Nerd! Genesis of a Master
Copyright© 2026 by Naughty Bard
Chapter 7: The Battle of the Blow-Hole
Fiction Sex Story: Chapter 7: The Battle of the Blow-Hole - Damian Flanagan is the school's invisible nerd, a "toothpick" surviving Dresden High through tactical invisibility. But queen bee Pamela Van Buren discovers his secret: Damian is hiding a "masterpiece" of raw masculinity between his legs that puts every athlete to shame. In a dark parking lot, the social order flips as the queen claims the prize no one else noticed.
Caution: This Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Teenagers Consensual Mind Control Reluctant Slavery Heterosexual Fiction School Sports Cheating Sharing DomSub MaleDom Humiliation Light Bond Rough Sadistic Harem White Male White Female Anal Sex Analingus Cream Pie First Facial Oral Sex Petting Sex Toys Spitting Foot Fetish Public Sex Size Teacher/Student Geeks Nudism Revenge Transformation
Amanda Derrik’s jaw was literally locking up. She’d been face-deep in Damian’s business for ten straight minutes, and stopping was a total non-option. She was obsessed with everything about him: the ridiculous size, the shape, the scent. She had a crushing, borderline delusional infatuation with the guy standing over her.
She lived for the way he looked down at her—one hand tangled in her hair, the other palming her bare breast, wearing that dazzling, ridiculosly perfect smile. She had his face everywhere—her wallpaper, her private stories, probably her dreams. With every bob of her head, she swirled her tongue around the tip, savoring him like he was a legendary drop. In her head, this wasn’t just a hookup; it was a high-stakes comp against that “frigid little nun” she had to share him with.
Sally Gook ... who actually names their kid Sally? Amanda sneered mentally. She sounds like a trad-wife from the fifties. Literally an NPC from a black-and-white movie. Amanda was shirtless, her bra tossed somewhere on the floor. Damian liked the view, and she loved serving it to him. She clung to his waist, her palms pressed against his back pockets, pulling him in. She was convinced that Sally—that “puritanical little pick-me”—could never handle him like this. At most, Sally probably let him feel her up over her sweater. Victory was hers.
Then, his deep baritone broke through her toxic daydreaming:
“Mmm ... more ... swallow it all, Amanda. It’s actually insane when you do that ... mmm...”
Watch and learn, Gook! I’m literally diff! she thought smugly. She buried her face into his groin, forcing his shaft deeper and deeper. Even with her elite-tier lack of a gag reflex, Damian Flanagan’s hard rock cock was an absolute marathon. Every time her lips hit his pubic hair, she couldn’t breathe, but she didn’t care. She wanted to swallow every single inch.
“Mmm ... I love how you throat the tip ... keep going ... more ... mmmm...”
His hand was gentle on her head, letting her lead the pace. She was the one chasing that last inch, impaling herself in a rhythm that was making her lose her mind.
After a few more minutes, trails of spit were dripping down her chest and onto the floor. The rhythm was relentless. When Damian finally hit his peak with a choked-out “Aaaaaahhhhh!!!”, he unloaded directly into her throat. Amanda stayed there, sucking every last drop from him until he finally let go of her hair.
“Damn, Amanda...” he panted, his breath finally leveling out as he looked down at her. He had that innocent, boyish face and those perfect teeth that made him look way too sweet for what he just did. “You’re actually a natural at this ... seriously, coming in your mouth is like, the best part of my day.”
To Amanda, that sounded like the most romantic, top-tier thing she’d ever heard. Take that, Gook! You’re literally cooked! She looked up at him, still massaging the shaft with her hand, a sweet, dazed smile on her face.
“Mmmm ... Damian, that’s so sweet. You can do that whenever you want, you know?” she chirped, her voice dripping with honey. “I love swallowing every drop for you. It’s like the best breakfast ever ... seriously delicious...” She finished by giving him one last, lingering lick.
Damian reached down and patted her head like she was a good dog. “No way, that’s crazy—Sally says the exact same thing!”
A shard of pure ice pierced Amanda’s heart. Absolute silence.
Damian kept smiling, totally oblivious. “It’s actually so clutch that you’re both into it. Saves me so much trouble!” He casually tucked himself back into his boxers and zipped up his jeans.
The morning bell rang, echoing through the small room behind the gym. He headed for the door, leaving Amanda kneeling on the floor, shirtless, with a thin trickle of white semen dripping from her lip to her chin. She was stunned.
