I pushed through the front doors of the school, the heavy glass swinging shut behind me. The hallway smelled like floor wax and coffee, the same as any other morning, but my body remembered last night—the ache between my legs, the soreness in my hips, the tender bite marks along my collarbone hidden under my thin pink top. I pulled my skirt down a little, but it rode back up as I walked. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, making everything look pale and washed out.
There was a pause. The first few students near the bulletin board turned their heads. Their eyes ran over me—my chest, my hips, the way my skirt clung to my thighs. A whisper rippled through them, then another, until the whole stretch of hallway seemed to know I was there.
"That's her."
"Heard she was the party gift."
I smiled, even though I didn't quite understand the words. The party had been good. I had been friendly with everyone, just like I was supposed to be. That was what this school did—everyone was friendly, and I was the friendliest of all.
A girl detached herself from a cluster near the water fountain. She had short black hair and a silver ring through her eyebrow, and she walked right up to me without slowing down. Her hand came up, palm flat, and covered my right breast through my top. She squeezed—hard, the pressure making me gasp.
"Heard you were the main event last night," she said, not letting go. Her thumb found my nipple through the thin cotton and pressed, rolling it against the fabric. I felt it stiffen immediately, poking against her hand.
"I was friendly with everyone," I said, my voice a little breathless. The ache between my legs pulsed, a warm reminder of the night before. I didn't pull back. She was just being friendly, and I was happy to be touched.
"Yeah," she said, releasing my breast with a final squeeze. She let her hand trail down my stomach, over my hip, and then she walked past me, her fingers grazing my ass as she went. "We know."
I took a step forward, and the hallway opened up. Hands found me from both sides. A boy with a mop of brown hair reached out and pinched my left nipple through my shirt, pulling it forward until it hurt. I let out a small yelp, but he just laughed and let go, disappearing into the flow of students. A palm slid up the back of my skirt, rough fingers pressing against the thin fabric of my thong, tracing the line of my ass before pulling away. Someone else—I couldn't see who—pressed their knuckles between my legs from behind, pushing my thighs apart, making me stumble.
I kept walking. My body was responding the way it always did—wetness gathering, heat pooling low in my belly. The soreness from last night mixed with a fresh buzz of arousal. My nipples were hard against my top, visible through the cotton. I didn't try to hide them. There was no point.
A familiar voice cut through the noise. "Elena."
I turned and saw Derek from English class falling into step beside me. He was tall, with dark hair that fell over his forehead and a lazy grin that made his eyes crinkle. His hand landed on my ass like it belonged there—palm flat, fingers spread, squeezing the curve of it through my skirt. He didn't take it away.
"Missed you at the party," he said, his thumb tracing the seam of my skirt. "Heard you saved a spot for me."
I remembered him from the living room—his hands on my hips, his mouth on my neck. I had been too lost in the crowd to know if I'd saved anything, but I nodded anyway. "I was friendly with everyone," I said again. It was the truth.
"Didn't see you after that first bit," he said, his hand squeezing harder. He pulled me closer, walking while his hip bumped mine, his fingers digging into my ass cheek. "Val had you in that bedroom for hours."
"She wanted me to be friendly with everyone," I said. A group of girls passed, and one of them reached out and ran her fingers across my stomach, just below my ribs. I shivered.
He grinned and released my ass, but his hand stayed close, resting on my lower back as we walked. "Good girl."
We reached the junction where the hallway split toward the lockers. More students were gathering now, pressing in from every side. A girl with blonde braids reached out and cupped my breast through my top, squeezing the weight of it, her thumb finding my nipple again. She didn't say anything—just held it, feeling it grow hard under her grip, then let go and walked away as if she'd done nothing at all.
Another hand—male, by the size—slid up my skirt from behind, two fingers pressing against my thong, finding the damp spot that was already soaking through the fabric. I felt them rub me through the lace, pressing harder, making me gasp. I leaned back into the touch without thinking, my legs spreading slightly. The fingers pushed, the lace stretching, and then one fingertip slipped inside me, just barely, the wet heat of my body welcoming it.
"Fuck, she's wet," a voice muttered behind me.
I blushed but didn't pull away. The finger stayed for a moment, probing, then withdrew. The hand slapped my ass, hard, and was gone. I stumbled forward, catching myself on the row of lockers, my forehead resting against the cool metal for a second.
