Wonderful Life! Ch. 06

By now I had a certain sequence of mandatory steps worked out for Fridays. Sounds like I'm super disciplined or something. In reality, the sequence was about survival.

So. Sprint to a restroom stall with a backpack full of stuff, slide the latch, check that the door's locked, five minutes to change. Repeat before and after phys ed.

It was held in the athletic complex that stood behind the main buildings. That separate building smelled of rubber, chlorine, and other people's socks. One shared locker room for all the men: a long room with benches, a floor that was wet in unexpected places, and thirty guys, give or take, who took so long changing you'd think they were getting paid for time spent naked. Somebody always snapped a towel at his neighbor's ass. The usual men's locker room antics, basically, which often looked like the setup for a first-rate gay orgy. And from the very beginning of September, all that stood between me and that locker room was a thin lace barrier.

Showing up in lace panties and pantyhose in a men's locker room full of guys with raging hormones is the same as writing "Fuck me in the ass, preferably all at once!" on your back.

The first two Fridays I changed in the corner, facing my locker, at the speed of light. It was actually a pretty decent spot. But then it started to seem like people were whispering that they'd seen some guy in women's underwear in the locker room. And I realized that sooner or later I'd get caught red-handed. So I found a restroom on the first floor, right by the entrance to the complex.

Three stalls, a sink, and a full-length mirror that nobody used for its intended purpose. The latch on the far stall definitely worked. I'd come fifteen minutes before everyone else, lock myself in, change, and walk out already in my gym uniform. All I did in the locker room was leave my backpack in a locker.

The gym uniform was the same for everyone. A gray T-shirt with a snarling lynx on the chest and blue shorts that ended above the knee. Girls and guys wore the same thing. I figure the college was saving money by not coming up with a second version.

Sasha sometimes washed it for me along with my panties. She'd started helping me out with that more often in general. So I smelled of peach and lavender, like her whole room. Maybe she liked that I smelled that way.

In October everything got more complicated. With the arrival of the pantyhose.

Last Friday I didn't go to phys ed. I said I had food poisoning and sat out the whole class on the bleachers in my regular clothes. The problem was my legs. I'd shaved them, and then shaved them twice more. From the second time on I started shaving absolutely everything below my belly button. The shorts ended above the knee, so I was afraid someone would notice.

It took me a week to come to an agreement with myself: nobody keeps records of what my legs looked like before the shaving, so nobody would realize they were shaved now. Besides, Iren had informed me that a second absence would mean a fail, and a fail in phys ed meant not being cleared for finals. I already had problems with one professor, and I didn't want any more.

So today I was heading to the fitness test with a full sense of responsibility. I had on a set of white lace panties and nude pantyhose. Maybe I should have gone with something more conservative, but when I was picking it out that morning, it all seemed great.

In the restroom, the first thing I did was make sure all the stalls were empty. Then I locked myself in the far one, sat down on the toilet lid, took off my shoes, and started peeling off the pantyhose.

I'd made it to my knees.

The restroom door banged against the wall, and studs started clacking across the tile. That was the sound football cleats made. Judging by the voices, at least five guys had come in, and they were all talking pretty much at once.

I froze. Then I remembered my feet, which were visible under the door. Slowly, like a bomb tech, I lifted both feet and braced them against the stall door.

And that's how I sat.

"... at nine in the morning! On a Saturday!" somebody was yelling so loud my eardrums nearly burst. "Is she even sane? Nine in the morning on a Saturday is when I go to bed!"

I already knew that voice. The whole college knew it. Low, cocky, used to being listened to closely. Derek, captain of the football team. He was on some of the posters around the college, and he looked awfully pleased with himself on them.

"Iren hates us," said a second one. Raspy, like he'd been smoking since childhood.

"She hates everybody."

"Us especially!"

"After warm-ups I'll go see her and tell her where she can shove that schedule," Derek promised. "Tom, you're coming with me. Otherwise I'll strangle her and there goes the season."

Tomas didn't answer. He must have nodded.

Then came a splashing sound, as if several streams had started up at once. The urinals were on the opposite wall, and nobody, thank God, came near the stalls. I sat there listening to five football players piss. Just a wonderful day.

"Hey, kid," Derek said. "Is it true Beladonna practically bent you over the desk in front of everybody at the seminar?"

"She's like that with everybody," a younger voice answered.

I recognized him, too. A football player from my group. The same one who'd stood at the board last week reading a presentation on Descartes and couldn't repeat a word of it without his paper. In my head that's exactly what I called him: Descartes.

"At least I read something," Descartes went on. "One guy in our group straight-up put on porn in class."

"Bullshit!"

"Swear to God, that's what happened. He's sitting there watching it under his desk. And then his phone goes and fucking drops in the aisle! Screen up. And Beladonna walks over, picks it up, and looks."

"So what was on it?"

"I couldn't see, I was too far away. But you should've seen her face."

"And then?"

"Well, I think she kept him after class."

"Bet she fucked him right then and there," the raspy one said with confidence.

"Beladonna?" Derek laughed.

