#poor him

“It’s just… too fucking hot today,” he muttered, voice rougher than he meant, his eyes darting away. He could barely think straight, the ache between his legs drowning out reason. You nodded, accepting his excuse with that easy trust of yours, though your brow furrowed slightly, concern lingering in your eyes. Before you could press further, a heavy arm draped over your shoulder, making you stumble slightly under the unexpected weight. Bailey’s gaze snapped up, narrowing as Briar’s lazy grin came into view.

“Well, well, well, my cutie pie,” Briar drawled, his voice dripping with that infuriating charm as he leaned into you. “Fancy running into you here.”

His magenta eyes flicked to Bailey, catching the flush still burning across his face, and a knowing smirk curled his lips. He hummed low in his throat, just loud enough to grate on Bailey’s already frayed nerves. Bailey’s jaw tightened, a sharp spike of irritation cutting through the haze of his arousal. Briar’s presence was like a match to kindling, stoking something raw and volatile in him. He didn’t just want to shove Briar off you—he wanted to drag you somewhere quiet, somewhere he could pin you against a wall and feel that soft hand of yours where he needed it most.

The thought made his blood heat up, his fingers flexing at his side as he fought the urge to act on it. Briar’s smug hum rang in his ears, and Bailey shot him a look that could’ve burned through steel, though he kept his mouth shut. For now.

“Get off her, Briar,” Bailey hissed. His body was still thrumming, caught between arousal and the violent urge to wipe that smirk off Briar’s face. Briar raised an eyebrow, his arm still slung over you, unbothered.

“What’s got you so worked up, Bailey? You look like you’re about to burst.” His tone was teasing, but there was a glint in his eyes, like he knew exactly what was eating at Bailey. Briar unsurprisingly enjoyed it. You glanced between them, sensing the tension but not its root, your hand still loosely clasped in Bailey’s.

The classroom was a quiet haven, the morning light spilling through the windows as the three of you slipped into English class an hour early. The desks mostly sat empty with only a nerd, Darryl, studying at the front seat, the air heavy with the faint scent of chalk. Briar, ever the opportunist, had claimed your hand the moment you let go of Bailey’s, pulling out a bottle of pink nail polish and a small bag of glittering accessories—beads, stickers, tiny rhinestones. “Trust me, girlie,” he said with a sly grin, “the teachers won’t care. You’re gonna look gorgeous.”

He worked with surprising precision, painting your nails a soft, bubblegum pink, each stroke deliberate as he adorned them with delicate beads and shimmering stickers. You watched, half-mesmerized by his focus, your hand resting in his. Bailey, slouched in the desk beside you, couldn’t tear his eyes away either, but his thoughts were far from the artistry. His gaze lingered on your freshly painted nails, the glossy pink catching the light, and his mind spiraled into something lecherous.

He imagined those perfect, polished fingers wrapped around his cock, stroking him slowly and deliberately. The thought sent a rush of blood to his groin, his erection straining painfully against his pants. He shifted, trying to shake it off, but his face flushed a deeper red, betraying him.

Briar’s sharp eyes caught it, of course. The school’s resident fuckboy who’d charmed his way through half the student body knew exactly what that flush meant. He smirked, his fingers brushing over yours as he finished drying the last nail. Then, in a move that was pure Briar, he lifted your hand to his lips, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to your knuckles. “You’ve got the prettiest hands,” he murmured, eyes glinting with mischief. “Makes me wonder how pretty they’d look wrapped around my cock.”

Bailey shot to his feet, chair scraping loudly against the floor. “What the hell are you—” he started, voice thick with fury, but Briar cut him off, his smirk widening.

“Look at that,” Briar said, nodding toward Bailey’s crotch, where his jacket failed to hide the obvious bulge. “He’s rock-hard just thinking the same thing.”

Bailey stumbled back, nearly losing his balance as your eyes flicked down, catching the unmistakable outline of his erection. You weren’t naïve about sex ed. You knew what that meant. Your cheeks burned, but you couldn’t look away, not when Bailey’s face was a mix of shame and barely restrained anger. He looked ready to swing at Briar, fists clenched, but your presence held him back, his shame rooting him in place.

Briar chuckled, clearly reveling in the chaos. He slid out of his seat, moving to crouch beside you, his hand finding your thigh with a brazen confidence. His touch was warm, teasing, fingers tracing slow circles that sent a shiver through you. “Don’t be shy, cutie,” he purred, taking your hand in his right one. Before you could react, he guided your palm to Bailey’s crotch, pressing it against the hard, throbbing heat beneath his pants. “Feel that?” he whispered, his breath hot against your ear as he moved your hand in a slow, deliberate rub.

