been excavated with a jackhammer—stretched, pummeled, and infmed in ways that no amount of hot baths will fix quickly.

  "Mirror check," I mutter, staggering to my full-length mirror with the gait of someone who's been riding a horse for twelve straight hours.

  Holy. Fug. Shit.

  The girl staring back at me 't possibly be Bir Williams. This girl is a disaster zone—a wreckage of what used to be the hottest senior at Westke High.

  My normally gleaming blonde hair is a rat's of tangles with visible patches of... oh GOD, that's dried cum, fking and crusty near my left temple. How did I miss that in the shower? I lean closer, horrified to discover pears to be aire CLUMP of hair sealed together with Oliver's disgusting spunk, like the world's most revolting hair gel.

  My perfect face is a crime se. For ohing, there's a mysterious bruise f on my jawline where Oliver's hipbone smmed into me during a particurly enthusiastic thrust.

  But it's my body that truly tells the story.

  My neck is peppered with blotchy red marks—not quite hickeys, but beard burn from his disgusting patchy facial hair. My colrbones bear the imprints of his teeth from whe "carried away" during our fifth... or was it sixth?... round.

  My tits—my perfect, perky 32DDs are a map of finger-shaped bruises and bite marks. The right one has an actual TEETH IMPRESSION just above the nipple, which is still swollen and raw from his i sug.

  "Fuck," I whisper, turning to examine my bad ass in the mirror.

  My ass cheeks are COVERED in handprints, the right one sp a perfect five-finger bruise that's already turning a deep purple. My hips bear matg grip marks from where he held me in pce during that final, brutal doggy-style session.

  I bend over, spreading my ass cheeks to examihe damage to my poor, abused pussy. The lips are still swollen to twice their normal size, puffy and red and slightly parted, uo close pletely after the repeated battering from Oliver's monster.

  And then—oh GOD—as I bend, I feel a fresh gush of fluid leak out, running down my ihigh. I straighten up in horror, watg a thick glob of yellowish-white cum slide down my leg, leaving a slimy trail in its wake.

  "Are you FUG kidding me?" I shriek, grabbing tissues from my nightstand and wiping frantically at the mess. How is there still MORE inside me? It's been HOURS!

  I peer at the tissue, examining the sistency of what just came out of me. It's thicker now, goopier, almost like custard that's bee out too long. Some of it has tiny clear jelly-like clumps in it—probably the result of his disgusting sperm iing with my own juices for hours.

  Something catches my eye—a dark, curly hair stuy ihigh. I pluck it with horrified fasation, holding it up to the light.

  "His pubes," I whisper, dropping it into the trash like it's radioactive. "His fug PUBES are still on me."

  I o take Pn B. AGAIN. The thought of Oliver's mutant sperm currently swimming through my reproductive system sends a fresh wave of panic through me. I've already taken one pill after our first enter—will a sed one even work? you overdose on emergency traception?

  I don't care. I'll take the whole fug box if I have to.

  I rummage through my purse, extrag the little white box with trembling fingers. Fifty fug dolrs to prevent myself from being the mother of some disgusting otaku's baby. Thanks, America.

  I pop the pill out of its blister pack, staring at the small white tablet that stands between me and plete social destru. As I swallow it dry, I 't help imagining Oliver's sperm swimming around inside me.

  "Not today, you disgusting little fuckers," I mutter, pressing a hand to my lower abdomen.

  There's a strange heaviness in my womb, a fullhat feels alien and wrong. It's probably just swelling from the repeated cervical battering I received, but a tiny voi my head whispers: "It's his cum. Still inside you. GALLONS of it."

  I o shain. For the fourth time in twelve hours.

  My legs wobble as I make my way to my en-suite bathroom, each step sending fresh twinges of pain through my pelvis. The bathroom is a disaster zone—damp towels thrown everywhere from my desperate post-fuck sing attempts, the floor still wet, my expensive Oplex products knocked over in my frenzy.

  I turn on the shower, king the heat to near-scalding. As I wait for it to warm up, I catch a whiff of something—a musky, sour smell that makes my nose wrinkle. I sniff my arm, then my hair, theween my breasts.

  It's HIM. I still smell like HIM. Like sweat and unwashed boy and that distinctive funk that's uniquely Oliver. It's like his st has permeated my pores, branded me on a molecur level.

  "Get OFF me," I growl, stepping into the shower and immediately reag for my loofah and expensive body wash.

  I scrub until my skin is raw and red, paying special attention to anywhere his disgusting body touched mine—which is basically EVERYWHERE. I wash my hair three times, bing through the tangles with ditioner-coated fingers, gagging when I fi ANOTHER patch of dried cum behind my left ear.

  When I get to my pussy, I hesitate. It's so sore, so swollen, every touch sends jolts of both pain and—horrifyingly—pleasure through me. I gently spread my lips, letting the water ruhe abused tissues, watg as the stream carries away more cloudy residue from inside me.

  "I've been NUTTED in," I think, staring down at the yellowish slush cirg the drain. "I've been FILLED with his cum and I still don't know if I got it all out."

  My hand drifts to my clit almost involuntarily, cirg the still-swollen nub. The lightest touch sericity crag up my spine, my body responding with a sudden gush of wethat has nothing to do with the shower spray.

  "No!" I snatch my hand away, disgusted with myself. "What the FUCK, Bir?"

  I'm NOT masturbating to the memory of that disgusting otaku. I'm definitely, absolutely, most positively NOT.

  Twenty mier, I emerge from the bathroom ed in a fluffy pink towel, feeling somewhat more human but still undeniably altered. I check my phone again—three more texts from Chad:

  ??CHAD??: Seriously where were you st night ??CHAD??: Everyone was asking ??CHAD??: Are you alive or what

  I sigh, my fingers h over the s. What I possibly say? "Sorry I missed your party, I was getting railed by Oliver Tanaka in the equipment shed until I literally couldn't walk"?

  Me: Sorry! Food poisoning from that new sushi pce. Was throwing up all night and passed out. Just saw your texts.

  The lie es easily, my fingers flying across the s. I add a sick emoji food measure.

  ??CHAD??: For real? Me: Yes! It was so gross. Still feeling like crap tbh ??CHAD??: Damn that sucks. You missed Mike doing a backflip into the pool and breaking his arm lol Me: Omg no! Is he ok? ??CHAD??: Yeah just drunk af ??CHAD??: Wanna e over ter? My parents are out of town till Monday ??CHAD??: I take care of you ??

  The winking emoji makes me want to throw up for real. The thought of Chad's perfectly adequate but thhly unremarkable diing anywhere near my currently demolished pussy is enough to make me ch my thighs together in horror.

  Me: Still feeling pretty gross. Maybe tomorrow? ??CHAD??: K

  The dismissive siter response should annoy me. Instead, I feel only relief.

  Now for the evidence disposal.

  I pad ay bedroom to where I'd flung my cheer bag st night. Inside is the tattered, cum-soaked remains of my once-pristine uniform. I pull each piece out gingerly, ying them on my white carpet (a decision I immediately regret).

  The top is a disaster—stretched out at the neck where Oliver grabbed it, yellow-white cum stains hardened into the fabric, makeup smeared across the front. The skirt is worse—the pleats crumpled beyond repair, the fabric soaked through with our mingled fluids, a small tear along the seam where Oliver got too enthusiastic.

  My thong is pletely destroyed—ripped in half, the crotch paained yellow from the unholy mixture of cum, pussy juice, and sweat that soaked into it.

  Even my socks—my white cheer socks with the blue pom-poms—are ruihe bottoms bck from the dirty floor, suspicious crusty patches along the ankles where cum dripped down my legs.

  "I 't just throw these away," I realize with growing horror. "Our uniforms are ioried. Coach Wilson will know."

  I'll have to say I lost it. Pay the 300 rept fee. Make up some story about leaving it at an away game.

  I gather the destroyed uniform into a pstic bag, tying it tightly closed. I'll burn it ter, maybe in the fire pit behind our pool house. For now, I shove it deep into my closet, behind my winter boots that I never wear in California.

  My phone buzzes again—this time it's Amber:

  ??AMBER??: Bitch where were you st night?? Chad was looking everywhere! ??AMBER??: Jessica told everyone you were prob cheating lol ??AMBER??: I told her to stfu but like WHERE WERE YOU ??AMBER??: Also did you hear Mike broke his arm trying to do a backflip?? ??????

  I fire off the same food poisoning excuse, addira details about vomiting and diarrhea that I know will keep her from asking follow-up questions. Nobody wants to hear about explosive bowel movements, not even your best friend.

  challenge: getting dressed. I open my walk-in closet, surveying my options with new criteria in mind. I o cover the bruises on my neck, the bite marks on my chest, the rug burns on my knees.