He turned and walked away, disappearing into the crowd. The stream of students continued around me, hands still reaching out. A boy with a backpack brushed his palm across my chest as he passed. A girl tugged the hem of my skirt, pulling it up just enough to flash the black lace of my thong, then let it fall with a laugh. I straightened up, smoothing my top, and kept walking toward my locker.
The hallway stretched ahead of me, long and bright and full of faces I was starting to recognize. They all looked at me the same way—like I was something they could touch, could take, could use. And I let them. I was friendly. That was what made me belong here.
I reached my locker and spun the combination, my fingers trembling slightly. The metal was cool against my hip as I leaned into it, letting my body rest. I could feel the wetness between my legs, the slick slide of my thighs rubbing together. My top was damp where my nipples had left small circles of moisture. I knew everyone could see it, but I didn't care. This was what being friendly felt like—a constant, humming ache that never quite faded.
The bell rang, shrill and close. The hallway began to empty, students streaming toward their first-period classes. I grabbed my English book and closed my locker, buttoning the thin top that had come undone sometime in the crush. I turned toward Room 204.
As I walked, a girl with dark skin and braids fell into step beside me. She was stocky, with strong arms and a knowing smile. "Hey, new girl," she said. "I heard you're the friendliest girl in school."
I nodded, smiling back. "I try."
She reached out without breaking stride, her hand sliding up my skirt and cupping me through my thong. Her palm was warm, covering the whole of my mound, her fingers pressing the fabric into my slit. I sucked in a breath, my hips tilting into her touch.
"Wet already," she observed, her voice flat. "You always like this?"
"I… I think so," I said, my cheeks burning. "It's just—everyone's so friendly."
She laughed, a low sound, and removed her hand. She wiped her fingers on her jeans without looking down. "You're gonna be popular for a long time, new girl. See you around."
She veered off toward a different hallway, leaving me alone for the last few steps to Room 204. The door was open, and I slipped inside, finding my seat near the back. The teacher hadn't arrived yet. A few students looked up as I entered, their eyes dropping to my chest, my skirt, the way my legs pressed together under the desk.
I opened my notebook and pretended to review my notes, but my mind was already at lunch. The supply closet behind the gym. The promise of more friendly attention.
I smiled, my fingers tracing the edge of the page. The ache between my legs pulsed, and I pressed my thighs together, feeling the wetness soak against my skin. I was ready. I would always be ready.
The minutes stretched. I checked the clock above the whiteboard—two minutes past the bell. Then three. The door stayed closed. No footsteps in the hallway. No sound of a teacher's keys rattling.
Around me, the classroom shifted. A few students looked at the door, then at each other. Someone chuckled, low and knowing. I kept my eyes on my notebook, the blank page staring back at me, my fingers still tracing the edge of the paper.
"Guess Mr. Harrison's not coming," a boy said from somewhere behind me. His voice was casual, but there was an edge underneath it—something that made my stomach tighten.
"Guess not," another voice answered.
The room went quiet for a beat. Then I heard the sound of a lock clicking. Someone had gotten up and turned the latch on the door. I looked up, my heart skipping. A boy with short blond hair and a football jacket stood by the door, his hand still on the lock. He turned around, scanning the room, and his eyes landed on me.
"So," he said, loud enough for everyone to hear. "This is the girl from the party."
Heads turned. All of them. The girl with the braids who had touched me in the hallway was sitting two rows over, her eyes already on me, a small smile on her lips. The boy with the mop of brown hair who had pinched my nipple earlier was leaning back in his chair, his hands behind his head, watching. Others I didn't recognize—faces that had blurred into the crowd of the hallway—were looking at me the same way.
Like I was something they could take.
A flush crept up my chest, spreading across my cheeks. I didn't look away. I never looked away. That wasn't what friendly people did.
"I—I was at the party," I said, my voice soft. "I was friendly."
"We heard," the blond boy said, walking toward me. His footsteps were slow, deliberate, the squeak of his sneakers on the tile the only sound in the room. "Heard you were really friendly."
He stopped at my desk, looking down at me. His eyes dropped to my chest, where my nipples were still hard against the thin cotton of my top, visible to everyone. I didn't cover myself. There was no point.
"Stand up," he said.
It wasn't a question.
I stood. My thighs pressed together under the desk, the wetness between them slick and warm. My skirt had ridden up while I was sitting, and I could feel the air on the backs of my thighs, the hem barely covering me.
