The cafeteria doors swung open and the noise hit me like a wave — voices, trays, the scrape of chairs — but something shifted underneath it. A pause, like the whole room took a breath together. Heads turned. Whispers spread from table to table, rippling outward from where I stood.
"There she is."
"That's her."
"The party gift."
I smiled, clutching my tray a little tighter, and started toward the center table where Val usually sat. My thighs were still bare under my skirt, the fabric of my skirt brushing against my skin with every step. I could feel eyes on me — so many eyes — and it made my cheeks warm in a way I couldn't quite explain.
They knew me here. Everyone knew me. Wasn't that what friendly meant?
A hand caught my elbow before I made it three steps in. I turned, and a boy I didn't recognize was there — dark hair, sharp jaw, a grin that didn't reach his eyes. His hand slid from my elbow to my waist, pulling me close against him.
"Heard you were tight," he said, his voice low enough that only I could hear. His other hand landed flat on my ass, squeezing hard through my skirt. "Wanted to see for myself."
I blinked up at him, my smile flickering. "I'm sorry? I don't — "
"Don't play stupid." His fingers dug into my ass cheek, kneading, and his hips pressed forward so I could feel him hard against my thigh. "Word travels fast in this school. Everyone knows you're the friendliest girl here."
"Oh." The warmth spread through my chest. "That's — that's nice of you to say."
His grin widened. "Nice. Yeah. That's me."
His hand left my ass and slid up my side, palm flat against my ribs, then higher, until he was cupping my breast through the thin pink fabric of my top. His thumb found my nipple and pressed, and I gasped.
"Fuck," he breathed. "You're not wearing a bra."
"It — it was wet this morning," I said, my voice coming out breathy. "From the — "
"I know what wet means." He rubbed his thumb across my nipple in a slow circle, watching my face. "You get hard fast, don't you?"
I nodded, my lips parted, my heart thudding against his hand. "I guess so."
He squeezed once, hard, then let go and stepped back. "Later," he said. "I'll find you in the line."
And then he was gone, swallowed by the crowd, leaving me standing there with my tray and a throbbing nipple and the wet heat already pooling between my legs.
I took a breath. Smiled again. Kept walking.
I made it to Val's table — the center one, the one where everyone seemed to orbit — and sat down in the empty seat she'd saved. She was already eating, fork halfway to her mouth, dark hair falling across her face. She looked up when I sat, and her eyes flicked down to my chest, where my nipple was still visible, hard and obvious through the thin cotton.
"You're popular today," she said, not a question.
I set my tray down and folded my hands in my lap. "Everyone's being so friendly."
Val snorted, but it wasn't mean. She chewed, swallowed, and pointed her fork at me. "The whole school's been talking about you since yesterday. You know that, right?"
"Talking about me?"
"Yeah." She set the fork down and leaned in, her voice dropping. "Everyone wants to try you. That's what they're saying. They heard you were tight. They heard you take it so good."
I felt my cheeks flush. "I — I don't know what they mean by try."
Val's eyes held mine. "You know."
I did. I think I did. But the word try sounded so — so friendly, didn't it? Like they wanted to get to know me. Like they wanted to be close.
A hand landed on my shoulder from behind, and I jumped. I turned to see a girl I didn't recognize — short blonde hair, a stud in her nose, a lazy smile on her lips. She was looking down at me like I was a piece of cake she was deciding whether to eat.
"Hey, party gift," she said. "This seat taken?"
"Uh — no, I don't think so. Val?"
Val shrugged. "Sit wherever you want. She's not mine."
The blonde girl pulled out the chair next to me and sat, scooting it close enough that her thigh pressed against mine. She smelled like vanilla and something sharp, like cigarettes smoked through a cracked window.
"I'm Tracy," she said. "I was at the party. You probably don't remember me."
I tried to remember a face in the crowd, but it was all a blur of hands and mouths and bodies pressing in. "I'm sorry," I said. "It was — it was a lot."
"No shit." Tracy laughed, a short bark. "You were out cold for like twenty minutes. They kept going anyway."
I blinked. "They did?"
"Yeah. That's what you're for, right?" She said it so casually, like she was asking if I wanted ketchup on my fries. "Being friendly."
I nodded slowly. "Yes. That's right."