"What? In his place, I wouldn't have objected."

"In his place, you'd have shit your pants."

They all cracked up together. I sat there behind their backs, noting with a smile that the raspy one wasn't, in fact, all that far from the truth.

"So who is this guy?" Derek asked.

"Just this one guy in our group. Little guy, dark hair. Always in this gray hoodie down to his knees, with skintight jeans under it. Girls' jeans, I think."

"Oh," said the one who'd only been laughing until then. "The Ass."

"What?"

"You know, the Ass. That's what me and the guys call him. He's always in front of us in line at the cafeteria, and, well..." He trailed off. "Anyway, yeah. The Ass."

So that's how popular I am at this college. And I hadn't even known I had a nickname.

"Hold up," said the raspy one. "In chick jeans? Dark hair?"

"Yeah."

"Fuck."

"What?"

"Nothing."

"No, no, no. Come on, out with it."

The raspy one said nothing. You could hear him zipping up his fly.

"Okay, so. Last week I'm walking from the bus stop. Through the park. There's this chick walking ahead of me. Tiny thing, in a hoodie, hair down to here. And an ass, boys. I'm serious. An absolutely prime ass. And she's walking along swinging it like this. I followed her all the way to the entrance. I figure I'll catch up at the turnstile. Ask what year she is. Maybe get to know her."

"And?"

"Well, I caught up."

Silence. One of them snorted.

"She turns around," said the raspy one. "And she's got an Adam's apple."

They laughed so loud. I've never heard people laugh that loud. One of them was even pounding on the walls.

"You followed a dude all the way across the park."

"I didn't know."

"And stared at his ass!"

"You should've seen it. Anybody would've made that mistake."

"Did you at least get a number?"

"Go fuck yourselves."

I remembered that day. At the time I thought it was some horny stalker. He was staring so hard I could feel it. And I figured he'd gotten scared of security, and that was why he'd backed off.

Derek wasn't laughing.

"So what, you really can't tell?" he asked once the others had laughed themselves out.

"From behind, no chance at all. I guarantee it."

"And from the front?"

"Well, from the front..." The raspy one thought about it. "It's a guy. But, like. A pretty one."

"Hm," said Derek.

"What's it to you?" asked the one who'd been cackling.

"General education."

"I'm telling your Layla."

"Go ahead. And while you're at it, tell her how you were looking up Amanda's skirt yesterday while she was doing the splits."

"I was tying my shoe."

"He doesn't use the locker room, by the way," Descartes remembered. "Like, ever. He shows up to class already in uniform. I've never once seen him change."

"He's shy."

"What's there to be shy about? Has he got tits or something?"

"Hold up," said the raspy one. "Wasn't that who they were talking about back then? Beginning of September. That some freshman was standing in the locker room in chick panties."

That's when I got a little nervous.

"That's all bullshit," Derek said.

"It's not bullshit. Our kicker told me himself that he saw it. Says there's this guy standing alone in the corner, back to everybody, little guy. And he's got lace panties on."

"Last year he was telling everybody that aliens gave him a ride on the highway," Derek reminded him.

"Well, he was drunk that time."

Somewhere outside, a whistle blew. Long and displeased.

"Coach," somebody said.

"Yeah, coming."

The cleats started clacking again. They didn't discuss me anymore; they preferred to talk about some team from the next town over and how its defense was total garbage.

The door slammed, and the restroom went quiet again.

Well, how about that. You go through life thinking nobody notices you. And then you find out in a restroom that around here they've nicknamed you the Ass. What can you do? At least the reviews seem pretty good.

I pulled the pantyhose off, rolled them up, and stuffed them in my backpack. I put on the shorts and the T-shirt and tied my sneakers.

I was five minutes late to phys ed.

The football players, by the way, didn't go to it at all. They had their own practices, and they got their credit automatically. So normally I didn't cross paths with them, and I was very glad of it.

Our group had lined up by the wall. Iren was walking down the line with her list, giving everyone a look of mild grievance.

She was short and tanned. Black hair pulled into a ponytail that reached her shoulder blades. An Asian face and athletic clothes: a white top that looked more like a push-up sports bra for her C-cups, pink leggings, white running shoes, and a black windbreaker. A whistle hung on her chest, a stopwatch sat in her pocket, and in her hands she held a list of students. People said she used to be a professional athlete and then tore something. Since then she'd been teaching at the college and holding everybody to the same standards as in big-time sports.

Her ass and thighs, by the way, looked scarily muscular and huge.

"You're late," she said without looking at me. "Last time it was food poisoning. What happened today?"

"Sorry," I said.

"You'll make it up. Get in line."

She rarely called anyone by name. I think it was because she didn't want to memorize them.

I took a spot at the end, next to Gosha. He looked down at me. Then lower still, and noticed everything right away.

"Dude, did you shave them or something?" he whispered.

"No."

"They're shiny."

"Get lost."

"Oh, come on. It looks really nice, FYI."

"Gosha, fucking stop."

"Okay, shutting up... You gonna let me check them out later?"

I let out an irritated breath.