The blond boy's hand came up and cupped my breast through my top. He squeezed, his palm rough, his fingers digging into the soft flesh. I let out a small breath, my hips shifting forward. His thumb found my nipple, pressing it against the fabric, rolling it until I gasped.
"Yeah," he said, almost to himself. "She's real."
A girl with long red hair stood up from her desk near the front. "Let me see."
The blond boy stepped aside, but his hand stayed on me, sliding down to my waist, pulling me forward. The red-haired girl walked toward me, her eyes fixed on my chest. She reached out and grabbed the hem of my top, pulling it up. The fabric bunched under my chin, exposing my breasts to the whole room.
I heard a few sharp intakes of breath. A low whistle.
"No bra," the red-haired girl observed. She reached out and cupped both my breasts, her palms covering them, squeezing the weight. Her thumbs found my nipples, pressing them flat against her palms, then rolling them between her fingers. I moaned, a soft, helpless sound, my knees bending slightly.
"She's sensitive," she said, looking at the blond boy. "Really sensitive."
"Good," he said.
More movement around me. Chairs scraped against the floor. Footsteps approached. Hands found me from every direction—fingers pinching my nipples, palms cupping my breasts, a hand sliding up my skirt from behind, pressing against the soaked fabric of my thong.
"Fuck, she's wet," a girl's voice said from behind me. Her fingers pressed harder, the lace of my thong stretching, the tips of her fingers slipping inside me. I bucked against her hand, my body responding before my mind could catch up.
"She's always wet," another voice said. I recognized it—the girl with the braids, standing near my desk, watching. "She was wet in the hallway this morning. She was wet at the party. She's always ready."
"Is that true?" the blond boy asked, his hand still on my breast, his face close to mine. His eyes were dark, intense. "Are you always ready?"
I nodded, my breath coming in short gasps. "I—I want to be friendly. I want everyone to be happy."
"Happy?" He laughed, but it wasn't mean. It was almost affectionate. "You want to make us happy?"
"Yes," I whispered.
He leaned in and kissed me. It was hard, his mouth claiming mine, his tongue pushing past my lips. I kissed him back, my hands coming up to grip his shoulders, the taste of him filling my mouth. His hand left my breast and slid down my stomach, under the waistband of my skirt, into my thong. His fingers found me wet and open, sliding into me without resistance.
I moaned into his mouth, my hips pressing into his hand. He pushed deeper, two fingers now, curling inside me. I broke the kiss, gasping, my forehead resting against his.
"She's tight," he said, his voice rough. "Like, really tight."
"Let me feel," the red-haired girl said. She moved around me, her hand joining his under my skirt, her fingers pressing against my clit while his fingers worked inside me. I cried out, my body trembling, the dual sensation overwhelming.
"Look at her," someone said from the side. "She's loving it."
I was. I couldn't deny it. My body was on fire, every nerve ending alive, the wetness soaking through my thong and running down my thighs. I opened my eyes, looking around the room. There were at least a dozen students gathered around my desk now, some watching, some touching, all of them focused on me.
This was what I wanted. To be friendly. To belong.
The blond boy withdrew his fingers, and I whimpered at the loss. He held them up, glistening with my wetness, and showed them to the room. A few students laughed, low and appreciative.
"Get her on the desk," someone said.
Hands guided me, pushed me, until I was sitting on top of my desk, my legs hanging over the edge. The blond boy stood between my thighs, pushing them apart, my skirt riding up to my hips. My thong was visible—black lace, soaked through, clinging to my skin.
"Take it off," the red-haired girl said, pointing at my thong.
I hooked my thumbs under the elastic and pulled it down, the wet fabric peeling away from my skin. I let it fall to my ankles, stepping out of it. I was bare now, completely exposed, my thighs spread, my wet cunt open to the classroom.
"Look at that," a boy said from somewhere behind me. "She's dripping."
The blond boy dropped to his knees in front of me. He grabbed my thighs, pulling me to the edge of the desk, and buried his face between my legs.
I screamed.
It wasn't pain. It was overwhelmed—the feeling of his tongue on me, pressing into me, licking up the wetness that had been building since I walked through the front doors this morning. His mouth was hot, insistent, his tongue pushing inside me, then moving up to my clit, circling it, sucking it.
"Oh—oh god," I gasped, my hands gripping the edge of the desk, my head falling back.
"Keep going," the red-haired girl said, her voice calm, clinical. "She's close. Look at her thighs shaking."
She was right. I felt the pressure building, the familiar tightening in my belly, the heat spreading through my whole body. I wanted to hold it, to make it last, but my body was already there, already falling.