  I select a pale blue turtleneck sweater (unusual for me iember, but I cim I'm still feeling chilly from being "sick"), paired with loose-fitting jeans that won't rub against my raw ihighs. No thong today—my pussy has been through enough. I opt for the softest cotton boyshorts I own.

  As I'm pulling on the jeans, I feel arickle of fluid leak out of me, soaking immediately into my fresh underwear.

  "ARE YOU KIDDING ME?" I screech, yanking the boyshorts down to find them already stained with a quarter-sized patch of yellowish goo.

  I ge again, this time adding a panty liner food measure. How much cum did he DEPOSIT in me? Did he store it up for months before unleashing it into my poor, unsuspeg reproductive system?

  The weight in my lower abdomeo increase at the thought, a phantom heavihat makes me press my hand against my stomach again.

  I head to my vanity, assessing the makeup challenge before me. This is going to require professional-grade cealer work. I dab green color corrector on the hickeys and bruises, following with my heaviest full-ce foundatioing it with powder to e stays put.

  The result is still not perfect—there's a faint shadow visible on my jawline where the bruise is deepest—but it'll have to do. I add extra blush to my cheeks, trying to recapture my usual healthy glow rather than the "just been fucked into uesday" pallor I'm currently sp.

  My hair is another battle entirely. The cum-matted ses refuse to cooperate, tangling around my brush in clumps. I eventually mao work enough leave-in ditiohrough it to restore some sembnoothness, pulling it into a high ponytail to hide the worst of the damage.

  I'm just starting to apply my Lanc?me Hypn?se Drama mascara, oised delicately near my left eye, when my phone buzzes against my vanity.

  Anime Freak: Hello Bir. I hope this message finds you well. I wao express my gratitude for our enter st night.

  I nearly stab myself in the eye with the wand, leaving a bck smear ay eyelid.

  "Are you FUG kidding me?" I hiss, grabbing a makeup wipe to fix the damage. The AUDACITY of this disgusting idiot, texting me like we shared a fug business meeting instead of him railiil I couldn't walk straight.

  Anime Freak: I must fess I have been thinking about our iion non-stop. The memory of your body accepting mine was most satisfying.

  I gag audibly, squeezing the mascara tube so hard the ops out, spttering tiny bck droplets ay vanity's marble surface. This motherfucker talks like he's writing a Victorian-era letter while simultaneously implying I'm some kind of receptacle for his disgusting sperm tsunami.

  Anime Freak: I will be attending Kawaii for the hree days. It's an anime vention where enthusiasts gather to celebrate Japanese culture and animation.

  Anime Freak: Perhaps you would be ied in apanying me? I could procure ara ticket. They have excellent cospy petitions.

  I set down my mascara before I actally unch it across the room in rage. The mental image of ME at some disgusting sweaty anime vention, surrounded by unwashed otakus in cat ears and oversized t-shirts is so absurd it's almost hirious.

  Me: Are you out of your MIND? I would rather DIE than be seen with you in public. Last night was a MISTAKE. It will NEVER happen again.

  I rename his tact to "BASEMENT TROLL ??" before setting my phone down aurning to my makeup. I dip my Beautyblender into my Armani Luminous Silk foundation, dabbing it over the cealer I've already applied to the hickeys. My hand is trembling slightly with rage.

  BASEMENT TROLL ??: I uand your reluce to be seen with someone of my social standing. However, I believe we shared something special.

  BASEMENT TROLL ??: The way your body respoo mine suggests patibility beyond what you experieh your quarterback boyfriend.

  My jaw drops so hard I think it might dislocate. The fug NERVE of this disgusting mountain of sweat and bad hygiene, suggesting he knows what my body wants better than I do!

  Me: Listen carefully you disgusting otaku: NEVER mention my boyfriend again. What happened was a momentary pse in judgment that I already regret more than anything in my life.

  I aggressively blend my foundation, pressing the sponge against my skin with way more force than necessary. The bruise on my jawlihrobs in protest.

  My phone buzzes again, and against my better judgment, I check it.

  BASEMENT TROLL ??: I've taken the liberty of doting our enter for my personal archives.

  Attached is a blurry, poorly-lit photo taken from a low a's his disgusting cock, semi-hard, looking even more monstrously rge in his pudgy hand. The background appears to be his bedroom - I make out what looks like anime figurines on a shelf and a body pillow with some cartoon girl on it.

  BASEMENT TROLL ??: This particur appendage misses the warm fines of your insides. I find myself eager to fill you again upon my return.

  "Oh my GOD!" I shriek, nearly throwing my phone across the room. My thighs voluntarily, a sudden rush of wetness dampening my fresh panty liner. My body's reaakes me want to scream, cry, and vomit simultaneously.

  I lock my phone s, dropping it face-down on my vanity like it's inated. My hands are shaking so badly I barely pick up my Anastasia Beverly Hills tour palette. I try to trol my breathing as I sweep the bronzer beh my cheekbones, creating the illusion of my usual sculpted face rather than the cum-drunk disaster I currently am.

  Me: Don't ever send me pictures of your disgusting dick again!

  BASEMENT TROLL ??: I apologize if my photograph was unwele. I merely wished to remind you of what brought you to multiple asms st night.

  BASEMENT TROLL ??: By my t, you climaxed seveimes. A personal record for you, I presume?

  I'm going to murder him. I'm actually going to it homicide. I'll borrow my dad's golf clubs a him to death with the nine iron.

  As I'm applying my Charlotte Tilbury Pillow Talk lipstick, I notiething in my refle—a weird white crust in my belly button. I lean closer to the mirror, squinting at the strange discoloration.

  "No way," I whisper, setting down my lipstid pressing my finger against my navel.

  It's HARD. Like, actually solid. I poke at it again, feeling the crusty surface yield slightly under pressure. With dawning horror, I realize what I'm looking at.

  It's cum. Dried, crusty, yellowish cum that has literally SEALED MY BELLY BUTTON SHUT like some kind of disgusting anic t.

  "How did I miss this in the shower?" I hiss, frantically scraping at the edges with my fingernail. The crust is stubborn, ging to the rim of my navel like it's been super-glued in pce.

  I grab a cotton swab, dip it in micelr water, and attempt to dissolve the crusty plug. It softens slightly around the edges but remains firmly in pce. I press harder, w the cotton swab in a circur motion, gagging as fkes of dried cum break off.

  And then—oh GOD—I notice a dark curly hair embedded in the crusty mass. Another one of his pubes, preserved like a fossil in amber, except the amber is DRIED OTAKU SEMEN.

  "I'm going to be sick," I mutter, grabbing tweezers from my makeup drawer.

  I carefully work the tweezers around the edges of the cum plug, loosening it bit by disgusting bit. It's like archaeological excavation, if archaeology involved digging disgusting body fluids out of your navel.

  Finally, with a revolting POP, the entire plug es free. I hold it up with the tweezers, examining the horror I've extracted. It's the size of a small marble, yellowish-white with that single curly pube stig out of it like a fg pnted on the world's most disgusting mountain.

  I drop it into the trash , then immediately thier of it. What if my mom empties my trash? What if the ing dy finds it? I grab a tissue, the cum plug in it, and flush it dowoilet, watg it swirl away with grim satisfa.

  My phone buzzes again.

  BASEMENT TROLL ??: I should inform you that I ejacuted approximately 12 times st night. My research suggests the average male ejacute taiween 200-500 million sperm cells.

  BASEMENT TROLL ??: This means you currently tain approximately 2.4-6 billion of my sperm cells. I hope the Pn B is effective against suumbers.

  My stomach lurches violently. The idea of billions of his little otaku swimmers still wriggling around inside me makes me want to douche with bleach. I press a hand against my lower abdomen, feeling that phantom weight again.

  I quickly apply my Dior lip gloss, trying not to think about how many of Oliver's sperm cells might still be making their way through my fallopian tubes. The Pn B will work. It HAS to work. The alternative is unthinkable.

  BASEMENT TROLL ??: I took the liberty of saving several photos of your facial expressions during climax. The way your eyes roll back is most aesthetically pleasing.

  "HE RECORDED ME?!" I screech, panic flooding my system. If there's video of me getting railed by Oliver fug Tanaka floating around, my life is OVER.

  BASEMENT TROLL ??: Don't worry, the images are for my personal use only. I would never viote your privacy by sharing them.

  BASEMENT TROLL ??: Although I must say, your ahegao face rivals even the fi hentai protagonists.

