Nerd! Genesis of a Master
Copyright© 2026 by Naughty Bard
Chapter 9
Fiction Sex Story: Chapter 9 - 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 Gang Bang Harem White Male White Female Indian Male Anal Sex Analingus Cream Pie Double Penetration First Facial Oral Sex Petting Sex Toys Spitting Foot Fetish Public Sex Size Teacher/Student Geeks Nudism Porn Theatre Revenge Transformation
Architect Philip Van Buren slid his Porsche SUV into the private stall of his opulent villa. It was only 4:30 PM, an unusually early finish for a man of his stature. Lately, he had been offloading the heavy lifting—blueprints, client revisions, and late-night redlines—onto the hungry interns and junior partners at the firm.
The reason for his sudden “work-life balance” was, quite frankly, sick. It was beyond embarrassing; it was the kind of dark secret that would incinerate his reputation and his social standing in a single afternoon if it ever leaked. But the pull was too strong.
He grabbed his leather briefcase from the backseat and headed for the side entrance. His wife was out for her standing Wednesday afternoon appointments, leaving the house empty for at least another two hours.
“Good evening, Mr. Van Buren! Welcome back!” Esperanza, the housekeeper, chirped as he entered.
“Hello. I have urgent business in my study. Are you done for the day?” Philip replied, his voice clipped and brisk.
“Yes, sir. Dinner is prepped and in the fridge. I was just heading out.”
“Good. Thank you. See you tomorrow,” he said, already halfway down the hall. Esperanza, used to the moods of powerful men, simply nodded and made her exit.
Philip reached his study and immediately turned the heavy deadbolt on the double doors. He booted up his workstation, shedding his blazer and loosening his tie as the high-end monitors hummed to life. Sitting back in his plush leather chair, his heart began a rhythmic, heavy thumping.
He reached for his headphones, sliding them on to seal himself into a vacuum of total isolation. With a trembling hand, he clicked a small, innocuous icon on his desktop—a stylized eye.
A window bloomed across his ridiculously massive 43-inch monitor, broadcasting a hyper-realistic, high-definition scene that felt like it was happening right in the room, the audio feed now whispering directly into his ears with crystal-clear intimacy.
“They’ve already started,” he muttered, his breath hitching a little.
There he was: the familiar dark-haired boy lounging across the bed with his hands comfortably tucked behind his head, looking more like a bored deity than a teenager. He didn’t have the heavy, try-hard muscle of the school’s jocks; instead, he was slender and pale, his frame possessing a lithe, almost fragile quality. Yet, despite being skinny and physically unassuming, he projected an aura that was absolutely suffocating. He looked like a king claiming his throne, his narrow, athletic, naked body relaxed and spread-eagled in a display of total, unbothered confidence.
In stark contrast, there was Pam—Philip’s own daughter—kneeling in the space between his thighs, her posture a picture of frantic, absolute devotion. She was working with a level of feverish devotion that was as gut-wrenching as it was mesmerizing, her entire world reduced to sucking the boy’s enormous dick.
While Damian looked completely unbothered, his eyes half-closed as he enjoyed the view of his own power, Pam was pouring every ounce of her soul into him. She looked utterly consumed, her movements desperate and precise, as if the boy’s pleasure was the only thing giving her life purpose. Philip watched, smiling a guilty smile, as his daughter worshipped a boy who didn’t even have to raise a hand to own her completely.
It had all started back in March. He’d forgotten a set of site plans and had rushed back to the villa, expecting to find Pam and her tutor, Damian, deep in a study session. Instead, as he passed Pam’s bedroom, he’d heard sounds that were unmistakable. At first, he’d assumed it was Brent, her boyfriend, but the voice coming from the room was deeper, way more commanding and hauntingly familiar.
His initial instinct—the primal, “fatherly” instinct—was to kick the door down and destroy the boy. He felt a surge of white-hot rage, realizing the kid he was paying to tutor his daughter was actually fucking her right under his nose. But as he stood there, hand trembling on the handle, something had paralyzed him in the hallway.
The anger hadn’t vanished; it had morphed into a bizarre, twisted sense of approval. He liked Damian. The kid was sharp, polite, and clearly possessed a legendary ability to tame Pam in a way no one else could. Philip had found himself leaning against the wall, listening, telling himself it was just a “healthy reward” for the boy’s hard work. He’d eventually grabbed his papers and left, but the seed had been planted.