I came with a cry, my hips bucking against his face, my legs clamping around his head. He didn't stop—he kept licking, kept sucking, drawing out every pulse of my orgasm until I was trembling, boneless, sliding off the desk.
He stood up, his face wet, grinning. "She tastes good."
"My turn," the red-haired girl said.
She pushed him aside and climbed onto the desk, straddling my lap. Her hands cupped my face, tilting it up to meet her eyes. "You're going to be friendly with me now, okay?"
I nodded, still catching my breath.
She leaned in and kissed me—deep, her tongue sliding into my mouth. I tasted myself on her lips, salty and sweet. Her hands found my breasts, squeezing, pinching, while her hips ground against mine, the fabric of her jeans pressing against my bare, sensitive cunt.
I moaned into her mouth, my hands finding her waist, holding her. She broke the kiss and sat back, looking down at me.
"I want to hear you say it," she said. "Tell me you want this."
"I want this," I said, my voice hoarse. "I want to be friendly with everyone. I want—"
"Good girl."
She slid off my lap and turned around, pulling me off the desk. I stumbled, my legs weak, and someone caught me from behind—a boy with strong arms, his chest pressing against my back. His hands found my breasts immediately, cupping them, squeezing, his mouth hot on my neck.
"She's been fucked raw from last night," he said, his breath against my ear. "But she still wants more. Don't you?"
"Yes," I breathed. "I always want more."
He laughed, his hand sliding down my stomach, between my legs. His fingers found me still wet, still open, and he pushed inside me—two fingers, then three, stretching me. I cried out, my head falling back against his shoulder.
"Look at her," the red-haired girl said, standing in front of me now, watching. "She's so fucking eager. She'd let any of us use her, right now, right here, and she'd thank us for it."
"Would you?" the boy behind me asked, his fingers still moving inside me.
"Yes," I said. "I'd thank you. I—I like being friendly. I like making everyone happy."
"Then show us," he said, withdrawing his fingers. He spun me around, pushing me to my knees on the floor. The tile was cold against my bare legs, but I didn't move. I looked up at him—at the room full of students surrounding me, all watching, all waiting.
He unbuttoned his jeans, pulling them down just enough to free his cock. It was hard, thick, the tip already wet. He stepped closer, and I opened my mouth without being told, my tongue reaching out to touch him.
He groaned as I took him in, my lips closing around him, my tongue tracing the length of him. I heard murmurs from around the room—approval, excitement—and I felt a surge of warmth in my chest. This was where I belonged. On my knees, making people happy.
"Fuck," he breathed, his hand finding the back of my head, guiding me. "She's good at this."
"Party gift," someone said, and a ripple of laughter moved through the room.
I kept going, bobbing my head, taking him as deep as I could. His hand tightened in my hair, holding me there, his hips thrusting forward, filling my throat. I gagged, tears streaming down my cheeks, but I didn't pull away. This was what being friendly meant.
When he came, it was sudden—a low groan, his body tensing, and then the hot rush of him filling my mouth. I swallowed, not thinking, just doing, and he pulled out, breathing hard, stepping back.
I stayed on my knees, looking up at the room. There were more of them now, it seemed—more faces I didn't recognize, all watching me with the same hungry look. The red-haired girl was still there, her arms crossed, smiling. The blond boy was pulling out his phone, recording.
"She's a natural," he said.
The red-haired girl crouched in front of me, lifting my chin with her finger. "You're going to be very popular here, new girl. Very popular."
I smiled, my lips still wet, my body humming with a pleasure I didn't fully understand. "I just want to be friendly."
"Oh, you are," she said, standing up. She turned to the room. "Who's next?"
Hands reached for me, pulling me up, guiding me to a different desk. I heard the lock on the door click again—someone checking it, making sure it stayed closed. I let myself be moved, let myself be positioned, let them do whatever they wanted.
This was what I was for.
Hands descended on me from every direction, no longer teasing, no longer asking. A grip closed around my left nipple—fingers twisting, pulling it hard, stretching the tender flesh until I gasped in pain. Before I could react, another hand found my right nipple, pinching it between thumb and forefinger, rolling it roughly, crushing it. The sensation shot through me, half agony, half a bizarre pleasure that made my cunt clench.
"She likes it rough," someone said, a male voice, amused.
