Chapter 3: The Sick Boy

Damian approached his new “job” with the same methodical precision he applied to high-level calculus. To him, “every single time” wasn’t just some exaggeration—it was a literal directive. For the next few weeks, whenever his body signaled even the slightest hint of a twitch, he triggered the protocol. He had stopped jerking off entirely; why settle for a hand when he had the school’s hottest girl pretty much on call? And as the weeks went by, he slowly kinda started to feel like using Pam’s body was a natural perk of his existence.

They turned the sprawling campus of Dresden High into their private playground. Using the cover of his “tutor” status, Damian refined a messaging system that kept them totally off the faculty’s radar while they stayed right in the thick of the action.

“Boys’ bathroom, second floor. Five minutes.” he’d text. No “please,” no “if you can.” Just an order cause ‘having a dick like that ment he could just order her to do shit’, as Pam kept repeating.

Pam would drop some sugar-sweet excuse to her teacher, skip down the hall, and meet him. They’d hang an “Out of Order” sign on the door, lock themselves in a stall, and get down to business. Damian would sit on the toilet, his massive cock already straining against his zipper, and she’d straddle him, impaling herself with a low, breathless moan. He loved the feeling of her high-end skirt bunched up around her waist while he claimed her in a shitty bathroom stall.

Other times, it was: “Quick head in the old lab. Ten minutes.”

Kneeling among the dust and crates, Pam would take him so deep it made her eyes water, her throat working rhythmically to take every goddamn inch of him. She was a greedy student, gulping down every last drop of his cum before racing back to class with a flushed face and a secret smile.

Damian’s favorite, though, was gym class. He’d “drop by” to deliver a fake message, and the second Pam spotted him, she’d feign a cramp or a headache. The coach would wave her off, and they’d vanish into the broom closet. There, surrounded by the smell of floor wax and old sports gear, he’d bend her over stacks of boxes and take her from behind, his deep, animalistic grunts muffled by the heavy door. He’d drive into her with zero restraint, enjoying the way she whimpered under his weight.

“So, Nerd? Mouth or pussy today?” she’d whisper afterward, wiping her lip and looking at him like he was a god.

Damian would just give her that shy, growingly confident smirk. “I’m still undecided. I need more data.”

And the data was mounting. They were averaging three encounters a day, sometimes four if they had an afternoon session at her house. It was a rigorous test for the birth control Pam took; after a brief talk about condoms, she’d convinced him that “the rubber” was a total buzzkill. Damian, having no frame of reference but loving the raw, explosive heat of coming inside her unprotected, was more than happy to oblige. As caveman-like as it was, he couldn’t help but love the feeling of his hot seed filling her up, marking her as his over and over again.

Our young protagonist was having the absolute time of his life. For the first time in his existence, he woke up every morning with a grin instead of a sigh. The world didn’t feel like a giant math problem he couldn’t solve anymore; it felt like a game he’d already won. The physical exercise—more “cardio” than he’d done in his entire life—had filled out his slender frame, putting a very, very subtle, corded muscle on his shoulders and chest that made his clothes fit slightly differently.

The constant sexual validation had completely nuked his stutter. He moved through the halls with a quiet, observant confidence, no longer hugging the walls like a ghost. He was still millions of miles away from getting crowned prom king but still, it was progress. He stopped asking permission for anything when it came to sex. He decided the when, the where, and the how. He finally understood that the “deformity” he had spent years hating was actually a skeleton key to a world the other guys at Dresden High could only dream of. He was fucking the queen bee, and the realization made him want to laugh out loud in the middle of history class.

The change was so radical that people were starting to notice. His mom kept commenting on his “glow,” convinced that the tutoring job was just giving him a great sense of responsibility. Even Danny, his only real friend, was getting suspicious.

“Dude, what the hell is in the water at the Van Buren place?” Danny asked one day, squinting at him. “You’re not twitchy anymore. You’re actually ... chill. And you’ve stopped biting your nails. Is Pam’s dad giving you like, high-end brain vitamins or something?”

Damian just offered an uncomfortable chuckle and left it at that. He couldn’t exactly tell Danny that the “vitamins” involved the head cheerleader swallowing him whole three times a day. He just felt good. He was always in a killer mood, radiating a calm energy he had never had before.