With a cheeky smirk, he glanced back. “Catch you later!”
The door clicked shut.
Amanda wiped her mouth and stood up, her hands shaking as she pulled her bra and shirt back on. She was furious. Beyond furious. So that little wench actually has a throat on her, huh? she hissed to the empty room. Innocent my ass!
She grabbed the door handle, her eyes blazing with a renewed, toxic fighting spirit.
You want war, Gook? I’ll give you fucking war!
“Aaaaahhhhh!!”
Damian let out a low, satisfied exhale as he headed up the stairs. Mission accomplished. Balls empty. The day can officially start. He navigated through the hallways, cutting through the usual morning brainrot chatter of students rushing to their first period.
“Yo! Damian!”
Danny caught his eye as soon as he stepped into the classroom. He was posted up by the window with three guys they’d been low-key bonding with lately. Damian walked over, getting the usual round of daps and sincere “What’s up, man?” nods.
There was Alec Dempsey—blond, athletic, and perpetually carrying himself with that peak “I’m him” energy, as if the hallway was his personal runway and everyone else was just an extra. Then there was Dick Kapoor, a towering figure with smooth, caramel skin and deep black eyes that always seemed to be scanning for his next conquest; he was basically a legend for having a rotation of like six girls at any given time and a laugh so infectious it could probably cure clinical depression. Finally, there was Toby Jackings, who looked like a literal teen version of Tom Holland; the resemblance was so uncanny that half the school had started calling him “Spidey.” He used to be one of Bobby Harris’s lackeys, but he’d clearly seen the vision and jumped ship.
Damian had totally re-evaluated these guys. He used to think they were just mindless, carbon-copy preps, but honestly? They were surprisingly chill and actually had working brains. For a guy who used to be a sullen, “lone wolf” nerd who spent his lunch breaks calculating the trajectory of his own social failure, having a high-status squad felt like a literal level-up.
Even Danny had seen a glow-up; Pam had basically forced him into this insane 7-step skincare routine that involved so many mysterious creams and serums that Damian honestly didn’t know if it was “preppy aesthetics” or some kind of secret voodoo magic. Whatever the ritual was, it worked—Danny’s acne was now a myth, replaced by skin so clear it looked filtered.
He even had a new haircut and a smirk that was starting to look a lot like Damian’s. When he laughed, his teeth flashed a brilliant, blinding white that practically gave the game away; it was obvious he’d visited the exact same high-end dentist Damian had to get that perfect smile. Pam said it was “crucial for the brand” that the wingman didn’t look like a total NPC.
“Yo, did you catch the new Invincible episode last night?” Toby asked, leaning in.
“Bro, it was actually peak fiction,” Damian replied with a grin. “The animation went crazy.”
“Deadass!” they all agreed. “But you gotta settle this debate,” Toby started, pointing at Alec. “Alec is out here claiming that...” Toby laid out some high-level theory about the show’s power scaling, knowing Damian was the only one with the logic to settle it.
Damian thought for a second, then shrugged. “In my opinion? Alec is right, Toby. His logic is just more airtight. It is what it is.”
“Let’s gooo!” Alec shouted triumphantly. “Official verdict! I’m the smartest one in the group, confirmed!” They all burst out laughing. It was a vibe Damian never thought he’d have—genuine friends who actually respected his opinion.
Suddenly, Amanda walked in. She spotted him from across the room and gave him a wide, knowing smile, waving a little too enthusiastically. Damian just gave her a chill wave back while his friends watched like hawks.
“She just drained you, didn’t she? Admit it,” Danny said, his voice dropping low. Damian looked at him, arching an eyebrow.
“How do you even know that?”
Danny started cackling, and the others joined in. “I didn’t! But you just confirmed it, bro!”
Damian laughed, shaking his head. “Ten minutes ago. Storage room. Light work.”
“With the swallow? Tell me she finished it,” Toby asked, leaning in with a “no way” expression. Damian just gave him a look that said ’Is that even a question?’ and nodded.
“Hehe! That’s why she’s walking in here like she won the lottery!” Alec teased.
“Damn, she’s really down bad for you,” Toby sighed, sounding a bit jealous. “I wish my girl would move like that. She literally acts like I’m asking for a kidney if I want more than a make-out session.”
“Mine does it occasionally, but it’s mid,” Dick added to the locker-room talk, leaning against his desk. “She makes this whole face about the taste, so she basically does the bare minimum. It’s a struggle.”