  I have no idea what "ahegao" means, but ing from him, it 't be good. I'm about to fire back the most scathing response I muster when I catch sight of the time.

  Fuck. I'm te for breakfast.

  I quickly finish my look with a spritz of my signature el perfume, hoping it will mask any lingering odor of Oliver that might still be ging to me. Before heading downstairs, I type one more message:

  Me: I am BLOG you. If you EVER speak to me again, I will tell everyone you sexually harassed me a you expelled.

  BASEMENT TROLL ??: We both know you'll unblock me when you crave my particur... services again. I'll be back from the vention on Sunday evening. My parents will be at their monthly bridge tour.

  I throw my phoo my bed with a strangled scream e and head downstairs, legs still wobbling slightly with each step.

  Our kit is straight out of an Architectural Digest spread—white marble tertops, professional-grade stainless steel appliances, and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking our perfectly manicured backyard with its Olympic-sized pool.

  My parents are already at the table, ea their own world. Dad is hidden behind his Wall Street Journal, his monogrammed coffee mug (a Father's Day gift I picked out when I was twelve) steaming beside him. Mom is scrolling through her iPad, probably pnning the charity ga she chairs every year to "give back to the unity" (and tally show off her test etic procedure to all her frenemies).

  "M," I mutter, sliding into my usual seat at the table.

  Maria, our housekeeper, immediately pces a green smoothie in front of me. It's my usual breakfast—kale, spinach, banana, almond milk, and protein powder. The sight of the thick, greenish liquid makes my stomach turn, remindioo much of the sistency of Oliver's cum.

  "Good m, sweetie," Mom says without looking up. "The Robertsons' son just got accepted to Prion. Early admission."

  Of course that's the first thing she mentions. Not "how are you" or "you look tired," but news about someone else's child achieving something that makes her feel petitive.

  "That's... great," I maaking a small sip of my smoothie and trying not to gag.

  "Speaking of college," Dad says, finally l his neer, "ell called about your alumni interview week. I told them you'd be prepared."

  ell. Right. The Ivy League school I'm supposed to attend because Dad went there, not because I've expressed any i in it whatsoever. The interview that seemed so importaerday but now feels like it's happening in some parallel universe where I'm not currently leaking anime boy cum into a panty liner.

  I shift in my seat, my thighs pressing together as a fresh twinge of soreness radiates from my core. The movement must be noticeable, because Dad gives me a curious look.

  "Tough cheer practice yesterday?" he asks, eyebrow raised.

  I nearly choke on my smoothie, coughing violently as green liquid threatens to shoot out my nose.

  "Yeah," I gasp once I've recovered. "New routine. Really intense."

  Mom looks up from her iPad, her perfectly Botoxed forehead attempting to crease with but failing due to the sheer volume of iables.

  "You should be careful, Bir. Injuries could affect your college applications. ell looks for well-rounded individuals, but they won't want someoh physical limitations."

  I resist the urge to ugh hysterically. If she only khe "physical activity" that's actually left me walking like I've been riding a horse bareback for a week.

  "I'll be fine," I mutter, pushing the smoothie away. My appetite has pletely abandoned me.

  My phone, which I'd retrieved from my bedroom before ing downstairs, buzzes in my pocket. I check it uhe table.

  ??AMBER??: Feelier? Chad's having a small thing at his pce tonight. Just the squad and some guys. You ing?

  The thought of sitting in Chad's basement re, pretending to ugh at football stories while trying not to leak otaku cum onto his mother's expensive furniture, is more than I bear.

  Me: Still not 100%. Might stay in a.

  ??AMBER??: K, but Jessica's already saying you're avoiding Chad because you're cheating ??

  My heart rate spikes. Jessica has always had it out for me, waiting for any opportunity to dethrone me from my position at the top of Westke's social hierarchy.

  Me: Tell that bitch I've been throwing up all night. Unless she wants a detailed description of what came out of me, she should shut her mouth.

  I set my phone down, realizing I've been absently rubbing my thighs together uhe table. The fri sends a jolt of both pain and pleasure through my battered pussy, making me inhale sharply.

  Mom notices this time. "Bir? Are you sure you're alright? You look flushed."

  "I'm fine," I snap, mgressively than intended. "Just... woman stuff."

  The magic words. Both parents immediately retreat, Dad disappearing behind his neer again, Mom suddenly fasated by whatever's on her iPad. Nothing scares the Williams family more than the specter of female reproductive funs.

  My phone buzzes again. It's Chad this time.

  ??CHAD??: Feeling aer? Miss you babe

  Attached is a bathroom mirror selfie of him shirtless, fresh from the shower, towel slung low on his hips. Once upon a time—literally 48 ho—this image would have made me at least mildly aroused. Now all I think is how... ie he looks. His perfectly sculpted abs and pecs, his just-right tan, his carefully tousled damp hair—it all seems so manufactured, so safe.

  S.

  I shake my head violently, horrified at the dire of my thoughts. Chad is PERFECT. He's the quarterback. He's going to UCLA on a football schorship. He drives a BMW his parents gave him for his 17th birthday. Every girl at Westke would kill to be me.

  Me: Still feeling gross. Doctor said it might be a stomach bug. tagious. Should stay away for a couple days.

  The lie es easily, buyiime to heal—physically Aally—from the Oliver situation.

  Another buzz. This time from a number I thought I'd blocked.

  BASEMENT TROLL ??: I've been researg. The sensation you experienced when your cervix eed is called "subspace." ime, I io explore this phenomenon more thhly.

  I stare at the text, a mixture e and humiliation washing over me. I BLOCKED him! How is he still texting me?

  BASEMENT TROLL ??: Also, I believe you may have left a bobby pin in my pocket. I shall treasure this memento until our enter.

  That's it. I 't sit here pretending everything is normal while this disgusting otaku tio text me about rearranging my insides like he's discussing the weather.

  "I o go lie down," I annouanding abruptly from the table. "I'm not feeling well."

  "But you've barely touched your smoothie," Mom protests, finally looking up from her iPad.

  "Like I said, girl stuff," I mutter, already halfway out of the kit. "Really bad cramps."

  I retreat to my bedroom, log the door behind me and colpsing onto my bed. My phone buzzes again in my hand.

  BASEMENT TROLL ??: I've calcuted that we engaged in sexual activity for approximately 4 hours and 37 miotal. My penis was inside you for 3 hours and 22 minutes of that time.

  BASEMENT TROLL ??: I believe this makes me your lo-duration sexual parto date. A statistical victory I'm quite proud of.

  I press my fato my pillow and scream.

  I stand in front of my full-length mirror, examining today's carefully structed Bir Williams 2.0—the post-Oliver edition that looks exactly like the pre-Oliver version but is secretly held together with emotional duct tape and industrial-strength cealer.

  I've chosen a cropped baby blue cardigan—buttoned just low enough to showcase my cleavage without being "slutty," because there's a fine liween "hot girlfriend material" and "Jessica Porter." The cardigan hugs my tits perfectly, creating that squeezed-together shelf of jiggly feminine delicioushat makes guys lose their train of thought mid-sentence.

  My white tennis skirt hits mid-thigh, showing off my long, tanned legs while still maintaining that pseudo-i vibe that drives the football team crazy. The pleats swish when I walk, giving teasing glimpses of what might be underh without beinxg obvious about it.

  My hair is back to its perfect ptinum glory, all traces of Oliver's disgusting cum deposits properly removed after yesterday's intensive deep-ditioning treatment. I've styled it in loose waves that bounce when I move my head, catg the light like something from a shampoo ercial.

  I've gone hard on the makeup today—a cut crease eyeshadow look I learned from TikTok, with a champagne shimmer on the lid and a precise winged lihat could literally cut a bitch. My shes are so long and thick they almost hit my eyebrows when I blink. My tour is razor-sharp, cheekbones carved out like I'm geically superior (which, let's be ho, I basically am). I've overlined my lips just enough to look pillowy without venturing into duck territory.

  The bruises are still there, but you'd need a fug FBI forensic team to find them uhe yers of Tarte Shape Tape aée Lauder Double Wear. I've even mao hide the bite marks on my chest with a bination of color corrector and body foundation.

  I slip my feet into white ptform shat add ara two io my height while still looking casual. Final touch: a spritz of el ce, behind my ears, between my tits, and—in a moment of dariween my thighs. Just in case there's any lingering Oliver-stank.

  My phone buzzes.

  ??CHAD??: Everyone's here already. Mike brought White Cws.

  I roll my eyes. Obviously Mike brought White Cws. Mike would bring White Cws to a funeral.