But Damian was a scientist at heart. As much as he loved the high, he couldn’t just sit back and enjoy the ride. He wanted to push the envelope. He wanted to test the limits of this new reality and see exactly how far his power reached. He wanted to know just how much the queen of the school would sacrifice—and how much she would endure—to keep him happy.

“Just clear the cache and logs, man. A Mac rarely slows down on its own, but you actually have to maintain it a little.” Danny said, his fingers flying across the keyboard of the laptop.

“Altman, I don’t need the tech-support TED Talk. Just fix the damn thing before I use your head as a mousepad,” Bobby Harris grumbled, his shadow looming over the table.

It was a crisp, unusually beautiful mid-November day in Raleigh. The courtyard was packed with students soaking up the sun before the afternoon slog of classes. Danny was perched on a wooden picnic table, Harris hovering over him like a disgruntled bodyguard, while Damian leaned against a nearby oak tree. He had his legs crossed, watching the social hierarchy unfold with a cool, detached gaze that he definitely didn’t have a month ago.

“What are you staring at, Nerd? You look like you’re glitching or some shit,” Harris barked, catching Damian’s gaze.

About fifty yards away, the “Royalty” were holding court. Brent Miller was perched on a table, and Pam was wrapped around him like ivy. Their mouths were locked in a sloppy, aggressive display of public affection, Brent’s hands wandering all over her ass to make sure every guy in the vicinity knew she was “claimed.”

“Hahaha!” Harris jeered, following Damian’s eyes. “What’s the matter, Nerd? Got a massive crush on Van Buren? You want a turn or something?”

Damian didn’t even flinch. He didn’t feel that old, familiar sting of being the loser on the sidelines. Instead, he felt a heavy, familiar pulse in his jeans—a thick, rhythmic throb that reminded him exactly who Pam really belonged to when the lights were low.

“As if she even knows you’re alive, you dork,” Harris added, looking for a reaction. “She wouldn’t even let you breathe her air.”

“Actually, Damian tutors her, so technically she spends more time with him than—” Danny started to defend him.

“Nobody asked you, Altman! Get back to the laptop, you ginger zitface!” Harris snapped, shoving Danny’s shoulder hard enough to make him stumble. “Check yourself, or I’ll deadass stomp you right here in front of everyone and let them watch you leak.”

Danny rolled his eyes, muttering “Absolute mouth-breather” under his breath as he went back to the code. In the background of their bickering, Damian watched as Brent pulled Pam closer, his hands groping her shamelessly.

He felt a rush of blood to his cheeks—not from embarrassment, but from a cold, calculated daring. He was bored of Brent acting like he owned the queen. He pulled his phone from his pocket, the screen bright in the sunlight. Keeping his eyes locked on the couple across the yard, he began to type a message, his heart starting to hammer against his ribs with a sudden, vicious excitement.

Pam was currently lost in Brent’s mouth, her hands tangled in his hair. She could feel him getting hard against her thigh—a familiar, standard-issue weight she’d dealt with a million times.

“Mmmm ... Pam...” Brent whispered against her ear, his voice barely cutting through the loud-ass chatter of the lunch crowd. “ ... Baby ... you don’t even know what I’d give to just do it right now.”

Pam pulled back, giving him a look of feigned shock that the arrogant quarterback totally bought. “Brent! Are you literal trash? Right here at school? No way. What are you even thinking?!”

“Come on, babe, maybe a bathroom? Just a quickie? I’m dying here,” he insisted, leaning in close and trying to look pathetic.

Pam gave him a playful, “teacher” smile—the kind she was getting scarily good at faking. “Not a chance, stud. You’ll have to wait till later. You know the rules. Patience is a virtue or whatever.”

Brent let out a resigned groan. “Alright, fine ... you’re a tease.” They went back to making out, his tongue searching hers with a desperate, heavy hunger that honestly felt kind of mid compared to what she was used to lately.

A few minutes later, her pocket buzzed. She pulled out her phone. It was him.

Brent was busy bragging to a teammate about some highlight-reel play, giving Pam the perfect window to check the screen. She hunched over, making sure no one was lurking behind her.

Wanna spend the rest of lunch making out with him, or with my cock?:)

Pam read the words and immediately heard them in Damian’s raw, deep baritone. She pictured his dorky, slightly embarrassed face and felt a sharp, familiar heat bloom right in her gut. She had no clue why this nerd had such a vice-grip on her biology, but she wasn’t about to fight it. He was her project—a work in progress—and he was coming along beautifully.