I tried to nod, but my head was pulled back by a fistful of my hair—a girl with a blunt bob and cold eyes. She yanked, forcing my chin up, exposing my throat. "Look at her face," she said, her free hand coming up to slap my cheek. It wasn't hard enough to hurt properly, more a sting meant to humiliate. "She's already getting wetter."
She was right. Between my legs, I felt the fresh slickness, the pulse of blood and heat. My body didn't care about the difference between tenderness and aggression—every touch lit the same fire.
The blond boy who had knelt between my legs earlier pushed through the crowd, his cock still half-hard. He grabbed my jaw, his fingers digging into the soft flesh. "Open."
I opened my mouth, and he shoved two fingers inside, pressing down on my tongue. "Suck." I obeyed, tasting myself, tasting him, the salt and sweat of his skin. He pulled his fingers out, wet with my saliva, and wiped them across my cheek. "She's trained already."
"Not trained enough," the red-haired girl said, appearing beside me. She held up a small object—a metal clamp, the kind used for paper. "I found this in the teacher's desk."
The room laughed. My stomach tightened, but I didn't pull away.
She knelt in front of me, her fingers finding my left nipple, rolling it until it was hard and aching. Then she attached the clamp—the metal teeth biting into my flesh, the pressure immediate and sharp. I cried out, my hands flying up, but someone caught my wrists and held them behind my back.
"One more," she said, her voice calm.
She reached for my other nipple, and I whimpered, my body trembling. The clamp closed, and the pain bloomed—bright and hot and somehow not entirely unwelcome. I gasped, tears pricking at my eyes, but I didn't tell her to stop. That wasn't what friendly girls did.
"Now stand up," she said, rising.
I tried, but my legs were weak, shaking. Hands grabbed my arms, hauled me upright. I stood in the middle of the classroom, naked from the waist down, my thong gone, my skirt bunched around my hips. The clamps pulled at my nipples, the weight of them a constant ache. The metal glinted under the fluorescent lights.
"Turn around," the red-haired girl said.
I turned slowly, showing the room my bare ass, the wetness running down my thighs. Someone slapped me—hard, the sound cracking through the room. My skin stung, and I heard laughter. Another slap on the other cheek, then a hand gripping the flesh, squeezing so hard I knew there would be bruises.
"She's got a great ass," a boy said. "Remember last night?"
"I remember," another answered. "She took it like a champ."
A body pressed against my back—male, tall, his chest hard. His hand slid around my hip, down between my legs, his fingers finding me wet and open. He pushed two fingers inside me without warning, fast and deep, and I gasped, my back arching. His other hand came up and flicked one of the clamps—a quick, brutal motion that sent a spike of pain through my chest. I screamed, my body jerking, but his fingers inside me kept moving, curling, pressing.
"Look at her squirm," he said, his breath hot in my ear. "She loves this. You love this, don't you, party gift?"
"Yes," I breathed, the word half a sob. "I—I love it."
He laughed and withdrew his fingers, then gripped my hips, positioning me. I felt the head of his cock pressing against my entrance—not pushing in, just resting there, threatening. "Beg," he said.
"Please," I said, my voice breaking. "Please—"
He slammed into me, his full length driving deep in one motion, and I screamed again—a sound that was part pain, part release. I was so wet, so open, that there was no resistance, just the fullness of him stretching me. He started moving immediately, hard and fast, his hips slapping against my ass. His hands gripped my waist, his fingers digging into my bruised skin.
"She's so fucking tight," he groaned. "How is she this tight after everything?"
"She's special," the red-haired girl said, appearing in front of me. She reached up and twisted one of the clamps, turning it, making the metal bite deeper. I whimpered, my head falling forward, my whole body caught between the pain in my nipples and the pleasure of being filled.
Another student—a boy with a shaved head—stepped in front of me and unzipped his pants. He was already hard, his cock jutting out. "Open your mouth," he said, and I did, taking him as deep as I could. He tasted like salt and skin, and I gagged as he hit the back of my throat, but he didn't stop, his hands cupping my head, holding me in place.
I was being used from both ends now—the boy behind me fucking me hard and fast, the boy in front pressing into my throat. The clamps pulled at my nipples every time I moved. My knees buckled, but hands held me up, kept me in position. Tears streamed down my face, mixing with the spit and pre-cum on my lips.
"Fuck, I'm close," the boy behind me said.
"Not yet," the red-haired girl said, her voice sharp. "Pull out."