Now, that seed had grown into a full-blown obsession.
The logic of a 47-year-old high-powered architect had completely disintegrated. “Get a grip, Phil, you idiot!” he had screamed at his own reflection in the rearview mirror a thousand times. His conscience had been a relentless tormentor: She’s your daughter, you absolute degenerate. Aren’t you ashamed?
But the truth was more complex. Philip didn’t have a single incestuous bone in his body; what he desperately craved was a front-row seat to a masterclass in power. His own marriage had become a desert of polite conversation and “scheduled” intimacy, leaving a void that the sounds of those raw, primal encounters filled with a terrifying efficiency.
For weeks, he had been reduced to a pathetic shadow in the hallway, pressing his ear against the cold wood of the door just to catch the muffled sounds of Pam’s surrender at Damian’s each and every demands. But audio wasn’t enough anymore. The hunger for a visual had become an itch he couldn’t stop scratching. He needed to see them.
That’s when he’d hired a twenty-something security technician to install the cameras. The kid had given him a long, searching look when Philip pointed out the specific, invasive angles he wanted in his daughter’s bedroom—a look that screamed he knew exactly what kind of degenerate he was dealing with. But Philip had simply slid a fat envelope across the desk containing enough cash to buy a brand-new car, and the kid’s moral compass had shattered in a heartbeat. For that kind of money, the technician was more than happy to bury his questions and ensure the pinhole lenses were completely undetectable.
Since then, his study had become a private sanctuary of filth. He wasn’t watching his daughter; he was studying Damian, obsessed with the way the boy exerted such effortless, crushing control.
On the monitor, the scene was reaching a fever pitch. Damian was simply a natural. He didn’t just have sex with Pam; he dismantled her. He had transformed the “Princess of Raleigh High” into a creature of pure, unadulterated submission, a transformation so complete it made Philip’s pulse roar in his ears. The sight of his daughter—usually the most entitled, high-maintenance girl in the city—rendered into a literal tool for this boy’s amusement made Philip harder than he’d ever been in his life. It was a sick, intoxicating brand of validation.
He leaned forward, his nose nearly touching the 4K glass as Damian’s hand clamped onto the back of Pam’s head. The boy didn’t even look stressed; he looked bored, like he was mentally scrolling through a feed while simultaneously dominating a human being. He shoved her face down, burying his length until her nose was crushed against his pubic bone.
“Stay like that,” Damian ordered, his voice light, almost cheerful. He tucked his hands back behind his head, relinquishing his grip. He didn’t need to hold her down; his words were the only leash required.
Philip moaned, his breath fogging the screen. He watched, transfixed, as the timer on the bottom of the surveillance feed ticked: 10 seconds... 15 seconds. Pam’s body tensed, her fingers digging into Damian’s lean, pale hips. A muffled, desperate whimper vibrated through the high-fidelity headphones, a sound of biological panic struggling against psychological devotion.
“Nope,” Damian said calmly, not moving an inch. Philip’s hand hovered over the mouse, zooming in until the screen was nothing but Pam’s straining neck and Damian’s smug, relaxed expression.
The silence that followed was heavy. 20 seconds... 25. Pam was clearly struggling, her eyes wide and watering as she stared up at Damian with a look of terrifyingly pure adoration. She wasn’t just fighting for air; she was fighting her own survival instinct just to prove she could follow a single, cruel command.
“I said no, Pam,” Damian repeated with a small, sharp smile when she tried to shift. The correction worked like a charm; Pam pressed her face down even harder, her spine arching in a silent plea for approval.
Philip felt a surge of adrenaline so potent it made his hands shake. He was watching his daughter willingly suffocate herself for the amusement of a skinny sophomore. Having that kinda power over someone ... even Philip, for all his professional success, had never achieved that.
Finally, at the 35-second mark, Damian chuckled.
“Okay ... you can breathe. If you want.”
Pam didn’t even gasp. She surfaced slowly, backing up only a couple of inches, taking a long, ragged inhale through her nose while keeping her lips sealed firmly around him. When she finally pulled back, her face was flushed a deep, bruised crimson, her eyes streaming, but she was beaming with a look of pure euphoria.
“Mmm ... thank you, Little Master!”
“You’re welcome, slave. Do it again, but try to lock in longer this time. You’re being a bit mid.”
“Hehe! With pleasure!!”