“Wait, which one are we even talking about now, Dick?” Alec interjected with a smirk. “The cheerleader, the track star, or the girl from the debate team?”
Dick let out that famous, infectious laugh, his deep black eyes glinting. “Bro, honestly? I’ve lost the plot myself. They’re all just blending into one giant, mid-tier disappointment. It’s tough being the main character, you know?”
Danny finally chimed in, sounding completely exasperated. “Bro, what are you guys even complaining about? At least you guys have options! I’m out here playing on legendary difficulty with zero spawns!”
“Man, Altman, you’d have a girl too if you weren’t so picky!” the group chorused back, trying to be supportive but failing to hold back the wheezing.
“I’m not being picky!” Danny defended himself, hands flying up in frustration. “You can’t be talking about Marie Simpson, right? Because have you actually seen her? Have you smelled her? She literally reeks of wet dog and basement, on God. I’m not doing it.”
He tried to sound dead serious, but the guys were already losing it.
“And she’s always scratching her head like she’s got a secret colony of space-lice up there ... look, I’m desperate, I really am—but I have standards! I’m not trying to be Patient Zero for a new pandemic!”
He barely finished his sentence before Miss Black walked in. The vibe shifted instantly as everyone scrambled to their seats, the carefree laughter fading into the morning grind.
Susy Lockhart scanned the hallway, her eyes darting like she was a character in a spy movie. Over the last three weeks, this had become her low-key obsession. She’d learned the exact windows of time when the hallway was a ghost town, perfect for her secret missions.
Once she reached the main corridor, she headed straight for locker 722. It was Damian’s, and it had become the center of her world. She pulled a small, neatly folded piece of paper out of her pocket. Just looking at it made her face go full crimson, a deep blush of pure embarrassment heating up her cheeks.
She took one last look at the words she’d written and cringed at the thought of anyone finding out she had written them. At the very bottom, she had scribbled those same two letters that appeared on all the others: SL.
With a shaky hand, she slid the note through the locker vent, ready to turn on her heel and hurry away, trying to keep her “innocent” mask from slipping but...
“Where is my actual head?” Damian wondered, his pace brisk as he navigated the empty halls.
The penultimate hour had just kicked off, and the entire class had migrated to the language lab for a high-stakes French quiz. Like a total idiot, he’d left the essay he’d spent all night perfecting sitting right in his locker. It was the first time his “robotic academic perfection” had ever glitched, and Mrs. Maubon—a Parisian who took zero shit—had actually given him an indulgent smile when she let him go grab it. Even so, he was low-key annoyed that his “perfect student” aura had taken a hit.
He turned the corner into his corridor and stopped dead.
The school was a ghost town, except for one dark-haired girl standing right in front of his locker. He watched as she slipped a small piece of paper through the grating. When she finished and turned to leave, she locked eyes with him.
The color didn’t just fade; it literally drained from her face until she looked ashen. Her expression of pure, unadulterated distress reminded him of The Scream—that famous Munch painting. She started shaking her head in total disbelief, her eyes welling up with tears instantly. Before he could even say “Yo,” she turned and bolted in the opposite direction like her life depended on it.
Damian just smirked. He didn’t chase her. He walked calmly over, hands in his pockets. He spun his lock, pulled the door open, and grabbed the latest drop from his “not-so-secret” admirer.
He already knew that girl. They hadn’t been formally introduced, but he’d seen her orbiting Pam’s circle at the start of the year. He unfolded the paper and scanned the messy, desperate handwriting.
“I wish my mouth could become your personal toilet...” It was followed by a cluster of hearts and those two initials: S.L. Susan ... Susan ... something. He couldn’t remember her last name for the life of him, but it didn’t really matter. He let out an amused chuckle. Damn. This little slut is already my slave and she hasn’t even seen the goods yet. New record he thought, mentally high-fiving himself.
As he grabbed his French essay on the arrondissements of Paris, his brain was already shifting into a different gear. The more he thought about Susan’s terrified face and her filthy note, the more a daring, high-risk idea started dancing in his head.
Please, let him not be there!! Susy chanted internally, practically vibrating as she climbed onto the school bus. She’d spent her entire lunch break locked in a bathroom stall, praying she could just phase out of existence. But the school day was over, and the bus was a literal metal cage.
She froze mid-step, her body going stiff as a board. Most of the students were just chilling, scrolling on their phones or yapping about nothing. No one noticed her. Except for him.