  Me: On my way! Just finishing my makeup ??

  My parents are at the try club, so I grab my mom's Mercedes keys instead of taking my own Jeep. Nothing says "I'm pletely fine and definitely wasn't getting railed by the school's resident otaku" like showing up in a 90,000 car.

  ---

  Chad's house is exactly what you'd expect from the family of Westke's star quarterback—a massive Spanish-style mansion with a circur driveway and a three-car garage housing vehicles that ore than most people's college education. His parents are "old money," whi California means they've been rich si least the 1980s.

  I pull the Mercedes alongside Tyler's Audi and Brandon's Tes, making sure to park at an ahat forces everyoo walk around my car. Power moves only.

  The front door swings open before I even reach it, revealing Chad in his natural habitat—designer jeans, a tight Hehat showcases his pecs, and that cocky half-smile that made every freshman girl's panties dissolve st year.

  "Hey, babe," he says, not quite meeting my eyes. He's still pissed about Friday night, but his dick wants tive me.

  "Hey yourself," I reply, kissing him on the cheek, making sure to press my tits against his chest as I do. "Missed you."

  His arm slides around my waist, hand ing to rest juuuust above my ass—high enough to be respectful if his parents suddenly appeared, low enough to remind everyone whose girlfriend I am.

  "Feelier?" he asks, his eyes dropping to my cleavage. "You look... really good."

  Transtion: My tits look fantastid he's already fotten why he was mad. Boys are so predictable it's almost b.

  "Much better," I lie smoothly, following him into the house. I hear voices from the basement re—Chad's domain where his parents never vehout announg themselves first, making it perfect for our Sunday hangouts.

  We desd the stairs, and I mentally prepare my entrance. Shoulders back (showcases the tits), slight sway to the hips (makes the skirt swish entigly), face arranged in that specific expression of amused superiority that says "I'm here now, so the fun actually start."

  The basement is exactly as expected—Brandon and Tyler pying ping pong, Amber and Chelsea sprawled on the seal scrolling through their phones, Mike mixing drinks at the wet bar, and Jessica... fug Jessica Porter, sitting way too close to where Chad's spot on the couch obviously is, her skirt hiked up to shoroximately three miles of thigh.

  "Bir!" Amber squeals, jumping up to hug me. "You're alive!"

  "Obviously," I ugh, hugging her back with practiced warmth. "It takes more than food poisoning to keep me down."

  Jessica's face falls slightly at the sight of me. Good. She thought she'd have another day of Chad-access while I was "sick."

  "Cute skirt," she says with a tight smile. "Didn't they have it in your size?"

  "Thanks!" I beam back. "And cute top! My little sister has the same one from Justice."

  Chelsea snorts, quickly disguising it as a cough when Jessica gres at her.

  I settle onto the couch, strategically pg myself where Chad will have to choose between sittio me or Jessica. After a moment's hesitation that I'm absolutely going to remember ter, he drops down beside me, his arm automatically going around my shoulders.

  "White Cw?" Mike offers, already bringing me a mango one because he knows it's my favorite.

  "You're the best, Mike," I say with a smile that makes his ears turn red. I've had Mike ed around my finger sinore year when I let him see my bra strap at Brandon's birthday party. Sometimes it's the little things.

  "How was the party Friday?" I ask, taking a delicate sip of my drink. "Besides Mike breaking his arm?"

  "It wasn't broken," Mike protests, holding up his wrist which is ed in an ace bandage. "Just sprained."

  "It ic," Tyler says, pausing the ping pong game. "Brandon's parents' liquor et is like, eop shelf. We were doing shots of this tequi that costs more than my car payment."

  "We missed you," Chad says, his hand sliding down to my waist, fingers slipping uhe hem of my cardigan to touch bare skin. "Wasn't the same without my girl."

  Jessica makes a tiny gagging sound that she doesn't quite disguise as clearihroat.

  "So did you really have food poisoning?" Chelsea asks, looking up from her phone. "Or were you just avoiding Jessica's karaoke performance?"

  The room erupts in ughter as Jessica turns pink.

  "Oh my GOD, you should have seen it," Amber giggles. "She tried to do '' and didn't know like, ANY of the words."

  "I khe words!" Jessica protests. "The Bluetooth was gging!"

  "Sure, Jan," I smirk, taking another sip of my drink. "I'm sorry I missed that cultural moment."

  "Whatever," Jessica mutters, flipping her hair over her shoulder. "At least I was there. Unlike some people who mysteriously disappear whehere's a social event."

  The temperature in the room drops about ten degrees. I feel everyone's eyes dartiween us, waiting for my response.

  I smile sweetly. "At least when I show up, people are actually happy to see me."

  "Okay, who wants to py pool?" Chad interjects, squeezing my waist in warning. "Bir, you and me against Tyler and Brandon?"

  "Sure," I agree, letting him pull me up from the couch. As I stand, I make sure to smooth my skirt down in a way that actually draws more attention to my legs. I catch Brandon staring and give him a wink that makes Chad grip my waist a little tighter.

  The basement re is massive, with separate areas for pool, ping pong, a huge seal around a 85-inch TV, and a wet bar that's perpetually stocked because Chad's parents believe in "supervised experimentation at home rather than dangerous behavior elsewhere," which is rich-parent code for "we'd rather you get drunk where our wyers trol the narrative."

  As Chad sets up the pool table, I per a high stool that makes my skirt ride up just enough to keep all the guys slightly distracted. Jessica's gre could burn a hole through my skull.

  "Eight ball?" Tyler suggests, grabbing a cue. "Winners get to pick the movie ter?"

  "Works for me," Chad agrees, handing me a cue stick. "Ladies break?"

  I take the cue with a smile, deliberately brushing my fingers against Chad's as I do. "Don't bme me when we crush you," I tease, bending over the table to line up my shot.

  I'm not actually that great at pool, but I'm fug EXCELLENT at PLAYING pool. There's a difference. One involves skill with balls on a table; the other involves showg your assets while tally holding a stick.

  As I lean over, I'm acutely aware of how my cardigan falls forward, creating a perfect viewing turaight to the promised nd. My tits swing slightly as I adjust my position, and I make sure to take just a little lohan necessary to line up my shot, allowing my breasts to daigly. I give them the subtlest little shimmy—nothing obvious, just enough movement to hypnotize ag.

  I practically feel the boys' eyes burning holes through my top. Chad's gaze is practically scorg my skin, but I also catch Tyler sneaking looks while pretending to chalk his cue. Brando even bother being subtle—he's just straight-up staring, mouth slightly open.

  I strike the cue ball with more force than finesse, sending balls scattering across the table. A striped ball drops into a er pocket.

  "Stripes," I annouraightening up and flipping my hair over my shoulder.

  Across the room, Jessica makes a show of whispering something to Chelsea that makes them both giggle while looking in my dire. I catch Amber's eye, and she gives the ti eye roll in Jessica's dire.

  "Damn, good break," Chad says, his hand finding the small of my back as he moves beside me, fingers slipping just uhe hem of my cardigan to touch bare skin.

  "Beginner's luck," Tyler snorts. "No way she makes the one."

  I narrow my eyes at him. "Wan?"

  Tyler grins. "Loser has to post a childhood photo on Instagram?"

  "Easiest bet I've ever won," I ugh, cirg the table to line up my shot. This one requires me to stretch across the table, one leg slightly raised off the ground, my skirt riding up dangerously high on my thighs.

  I'm not stupid—I kly what I'm doing. High school is an ecosystem, and I stay at the top by making sure everyone is stantly reminded of why I belong there. For the guys, it's the promise of what they 't have. For the girls, it's the reality of what they 't pete with.

  I sink the shot too, earning a chorus of impressed noises from the boys and a scoff from Jessica.

  "Nice, babe!" Chad high-fives me, his hand lingering against mine. I see the heat in his eyes, the way he's looking at me with that hungry expression that usually precedes him trying to get me alone somewhere. Great. I've done my job too well.

  Brandon sighs dramatically. "We're screwed."

  "Not yet," Tyler says, "but the night's still young."

  Everyone ughs, the innuendo hanging in the air like the cloud of Axe body spray that perpetually surrounds Mike.

  "Be an," Chad warns, but he's grinning too.

  The game tinues, with me making a show of each shot while Chad actually hahe difficult ones. Mike wanders over to watch, handing out fresh White Cws as our empties pile up.

  "So," Amber says, appearing at my side while Chad takes his turn, "you feelier for real? You look amazing, but you've been weird all weekend."

  This is why Amber's my best friend. She actually notices things beyond her own refle.

  "I'm good," I lie smoothly. "Just needed rest. It hit me hard."