Today we were running the mile for time. We ran laps along the walls of the gym, five at a time. I got assigned to the last five.

The cheer squad was practicing in the other half of the gym. There were about ten of them. And every one of them in an impressive uniform: short white tops, black pleated skirts, white knee socks. They were the only ones in the gym, apart from the instructor, who weren't dressed like gray mice.

Their leader was a blonde with heavy makeup. She stood in front of the line, fixing her thick ponytail and zoning out on her phone a lot. The counting was done for her by a tall, brown-skinned girl standing next to her. Loud, like a soldier. On every "eight" they all jumped, and their skirts flew up. Then came down. And flew up again.

A pretty mesmerizing sight. And plenty of people took advantage of it to make phys ed pay off for their imagination.

Most of them, of course, were looking at the blonde.

I was looking, too. Only I liked watching the skirts themselves more than the bodies. The pleats fanned out in a rather curious way and then gathered back together as if nothing had happened.

I wondered whether those clothes were even comfortable. A skirt rides up with every move... It's probably like wearing a T-shirt and nothing else. And you'd have to keep adjusting it all the time.

Then I wondered why I needed that information at all, and got a little angry.

"Which one do you like?" Gosha asked.

"None of them," I said.

"I think the blonde is unbelievably hot. But I hear she's hooking up with the captain of the football team, so you've got to be careful how you look."

The blonde glanced at the gym door as if she was expecting someone. Then she went back to her phone.

"Last five!" Iren shouted.

I ran horribly. For the first quarter mile you could still call it running; past the halfway mark I was more or less walking, and by the end I wanted to lie down on the floor and play dead. I had a stitch in my side and a persistent taste of iron in my mouth. A passion for video games doesn't pass without a trace.

The other four from my five had finished long ago and were sitting on the bench. And I was running my last few yards in front of everybody.

Then Gosha appeared next to me.

He'd done his mile back in the first five. But he decided to support me, as if he hadn't had enough.

"Come on, come on," he kept saying. "Just a little more. To the wall and that's it."

"I've... already been... to that wall..."

"One more little time."

Iren blew her whistle so hard that my ears kept ringing for several more seconds.

"What are you, the cheer squad?" she asked Gosha. "Then you belong over there, with the girls."

Everyone laughed as if Iren were quite the stand-up comic. Gosha took a bow in the direction of the cheer squad girls. The brown-skinned one gave him a thumbs-up, and the blonde paid no attention.

When I finally made it to Iren, she looked at her stopwatch.

"Eleven thirty," she said. "My grandmother runs faster. And she's been dead a long time."

I was trying to catch my breath, and my chest hurt, too.

"Fail. You'll keep retaking it until you run it decently. And the makeup for being late hasn't gone anywhere, either."

She looked at her list, leafed through her papers, and frowned.

"Okay. Where's the grade book?"

A rhetorical question, more or less.

"You," she said to me. "You're no use here anyway. Go to my office and bring me the grade book. It's in the cabinet."

"Where's your office?" I didn't much want to deal with this, but Iren had already appointed me, so I had no choice.

"Go through there. There'll be a door with glass and blinds. It's open."

"Okay," I said, and went.

I shot a quick glance at Gosha, who looked far too pleased. I never did figure out what he found so funny.

The office was at the end of a short hallway, and you got in through that same door Iren had described.

It was cramped inside. A metal desk with papers and spare whistles on it. A trophy case: some of the trophies belonged to the college, and others, the rarer ones, to Iren. It also held framed team photos. A rolling ball rack in the corner. On the wall, a board with the game schedule, scribbled all over in red marker. Along one wall, a bench like the ones in the men's locker room. By the door hung a pennant with the same lynx I had on my chest as a small emblem. A little below the pennant ran a long crack from the light switch down to the floor.

The windows looked right out onto the gym, but the blinds were closed. The light came through them and fell on the floor in stripes. And you could clearly hear the brown-skinned cheerleader counting: "Five, six, seven, eight!"

I opened the metal cabinet. There was all kinds of stuff inside: folders, jump ropes, a box of stopwatches in different colors. A plastic container of rice and chicken with "Friday" written on the lid in black marker. No grade book so far. I went through all the folders, looked in the desk drawers, and even under the bench. Though what would a grade book be doing there?

The door opened behind me.

"Iren, listen, what the hell is this Saturday thing..."

The voice suddenly stopped. Low, cocky, used to being listened to. I recognized it instantly, and only then turned around.

Derek looked exactly like he did on the posters, except they didn't convey his actual size. Tall, shoulders as wide as the doorway, short dark hair, and a T-shirt and shorts. A second guy came in behind him. A little shorter but more muscular, reddish hair, freckles on his arms. This one pulled the door shut behind him and stayed next to it, hands in his pockets. That was probably Tomas.

For the first couple of seconds I wasn't in the most flattering position, since I'd been looking under the bench. When I heard the guys, I straightened up in a panic.

"Oh," said Derek. "Hi."

His voice changed a little. It got softer and lower, as if a girl had come into his field of view and he wanted to make an impression.

