The following very dark story has themes of non-consent sex, humiliation, racism, abuse and other dark themes. If such content offends you, please do not read. This is erotic FICTION not meant as any sort of gender, political or societal protest. This is purely for entertainment and not meant to happen in reality. If you have issues with such kinks, please do not read.
"Evan, you won the lottery this time. Report to room three twenty-five to discuss your graduation...credits," my teacher Mr. Parkers says after checking his tablet. Many in the class make a "oooh," sound that seems to be implying that I may be in trouble, which is normal whenever a message from the front office comes in.
"Yes sir," I tell Mr. Parkers who is one of my favorite teachers, hiding the concern I have. From the look on his face, he has the same trepidation. His eyes reread the message, where he taps at his tablet, no doubt trying to confirm that the message is real.
"Yeah, it's from the front office, so, I guess, have fun?" Mr. Parkers tells me with a shrug. I nod to this, then stuff my textbook into my backpack. Despite how odd it is, Mr. Parkers doesn't seem to care enough to look more into it.
"Alright everyone else who are not so lucky to escape," Mr. Parkers resumes, moving back to the front of the class to go back to his lesson.
"The infamous Trojan Horse story, to which I am not talking about condoms. Who wants to give their account of what happened? In your own words of course," Mr. Parkers asks as I walk past him, my backpack slung over my shoulder.
I walk out of the class, my face not showing any emotion. After all, someone in class could be the one that set this up. I don't want to give any sign that I know this isn't for real. Need to throw them off guard until I figure what's going on.
After walking out of class and shutting the door behind me, I stop to think. I look both ways down the empty hallway, checking that no group is about to jump me. But it's just me.
"Think Evan, think," I say to myself as I consider what to do. What I do depends on who set this up. But...if I am being honest, that's too many people to consider.
Yesterday it came out that yet another classmate is pregnant, to which I heard the school board is considering holding a special assembly to talk about birth control as there's been something of a pregnancy epidemic of late. Not much they can do about it, as everyone at this finishing school is eighteen or older.
The timing of the fake message can't be a coincidence. It has to be related.
Boyfriends, siblings, teachers, even parents of the women I've fucked probably want my head as they know I'm the reason their precious princess is now pregnant. Any one of them would have a reason to come after me. But who would be able to send a message via the front office?
Resuming my walk as I head to room three twenty-five, I consider how often people have been coming after me. I really thought it had slowed down, especially as I really have been trying to keep a low profile. All I want is to go to school, go home, study and live my life.
But it seems like every week something happens. Every week someone steps up, claiming they want revenge. Never do they stop and think that it might have been deserved. Or that the woman loved it.
Sure, the bullying that started all this has stopped, which I am thankful for, but I feel more of a target than ever. Worse, I really feel that they are trying to make me into the bad guy.
I know I only have myself to blame. I know if I really was trying not to be noticed, I wouldn't do half the things I do. I would keep my head down and ignore a lot of what I see. Like yesterday when I saw Dipshit Darrel fucking with some smaller classmates.
Having been bullied horrendously myself, I know how it feels. I know the soul crushing emotions it brings, so when I see someone getting bullied, I have to do something. That's why I confronted Dipshit Darrell as he had cornered three smaller classmates during lunch.
I call him Dipshit because, well, he's a Dipshit. He's on the football team with me, and if you don't tell him which direction our goal is, he will have no clue which way to face. He's generally a fat piece of shit that lives to get high and not think. The problem is that when he gets high, he gets even dumber, where he does shit like he did yesterday.
When I got there he was trying to get the three nerds to pull down their pants to expose their junk to the gathered crowd. Poor guys where all undoing their belts too, knowing their lives were about to be ruined.
That's when I stepped up and got in Darrel's face. Dipshit Darrel is big and fat, where he can seriously hurt a normal person, but even he knows he couldn't go toe to toe with anyone on the team. So when I got in his face, he backed off at once. Even tried to apologize, saying that he didn't want to do it, but had too. Being a Dipshit he tried to play the victim, as if someone was making him do it.
"Mister Evan, sir?" a higher pitched male's voice says, stopping me.
Backing up, I look inside the classroom to my right to see three people inside. The same three classmates that were being bullied yesterday. They are each standing in the middle of the classroom, each by a desk which are all in a row that looks very preplanned.
"We express regret for disturbing your studies, but we need to converse regarding a most dire and contemptuous situation, sir," the guy on the right says, then all three bow.
Alright. Part of the mystery solved. It was these three assholes that sent the message pretending to be the front office. Interesting. At least I am not in any physical danger.
Not dropping my guard I poke my head inside their classroom, trying to spot anything out of place, such as a camera, or weapon or other person. But no one else is in the room. Nor does anything seem out of place, as it looks like a classroom that isn't used that often.
"We understand completely you having many reasons for being suspicious, but we can assure you, we have no ill intentions," the classmate in the middle says.
"We have cut off the internet in this room as well as implemented an invention of our own design. No one can record, stream, overhear or even take pictures from any digital device," the guy in the middle says, sounding very proud of himself. Cocky even.
I step into the room fully, not sure what to think. From the way this is playing out, I can tell the three want this to be some sort of James Bond/Mission Impossible secret meeting. But that's not the way it comes off at all. Instead it is a bunch of nerds cosplaying. To be honest, I sort of feel like slapping all three of them.
The three are classmates but I had not seen them before yesterday. They are small, much smaller than normal, not that they can help that. If I had to guess I would say they are around five foot five and one hundred and ten pounds soaking wet. They are all so skinny you might think they are related. But their skin tones are slightly different so even if they are all black, you can tell they aren't related.
"We, like most of the school, are well-versed in your extracurricular activities. It serves as a goal to endeavor for, as you have shown possibilities that one is able to climb over social standards," the one on the right says with awe.
At the same time, all three sit down at their desks. They sit almost at the same time, as if they are the Board of Bad Guys in some comic book movie. When they sit, they each place their hands on the desk, interlocking their fingers and sitting up straight, giving more credence to the comic book bad guy theory.