Damian was sitting in the fourth row, looking absolutely unbothered. He watched her with this cool, indecipherable expression that made her feel like he was reading her soul. The driver barked at her to take a seat, and she finally forced her legs to move.
As she walked past, Damian gave her a casual, low-key wave. She didn’t respond, her throat feeling like it was full of sand. She marched to the very back, wishing the seat would just swallow her whole. Why did I write that? Why am I like this? She cursed her “delusional” brain a thousand times over. She was massaging her temples, trying to breathe, when she saw a shadow move.
Her heart stopped. Damian had stood up, his backpack slung over one shoulder with that effortless cool energy, and was walking straight toward her. There was zero escape. He slid into the seat next to her like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“Hi! You’re Susan, right?” Damian asked, his voice friendly and impossibly calm.
She hesitated, her eyes stinging with unshed tears, and gave a tiny, frantic nod.
“I’m Damian, but you already knew that, right?” Another desperate nod. He leaned in a little closer, his voice dropping into a low, private register. “Come on, don’t make that face. I’m not gonna rat you out or leak your notes, if that’s what you’re terrified of.”
She looked at him, her silence heavy and thick.
“Why would I?” he added, looking genuinely amused. He was so relaxed, so top-tier cocky, that it actually started to soothe her panic. “The stuff you wrote to me is ... well...” He glanced around to make sure the guys in the row ahead were focused on their own conversation. “Do you actually mean it? Or is this just some weird internet brainrot thing for you?”
Susy stared at the floor, her cheeks burning so hot she thought they might actually blister. She couldn’t find her voice. She felt him smile beside her.
“Wow. Respect. Haha!” he commented. She squirmed, feeling mocked by his lighthearted tone.
“It’s not that deep,” he said, running a hand through his hair in a way that looked effortlessly stylish. “You just have some slightly perverse desires, Susy. That’s all.”
“Quite the chatterbox, aren’t we?” he teased when she didn’t answer. Then, without breaking eye contact, he slipped a hand inside his pants and began to slowly massage himself.
Susy’s head snapped toward him, her eyes widening in total shock at the sight of his hand bulging against that already massive package. The temperature in the bus seemed to skyrocket. For twenty seconds, she couldn’t look away; she was obsessed, glued to the movement.
“Tell me ... have you ever even been close to a guy’s business before?” he asked suddenly. His blue eyes were so penetrating, so sure of themselves. She slowly shook her head. “ ... so you have no idea what it actually smells like, do you?”
She was reeling. He was talking to her with the same calmness people use to talk about the weather.
“ ... it takes a lot of balls to write all that filth when you don’t even know what you’re getting into.”
Susy’s mouth was a desert. Suddenly, he withdrew his hand and, without a single second of warning, he pressed it right against her nose and mouth. The scent hit her like a freight train—raw, musky, and completely male.
In an instant, all her regret vanished. Every dirty thought she’d ever written down felt validated. She looked into his brilliant blue eyes and saw a smirk that said I’ve got you.
Overwhelmed by a sudden, frantic devotion, she reached up and grabbed his hand, pressing his palm firmly against her face. She didn’t just want to feel him; she wanted to inhale him. She breathed in deep, letting the raw, masculine scent of his skin soak into her senses until her head spun.
“The next stop is mine, do you mind giving my hand back?” he joked, his voice dripping with that effortless, arrogant charm.
She pulled away instantly, her face a mask of shame as if she’d been caught stealing.
“Well, it looks like you’re a fan of the scent!” he commented cheerily, standing up. “Let’s do this. My parents are out all Sunday. If you want to come over in the afternoon...” He leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. “ ... I’ll let you experience way more than just a quick sniff.”
He gave her a wink that made her stomach do a backflip. “Think about it. Catch you at school!”
He hopped off the bus, leaving Susy staring into space. Her heart was finally starting to beat normally, but her head was a mess of “butterflies” and pure terror. She twisted a strand of her hair around her finger—a nervous habit she’d had since she was a kid—trying to process the absolute chaos of the last five minutes.
She couldn’t decide this on her own. The stakes were too high. She needed a pro. She needed someone who actually knew how to handle a guy like Damian.
She pulled out her phone, her thumb trembling as she scrolled through her contacts until she hit the name Pamela Van Buren. She hit call, realizing she probably should have made this move a long time ago.