I didn't realize he was saying hi to me. I was either scared or flustered.

"Iren's not here?"

I shook my head.

"Too bad."

Yeah, too bad. He walked into the office and leaned his shoulder against the trophy case. Right next to me.

"You a new girl or something? I don't think I've seen you around. I definitely would've remembered."

New girl... As in, a girl.

I guess, given a certain level of sexual deprivation, I could be taken for a girl. Everybody's uniform is the same. I'm pretty small. Especially compared to Derek and Tomas. My grown-out hair worked in that direction, too. My legs were smooth and shiny. And in the restroom I'd heard for myself that from behind I'd already been taken for a girl.

But Derek was standing three feet away and looking me in the eye.

"I need the grade book," I said, trying to hide behind the instructor's errand. "Iren sent me."

My voice hadn't recovered from the run yet. So I was speaking pretty quietly, and with a breathiness that could be taken for seductive.

"The grade book?" Derek repeated, as if I'd said something very cute. "Let me help you look. What year are you, by the way, princess?"

"First year." My chest tightened from the inside at what he'd called me, but I still managed to squeeze out a couple of words.

"A freshman girl..." For an instant his face looked a little predatory to me. "Tom, you hear that? We've got freshman girls like this around here and nobody told us."

Tomas said nothing. He was still standing by the door, looking at me, but not the way his friend was. Derek saw a piece of meat in me; Tomas was looking at me like a detective.

"You're not one of the cheerleaders, are you?" Derek went on. "No, I'd know if you were. Too bad. It'd suit you. Want me to talk to the captain? She and I are, let's say, well acquainted."

I immediately thought of that blonde cheerleader.

I didn't find this conversation unpleasant, but I was scared. That much was certain. And somewhere behind all of that, it even felt a tiny bit nice that somebody had mistaken me for a girl.

"Derek," Tomas cut in.

"What?"

"That's a guy."

Well, that's it. Now I'm definitely dead.

Derek laughed.

"No fucking way."

"Adam's apple."

Derek stopped laughing. He looked at my neck, then at my face. Something wasn't adding up in his head.

"You're a guy?" he asked.

"Well, yeah," I said.

"Then why didn't you say anything?"

"You didn't ask."

The office went quiet. Behind the glass they were still counting: "Five, six, seven, eight!" I hoped I wouldn't get punched in the face on the count of eight.

Tomas made a sound. Something between a chuckle and a cough.

"Not a word to anyone," Derek warned him.

"I'm not saying anything."

"Nobody, got it?"

"I didn't see a thing."

Derek turned to me. He'd gone pretty red, and then the smile came back to his face, only a slightly different one now.

"Nah, hold on. I don't buy this shit. Tom, look at him. How the fuck is that a guy?"

"A regular one," I mumbled.

"We'll see right now how regular you are." He nodded.

His hands turned out to be faster than I could have imagined. He grabbed my shorts on both sides and yanked them down. The waistband slid over my hips, then my knees, and the shorts ended up on my sneakers.

Derek had time to laugh.

Then such a silence suddenly fell that we even heard one of the cheerleaders land badly and swear.

I looked down, following the guys' eyes. Inside the shorts, like a vanilla filling, lay the white lace panties.

And there I stood in nothing but a T-shirt and sneakers. I immediately pulled the T-shirt down out of habit. But it was short and still didn't cover the most interesting part. So I covered myself with my hands.

A rock-hard erection sprang up treacherously fast, as if my body was dreaming of me getting punched in the face. And even so, my two hands were enough to hide a second dick like mine behind them, too.

Derek gave me a critical look.

"Okay, looks like a guy," he said at last. "Case closed."

I was just about to breathe out, but nothing was over yet.

"Move your hands," Derek snorted suddenly.

"Why?" I said, scared.

"Hands off. Now."

I moved them instantly, as if a survival instinct had kicked in, because his voice now sounded like I didn't have any options.

Derek whistled.

"Tom. We've got a serious hard-on here."

Tomas glanced over and immediately turned away toward the ball rack.

"I see it," he said.

Derek took a step closer and seemed to loom over me with that huge frame of his. I cautiously looked up at his face, but he was already looking only at my dick.

"What, does this turn you on?"

I said nothing.

"I asked you a question."

"I don't know."

"He doesn't know."

He was looking me over now without any shame or common sense. It all went on so long, and that whole time my dick kept twitching like a fucking metronome. I felt like I could hear the heavy thought process going on in Derek's head.

"Not a single hair," he whispered, thinking out loud. "Not on the legs, not between them."

I didn't answer.

Derek bent down and yanked the shorts out from under my feet. I'd stepped out of them ahead of time so he wouldn't take me down to the floor along with them. Then he shook the panties out into his palm. In his hand they looked so small. In fact, it looked like they were the panties of one of his cheerleader girlfriends.

"Yours?"

I nodded cautiously.

"You always wear these?"

"Yes."

"Holy shit."

He kneaded the lace in his palm. Then he brought it up to his face and sniffed.

"Derek, what the fuck?" Tomas asked.

Derek sniffed again.