  "Jessica was all over Chad on Friday," she whispers. "Like, literally sat on his p at one point."

  My grip tightens on my cue stick. "Did he push her off?"

  Amber hesitates. "Eventually."

  Bitch. Both of them.

  "Whatever," I shrug, keeping my voice casual. "If he warash, he'd be dating her."

  Amber snickers, then raises her voice as Jessica approaches. "Your shot, Bir!"

  Jessica hovers nearby, her arms crossed under her boobs to push them up higher. "Chad, you're so good at this," she coos, pletely ign the fact that it's my turn. "You should give me some pointers sometime."

  I resist the urge to jam my pool cue through her skull, instead smiling sweetly. "Careful, Jess, your desperation is showing. And it cshes with your top."

  The boys make those "ooohhh" sounds like we're in a rap battle. Jessica's cheeks flush pink, but she recovers quickly. "At least I actually show up for parties instead of mysteriously disappearing. Where were you Friday night, really?"

  "Literally throwing up my guts," I snap. "But thanks for your ."

  I bend over to take my shot, deliberately positioning myself so my ass is aimed directly at Chad. The smack of the cue ball is satisfying, but not as satisfying as the way Chad 't take his eyes off me.

  "Chad," Brandon calls, "yirl's destroying us. Do something!"

  Chad ughs, moving behind me as I line up another shot. "Let me help you with your form," he says, his body pressing against my back, arms ing around to adjust my grip on the cue.

  It's a cssic move—the pretend "help" that's really just an excuse for body tact. His chest is warm against my back, his breath hot on my neck. I feel something else pressing against my ass too—apparently, pool is really getting him worked up.

  Normally, this would at least give me a little flutter of i. Now, though, I feel absolutely nothing. Worse than nothing—there's an actual thread of revulsion running through me at the feeling of his ere against me. What the fuck is wrong with me?

  "Like this?" I ask, pying along, pushing back slightly against him to maintain the illusion that this is doing anything for me.

  "Perfect," he murmurs, his lips brushing my ear.

  I take the shot, missing pletely because he's thrown off my aim. "Nice help," I ugh, elbowing him gently as I straighten up.

  "My bad," he grins, not looking sorry at all.

  Tyler and Brandon high-five each other at my missed shot. "eback time!" Brandon crows.

  The game tinues, with me gradually letting the boys take over while I sip my White d chat with Amber. Jessica has cimed a spot on the couch with a perfect view of Chad's ass every time he bends over the table, and she's not being subtle about her appreciation.

  "So anyway," Amber is saying, "Ms. Abernathy totally caught Riley texting during the quiz, and she—"

  My phone buzzes in my skirt pocket. I pull it out, expeg it to be my mom asking when I'll be home.

  BASEMENT TROLL ??: I've returned from the vention earlier than expected. My parents are out for the day.

  My stomach drops, a weird mixture of disgust and something else—something hot and liquid and pletely unwele—pooling low in my belly. I quickly lock my s, shoving the phone bato my pocket like it's inated.

  "What's wrong?" Amber asks, frowning. "You look like you just saw a ghost."

  "Nothing," I force a smile. "Just my mom asking about dinner."

  I tune bato the pool game, where the boys are now getting overly petitive, with Tyler and Brandon having made an impressive eback. Chad's petitive side is showing—his jaw set, eyes focused oable. I have to admit, he looks good like this—all intense tration and flexing forearms as he lines up a difficult shot.

  "er pocket," he calls, then sinks it perfectly. He turns to me with that cocky half-smile that made me agree to go out with him in the first pce. "For you, babe."

  I blow him a kiss, pying my part perfectly. See? Everything's fine. I'm fine. I'm not thinking about Oliver's texts at all.

  My phone buzzes again. And again. And again.

  After the fourth buzz, I pull it out, angling the s away from Amber.

  BASEMENT TROLL ??: I've been thinking about our previous enters.

  BASEMENT TROLL ??: I acquired a variety of Japanese snacks at the vention. Perhaps you'd like to sample them while I sample you.

  BASEMENT TROLL ??: My parents won't return until 8 PM. Ample time for multiple activities.

  BASEMENT TROLL ??: I'm sending my address. I expect you within the hour.

  "Jesus Christ," I mutter under my breath.

  "What?" Amber asks.

  "Nothing. Just... spam texts." I lock my phone again, but the damage is done. I feel my heart rag, my skin suddenly too hot, too tight.

  "We won!" Chad announces, sinking the eight ball with a flourish. He pulls me into a victory hug that turns into him lifting me off my feet and spinning me around. "Champions!"

  Everyone groans good-naturedly as Chad sets me down, his hands lingering on my waist. "I think this calls for a celebration," he murmurs, his meaning crystal clear.

  Oh no. I know that look. That's Chad's "let's find ay room" look.

  "Movie time!" I announce quickly, turning to the group. "Winners pick, right?"

  "Actually," Chad says, his fingers finding the bare skin at my waist again, "I was thinking maybe we could take a quick break first." He ines his head toward the stairs that lead to the rest of the house—specifically, to his bedroom.

  Before I respond, he's already guiding me away from the group, his hand on the small of my back, insistent but not forceful.

  "Be right back, guys," he calls over his shoulder. "Just gonna grab more snacks."

  Jessica's face is a masterpiece of barely cealed rage as we head for the stairs. Under different circumstances, I'd be sav that victory. Right now, though, I'm too busy panig about what happens when Chad gets me alone and realizes I'm about as sexually ied in him as I am in a furniture catalog.

  We barely make it to the top of the stairs before he's pullio the undry room, closing the door behind us. His lips find mine immediately, hands sliding down to cup my ass through my tennis skirt.

  I kiss him ba autopilot, going through the motions I've performed a huimes before. His tongue pushes into my mouth with familiar eagerness, his body pressing mine against the washing mae.

  Nothing. I feel absolutely nothing. Worse than nothing—there's a creeping nausea building ih each passing sed.

  Chad doesn't notice, too caught up in his own arousal. His hands move to my breasts, kneading them through my cardigan with the unrefihusiasm of someone who learned about forepy from watg Pornhub.

  "Missed you so much," he murmurs against my neck, grinding his ere against my hip. "Been thinking about this all weekend."

  I make the appropriate encing noises, my mind rag for a way out of this situation. His fingers are already w at the buttons of my cardigan, clumsily popping them open to reveal my cy bra underh.

  "So hot," he groans, immediately dropping his head to kiss the tops of my breasts. "Want you so bad."

  My phone buzzes again in my pocket. Chad either doesn't notice or doesn't care, his hands now sliding up my thighs, pushing my skirt higher.

  "Chad," I say, pg my hands on his chest to create some space between us. "Chad, wait."

  He pauses, looking up at me with those puppy-dog blue eyes. "What's wrong?"

  "I'm still not feeling a hundred pert," I lie, buttoning my cardigan back up. "And everyone's downstairs waiting for us."

  His face falls. "Are you serious? You seem fine."

  "I felt dizzy for a sed," I insist, straightening my skirt. "I think I o eat something."

  Chad sighs, running a hand through his hair. "Fine. But ter?" The hope in his voice would be endearing if it weren't so annoying.

  "Maybe," I smile, giving him a quick pe the lips. "Let me see how I feel."

  He accepts this with minimal grumbling, adjusting himself in his jeans before opening the undry room door. "I'll grab those snacks I promised."

  "I'll be right down," I say. "Just o use the bathroom."

  As soon as he's gone, I duto the hallway bathroom, log the door behind me. I check my phone.

  BASEMENT TROLL ??: Your silence suggests hesitation. Perhaps you require motivation.

  Attached is a photo—clearer this time, better lit—of his monstrous cock, fully erect, held in his pudgy hand for scale. Even through the s, it's obse—veiny, purple-headed, impossibly thick.

  My pussy ches so hard it makes me gasp, a fresh wave of wetness soaking into my panties. My nipples tighten painfully against my bra, a hot rush of blood flooding my cheeks.

  "No," I whisper, gripping the edge of the sink. "No, no, no."

  But even as I deny it, my thighs are pressing together, seeking friy body responding to the mere image of Oliver's cock with more enthusiasm than it did to Chad's actual hands on me.

  This has to stop. Now. Before it ruins my life pletely.

  I type out a response, firembling slightly.

  Me: I'm ing over. We o talk.

  BASEMENT TROLL ??: I suspected you would see reason. I'll be waiting.

  I stare at myself ihroom mirror, taking in my flushed cheeks, the slight dition of my pupils, the way my chest is rising and falling too rapidly.