Your face flushed hotter, a pulse of arousal pooling between your thighs. You squeezed them together, trying to quell the sudden ache in your cunt, but Briar’s hand on your thigh only stoked it, his fingers sliding higher, teasing the edge of your skirt. He leaned closer, his lips brushing your ear. “Fuck, I’d kill to have you right now,” he muttered, his own cock hardening in his pants at the sight of your small, pink-nailed hand working Bailey’s clothed erection.

Bailey’s breath hitched, his eyes darting between you and Briar, torn between rage and the overwhelming need pulsing through him. “Sit down, Bailey,” Briar said, his tone mockingly casual. “Unless you want the whole school to walk in and see you like this.”

Bailey dropped into his seat without a word, his chest heaving, your hand still pressed against him, obedient under Briar’s guidance. “Unzip him,” Briar instructed. Your fingers trembled as you followed, tugging the zipper down and unbuttoning his pants, revealing the damp patch of precum soaking through Bailey’s boxers. You hesitated, then pressed your palm against the warmth, feeling the pulse of his cock, the slickness of his arousal seeping through the fabric. Bailey groaned, low and guttural, his head tipping back as his hips twitched into your touch.

Briar’s eyes darkened, his own erection straining as he watched your hand move, guided by his. His fingers on your thigh slid higher, brushing the edge of your panties, sending a jolt through your core. “Keep going,” he murmured. “Stroke him. Make him feel good.” Your hand moved faster, the wet heat of Bailey’s precum slicking your fingers through the thin fabric, your own arousal dripping as Briar’s touch grew bolder, his fingers slipping beneath your skirt to tease the damp heat of your cunt.

Bailey shoved his boxers down to his thighs when his resolve crumbled under the weight of his pent-up arousal. His cock springing free—thick, veined, and flushed a deep, angry red, the tip glistening with a steady drip of precum. Briar’s low, mocking chuckle cut through the tension, his eyes glinting with cruel delight. “Couldn’t hold out, huh, Bailey?” he taunted, his voice a smooth drawl as he leaned closer to you, seizing your manicured hand and guiding it to wrap around Bailey’s pulsing cock.

Bailey hissed as your soft fingers closed around him, the cool touch of your hand a stark contrast to the burning heat of his cock. His inexperience was obvious—his hips jerked erratically, his breath catching in shallow gasps as your hand made contact, the slick precum coating your palm almost instantly. Briar’s smirk widened, relishing Bailey’s reaction, but his own arousal burned hotter. He’d have had you kissing that dripping tip by now, watching your untouched lips part to take Bailey’s cock, but the thought of your mouth that had never kissed anyone yet stirred a possessive side in him. He wanted your first kiss for himself, not for Bailey’s throbbing length to claim it. The absurdity of it thrilled him: you, chaste and innocent, giving Bailey his first handjob before you’d even locked lips with him.

“Stroke it faster,” Briar instructed, his hand enveloping yours to demonstrate. He guided your fingers in a tight, rhythmic glide—starting at the base, slow and firm, then quickening as you reached the swollen head, your thumb brushing over the slick, sensitive tip with every stroke. The wet sound of precum slicking your hand filled the air, obscene and unmistakable. Darryl looked back once and never again when he saw Briar grinning back at him. Bailey’s cock twitched violently, a low moan escaping as your nails grazed the underside, the beads on your manicure catching faintly against his skin, sending shivers through him. His hips bucked, chasing the friction, his knuckles white as he gripped the desk, trying to anchor himself against the overwhelming sensation.

Briar’s other hand was relentless on your thigh, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he inched higher, teasing the hem of your skirt. His touch was unapologetic, sliding beneath the fabric to find the damp heat of your panties. He pressed his thumb against the soaked outline of your clit, circling with slow, deliberate pressure that made your breath hitch. Your cunt pulsed, slick and aching, as he rubbed the fabric against your sensitive nub, the friction sending sparks through your core. You whimpered, a soft, desperate sound you tried to swallow, your thighs clenching instinctively around his hand. Briar’s fingers slipped beneath your panties, grazing your bare, dripping folds, and he groaned softly at how wet you were, his cock straining painfully in his pants at the thought of fucking you right there.