Her hand dropped to my thigh under the table, fingers spreading, squeezing. I felt her palm warm through the thin fabric of my skirt. "So," she said, her voice dropping to a murmur. "You wearing anything under this?"
I shook my head. "My thong got — ruined. Earlier. It's in my pocket."
Tracy's eyes widened, and her grin turned wolfish. "No shit. You're walking around school bare?"
I nodded again, feeling the heat rise in my cheeks. "Is that — is that bad?"
"Bad?" She laughed. "Fuck no. That's perfect."
Her fingers slid higher, up my thigh, until they reached the hem of my skirt. Then they kept going, insinuating themselves under the fabric, until her fingertips brushed the slick heat of my bare cunt.
"Holy shit," she breathed. "You're already soaked."
I bit my lip. "I — I get wet easily."
"Tell me something I don't know." Her finger traced the line of my slit, gathering wetness, and I felt my hips shift involuntarily, pressing toward her hand. "God, you're desperate. You know that?"
"I'm not — I just like being friendly."
"Friendly." She said the word like it was a joke only she understood. "Right."
Her finger pushed inside me — just one, slow and deliberate, all the way to the second knuckle. I gasped and grabbed the edge of the table, my tray rattling. Val looked up, eyebrow raised, but she didn't say anything. She just watched.
"Tight," Tracy murmured, her finger moving inside me in a slow curl. "God, you're so fucking tight. How do they even fit?"
I couldn't answer. My breath was coming in short, shallow gasps, my cunt clenching around her finger like it was trying to pull her deeper. Her thumb found my clit and pressed, and I let out a moan I couldn't swallow.
"Look at that," Tracy said, her voice low and amused. "She likes it. She really fucking likes it."
I did. I liked it so much. The way her finger filled me, the way her thumb circled my clit, the way everyone around me was watching and no one was stopping her. It made me feel — wanted. Seen. Friendly.
"More," I whispered. "Please."
Tracy laughed again, but she added a second finger, pushing in beside the first. I felt the stretch, the burn, the pleasure that bloomed in my belly like a flower opening. My head fell back, my mouth open, and I let the feeling wash over me.
"She's gonna come," someone at the table said — a boy's voice, amused. "Right here in the cafeteria."
"Let her," Tracy said. "That's what she's for."
Her fingers pumped into me faster, harder, her thumb grinding against my clit, and I could feel the orgasm building behind my eyes, white-hot and close. I gripped the edge of the table so hard my knuckles went white, and then I was falling, my cunt clamping down around her fingers as the wave crashed through me.
Tracy held still inside me while I came, letting me ride it out on her hand, her thumb still pressed against my clit until I shuddered and went slack.
"Good girl," she said, pulling her fingers out slow. She brought them to her mouth and licked them clean, her eyes never leaving mine. "Tastes sweet. Just like I heard."
I sat there, breathless, my thighs trembling, my cunt still clenching around nothing. The cafeteria noise had come back, filling the space around us, but I felt like I was underwater. Like nothing was real except the heat between my legs and the eyes still on me.
"You're gonna be popular at lunch," Tracy said, standing up. "Everyone saw. Everyone knows now."
She leaned down, her mouth next to my ear. "I want a turn tonight. At the party. Don't let them use you up before I get there."
Then she was gone, walking away like nothing had happened, her hips swaying, leaving me wet and ruined and smiling at the table.
Val was watching me. She shook her head slowly, a faint smile on her lips. "You really don't get it, do you?"
"Get what?"
"That you're not just friendly. You're — " She paused, searching for the word. "You're meat, Elena. To them. To all of them."
"That's not true," I said, but my voice came out soft, uncertain. "They're being nice to me."
Val held my gaze for a long moment. Then she shrugged and went back to her food. "If you say so."
I picked up my fork, but my hand was still shaking. My thighs were slick, my skirt damp where Tracy's fingers had been. I pressed them together under the table, feeling the ache that never quite went away, and smiled at my tray.
They wanted me. They all wanted me. And I was ready to be friendly with every single one of them.
A boy slid into the seat Tracy had vacated, his knee pressing against mine under the table. He didn't say anything at first — just looked at me, his eyes dark and hungry, traveling down my body like he was memorizing every curve.
"You're Elena," he said. Not a question.
"Yes." I smiled at him, wide and welcoming. "Hi."