As she dove back down with renewed, frantic energy, Philip couldn’t take it anymore. The “Architect of the Year” was gone, replaced by a man fueled by the most basic, sordid impulses. He fumbled with his belt, his breathing as heavy as the girl’s on the screen, and freed his own aching erection. His eyes never left the monitor as he began a frantic, desperate rhythm, completely lost in the scene in front of him, his self-respect dissolving into the high-definition glow of his daughter’s surrender.
“Aah ... Aah ... Aah ... So good! Please, don’t stop!!” Pam was spiraling, her composure disintegrating into raw, twitchy need as Damian took her from behind on all fours. The room felt thick with the scent of them, her expensive perfume mixing with the primal, heavy musk of his sweat.
“Aaahhhh, yours is still the best pussy of them all, Pam ... honestly top-tier ... aaaahhhhh...” Damian groaned. His head was tossed back, his eyes hooded and glassy with a look of pure, narcotic satisfaction. His skinny frame looked deceptively elegant even in the heat of it, his pale skin glistening with a thin sheen of sweat that made him look like a marble statue coming to life.
She leaned back into him, her voice a desperate, shaky whimper. “Mmmm ... so I’m really your favorite slave? Am I, Little Master? Please say it...”
“Hehehe! For now ... but don’t get too comfortable.” he teased, flashing a wicked, shark-like grin. He looked completely centered, even as he drove into her, clearly enjoying the ego trip of her total surrender just as much as the friction.
“Mmmm ... yes, please ... keep me on the edge ... aaahhhh ... Little Master ... I’m whatever you want...” she moaned. His pelvis slammed hard against her, the sound of skin hitting skin echoing through the quiet luxury of her bedroom.
Suddenly, Damian pulled his cock out of her dripping heat, leaving her instantly tweaking from the unexpected, cold void. “Hey! Why did you stop? C’mon, don’t be mean, keep fucking me!!”
He let out a short, sharp laugh and delivered a resounding smack to her ass. “Shut up, slave!” He repositioned himself, the head of his cock—deeply flushed, thick, and pulsing—now pressing against her tight back hole. “You’re not actually trying to give me orders, are you?”
He leaned over her, casually spitting on the entrance a couple of times to prep it.
Pam’s brain was lagging, the sensory overload making her slow to react. She hadn’t immediately caught onto the shift in his plan, but she recovered almost instantly, twisting her head back to give him a sweet look of pure submission.
“Mmmm ... I’m sorry, Little Master. I’m so stupid ... please forgive me,” she whispered, her eyes wide and pleading. “Actually ... no ... punish me for being a bad slave. Pleeeeeease...” She cut off into a sharp, jagged cry as he unceremoniously shoved two fingers inside to stretch her, showing zero hesitation.
“Punish you? Bet.” He withdrew his fingers and immediately replaced them with the heavy, unyielding weight of his cock, forcing his way in. “As soon as I finish using my personal cum tank, I’m definitely going to show you exactly what happens to impudent slaves,” he said, already locking into a steady, punishing rhythm.
“Aaaahhhh, yesss, Little Master ... thank you ... thank you for using me!!!” she sobbed out, the intensity pushing her straight toward a total, ego-shattering peak as she felt every inch of him stretching her open.
He couldn’t get over her; she was the perfect toy, a gorgeous set of warm, inviting holes that were never, ever disappointing. It was getting harder and harder to maintain his composure. Leaning forward, he dropped his weight, pressing his chest flat against her back in a primal, beastly position that perfectly matched the heavy, humid scent of sex thick in the air.
He drove his dick into her with rhythmic, violent force, the heavy weight of his balls slapping loudly against her skin with every impact. He could feel the pressure peaking, the heat rising until his orgasm finally surged up his massive, throbbing shaft. Just seconds after she shattered, he let out a low, guttural groan, filling her with wave after wave of hot spunk. It was a total high, a god-tier rush of pure dominance he knew he’d never get tired of.
He stayed buried deep inside her for a moment, giving four or five slow, firm thrusts to milk the final drops, ensuring his balls were pleasantly empty. Finally, he straightened up and pulled out his cock. He sat back on his heels, catching his breath with a look of pure satisfaction while Pam, without needing a single word of instruction, immediately turned around.
She moved with the practiced grace of someone who had found her true calling: worshipping him. That much was clear to the both of them by now. She worked with a frantic, loving intensity, her tongue tracing every vein of his length and swirling around his heavy sack and his sticky pubes until every trace of their session was gone. She licked his junk spotless, her eyes looking up at him with a dazed devotion that said she enjoyed the cleanup just as much as the act itself.