"Smells like a girl. Fucking unreal," he said.

Of course it did. That was my sister's fabric softener. Peach and lavender. I had no doubt she'd engineered the perfect scent so that idiots like Derek would want to fuck her as soon as possible. But what the hell did I need it for?

Even so, it turned me on when Derek called me a girl, even indirectly. A little drop of precum rolled off the tip of my dick. And Derek noticed.

He tossed my things onto the bench.

"Turn around."

I didn't move.

"Face the wall. Now."

I swallowed and turned. I did it myself, the moment he leaned on me a little. But he didn't use any force. It all looked as if I wanted to show them my backside myself.

I saw a gray wall in front of me.

"Lift your shirt."

I hiked it up to my shoulder blades and pulled it tight in front.

I knew they were looking. I'd seen my own ass in the mirror, and sometimes I even jerked off to it, imagining fucking myself. I'd have a hard time saying who I imagined myself as in those moments. The top or the bottom. It doesn't matter.

My ass stood out against the rest of my body. Narrow shoulders, a thin waist, two cute dimples in the small of my back. And just below, a round, meaty ass, but not so much that it looked out of proportion. All of it beautiful and natural, except for the fact that it really did look feminine.

"Jesus fucking Christ," Derek breathed.

His palm landed on my ass. Big, hot, and rough. He squeezed my right cheek slowly, as if he couldn't believe it was real. It fit perfectly in his hand. Then he let go and chuckled when my ass sprang back into shape.

"Tom, this is fucking insane. He's got an ass like some of the cheerleaders."

"Let's go already," Tomas protested.

"Go fuck yourself, if you're in a hurry."

Tomas didn't leave.

I pictured how that blonde from the cheer squad would react if she found out her boyfriend had been holding my ass in his hands and couldn't tear himself away.

For a second I stopped feeling his hand, and then a sharp smack rang out through the whole office.

I jumped from the surprise and even let out a little cry. My dick jerked hard, and a good-sized spurt of precum landed on my stomach. My right cheek burned after the smack, so I was sure it had turned red.

Derek was watching my body from behind. I could feel that intent stare on the back of my head.

"Holy shit, that's juicy," he declared.

And he smacked my left cheek, hard.

You know, I'd never been spanked in my life. My mother made do with words, and if I acted up, she brought out the manipulation, which she was insanely good at. So I had no idea it was pretty pleasant. But the moment of impact itself hurts.

On the third one Derek decided to experiment with the force of the smack. Of course he wanted to show his strength. I just clenched my teeth and took it all.

"Derek," Tomas said. "They can hear everything out there."

"They can't hear shit out there," Derek snorted.

The fourth smack came from below, upward, right at the very bottom of my cheek. It shook hard after the blow, like fucking Jell-O.

My ass was on fire by now. I could feel his handprints on it, and at the same time all the hot spots were blurring together into one burning expanse. Precum was dripping from my dick onto the bench.

"Arch your back."

"That's enough," I mumbled, and didn't arch.

It came out sounding unsure.

"What?"

"Enough. I have to get to class."

I pulled my T-shirt down, turned around, and stepped toward my clothes.

Derek grabbed my wrist. It wasn't that it hurt; it's just that he had a huge hand and so much strength that it was all out of proportion to my size.

He turned me toward Iren's desk and, with a palm between my shoulder blades, laid me chest-down on it. It was so easy for him, as if I weighed nothing.

The papers slid apart under me. A spare whistle fell right off onto the floor. My cheek ended up on some kind of list.

"Let go," I mumbled.

He didn't answer. He pulled my arm behind my back and pinned it against the small of my back. I tried to get up. Useless. I couldn't even make his triceps tense.

"Derek," Tomas said. "Maybe don't do it like that?"

"He likes it. His little dick's been hard this whole time," Derek explained.

There was no point arguing with that. The male body has very simple indicators.

And if we're being honest, I could have simply screamed. On the other side of the glass my whole group was sitting, and a disgruntled Iren was pacing around with her whistle. Those two assholes would have bolted out of the office right away, and it would all have been over.

But I wasn't sure what I actually wanted.

For it to continue, or to scream.

I jerked my arm, I squirmed, but I stayed quiet as a mouse.

I resisted exactly enough to be able to tell myself afterward, with a clear conscience, that I had resisted.

Derek, I think, understood everything. He let go of my wrist and took his palm off my back. His invisible force kept holding me on the desk. But it all looked as if I'd chosen to lie there myself.

I had no doubt this wasn't the first time Derek had taken part in something like this.

He nudged my left foot with his. Then the right. He set them shoulder-width apart. The edge of the desk dug into my thighs, and my dick pressed against cold metal.

In that position my ass was higher than the rest of my body. I felt like it was lit up, as if it had taken first place on a podium. Drawing attention to itself. Round, red, and a little swollen.

Derek smacked me three times in a row, with no pause between the blows. Right, left, right. After each one I was shoved forward, and I let out a quiet moan.

He waited half a minute.

And two more smacks. In the same spots.