  "Pull yourself together," I hiss at my refle. "Yoing over there to END this. To tell him to his disgusting face that this was a mistake and it's NEVER happening again."

  I spsh cold water on my face, careful not to disturb my makeup, then reapply my lip gloss. I practice my "fuck off forever" spee my head as I check my appearane st time.

  Just as I reach the basement stairs, my phone buzzes again.

  BASEMENT TROLL ??: I've been researg teiques to maximize cervical stimution. The hentai term is "womb pung." I believe you'll find the sensation memorable.

  My kneecaps suddenly feel like they're made of jello. My fug KNEECAPS. Who gets weak KNEECAPS from a text? My body is pletely betraying me in the weirdest ways.

  I desd the stairs to find the group has relocated to the massive seal, already arguing about what movie to watch. Chad has indeed brought more snacks—bowls of chips and pretzels arranged on the coffee table alongside a fresh round of White Cws.

  "Babe!" Chad calls, patting the spaext to him. "We're votiween that new superhero thing or the horror movie about the sorority house."

  Jessica has somehow cimed the spot on Chad's other side, her thigh practically fused to his. She gives me a smug little smile that says "you snooze, you lose."

  I force a smile that doesn't reach my eyes. "Actually, I o head out soon."

  The record-scratch of silence is almost audible.

  "What?" Chad's forehead creases in fusion. "We just started hanging out."

  "Yeah," Amber frowns, "I thought you were feelier?"

  My phone buzzes in my hand. I resist the urge to check it.

  "I am, but my mom just texted. My grandmother's in town uedly and we're doing a family dinner." The lie rolls off my toh practiced ease, but I tell from the way Amber's eyebrows shoot up that she's not buying it.

  "Yrandmother who lives in Phoenix?" she asks, way too ily.

  Fuck. I fot Amber knows my grandparents' locations. This is why you should coordinate your lies beforehand.

  "Yeah," I say smoothly, "she's just passing through on her way to San Francisco. Surprise visit."

  My phone buzzes again. And again. And again.

  Chad's face has darkened slightly. "So you're just... leaving? After you disappeared all Friday night too?"

  Jessica's smirk grows wider. Chelsea and Amber exge a look. Everyone sehe shift in the room's temperature.

  "It's not like I phis," I say, an edge creeping into my voice. "Family stuff, you know?"

  Tyler and Brandon suddenly bee very ied in the chip bowl. Mike mumbles something about getting more ice. The social barometer is dropping rapidly.

  "Sure," Chad says, his voice ft. "Family stuff."

  Jessica immediately seizes the opportunity, pg her hand on Chad's arm. "It's OK. We'll still have fun without her."

  I could murder her with my eyebrht now.

  My phone is having a seizure in my hand, buzzing tinuously now. I finally gnce down at it.

  BASEMENT TROLL ??: My testicles are quite full. It's been 40 hours since our st enter.

  BASEMENT TROLL ??: I calcute approximately 1.8 billion sperm awaiting deployment.

  "Bir?" Amber is staring at me with . "Your face is all red. Are you sure you're OK?"

  "Fine!" I squeak, my voi octave higher than normal. "Just... hot in here."

  It IS hot. Specifically, there's a radiati spreading from between my legs upward through my body, like someo a campfire in my pelvis. The thin cotton of my panties is stig to my pussy lips, soaked through with what I'm desperately pretending is just sweat.

  "I really o go," I say, already bag toward the stairs. "I'll text you guys ter!"

  "Bir, wait," Chad calls, standing up. "I'll walk you out."

  "No need!" I'm already half the stairs. "I know the way!"

  "Seriously?" he calls after me. "You're just leaving like this?"

  I hear the hurt and fusion in his voice, mixing with annoyance. I'm heming social capital right now, but my phone won't stop vibrating in my hand, and there's a hollow, empty feeling i of my stomach that has nothing to do with missing lunch.

  "I'll call you ter!" I shout over my shoulder, practically running for the front door now.

  I burst outside into the afternoon sunshine, gulping in fresh air like I've been uer. My hands are shaking so badly I almost drop my keys.

  Once safely inside my mom's Mercedes, I finally look at the rest of Oliver's texts.

  BASEMENT TROLL ??: The lube I purchased is warming on tact. I believe you'll find the sensation agreeable.

  BASEMENT TROLL ??: I expect you to address me as "Oliver-sama" when you arrive.

  "WHAT THE FUCK?" I shriek, my voice eg in the car's interior.

  The absolute AUDACITY of this disgusting basement-dwelling, ag, unwashed TROLL to think I would call him anything other than "mistake I'm about to correct"!

  I start the car with more force than necessary, bag out of Chad's driveway so quickly the tires squeal. As I drive, my entire body feels like it's vibrating at a frequenly dogs hear. The air ditioning bsts against my skin, raising goosebumps along my arms and legs, but I still feel like I'm burning up from the inside.

  My teeth are actually chattering, not from cold but from some bizarre tension that's making my jaw ch rhythmically. My scalp is tingling, little electric pulses running down the bay neck. Even my fug EARLOBES feel sensitive, blood rushing to them until they're hot to the touch.

  Each bump in the road makes my tits bounce slightly, and eaent sends a jolt of awarehrough me, my nipples so hard they're actually painful against the y bra. Between my legs, my pussy is throbbing with its owbeat, each pulse sending arickle of weto join the embarrassing flood already soaking my panties.

  "Yoing over there to END this," I tell myself firmly, gripping the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles turn white. "Yoing to tear him a new one. Yoing to make it CRYSTAL CLEAR that this sick, twisted thing—whatever it is—is OVER."

  My phone, resting in the cup holder, lights up with aext.

  BASEMENT TROLL ??: I've left the back door unlocked. e directly to my bedroom. Sed door on the right.

  I swerve slightly, correg my course with a muttered curse. The mental image of Oliver's room—probably pstered with anime posters, reeking of unwashed boy and Mountain Dew—should disgust me.

  "Focus," I mutter, taking the turn onto his street a little too quickly. "You're Bir Williams. You run this school. You are NOT going to be the personal cum dumpster for some disgusting otaku, no matter how big his dick is."

  Oliver's house is exactly what I expected—a modest two-story in an older neighborhood, nowhere he gated unities where Chad and I live. The wn needs mowing, the bushes are slightly rown, and there's a faded "Honor Student" bumper sticker on the family sedan parked in the driveway.

  I park the Mercedes a few houses down, not wanting to leave evideny visit. The st thing I need is some neighbor mentioning the luxury car outside the Tanaka resideo Oliver's parents.

  My entire body is trembling as I make my way to the back of the house. My fiwitch at my sides, my legs feel both leaden aless, and there's a persistent buzziion at the base of my spihat keeps traveling upward in waves.

  "End it. End it. End it," I t under my breath as I find the back door, left unlocked as promised.

  The house is quiet, almost eerily so. I move through pears to be a kit—normal, middle-css, nothing special—aoward the hallway.

  Sed door on the right.

  I pause outside it, gathering my rage, stoking it like a fire. I think of Chad's hurt expression as I left, of Jessica's smug smile, of the social points I'm losing with every minute I spend away from the group. I think of the Pn B pills, the ruined uniform, the humiliation of finding Oliver's cum dried in my belly button.

  White-hot fury courses through me. Good. I hat. I o be angry, not... whatever else my traitorous body is feeling.

  I throw the door open without knog, prepared to unto my tirade.

  Oliver's bedroom is exactly the nerd-cave I imagined—anime posters c the walls, a desk cluttered with manga and a high-end gamiup, shelves lined with those creepy figurines of cartoon girls with impossible proportions. The air smells of a syic apple st, like he frantically sprayed air freshener before I arrived.

  Oliver himself is sitting on his bed, wearing a bck T-shirt with some anime girl on it and gray sants. His hair is slightly damp, like he actually showered for once, and his gsses catch the light as he looks up at me.

  "Bir," he says, his voice irritatingly calm. "You came."

  "OF COURSE I CAME!" I sm the door behind me, my rage finally finding its outlet. "You wouldn't stop TEXTING me! While I was with my BOYFRIEND and FRIENDS!"

  Oliver doesn't flinch at my volume, just watches me with those dark eyes behind his smudged gsses. "Your messages suggested you were ameo meeting."

  "I came here to tell you to FUCK OFF!" I stomp toward him, my entire body vibrating with fury. "This ENDS now. Whatever sick thing happened between us was a MISTAKE! It will NEVER happen again!"

  My eyes nd on the shelf of anime figurines beside his bed—ridiculous pstic girls with huge eyes and bigger tits, posed in various suggestive positions. Something in me snaps.