The classroom door creaked open, and your heart nearly stopped as a handful of students shuffled in, taking seats at the front, oblivious to the scene unfolding behind them. Bailey’s eyes widened, panic flashing, but he was quick, draping his jacket over his lap to hide your hand still pumping his cock. Briar’s lips twitched with a suppressed sneer—Bailey, pretending to be above it all, yet letting you jerk him off under the desk like a desperate skank.

“Keep going,” Briar whispered. “Don’t stop, cutie. He’s fucking loving it.”

Your hand moved on its own now, no longer needing Briar’s guidance. You stroked Bailey’s cock with a steady, relentless rhythm—tight and fast, your slick palm gliding over every inch, twisting slightly at the head to draw out choked gasps from him. The precum was coating your fingers, making each stroke wetter and louder, the sound barely muffled by the jacket. Your manicured nails grazed his shaft, the beads catching faintly, adding a teasing edge that made Bailey’s thighs tremble, his cock pulsing harder as he neared the edge. His breath was ragged, eyes half-lidded, torn between shame and the desperate need to come.

Briar’s fingers were merciless, one hand kneading your thigh while the other worked your cunt. He pushed your panties aside, his thumb circling your clit with firm, rhythmic strokes, while two fingers slipped inside your soaking entrance, curling against that sensitive spot deep within. Your cunt clenched around him, dripping onto his hand as he fingered you slowly, each one coaxing a stifled moan from your lips. The wet sound of his fingers moving inside you mingled with the slick rhythm of your hand on Bailey’s cock. Your thighs quaked, trying to close around his hand, but Briar forced them apart, his touch growing bolder as he whispered, “You’re so wet for me, aren’t you?”

More students walked in which only unnerved you more. Bailey’s cock throbbed violently, the head swollen and leaking while your hand pumped faster. Briar leaned closer, his breath hot against your neck. “Make him come, cutie pie. Milk that cock.” His fingers matched your pace, rubbing your clit with ruthless pressure while his other hand fucked you deeper, your cunt squeezing tight as your own climax built. Bailey’s hips stuttered, a low, strangled groan escaping as his cock erupted, hot cum spilling over your hand in thick, messy spurts.

Your cunt eventually clenched hard around Briar’s fingers, your orgasm crashing through you in shuddering waves. Your thighs were trembling as you clasped your hand over your mouth, yet a desperate whimper still slipped out. The sound drew curious glances from the students behind, their heads turning toward the three of you. Bailey, notorious for his bad reputation, couldn’t muster the strength to scare them off. His cock was still twitching, spilling the last of his thick, hot cum into the jacket draped over his lap, his face a mix of shame and post-climax haze as he struggled to stay composed.

Briar, ever the smooth operator, took control with a subtle but sharp gesture—a low, commanding “shh” paired with a piercing look that silenced the onlookers instantly. It was effective enough to make the students turn back to their own business, pretending they hadn’t noticed anything.

Bailey slumped back, panting, his face flushed with a mix of relief and humiliation. Briar withdrew his fingers, slick with your arousal, and brought them to his lips, licking them clean with a smirk, his eyes flicking between you and Bailey. “Good job,” he murmured, just loud enough for you two to hear.

The classroom was filling up, the hum of students’ chatter growing louder as a group shuffled toward the seats behind you, their footsteps scuffing the floor. Leighton, the English teacher, strode in. Leighton’s voice cut through the room. “Briar, what are you doing there? Get back to your seat.”

Briar stood with a lazy grin, hands tucked behind his back, one of them still slick and glistening with your arousal from when his fingers had fucked you to climax moments ago. He sauntered to his desk. Bailey, on the other hand, fumbled to regain himself, his hands shaking as he yanked his boxers and pants back up, your hand finally slipping away from his softening, cum-slick cock. The jacket was a mess, soaked with his release, and he clutched it tightly to hide the evidence, his breath still uneven, his face burning red.

Briar, now seated in front of you, leaned back with a smirk and slid a box of tissues toward you and Bailey. “Clean up, you two,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing. Then, leaning closer, his eyes locked on yours, he added, “Wanna sit here and help me out next? I promise I’m more fun than him.”

The words sent a fresh jolt through your already aroused state, still throbbing from Briar’s fingers and the depravity of what you’d just done in the broad daylight, in a classroom no less. Bailey shot him a glare, his jaw tight, but the lingering shame kept him silent—he knew Briar had him cornered. Briar’s mind was already elsewhere, fantasizing you straddling his lap during class, your delicate, pink-manicured hand stroking his thick, slender cock, his precum slicking your fingers as Leighton droned on about Shakespeare.