I gripped the far edge of the desk and groaned after every blow. My ass burned as if its temperature was already a long way past ninety-eight point six. I could feel my skin humming. And how each smack sent vibrations through my balls, my dick, and my prostate.

Then both palms settled on my cheeks. Thumbs toward the middle.

I understood what he meant to do and tensed up in spite of myself.

"No, not there," I mumbled into the desk.

He spread my cheeks. Slowly, and very wide. I felt cool air on my hot asshole.

Nobody had ever seen me there. Nobody at all, ever. Even I had only a vague idea of what everything looked like back there. But now Derek and Tomas knew something about me that I didn't.

"Dark little thing," Derek whispered.

That told me nothing. But I felt so ashamed that I instantly turned red. All my previous humiliating incidents suddenly didn't seem all that terrible compared to this. And right now it felt as if they could see straight through me.

Derek spat, and time stopped for me. The drop of spit ran down my tailbone and soon reached my asshole. And then his thumb ended up there, too.

I jerked. He pinned me with his other hand.

The thumb didn't press on my asshole, it just stroked playfully. First around it, as if exploring the territory, and so slowly that I began to relax. Then right across the middle, up and down.

I clenched my asshole as hard as I could. And he waited for me to tire and kept on stroking. I was moaning quietly, and my dick, my prostate, and my balls already ached with the need to come. I was concentrating only on the pleasure I was getting, so I was trying to find my orgasm in this stimulation, which felt foreign.

At some point I stopped clenching. Maybe Derek's caresses had worked, or maybe I'd simply run out of strength.

The thumb stopped dead center.

And I felt pressure.

Just a little at first. Then more. I realized I was about to give in. A bit more and he'd have been inside. Everybody knew it.

He stopped, and then my asshole went into convulsions.

I was coming.

A jet of cum hit the side of the metal desk with a soft ping. Then several more. My legs were cramping, but I could relax them a little without falling. With every pulse my asshole sweetly licked at Derek's thumb, and Derek felt it and didn't take it away until the very end.

Behind the glass the cheerleaders' count rang out again, as if it were instructions for my orgasm.

Then Derek took his thumb away.

I lay on the desk without moving for about a minute. My head went clear and empty, the way it always does after an orgasm. And only now did the full horror of the situation begin to reach me. What had just happened...

I was lying with no panties on on Iren's desk. The captain of the football team had nearly finger-fucked me in the ass. His friend had watched. And I had come like a fucking slut.

Some might call that an excellent Friday.

"Holy shit," Derek said. "I didn't even put it in."

I stepped away from the desk. My legs were still a little weak, so I swayed as I moved. I reached toward the bench for my things, and Derek covered them with his palm.

"You came," he said. "And I didn't. That is not a fair trade, not one damn bit, princess."

He nodded down at his shorts. Everything was visible without any explanation. Let's just say the shorts didn't do a damn thing to hide his impressive erection.

It took me a moment to grasp what was happening. And when it sank in, my lower belly went cold with fear.

"Suck me and Tom off and you're free to go," Derek explained.

"I'll pass," Tomas said.

Derek whipped around; he hadn't expected that from his friend.

"What?"

"I said I'll pass. Have your own fun with that."

Tomas took his hands out of his pockets and opened the door. For a second the noise of the gym burst into the office: a whistle, the thousandfold thud of feet, and shouts. He looked at Derek. He said nothing and walked out, closing the door behind him.

It was just the two of us now.

"Well," Derek said. "Just me, then."

"No, I won't."

"You will."

"No."

I marveled at my own courage and bravery. Derek wasn't surprised; if anything, he looked at me like a dog that for some reason had suddenly failed to obey a command.

Then he picked up my panties from the bench and stuck them in his pocket.

"Listen up," he said. "You've got exactly two options. Either you get on your knees right now and suck me like you've dreamed about it your whole life. Or I walk out to the guys with these."

He patted the pocket where he'd just put my panties.

"By tonight the whole team knows, and is talking about how there's a faggot in lace panties in the freshman class. By Monday the whole college knows. After that, every now and then, you get your head dunked in the toilet. Not all the time. Only when people are in the right mood. And so on, right up until graduation."

He wasn't shouting, but he wasn't smiling either. He spoke calmly and, you might say, was simply explaining the rules to me. Reading out an unwritten legal agreement.

"Choose."

I didn't think he was lying. And of course the second option was full of holes where I could have done something in response. Go to the police about him, for one. But all he had to do was set that flywheel of events spinning, and after that it wouldn't matter whether Derek had been expelled or was still at the college. I'd get dunked in the toilet simply because that's how it's done.

And really, when you think about it... His story is no better. The captain of the football team hit on a guy. Sniffed his panties with blissful pleasure. Couldn't stop enjoying his ass, which, technically speaking, is male. Then pinned him to a desk, massaged his asshole, and brought him to orgasm. If you ask me, that ought to have raised his standing on the team, but football players are pretty cruel, stupid guys.

And who'd believe me if he said otherwise?

"Okay," I said.

"On your knees."