  With one sweeping motion of my arm, I knock the entire colle to the floor, sending pstic bodies scattering across the carpet.

  "WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?" I scream, my voice crag with emotion. "You think you just TEXT me like I'm your personal SLUT? Like I'm one of your disgustiai characters? I'm BLAIR WILLIAMS! I'm dating the QUARTERBACK! I'm going to ELL!"

  Oliver rises from the bed, his bulk surprisingly imposing as he straightens to his full height. "Are you finished?"

  "NO, I AM NOT FINISHED!" I'm so angry I barely see straight. "I want you to DELETE my number! I want you tet you EVER touched me! I want—"

  ---

  PLAP-PLAP-PLAP-PLAP-PLAP-PLAP-PLAP!

  My ass bounces against Oliver's hips in a rapid, humiliating rhythm as he sms into me from behind. I'm face-down on his anime-character bedspread, tits smashed against the mattress, fingers clutg the sheets so hard my knuckles are white.

  How did I get here? AGAIN?

  My mind fshes bae knog his figurio the floor, screaming at him, pointing my finger in his face, telling him it was OVER—

  And now I'm ft on my stomach, legs spyed, ass raised slightly by his hands positioned under my hips, taking the deepest dick-punches of my life.

  "S-stop fighting it," Oliver grunts above me, his voice strained but somehow still infuriatingly calm.

  "FUCK—YOU—" I try to snarl, but each word es along with a brutal thrust that sends shockwaves through my entire body, transf my rage into pathetic, high-pitched squeals.

  My expefit lies scattered across his bedroom floor like casualties of war:

  - My baby blue cardigan hangs from his desk chair, oton missing where he ripped it open.

  - My white tennis skirt—the ohat made Brandon literally walk into a wall earlier today—crumpled by the door where it fell after Oliver ya down my legs.

  - My La Per bra—120 of Italiaorn in half, the straps snapped from the cups.

  - My soaked white cotton panties dangling from the er of his puter monitor.

  - Even my ptform sneakers are kicked off in different dires, one on its side by his closet, the other somehow on top of his bookshelf.

  The only thing I'm still wearing is my gold e neckce, which jingles against my colrboh each thrust, a metallic taunt of who I am: BLAIR, reduced to a whimpering, squealing mess uhe school's resident disgusting shut-in.

  SQUELCH-SLAP! SQUELCH-SLAP! SQUELCH-SLAP!

  The sounds are so humiliating I want to die. My pussy is absolutely FLOODED, making these obse su noises each time his massive cock pulls back, followed by a wet SLAP when he drives fain.

  "Your hair smells nice," Oliver ents versationally, as if he isn't currently rearranging my internal ans. One of his hands lifts from my hip to stroke my carefully styled waves—the ones I spent 30 minutes perfeg this m to make Jessica Porter seethe with jealousy.

  "Don't—touch—my—"

  My protest dissolves into a pathetiNGAAAAHHHH!" as he chooses that exaent to aim directly at my cervix, the massive head of his cock battering against it like it's trying to knock down a door.

  "You knocked over my limited edition Misa figure," he says, his tone as casual as if enting on the weather. "Those are collectibles."

  I try to twist my head around to gre at him, but he chooses that moment to grab a fistful of my perfect blonde hair, yanking back gently but firmly. My spine arches involuntarily, f my ass higher, allowing his cock to drive even deeper.

  "NGH! LET GO!" I wail, but my body betrays me once again—the slight pain of my hair being pulled sends a shock of pleasure straight to my clit, triggering one of those small, firecracker asms that keep exploding throughout my nervous system.

  "No," Oliver says simply, maintaining his grip on my hair like reins, using it to trol the angle of my body.

  PLAP-PLAP-PLAP-PLAP-PLAP-PLAP!

  He speeds up, his soft belly spping against my lower back with each thrust, his thighs eg with my ass in a meaty percussion. I feel the sweat from his body dripping onto my back—actual droplets of otaku perspiration nding on my perfect cheerleader skin. It should disgust me. Instead, each spsh of his bodily fluid feels like it's markiory.

  "I 't—believe—I'm—letting you—" I try to maintain my rage, to remind myself how disgusting this is, but then he shifts position slightly, his cock head dragging across a spot inside me that makes my vision blur.

  "This?" Oliver supplies, hitting that same spot again and again with devastating accuracy. "Use your words, Bir. Tell me what you're letting me do."

  "FUCK ME!" I sob, the words torn from somewhere deep inside, my voice barely reizable. "YOU'RE FUG ME!"

  "Yes," he agrees, still in that infuriatingly calm voice, though his breathing is ragged now. "I am."

  His free hand slides around to find my clit, his fingers surprisingly dexterous as they circle the swollen nub. The dual stimution—his cock battering my insides, his fingers w my clit—triggers anasm, this oroha. HOW DOES HE KNOW HOW TO DO THAT?

  "HNNNNGGGG!" My toes curl so hard they cramp, my legs trembling untrolbly. My inner walls cmp down on his invading shaft, trying to squeeze it deeper even as my mind screams in protest.

  Oliver makes this gross, wheezing sound—like he's having an asthma attack but horny—as my pussy ripples around him. "Your body is... very ho," he pants.

  "Shut UP!" I sp my hand against his mattress in frustration. "Just... shut up and fuck me if yoing to!"

  He responds by putting more weight on me, pressing me deeper into the mattress, his bulk pinning me pletely. Now I'm truly trapped, sandwiched between his sweaty mass and his not-particurly- bedding. The position forces his cock to a slightly different angle, ohat lets him grind against my G-spot with each small movement.

  "Ah! Ah! AH!" Each thrust forces these humiliating little sounds from my throat, high-pitched and desperate.

  "You came here... to yell at me," Oliver says between thrusts, his voice strained now, finally showing some effort. "But your body... wahis."

  "No," I protest weakly, even as another mini-asm ripples through me. "I hate this. I hate you."

  "Hmmm."

  As if to prove his point, my traitorous t ches around him again, produg an obse SQUELCH that probably be heard door. A fresh gush of my arousal trickles down my ihighs, joining the mess already soaking into his bedspread.

  Through tear-blurred eyes, I see one of his anime figuriaring at me from the floor where I k—a pstic girl with impossibly rge eyes and equally impossible anatomy, witnessing my plete degradation.

  PLAP-PLAP-SLURP-PLAP-SQUELCH-PLAP!

  The sounds grow wetter as my physical arousal increases, my pussy literally drooling around his shaft, maki, sloppy hat will haunt my nightmares. Each thrust forces more of my juices out around his cock, creating this humiliating squelg symphony.

  "You're... dripping," Oliver observes, releasing my hair to run his fihrough the wetness coating my ihighs. He brings them to my face, f me to see the evideny arousal—the glistening strands stretg between his digits. "Look how wet you are for me."

  "It's just—a physical—rea!" I gasp between thrusts. "It doesn't mean—anything!"

  Oliver responds by grabbing my hips with both hands and flipping me over in one surprisingly smooth motion, his coever leaving my body as he turo face him.

  The ge in position forces me to front the reality of what's happening—I'm naked on Oliver Tanaka's bed, my legs spread wide around his bulk, his disgusting anime shirt rucked up to reveal his soft stomach, his sants pushed down to his thighs.

  I see everything now—his flushed face, the sweat beading on his forehead, the iy in his eyes behind those smudged gsses. But most disturbingly, I see where we're joined—my perfectly waxed pussy stretched obsely around his massive shaft, the lips gripping him like they never want to let go.

  "Look at me," Oliver demands, his voice deeper than usual.

  I shake my head, turning away, uo bear it.

  He slows his thrusts to an agonizing crawl, barely moving inside me, just grinding the head of his cock against my cervix in slow, deliberate circles. "Look. At. Me."

  The slow, deep pressure is somehow worse than the hard fug—it's trated, deliberate, focused entirely on my most sensitive pces. My eyes roll ba my head as anasm builds, this one slower, deeper, more iable.

  "FINE! I'm looking!" I snap, finally meeting his gaze, hating the triumph I see there.

  "Good," he says, resuming his previous pace, driving into me with renewed forow that he has my attention. "I want you to remember... who's fug you."

  "As if—I could—fet—" I gasp, each word punctuated by the impact of his cock hittihs Chad couldn't reach with a GPS and aension cord.

  My tits bounce wildly with each thrust, hypnoti their motion, drawing Oliver's attention. He reaches out, his sweaty hands cupping the perfect mounds that half the football team would sacrifice their throwing arms to touch.