For about thirty seconds, he didn’t even bother to look down at her, simply keeping his eyes closed and soaking in the sensation of being serviced. When he felt like she had been properly cleaned, he stood up, leaving her right there on her knees on the floor. He flopped onto the bed with a massive, liberating sigh.
She was the first to break the silence. She grabbed a glass from the desk and looked over at him, her eyes wide with a desperate kind of hunger.
“Little Master, can I? I’m literally starving...” she whispered, pitching her voice into that high, childish tone she used when she wanted to be extra “extra.” Damian propped himself up on his elbows, a smug, knowing laugh bubbling up...
“Hehehe! Go for it. Wouldn’t wanna waste it, would ya?”
She blew him a quick kiss, looking hyped, and set the glass on the carpet. Squatting over it, she relaxed and let his creamy seed drain into the glass while he watched from the bed, smirking cockily. Once she was “empty,” she brought the glass to her lips and tilted her head back, her throat working in slow, rhythmic gulps as the thick fluid slimed its way down.
“Mmmmm...” she hummed, her tongue darting out to meticulously polish the rim of the glass.
“Tastes top-tier as usual?” he teased.
She shot him a cheeky look. “Duh, obviously! It’s yours, silly! It’s literally my favorite food group,” she said, making him chuckle again.
After finishing her “snack,” she looked up at him with a fake, exaggerated pout. “Are you actually gonna punish me, Master?” she asked, playing the part of the sweet, needy kitten.
“Hehe! Well, you’re the one who asked for it, right?” He gave her a conspiratorial, wicked smile.
“Alright then ... what’s the move? What do I have to do?” she asked, sounding genuinely cheerful about the prospect of being used. Damian thought for a second, then snapped his fingers.
“Mmmm ... let’s see ... Get over there, to the foot of the bed.”
Pam crawled on all fours, her knees dragging across the plush carpet until she reached his feet. He had them crossed at the ankles, looking kinda like a bored prince. His feet were slender and aesthetically perfect—the skin was remarkably smooth and pale, with long, elegant toes that twitched slightly as she approached.
“You haven’t licked them yet today,” he noted, flexing his long toes right in front of her face.
“Mmmm ... I know, Little Master ... I’ve been waiting...”
“They’re looking pretty gross to me,” he said, his voice dropping into a low, persuasive hum. “Definitely sweaty after that round...” He moved one smooth sole closer to her, letting the salt-heavy, masculine scent hit her full force.
“Mmmm ... yes...” she whispered, her pupils blown wide as she began to salivate, her face inching toward his smooth heel.
“You really want to taste them, huh? You’re literally crashing out for a lick,” he asked wickedly. She nodded frantically, her tongue already darting out in anticipation. He just chuckled, a sharp, amused sound.
“Well, you can’t! You have permission to smell them, but you’re strictly forbidden from touching them with your lips or your tongue.”
Pam’s jaw dropped, her face a picture of pure, brain-rotted shock. “Hey!!! That’s actually pure cruelty!! No way!!” she squealed, and he just laughed harder, enjoying her desperation.
“Hehehe! That’s what happens when you’re cheeky with your Master!”
She crossed her arms and pouted, trying to weaponize her “cute” face to soften him up, though she was clearly finding the whole power play low-key hilarious.
“Hehe! Come on, Pam! You earned this L today,” he joked, looking down at her.
“Mmmm ... Can I at least rub my face against them? Please? I’m literally starving for a touch,” she asked, pulling out the big guns with a pleading, wide-eyed expression that pretty much won her whatever she wanted.
He shook his head, still chuckling. “Alright. Granted. But if I feel a single lick, you’re grounded.”
She beamed, immediately leaning in to caress his smooth, pale skin with her cheek. She inhaled the salt-heavy, masculine scent of her own submission, closing her eyes as she nuzzled against the arches of his feet. “Mmmmm ... thank you, Little Master ... I seriously don’t deserve you...” she sang out cheerfully, sounding more like a happy pet than the school’s most popular girl.
Damian laughed again, a relaxed, genuine sound. Slowly, the heavy, charged tension in the room shifted back into something almost normal.
“It’s actually wild that school is over in like two weeks,” Damian remarked, leaning back into the pillows and staring up at the ceiling, his long toes still twitching contentedly against Pam’s face.