I let out a breath. The office floor was covered in linoleum, slightly cold and sticky. I lowered my bare knees onto it and sat back on my shins. The skin on my ass ached unpleasantly, and between my cheeks it was uncomfortable from Derek's spit.

My face ended up level with his shorts. He hooked his thumbs into the waistband and pulled his shorts down, underwear and all, to mid-thigh. Now I was about to learn something secret about the captain of the football team.

His cock flopped out and swung in front of my nose.

I needed a brief pause to cope with the rush of emotions.

Derek's was even bigger than Gosha's. I didn't have a ruler on me, obviously, but I was trying to visualize it all. If it was an inch longer than Gosha's, that made it about nine inches.

This piece of meat was longer than my face. And that's not a figure of speech. It hung right in front of me, and I could picture perfectly well that if you held it against my chin, it would end somewhere in my hair.

And then there was the thickness. At the base it was like my wrist, a bit wider still toward the middle, and it narrowed slightly right at the head. Along the top ran a vein as thick as a phone charger cable, and thinner veins spread out from it. It didn't stick out to the side and up, like mine. It was too heavy and powerful for that. It stood straight out, sagging a little under its own weight, and swayed in time with his pulse.

The big head, the color of a ripe plum, was already generously coated with a helping of precum. Apparently he'd gotten pretty worked up while he was playing with my ass, if you can call it that.

And, of course, big heavy balls. The left one a little lower than the right. And all the hair in that area had been buzzed down with clippers on the shortest guard.

He smelled a little of sweat and grass. Not an especially pleasant aroma, you'd think, but my mouth filled with saliva.

Derek was silent and didn't even try to give orders. But it would have been better if he had, because working up the nerve to take a cock in my mouth turned out to be not so simple.

In theory I could have defended a thesis on blowjobs, even without my sister's help, because over my lifetime I'd seen thousands of blowjobs in close-up on porn sites. I know how it's supposed to look from every angle. Just not in first person.

I looked up. From down there Derek seemed even bigger. My eyes met his. It's so strange.

I took his cock in my right hand, at the base. My hand wasn't big enough to close all the way around it. It was so hot and heavy. I lifted it a little in my hand to get a sense of the weight. Like a bottle of water.

At that point I ran into problems with my resolve. I held it in my hand and looked at the half-uncovered head. Just four inches between it and my lips.

I tried moving my hand. That wasn't so hard, and it no longer felt like something new. The skin slid under my fingers separately from the shaft.

There was no getting out of this. I was going to have to suck him off either way.

I leaned in and carefully ran my tongue over the head of his cock. Just to taste it. Something salty, but I wouldn't call it disgusting.

And nothing terrible happened. The ceiling didn't cave in, and nobody shouted that I was some kind of terrible person.

My erection came back almost at once, and at the bottom of my T-shirt a little bump formed, like a tent.

I can't believe it turned me on to be kneeling in front of a man.

I pressed my lips to the head of his cock and felt my pulse beating in my temples and my neck. Then I stuck out my tongue and ran it along the head.

"Teasing me, bitch," Derek breathed.

But I wasn't. I was just trying to make myself do the thing I was afraid of. Although from his side, maybe it looked exactly like he said.

Better he think that than find out this was my first blowjob.

I traced my tongue in a circle around the head of his cock, along the very edge, where it met the shaft. I liked it when Elsa did that, so I decided to try to copy her.

Derek's thigh twitched.

I moved closer. I closed my eyes and guided the cock into my mouth. I opened wide, and the head settled on my tongue, filling all the available space. I closed my lips around it and tried not to touch the cock with my teeth, like they tell you on every corner.

Derek exhaled loudly.

For a few seconds I got used to the fact that there was a cock in my mouth, and breathed through my nose.

The head felt even softer than I'd thought. The shaft is hard as stone, but the head is springy. Not that I didn't know that from my own dick, but this... was something else entirely.

I sucked on the head cautiously, to find out what it was even like. My mouth filled with saliva and the taste of him. A little salty, but bearable.

I opened my eyes and looked up. He was looking at me.

My lips had moved only a little way down the shaft, and the head was already bumping against the roof of my mouth. End of the road. I glanced down. No more than a quarter of it fit in my mouth. A cock that huge, not even my sister could have taken all the way in.

I started moving. Back to the very edge of the head and forward until it bumped. And I moved my hand to meet my lips. Spit ran out of my mouth down the shaft and over my fingers, so my hand slid easily. As the wise have said, there's no such thing as too much spit.

The sounds I was making were awful. Slurping, smacking, and even snuffling.

I fell into the cheerleaders' count, and on "eight" I took the cock a little deeper into my mouth.

After a minute my jaw was already aching, and my lips had gone numb. But I didn't stop. His palm came to rest on the back of my head. He didn't push or steer, he just buried his fingers in my hair.

That turned out to feel very nice. As if Derek was petting me for doing everything right. My shoulders dropped and relaxed, and my neck stopped being wooden.