Bobby Harris had never been so cooked. It had been weeks, and he was still the school’s favorite punchline. What sucked the most was that he couldn’t even blame a hater—he’d done this to himself with his own stupid, ego.
Everything that used to matter—the clout, being the star of his own little kingdom, pulling the baddest girls—felt like a lifetime ago. Honestly, at this point, he’d settle for people just not laughing at him for five minutes. He never thought the script would flip like this. Flanagan was now the golden boy for Pam and Brent, and to the rest of the school, he was basically a local legend. Bobby had spent four weeks internalizing that L, and it had finally brought him to a bitter, desperate resolution.
“Bro, I actually want to deck Avery. He’s such a power-tripping loser!” Teddy Becker snapped.
The locker room was packed. Their teacher was a no-show again, so the sophomores and juniors were all crammed into the same space. The locker room ... the exact place where this whole downward spiral had started.
“Why? What’d you get on the test?” Toby asked. The guy used to be Bobby’s right-hand man, but even he had moved on, and that reality hit Bobby harder than any failed grade.
Watching the guy who used to literally back him in every fight now dapping up the “Nerd” was a soul-crushing visual. Bobby knew, with a bitter knot in his stomach, that it was all his own fault, he’d managed to isolate himself from the only people who ever actually had his back.
“He gave me a fat F, can you believe that? That total—”
Bobby tuned out the foul-mouthed rant. He was standing there with just a towel around his waist, his eyes locked on Flanagan, who was stripping down a few feet away. Bobby took a deep breath, swallowed the last bit of pride he had left, and walked toward him.
Damian was just stepping out of his last bit of clothing, moving with a casual indifference that made Bobby’s blood boil.
Damn, how can he be that big? Bobby thought, his eyes betraying him as they drifted toward Damian’s cock. It looked even bigger than the last time he’d seen it in the locker room. It was actually unfair.
Bobby stepped into Damian’s space and spoke loud enough for the whole room to hear.
“Damian...”
Damian spun around, looking genuinely caught off guard. “Bobby?” he replied, his voice icy. They hadn’t traded a single word since the “incident.”
“Look, I wanted to apologize to you...”
The locker room went dead silent. You could literally hear a pin drop. Bobby felt every single pair of eyes boring into his back. Damian’s eyebrows shot up.
“Yeah, you heard me,” Bobby continued, trying to force a casual, “just-a-joke” laugh that fell completely flat. “I was being a total clown for giving you a hard time. I’m sorry, for real.”
Damian stared at him, actually speechless for a second. This was the last thing he expected. Then, his expression hardened, his eyes turning into cold flint.
“I’m not interested in your apology, Bobby.”
He watched the last bit of Bobby’s “alpha” bravado just evaporate.
“Come on, man. I’m being dead serious. I’m sorry for everything ... buddy.” Bobby extended his hand, but Damian just frowned, looking at it like it was covered in trash.
“Buddy?” Damian’s sarcasm was heavy enough to choke on.
Bobby swallowed hard and pulled his hand back, looking like a kicked dog. “Okay, fine. You’re right. We were never friends. I just wanted to say sorry, that’s all.”
Bobby’s head was down, his gaze fixed on the floor, so he didn’t see the two shadows looming behind him. Suddenly, Teddy Becker and Leo Martinez—the two biggest units in the grade—grabbed him by the shoulders.
“Oh, look at this! Harris has feelings now!” Teddy mocked.
“Yeah, must suck being the biggest loser in the building, huh?” Leo added, his grip tightening.
“Ahhh!! Guys, you’re actually hurting me, let me go!” No matter how much Bobby struggled, he was completely cooked. He had zero escape; they were twisting his arms behind his back like he was a suspect in a high-speed chase, and they clearly weren’t trying to let him off easy.
The laughter in the locker room was peaking. Damian realized in that moment that nobody—not a single person there—was going to lift a finger to help. There wasn’t a soul left who would ever defend Bobby Harris, and you could see that “serves you right” look on every single face.
“Yo, what’s the problem?! We just want to help you make your apology more convincing, right?!” With a brutal kick to the back of his knees, they folded him, making him crash to the floor right at Damian’s feet. “There! Much better!!” A roar of laughter exploded from every corner. Toby, Alec, Dick, even Danny were losing it right next to him, and everyone was tryna catch Damian’s eye to share the vibes of this absolute, well-deserved revenge. Twenty, maybe thirty phones were out, recording the whole downfall in 4K.