He didn't argue. He slid out of me, and I felt the loss acutely, a hollow ache. The boy in front of me pulled out of my mouth too, leaving me gasping, drooling, my lips swollen. The red-haired girl stepped between us, her hand grabbing my hair, tilting my face up.
"You're going to do it properly," she said. "On your back. On the desk. Everyone gets a turn, but we're going to make you work for it."
Hands pushed me down onto the nearest desk—my back hitting the cold surface, my legs dangling over the edge. Someone removed the clamps, and the rush of blood to my nipples was a shock, painful and arousing. I gasped, my hands flying to my chest, but someone pulled them away, pinning them above my head.
The boy with the shaved head climbed onto the desk, straddling my chest. His cock was still hard, wet with my spit, and he pressed it against my lips. "Suck me again," he said. "And don't stop until I tell you."
I obeyed, my mouth opening, taking him in. This time his hand wrapped around the back of my head, holding me steady as he fucked my face, his thrusts shallow at first, then deeper. I focused on breathing through my nose, on relaxing my throat, on being good.
While I was busy with him, hands touched me everywhere—someone pinching my nipples again, twisting them, pulling. Someone else spreading my legs wide, fingers pushing into my cunt, then pulling out and rubbing my clit in rough circles. A mouth closed over my nipple, lips and teeth working the tender flesh. I moaned around the cock in my throat, my hips bucking against the hands between my legs.
"She's going to come again," a girl's voice observed. "Look at her thighs trembling."
"Let her," the red-haired girl said. "I want to see it."
The fingers on my clit pressed harder, faster, and I couldn't hold back any longer. My orgasm crashed through me, my body convulsing, my cries muffled by the boy's cock. I came and came, my cunt clenching around nothing, my vision going white at the edges. The boy in my mouth groaned and thrust deeper, and I tasted the first hot pulses of his cum as he came down my throat. I swallowed automatically, taking everything, and he pulled out, breathing hard.
I lay there, gasping, my body limp and trembling. Cum and saliva ran down my chin. My skin was slick with sweat. The clamps had left bright red marks around my nipples. Between my legs, I was soaked, my thighs sticky.
A bell rang—the warning bell for the next period. I heard a few groans, a few murmurs. The red-haired girl looked at the clock, then at me. "We're not done," she said. "But we're out of time."
She gestured, and hands pulled me off the desk, set me on my feet. My legs gave way immediately, and I had to be propped up by two boys on either side. My skirt hung loose and wrinkled. My thong was still on the floor. Someone handed it to me, and I fumbled to step into it, pulling it up over my wet skin.
"You're going to be late for English," the red-haired girl said, a smile playing at her lips. "Better get to class."
I nodded, still catching my breath. My hands shook as I smoothed my top, buttoning the few buttons that had come undone. My nipples were visible through the thin cotton, hard and aching, the marks from the clamps already fading to pink. I didn't try to hide them.
The door unlocked. The students began to file out, some laughing, some nodding at me like we were friends. The blond boy paused at the door, looking back. "Same time tomorrow?"
I smiled, my lips trembling. "I'll be here."
He grinned and disappeared into the hallway. The red-haired girl was the last to leave, standing by the door, watching me collect my books from under the desk where they had fallen.
"You did good," she said. "Really good."
I held my English notebook to my chest, covering my sore nipples. "Thank you," I said, and meant it. "For being friendly."
She laughed, low and genuine. "You're welcome, new girl. See you at lunch."
She left. The door swung shut behind her, and the classroom was empty. I stood alone in the silence, the hum of the fluorescent lights the only sound. My body ached in a dozen places—my breasts tender, my cunt sore and wet, my throat raw, my ass stinging from the slaps. But I was happy. I was the friendliest girl in school, and everyone knew it.
I walked to the door, stepped into the hallway. Students were rushing past to their next classes, but a few slowed down to look at me—their eyes dropping to my chest, my hips, the way my legs pressed together. A boy passing by reached out and cupped my ass, squeezing hard enough to make me stumble. I caught myself on the lockers and kept walking.
Room 204 was just down the hall. I made it there, slipped into the classroom, and took my seat near the back. Mr. Harrison was already at his desk, writing on the board. He didn't look up.
I opened my notebook to a fresh page, my fingers trembling. The ache between my legs pulsed, a persistent, familiar rhythm. I pressed my thighs together, feeling the wetness soak into my thong.
I smiled, my eyes on the board, my mind already on lunch. On more friendly attention.
I was ready. I would always be ready.