“Yeah...” she replied, completely focused on the sensation of her cheek gliding against his smooth skin. “This year was literally a speedrun. It flew by!!”
“For me too ... I guess that’s what happens when you’re actually having a blast,” he added, and they shared a genuine, effortless smile.
“Think about how much you’ve actually learned, though,” he said, nodding toward the stack of textbooks, referencing the months of academic grinding they’d done for the exams.
She let out a bubbly laugh. “Think about how many things you learned, hehehe!!”
“Hehe! True!” He paused for a beat, a thoughtful look crossing his face. “Do you ever think about how if I hadn’t needed to use your bathroom that one morning ... none of this would have ever happened? We’d still just be a nerd and a princess who hated each other’s guts.”
“Oh, come on, nerd! Are you trying to kill the vibe?” she protested, looking up at him with a mock-glare. “Don’t put me in a bad mood.”
“Hehe! No, no, I’m just saying—”
She raised a finger like a strict teacher, silencing him instantly. “Ah, ah, ah! I don’t want to hear it. Why would you even make me imagine a world where I never got to do this...” she said, pressing her face firmly against his damp soles and taking a deep, shaky breath. Damian’s smile softened.
“Okay, okay! Relax, I’m changing the topic,” he reassured her, idly caressing her cheek with his foot. “I still have to decide what to get you for graduation.”
“Don’t be extra, Damian. You don’t have to get me a gift! I’m the one who should be giving you something. I’m only even graduating because you carried me,” she told him.
“Well, it’s not like I was doing it for clout...” the young man objected. “Your dad has literally showered me with cash this year. If he’d hired a tenured professor, it probably would’ve cost him less! Especially lately—every time I show up, he’s handing over three or four hundred dollars. It’s insane. I’ve stopped even trying to say no; it’s useless.”
Pam giggled, her face still nuzzled against his long toes. “Three or four hundred? That’s mid. He should be paying you double for everything you do for me!!” she said sweetly, and he flashed a grin.
“Well, he pays me for the ‘lessons.’ If he actually knew what else we were doing...” He raised his eyebrows, and they both burst into laughter.
“Wait, do you actually want to give me a gift?” she asked, looking genuinely intrigued.
“Why is that so shocking? Seems pretty standard, right?”
“Hmmmm ... and can I choose literally whatever I want?” she asked, her voice turning cheerful and greedy.
He smiled. “As long as you don’t drain my entire bank account.”
She went quiet for a moment, her brain working through the possibilities. “How about a nice pair of your gym socks? Used, obviously! Extra crusty,” she specified.
He lost it. “Hahaha! Wow. You want your gift to be THAT romantic? No cap? Haha!”
She was laughing too, her eyes bright and worshipping. “I can’t decide ... I’d also love a pair of your boxers!!”
He kept laughing, shaking his head. “Ohhh, you’re definitely spoiled, aren’t you!”
She gave him her signature pout, half-hidden by the feet she was still rubbing against without stopping.
“All right! I’m gonna spoil you then: boxers AND socks. Done deal,” the boy concluded, and she giggled, looking absolutely delighted.
“Do you want to unwrap them on the stage during the awards ceremony or—ouch!!” Damian yelped as she gave his big toe a playful little nip.
“Very funny!” she joked, sticking her tongue out.
“Hey, Little Master...”
“What’s up?”
“Could you, like, actually forget about the punishment and just let me lick them? Just this once? Please, I’m literally losing it ... it’s a total emergency,” she begged, her voice sounding totally petulant and needy. He smirked and glanced at his watch.
“I’m sorry, little slave, but we’re gonna have to raincheck. It’s past five and I’m already lagging. I have to pick up Sammy, remember?”
“Awwww ... you know I love your little brother, but the craving is so real right now...” She went back to pouting, but he just smiled as he stood up from the bed.
“My bad,” he repeated, “but if you’re that desperate, I guess I can let you have one kiss.”
He gave her that signature charming grin, and her face lit up. “Ooooohhh, Little Master ... wait, so you actually do love me!” she replied sweetly. He just chuckled.
He turned his back to her, and she crawled over instantly, not wasting a single second of her “reward.” She placed her hands on his buttocks and spread them with a practiced, desperate focus, exposing his rectum before burying her face right into him. She wrapped her arms around his lower abdomen, anchoring herself as she started to French kiss his ass with a level of feverish desire that would have been revolting to anyone else. To her, his scent and taste were a high she’d willingly die for.