When my jaw was completely worn out, I let the cock slip out of my mouth. A thread of spit with little bubbles in it hung between my lip and the head. I got scared Derek would be angry that I'd cut off the stimulation so abruptly, so I immediately found another use for my mouth. I ran my tongue up the shaft from my fingers to the very top. Slowly, along the vein.

Derek groaned softly.

So that's how it is. I didn't have to strain my jaw so much, then; I could give it a rest with other moves.

I licked the shaft again. Then I pressed my lips against the side and kissed it. Did the same a little lower. And finished by taking the head into my mouth again.

I don't know when I stopped being afraid. The only scary part had been making up my mind. After that it turned out to be a fairly enjoyable activity.

And I even got curious whether I could suck well enough to make him come.

On top of that, my own arousal was already spilling over the rim of the cup in which I could still control myself. My dick was so hard I wanted to jerk it right there in that position.

I started not just moving my head, but working my tongue more actively, too. I pressed it up from below, right under the head, where the skin gathered into a thin fold, and moved it from side to side.

"Fuck," Derek said.

I memorized his reactions and made mental notes of the moves that worked.

I began turning my palm slightly as I ran it up the shaft. That's how I usually jerked myself off, only a few fingers were enough for me. Derek sucked air in through his teeth.

I watched his stomach twitch under his T-shirt, his fingers tighten in my hair whenever I ran my lips over the head of his cock. I was more attentive than I'd ever been.

I took in exactly as much as fit without effort. The head and a little more. Everything else went to my hand. Today was no time for records.

"That's it," Derek breathed. "Good girl."

He'd called me a girl. Not by accident this time, but on purpose. He knew perfectly well who was kneeling in front of him, and he said it anyway.

God, I wanted to jerk off, but I held out. My dick was so hard that it hurt not to touch it, and all this time I'd been pretending it didn't exist.

I decided to suck harder, to distract myself. I tightened my lips, worked my tongue faster, and moved my hand along the shaft in such a way that I couldn't understand why Derek hadn't come yet.

The taste in my mouth began to change. It was getting thicker and saltier. The cock under my fingers kept getting harder, though it seemed like it couldn't get any harder. Derek stopped standing still and started moving on his own. Short thrusts, just his hips, toward me.

I relaxed my jaw and didn't get in his way.

The palm on the back of my head closed into a fist, hair and all.

I took his balls in my left palm. They were slowly drawing up toward the shaft, and I squeezed them and tugged them down.

"Shit," Derek breathed. "I'm about to..."

He didn't finish.

And I didn't have time to react, to take any part at all in the process.

The head of his cock was lying on my tongue, and suddenly it got thicker.

And a jet hit the roof of my mouth. Hot and thick. The second went straight down my throat, and I swallowed before I'd had time to decide whether I was going to swallow. Just so I wouldn't choke. Then a third and a fourth. He came for a long time, growling. With each pulse his stomach twitched. I swallowed and still couldn't keep up. A little leaked from the corner of my mouth and crept down my chin.

It tasted like warm custard that somebody had made with salt instead of sugar. Thick, salty, and slightly bitter.

I didn't let the head out of my mouth until he was done. I teased it gently with my tongue from underneath, the way I'd want it done to me.

Derek pulled his cock out of my mouth himself, once it had started to go soft. I swallowed what was left, and what had leaked out I gathered up with a finger and licked off.

We were both silent while Derek tried to catch his breath.

Then he took my panties out of his pocket. He gave them a strange sort of look and wiped his cock with them. As if they were a fucking napkin.

The white lace got wet.

He pulled up his shorts and threw the panties in my face.

"Attagirl," he said. "You're free to go."

He opened the door. The office got noisy again. Then the door closed. He never even found out my name.

I still had an insane erection. I looked down. My T-shirt was sticking out, and a wet spot had appeared on the fabric.

A couple of minutes will be enough to finish. So I took hold of my dick. With two fingers, thumb and forefinger. After what I'd just been holding in my right hand, it was almost revolting, and funny, to hold my own little guy. At the very first stroke my toes curled.

The panties were lying in my lap. Wet and still warm.

I picked them up and brought them to my face. They didn't smell like a girl anymore. Now they smelled like Derek. I pressed them to my nose and closed my eyes.

And I jerked off to the fact that I'd just sucked off the captain of the football team. When I remembered how he'd touched my ass, I got down on all fours.

I jerked fast, without stopping. Breathing into the wet lace.

"Five, six..."

It was like a goddamn timer for me.

"... seven..."

Something clenched low in my belly, and I knew this was the end. From here on, nothing depended on me anymore.

"... eight!"

I opened my eyes.

The door behind me opened.

All I heard was the sound. The office just suddenly got loud with the gym, and Iren was standing in the doorway.

And I was on all fours in the middle of her office with my bare ass and widely spread cheeks pointed right in her direction. In one hand I had my dick, and in the other a pair of women's lace panties, pressed to my face.

And I was coming. So much that a small puddle formed on the floor between my legs.

I couldn't stop. I was shaking, and I looked at Iren over my shoulder. My moans were very quiet.

Iren looked at me. Then at her desk, where all the papers had slid apart.

"What the fuck?" she asked.