“Let me go, man! Teddy, seriously, don’t be a jerk!!” The grip tightened until it was painful, and Bobby’s face was pressed directly against the tile floor at Damian’s feet.
“Come on, run that apology back, Harris, and this time make us believe it!” Leo barked. Damian watched the whole thing go down, feeling a sadistic sense of gratitude toward the two units. He knew they were basically under the direct command of Brent Miller—the guy nobody would ever dare cross before graduation.
“Aaaaaahhhhhh!!!!” Bobby was fully whining now, sounding pathetic.
“Hurry up, Harris, we don’t have all day!” Leo snapped, slapping him on the back of the head.
“Aahhh ... Damian, I’m sorry ... aaaahhhh ... I’m sorry for being an asshole ... aahhhh ... I won’t do it again, I swear, on God, aaahhh!!” The room erupted in a new wave of mockery.
“Well, way more believable, don’t you think, Leo?” Becker chuckled.
“Yo, for real! Honestly, Damian, from the way he’s begging, it sounds like he wants to be your little foot-licking bitch, doesn’t it?!” The guys kept the energy high, completely hyped to see the arrogant former bully finally getting put in his place.
“Is that what you want, Harris? You tryna be Flanagan’s foot-licking bitch? Is that the new move? Is that your new dream? Answer me!” Teddy added, yanking his hair back with enough force to make his eyes water.
“Ahhh!! No! No! Stop! Let me go!!” Bobby gasped, his voice cracking in a way that only fueled the room’s adrenaline.
“Hahaha!! We’ll let you go once you’ve realized your dream! Come on, show Damian how sorry you actually are. Lock in and lick his feet!! Hahaha!!!”
Damian, the accidental star of this ruthless show, laughed along with the crowd, the sound dark and effortless. Bobby’s face was literally inches from his right foot, and he suddenly flashed back to what Pam had told him in her bedroom months ago: “Imagine if you became so popular that you had Bobby Harris at your feet!” It was wild—she’d actually called it.
“Move it! Lick! Or I’m actually gonna snap your arm! No cap, Bobby, don’t test me!” Teddy gave him the menacing ultimatum, his grip tightening as the locker room fell into a hungry, expectant silence.
“Fucking lick ‘em!”
“Don’t be shy! Move it!”
“Lick!! LICK!! LICK!!” The chants merged into a rhythmic, deafening roar that filled the locker room: “LICK!! LICK!! LICK!! LICK!!”
Damian looked down and saw the last spark of hope drain from Bobby’s eyes, dissolving into a mess of tears. And as he watched Bobby slightly part his lips and timidly stick out his tongue, Damian intentionally moved his foot closer, making sure the angle was perfect for every phone camera in the room. A massive roar of laughter and crude comments echoed through the room, which was thick with the scent of sweat and adrenaline.
“What the hell is going on in here!?” the coach’s voice thundered through the chaos after a few moments. The sea of boys formed a human wall to block the stout coach’s view, and Teddy and Leo quickly released the broken Bobby. He collapsed back, sitting on the floor, frantically wiping tears and trying to spit out the rancid taste that had just filled his mouth. When the coach finally pushed through to the center of the room, he saw Bobby on the floor facing a naked Damian and, knowing their history, immediately assumed the worst:
“Flanagan! Is Harris bothering you again?!”
Quiet snickers broke out in every corner while Bobby tried to hide his red, puffy eyes. Damian looked the coach right in the eye, totally calm.
“No, sir. Actually, it’s the opposite. Bobby was just finishing up a really sincere apology for being a jerk a while back...”
More snickers. The coach looked absolutely stunned, almost impressed.
“Well, I’ll be damned. Harris, maybe there’s hope for you yet!” he grunted, then clapped his hands. “Hit the showers, ladies! You stink!”
Bobby didn’t show up to school the next day, or the day after. Honestly, nobody was shocked. Within an hour of the locker room incident, the videos were already viral on X, Telegram, and every private Discord server in a fifty-mile radius. By the next morning, Bobby Harris was the biggest “unfortunate celebrity” Raleigh High had ever seen.
The clips had been edited perfectly—you couldn’t even tell he was being forced. All anyone saw was his face in 4K resolution, tongue out, looking like a total sub for an “unknown” guy while the whole room roared. It looked less like a bullying incident and more like Bobby had a secret, pathetic fetish he’d finally been caught acting out. The internet’s dark corners had archived it forever; he was no longer a varsity athlete, just a digital punchline.