She scanned the courtyard to find him. He was sitting under an oak tree, looking as awkward as ever in his shabby, uncoordinated clothes. It was a total fashion disaster, honestly, but Pam was obsessed. It wasn’t just his “hidden talent” anymore; she actually liked him. She hated how insecure he was, and she wanted him to see the insane power he actually held over her.

She turned to Brent, her voice turning sweet and totally convincing. “Babe, I gotta bounce. I have to review for that test, or Devon is literally going to rip my head off and hang it like a trophy.”

Brent groaned. “Do you really have to? Should I start calling you a nerd like ‘Four-Eyes’ over there?” He jerked a thumb toward Damian.

“Brent, honey...” she said, her voice dropping into that childish, sugary tone that always made him cave. “First off: ‘Four-Eyes’ is the only reason I’m actually gonna graduate and not be a super-senior. And second: he’s actually nice, and I don’t want you making fun of him. Okay? It’s cringe.”

Brent grumbled, but he couldn’t resist her when she used that voice. “Fine. Whatever. I’ll stop. Happy?” He leaned in for one last kiss.

“Good boy!” She pulled away before he could get a real grip on her. “I’m off! Wish me luck!”

As she walked toward Damian, her thumbs flew across her screen, a wicked smirk on her face.

Do you even have to ask, Nerd? You know I’m thirsty for it.

Damian was still reeling from his own ballsy move. He watched her walk away from the jocks, blowing fake-ass kisses to the meathead she’d just ditched like he was yesterday’s news. He felt his phone buzz in his pocket and smirked evern before reading the text.

“ ... literally the coldest bitch in this entire school. And I mean top-class bitch, no cap! Trust me, I know,” Bobby Harris was saying, his voice full of a bravado he definitely didn’t have. “I tapped that for a while, then I ghosted. I got bored, honestly. Too much maintenance.”

Bobby hadn’t noticed Pam closing in. He was too busy performing for Danny, who was frantically trying to finish the laptop repairs just so the idiot would finally leave. Damian watched with an amused glint in his eyes as the “top-class bitch” herself stepped right into earshot, her expression shifting from curiosity to pure venom as she caught the tail end of Bobby’s rambling.

“She treats everyone like straight-up trash,” Bobby continued, leaning back. “Like I said she’s a total bitc—”

“Hi, Damian!”

Danny and Bobby spun around like they’d been hit by a flashbang. Pam stood there, looking absolutely stunning and low-key dangerous. Damian struggled to keep a straight face; the timing was chef’s kiss.

“Hey, Pam,” he replied, keeping his voice chill.

Pam flashed a dazzling smile at Danny—who nearly fell off the picnic table in shock—and completely blanked Bobby. Bobby’s face turned a sickly, gray color. “Uh ... hi, Pam...” he stammered, his voice cracking like a middle-schooler’s.

She didn’t even acknowledge he existed.

“Damian, I’m so sorry for being annoying and bothering you during lunch, but would you mind going over the last few things for the test? I left my books in the classroom.” Her voice was a masterpiece of modest, “good girl” courtesy. Bobby’s eyes looked like they were literally going to pop out of his skull.

“No problem,” Damian said, pushing himself up from the oak tree, half-eaten sandwich in hand.

“Danny, I’m so sorry to steal him away. I know you guys were probably in the middle of a deep convo,” she added, her politeness so sharp it was lethal.

“No, no! It’s totally fine, P-P-Pam...” Danny stammered, his brain short-circuiting because apparently the Queen of the School actually knew his name. “It’s a p-p-pleasure...”

“How sweet of you!” she chirped. Damian thought Danny might actually pass out right there.

“See you later,” Damian said, savoring the “WTF” look on his friend’s face as they started to walk away.

“But ... Pam! Wait!” Bobby called out, sounding desperate and pathetic.

She stopped and pivoted slowly, her gaze turning absolute zero. “What do you want, Harris?”

The use of his last name was like a slap to the face. There was zero playfulness there—just a vast, freezing distance. Damian almost expected to see frost form on Bobby’s chin.

“You don’t actually expect me to say hi, do you? After all, you said it yourself—I’m a ‘top-class bitch.’ I’d hate to disappoint you.” She hissed the words with a venomous sweetness that left Bobby looking like a total clown, then turned on her heel.

Bobby stood there like a pillar of salt, his mouth hanging open. Once they were out of earshot and around the corner, Pam let out a little giggle and smiled to herself.