"I'm Marcus." His hand landed on my knee, squeezing. "I heard about you."
"Good things, I hope."
His smile was thin. "Depends on what you call good."
His hand slid up my thigh, following the same path Tracy's had, until his fingers found my wetness, still slick from her. He let out a low whistle.
"Damn. You're not shy, are you?"
"I don't have anything to be shy about."
He laughed — a short, surprised sound. "No. I guess you don't."
His finger pushed inside me, and I gasped, my hips bucking toward his hand. He was thicker than Tracy, his finger stretching me in a way that made my eyes flutter closed.
"You like this," he said, his voice low. "Don't you."
"Yes," I breathed. "I like being friendly."
He laughed again, but it was darker this time. "Friendly. Right."
He added a second finger, and I moaned, my head falling back, my hands gripping the edge of the table. Around us, the cafeteria continued its noise, but I could feel eyes on me, watching, waiting. Somewhere behind me, I heard a whistle, then laughter.
Marcus's fingers moved inside me, slow and deliberate, finding a rhythm that made my toes curl in my flats. I was already close again, the orgasm building like a tide, my breath coming in short, ragged gasps.
"You gonna come again?" he asked, his thumb finding my clit. "Right here, in front of everyone?"
"I — "
"Because I want to feel it." His voice was a growl. "I want to feel you clench around my fingers while everyone watches."
I couldn't hold back. The wave crashed over me, and I cried out, my cunt gripping his fingers as I came, hard and fast, my body shaking with the force of it. He kept moving inside me, drawing it out, until I slumped forward, gasping for breath.
"Good girl," he said, pulling his fingers out. He wiped them on my skirt, leaving a wet smear on the blue fabric. "That's for later. So you remember."
He stood up, looking down at me with that dark hunger still in his eyes. "I'll see you tonight, Elena. Don't let anyone else take what's mine."
I nodded, my head spinning, my body humming with pleasure. "I won't."
He walked away, and I sat there, wet and smiling, my skirt stained, my pulse loud in my ears. The noise of the cafeteria washed over me, but I felt like I was floating, like nothing could touch me.
I picked up my fork and took a bite of my food. It was cold, but I didn't care.
I was the friendliest girl in school. And everyone wanted to be friendly with me.
I took another bite of my cold food, chewing slowly, letting the warmth of the cafeteria wash over me. The fork felt heavy in my hand, but I kept smiling, my thighs pressed together under the table, the wetness from Tracy and Marcus still cooling against my skin.
I was the friendliest girl in school. And everyone wanted to be friendly with me.
I set the fork down. I was done eating.
The second the tray left my hands, it started.
A hand grabbed my wrist—hard, not gentle—and I yelped, turning. A boy I didn't know stood there, his face flushed, his eyes wide and hungry. He pulled me to my feet before I could react, and I stumbled against him, my tray clattering to the floor.
"There you are," he said, his voice rough. "I've been watching you all lunch."
"I—"
His hand found my throat. Not squeezing, just holding, his thumb pressing against my pulse point. I felt it jump under his touch.
"Heard the rumors," he said, his other hand sliding down my back, grabbing my ass so hard I gasped. "Heard you're the tightest thing walking these halls."
I blinked up at him, my heart hammering. "Rumors?"
"Yeah. Everyone's talking about it. How you take it, how you moan, how your pussy clenches like it's trying to keep you inside." His hand squeezed my ass cheek, kneading, digging in. "I want to find out if it's true."
"I—I don't—"
He didn't let me finish. He spun me around and bent me over the table before I could breathe. My tray flew, hitting the floor with a plastic clatter. My chest hit the laminate surface, my skirt riding up, exposing my bare ass to the whole cafeteria.
Someone laughed. Someone whistled.
I heard Val's voice, sharp: "Hey, not here—"
But the boy ignored her. He pressed his body against my ass, and I felt him hard through his jeans, grinding against the curve of my cheeks.
"Look at that," he said, his voice loud now, meant for the crowd. "No panties. Just like they said."
A girl's voice from behind me: "She's always wet too. I saw her in the bathroom this morning—dripping."
More laughter. More hands. Someone grabbed my breast from the side, squeezing hard, and I gasped into the table. Another hand slid up my thigh, then two fingers pushed into me without warning, rough and fast, and I cried out.