  "Don't—" I try to protest, but then his thumbs brush over my nipples, and another small asm zips through me, short-circuiting my obje.

  "You have beautiful breasts," he says, his awkward, formal phrasing somehow making it worse. "The proportions are mathematically ideal."

  Only Oliver Tanaka could make a pliment sound like a fug geometry problem. A, humiliatingly, it works—my nipples harden further under his touch, my back arg to press my tits more firmly into his hands.

  PLAP-PLAP-PLAP-PLAP-SQUELCH-PLAP!

  He's fug me faster now, his rhythm growiic, his breathing more bored. I feel his cock swelling inside me, the veins throbbing against my walls, the head expanding to its full terrifying size.

  "Ngh," I gasp, sudden panic cutting through the pleasure haze.

  I think about yesterday m—the endless leaking, the panty liners, the Pn B pill, the disgusting cum plug in my belly button, the showers that didn't quite wash away the evidence.

  "Wait—" I try to say, to warn him, to demand he pull out.

  But all that es out is a high-pitched whimper as his cock grinds against my cervix with bruising force, the pressure triggering another, strasm that robs me of speech, of thought, of everything except the feeling of him inside me.

  "Ah," Oliver grunts, his face t into an expression of intense tration. "Bir..."

  His cock jerks violently, the first pulse sending a thick jet of cum directly against my cervix. The sensation is so inte, heavy, forceful—that my asm intensifies, my entire body shakih him.

  GLORRRP. SPLORRRT. BLORRRP.

  The sounds are devastati, nasty, undeniable evidence of him flooding my womb with his seed. Each zy pulse of his cock delivers ahick rope of baby batter directly through my cervix, filling the space beyond with his geic material.

  It's not the frantic ejacution of our first enters—this is slower, more thh, like his balls know they've cimed this territory before and take their time properly fertilizing it.

  "You're—inside—" I whimper, feeling the hot, viscous fluid pooling in my deepest recesses. "You're cumming inside me—AGAIN."

  "Yes," Oliver agrees, grinding his hips against mine in small circles, ensuring his seed is deposited as deeply as possible. "Where it belongs."

  SPLURT. BLLORRRP.

  More cum pumps into me, so mue I actually feel my lower abdomen distending slightly from the pressure. It's hot—scalding hot—and thick like pudding, coating my insides with a sticky yer of otaku DNA.

  The feeling of being filled so pletely, so thhly, triggers the most powerful asm yet—a full-body, toe-curling, vision-blurring climax that has me thrashih him, my pussy milking his cock for every st drop of his disgusting seed.

  "NNNNGAAAAAH!" I wail, my voice crag with the iy. "OH FUCK! OH GOD! OLIVERRRRR!"

  He keeps grinding into me through both asms, his cock still pumping out the st remnants of his massive load, my pussy still vulsing around him in greedy pulses.

  Finally, FINALLY, he stills, his bulk colpsing on top of me, pinnio the mattress beh his sweaty weight. I feel his heart hammering against my chest, his breath hot against my neck, his cock still twitg inside me.

  For a long moment, we just lie there, both panting, both trembling with aftershocks. Then, slowly, Oliver pushes himself up to look at me.

  "That was... satisfactory," he says, his ahrasing almost making me ugh despite everything.

  "Get off me," I mutter, the post-asmic haze already fading, reality crashing ba. "You're heavy."

  He plies, rolling to the side, his cock sliding out of me with an obse SCHLORRRRP that makes me wihe moment he's dislodged, I feel the first gush of cum leak out of me, hot and thick as it oozes between my thighs.

  SPLLORRRRP. SPLURT.

  "Oh my GOD," I groan, feeling the seemingly endless flow of semen leaking from my thhly used hole. "How much did you PUMP into me?"

  Oliver actually looks thoughtful, as if calg the exaetric measurement. "Based oime since our st enter and my typical produ rate, approximately—"

  "It was rhetorical!" I snap, cutting him off before he give me the actual milliliter t of his ball sauce. "Just... get me a towel or something."

  I look down at the mess between my legs—my once-perfect pussy noing, reddened hole leaking thick, yellowish-white cum onto his bedspread. The stuff is disgusting—clumpy and viscous, with the sistency of half-set custard.

  A fresh wave of humiliation washes over me as I realize what I've done—again. I came here to end it, to assert my independeo recim my dignity. Instead, I've let this disgusting anime-obsessed blob pump anallon of baby batter into my unprotected womb.

  And the worst part? The absolute WORST PART? I came harder than I ever have in my life. Again.

  Oliver hands me a towel—thankfully, a one—and I press it between my legs, trying to stem the flow of cum still leaking out of me. It's useless, of course. I feel the heavy weight of his deposit settling deep inside me, too far for any amount of towel-pressing to reach.

  "I need another Pn B," I mutter, more to myself than to him. "That's another fifty dolrs down the drain."

  "The effectiveness diminishes with repeated use in close succession," Oliver informs me helpfully, pushing his gsses up his nose. "And sidering the volume of sperm deposited—"

  "SHUT UP!" I throw the cum-soaked towel at him, missing by a foot. "Just... shut up."

  I swing my legs over the side of his bed, wing at the feeling of more cum gushing out as I shift position. My thighs are slick with it, strings of the stuff eg me to the mattress momentarily before breaking.

  My legs are shaking so badly I'm not sure I stand. Every muscle in my body feels simultaneously wrung out arically charged, like I've both run a marathon and been struck by lightning.

  "What is HAPPENING to me?" I whisper, staring at my trembling hands. "What are you DOING to me?"

  Oliver just watches me from the bed, his expression unreadable behind those smudged gsses. "I believe the term is 'sexual addi,'" he says ically. "Your body has developed a physiological dependen the sensations I provide."

  "That's not a thing," I snap, finally f myself to stand. More cum immediately runs down my thighs, dripping onto his carpet. "You're not a drug."

  "The neurochemical response is simir," he shrugs. "Dopamine, oxyto, endorphins—"

  "Whatever." I cut him off, sing the room for my scattered clothing. "This was the st time. FOR REAL."

  Oliver just smiles—a small, knowing smile that makes me want to sp him. "If you say so."

  "I DO say so!" I snatch my torn bra from the floor, examining the damage with dismay. "This was La Per, you asshole!"

  "I'll purchase a rept," he offers, still making no move to dress himself, his softening cock resting against his thigh, still glistening with our bined fluids.

  "Don't bother," I mutter, gathering the rest of my clothes. "I don't want anything from you."

  Except, apparently, multiple earth-shattering asms and a womb full of sperm. But that's just biology, right? Just physical reas. It doesn't MEAN anything.

  As I pull my skirt ba, I feel Oliver's eyes oudyih that infuriating ess. I also feel his cum still leaking out of me, soaking into my pahe moment I pull them on.

  "This is disgusting," I hiss, feeling the warm stiess spreadiween my thighs. "I'm going to be dripping your nasty ball slop for days!"

  "Fasating, isn't it?" Oliver says, finally sitting up. "The human body's capacity for fluid exge during sexual—"

  "STOP TALKING!"

  I finish dressing in furious silence, eaent sending fresh trickles of cum down my thighs. My bra is unwearable, so I stuff it into my pocket, pulling my cardigan closed and buttoning it as best I with the missing button.

  My hair is a disaster—tangled and sweaty, nothing like the perfect waves I spent so long creating this m. My makeup has miraculously survived, though my lip gloss is pletely gone, probably smeared all over Oliver's neck at some point during our... enter.

  I check my phohree missed calls from Chad. Two texts from Amber asking where I am. One from Jessica letting me know that they've decided to watch the horror movie "since you abandoned us."

  "I have to go," I say, moving toward the door on still-shaky legs. "This never happened. Again."

  "You left a hair clip st time," Oliver says, gesturing to his desk where, sure enough, one of my pearl-decorated clips sits like a trophy. "Would you like it back?"

  "Keep it," I snarl, yanking open his bedroom door. "Start a colle of all the girls whret toug you."

  "That would be a rather small colle," he calls after me as I storm down the hallway. "Just you, in fact."

  I pause at the back door, my hand on the knob, fighting the urge to go bad sp that smug rationality off his face. Instead, I straighten my shoulders, fix my posture, and step outside, trying to recim some fragment of the Bir Williams who walked ihan an ho.

  But with each step toward my car, I feel Oliver's cum sliding down my thighs, a persistent, viscous reminder of what just happened. Of what keeps happening, despite my best iions.

  "The st time," I whisper to myself, climbing carefully into my mom's Mercedes, wing as I sit down and feel a fresh gush of fluid escape me. "That was absolutely the st time."

  Even I don't believe me.