You write aggressively on a sheet of paper in your room, as I sit across from you, watching you struggle. School has been hell for you, and unfortunately, last class' notes are nowhere to be found. An obvious case of dozing off during class. Stuck with a failing assignment, numbers and formulas flow across the page, and you let out a grunt of frustration and drop the pencil.
"UGH, I can't seem to figure out this stupid equation!"
I snark at your annoyance. "It's not that hard, it's just some math."
"Yeah, well, school has been fucking pissing me off lately, and I can't stand paying attention in that class."
"Whatever, sounds like a 'you' problem."
I laugh at you as you force yourself to keep thinking of different ways to tackle the problem at hand. It's getting late at night, and your parents have already fallen asleep. With nothing but a small lamp on the table, your room is pretty dark, and you fail to notice my stares toward your chest for a bit. Soon you catch on, my eyes are locked onto your chest, beautifully exposed by your small, black crop top. You attempt to shrug it off, but the feeling of being watched makes the room more tense, and hot. You keep your b eyes on the paper, but my eyes tear through you. Every embarrassing second clouds your mind, as I slowly undress you in my mind.
"... Ok, can you actually help me with this? You're good at math, you should know how."
"We came here to hangout, I didn't agree to do your homework."
"You're a bitch, you know that? You're supposed to be my friend and help me."
"Hmm... Nah. I don't really feel like it."
You shake your head in irritation, as your writing has slowed down. You can't stop thinking about my eyes, and the thought of me using your body like the whore you are. You start getting hot, and sexual fantasies start playing out in your mind. It's not until a pencil rolls off the table that my stare finally stops. I get out of my chair and lean down to grab it, which at first seemed innocent and kind, until you realize I don't stand back up. You continue writing, as your legs begin to shake from anticipation and the unknown. You feel my gaze again, this time, resting in between your thighs... You move your legs back and forth and slightly kick them, trying to not think about it. Your toes curl, waiting for me to come back up. You feel a warm gust of wind against your shin. My hot breath is close to your leg. My steady breathing presses against your shin, as you feel it slowly start moving up. It brushes past your knee, and gets closer to your thighs.
"What are you doing down there?!" You shout, backing up your chair.
My breathing fades, I stand back up and sit down, placing the pencil on the table.
"Just doing you a favor. Maybe be thankful for my help, bitch."
The sudden insult shakes your core, as more ideas of being a worthless whore to him make your body feel warm. You're just a slut, at least be a good girl and listen to what he says. You cave in.
"... Thanks..."
"Aww, what happened to your attitude?"
"..."
"Sounds to me someone is getting desperate. How sad, not having enough dignity or self-worth to control herself anymore."
"Shut. Up."
"You shouldn't speak like that to the person who you want to help you with your homework, you know."
"Fine. Sorry. So are you actually going to help me?!"
"... No."
"Why?! You know I need to get into this school, and the only way is if I study all of this shit!"
"I'll help you. But on one condition."
You prepare yourself, you tell yourself to stand firm, deny any request. You're not his slut, you're going to figure it out yourself. You don't need his help.
"Take off your shirt."
"What?"
"You heard me, what are you deaf bitch? Take off your shirt."
"Fuck you, I'm not doing that."
Your conviction is strong, but being treated this way makes you feel like a bitch and a total whore. You're slowly getting into it. You continue writing, and continue struggling to figure out your math work, and keeping yourself together.
"I can see you shaking whore. Be a good dirty slut and fucking take it off. Maybe then I'll pity you enough to help you."
"Shut. UP. NO!"
"Shut up bitch, I know deep down you like this shit. A good girl would take off her shirt and let her friend help her."
"I'm not wearing a bra!"
"Does it look like I fucking care? Take it off."
"MMM NO!"
"Fucking worthless whore, I told you I'll help you, at least keep what little respect I have for you and let me help you."
"UGH!"
You feel yourself cave in. You grab the bottom of your shirt. A wave of emotion flows through you. Are you really going to do this? Show him your boobs just to get some help on your homework? You're so desperate. You're so embarrassed. But mostly, you're disgustingly pathetic. You stare at me, and you see me make complete eye contact. Daggers pierce your eyes, you feel insulted. He's not even looking at your boobs. Your hands shake. You stagger.
Suddenly, you see me reach over the table, grabbing your shirt for you, and aggressively ripping it off. You feel a tug on your torso, slamming your face against the table. An intense pull flings your arms straight up, as I lift your shirt completely off of you, your hair following its motion. I throw it to the side as you immediately sit up and cover your bare chest.
"WHAT THE FUCK, you can't just do that! I was going to do it myself!"
"Put your hands down."
I ignore you.