The sound of her tongue kisses echoed between his cheeks, but she didn’t slow down, completely lost in the moment.
“Hey, I said one kiss! Don’t push your luck,” he joked.
She finally emerged, licking her lips with a dazed expression. He turned slightly, looking down at her with that perfect, effortless grin.
“You literally drive me crazy, Little Master,” she whispered.
He placed a hand on her head, petting her hair like she was a loyal little pet. “I know. And honestly, Pam? That’s exactly how it’s supposed to be,” he said amusedly, before reaching for his clothes to get dressed.
“Damian! My boy!”
The young man turned around in the cavernous entrance hall. It was Pam’s father, Philip, looking significantly more disheveled than usual. His tie was completely undone, hanging like a noose around his neck, and his eyes had a frantic, over-caffeinated sparkle.
“Hello, Mr. Van Buren!” Damian greeted him warmly, effortlessly hoisting his backpack over one shoulder.
“Oh, come on, how many times do I have to tell you? Call me Phil!” the man said, clapping a hand onto Damian’s shoulder. His grip was a little tighter, a little more lingering than necessary.
“Right, my bad. Phil!” Damian corrected himself with a polite smile.
“So, how was the grind today? You two actually get through the material?”
“Good, honestly. I think she’s set,” Damian downplayed, his tone casual. “I don’t really have anything left to teach her at this point.”
“Nah! Nonsense!” Phil barked out a laugh that sounded jagged and forced. “I think she still has a lot to learn from you, boy. A whole lot. You’re basically a miracle worker. And besides, you’re not gonna just stop visiting us once the semester’s over, right?
There was something strangely ... insistent in his tone. It wasn’t just a dad being friendly; it was way more than that. It was kinda weird and Damian’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second, uncertain of the subtext.
“Uh ... no, of course not...”
“Make sure that’s a promise, okay? Hahaha!!” Phil laughed, a bit awkwardly, his eyes darting toward the stairs—the scene of the crime—and then snapping back to Damian with a strange look in his eyes.
“Listen, I ... I should probably get going. I have to pick up my brother,” Damian said, feeling a wave of secondhand embarrassment for the man. He gestured toward the front door, eager for an exit.
“Of course, of course! I don’t want to gatekeep your time! Here!”
Phil reached into his pocket and pulled out a literal roll of cash, pressing it firmly into Damian’s palm. Damian glanced down as he thumbed through the bills. One ... three ... five ... it was six hundred dollars. The man was officially losing it.
“Phil ... I can’t take this. It’s too much.”
“Oh, stop! I already told you, my girl is graduating, and it’s basically all thanks to you. I’m so hyped about it that I decided to double the bonus. For everything you do for her!” Phil insisted, giving him a heavy, knowing wink that felt incredibly out of place.
Damian looked at him, genuinely surprised. A hint of confused suspicion flickered in his mind, but it was quickly buried by amusement. If he wants to throw money at me for ‘tutoring’ his daughter on all fours, who am I to stop him? he thought.
“Okay ... thanks,” Damian said, pocketing the roll.
As he headed out to his bike, he couldn’t help but wonder what the guy’s deal was. I mean, being a grateful parent was one thing, but Phil was acting like Damian was doing him a personal favor.
Susy Lockhart took a long, blissful sniff, her nose buried in the damp cotton. The scent was sharp, masculine, and honestly intoxicating. She was blindfolded, completely locked into the sensory game she’d been obsessed with for weeks.
“So? Who is it?” Danny’s voice came from behind her, followed by the muffled giggles of the other guys. Susy took another deep breath, savoring the musk. She was certain, but she didn’t want to rush; she wanted to live in that aroma for every possible second.
“Mmmmm ... definitely Toby,” she whispered.
The room erupted into laughter as Susy whipped off the blindfold. No surprise there—Toby Jackings was lounging on the couch, looking like he owned the zip code. He was wearing nothing but boxers and a smug, punchable smirk, his legs spread wide. His swollen crotch was barely two inches from her face, and the heat radiating from him hit her full-force. To his left, Alec and Dick were leaning back, watching her with predatory grins, clearly enjoying the sight of her on her knees.
“That’s actually wild! How the fuck do you even do that? You’re a literal cock-hound, Susy! Hahaha!!” Toby joked, his voice booming in the room. Susy just giggled, turning to see Danny sprawled in an armchair, barefoot and totally relaxed.