"Damn, she is tight," a boy said—not the one holding me down. A different voice. Deeper. "Feel that?"
"Fuck yeah," the first boy said, still grinding against me. "Like a fist around my fingers."
The fingers inside me curled, stretching, and I felt my orgasm building already, shamefully fast, my body betraying me. I gripped the edge of the table, my knuckles white, my breath coming in short gasps.
"She's gonna come again," someone said, amused. "Third time this lunch."
"That's her thing," another voice said. "She comes every time someone touches her."
"Lucky bitch."
The fingers inside me sped up, three now, and I felt the stretch, the burn, the pleasure so sharp it edged on pain. My mouth fell open, and I moaned—loud, broken, unable to hold it back.
Then the boy behind me pulled his hand out and slapped my ass, hard. The sound cracked through the cafeteria, and I yelped, my skin stinging.
"Turn her over," someone said. "I want to see her face when she comes."
Hands grabbed my shoulders, flipping me onto my back on the table. I lay there, my skirt bunched around my waist, my top twisted, one breast exposed, my nipple hard and pink in the fluorescent light. Above me, faces crowded in—boys, girls, all looking down at me like I was something to consume.
A girl with dark braids leaned over me, her smile sharp. "You like this, don't you?"
I nodded, my throat tight. "I like being friendly."
She laughed. "Friendly. Right." Her hand landed on my bare breast, squeezing, pinching my nipple between her fingers until I winced. "You know what they call you? The school cunt. Did you know that?"
I shook my head, tears pricking at the corners of my eyes—but not from pain. From something else. Something I couldn't name.
"Well, now you do." She twisted my nipple, and I gasped. "But it's okay. Everyone loves the school cunt."
A boy pushed between her and the table, his hand already unbuckling his belt. "Enough talk. I want to feel her."
I heard the zipper. Saw his cock spring free—thick, flushed, already leaking. He lined himself up with my cunt, and I felt the head press against my wetness, teasing the entrance.
"Look at me," he said.
I did. His eyes were dark, hungry, cruel.
"Say you want it."
"I want it," I whispered. "Please."
He shoved into me in one thrust. I screamed—not from pain, but from the fullness, the way he stretched me open, the way my body clamped around him like it had been waiting for this. His hips slapped against mine, rough and fast, and the table creaked beneath us.
"Fuck," he groaned, his hands gripping my hips hard enough to bruise. "She's so fucking tight. Like she's never been fucked before."
"She has been," someone said. "All night. She's just that tight."
He kept going, pounding into me, the rhythm brutal and relentless. I lay there, taking it, my hands gripping the table's edges, my body bouncing with every thrust. Above me, faces watched—some amused, some hungry, some indifferent. They were all seeing me, all knowing what I was.
The school cunt.
The words echoed in my head, and I felt a sob build in my throat. But underneath it, the pleasure was still there, coiling tighter in my belly, the heat spreading from where he fucked me to every nerve in my body.
I came again, hard, my cunt clenching around him, my back arching off the table. He kept thrusting through it, his teeth bared, his breath ragged, until he groaned and pulled out, his cum spilling hot across my stomach and thighs.
"Shit," he breathed, stepping back. "That was—"
He didn't finish. Someone else was already taking his place, hands grabbing my legs, pulling me to the edge of the table. A new cock—thinner, longer—pushed into me from behind, and I was being fucked from a different angle, my face pressed into the laminate, my cheek smearing against the spilled ketchup from my tray.
I lost count after that.
Cocks, fingers, mouths. Someone knelt on the floor and put their tongue inside me while someone else fucked my face from above. I gagged, I swallowed, I came again and again. The cafeteria noise became a roar, and I was at the center of it, the thing they all wanted, the thing they all used.
A hand gripped my hair, pulling my head back. A girl's face appeared above me—blonde, sharp cheekbones, a thin smile.
"You're the party gift, right?"
I nodded, my throat sore, my lips swollen.
"I'm coming tonight," she said. "And I'm bringing friends. You better be ready for us."
I tried to say yes, but a boy's cock pushed into my mouth, cutting off the word.
The laughter rose around me.
I let it happen. I smiled around the cock in my mouth, and I let it happen.
Because that's what friendly meant. That's what I was.