Shoutout to NoRemorse, Jarod, and Luis legends through and through, fueling the chaos and keeping it rolling.
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After I fixed the radiator, although most of the work was just cleaning out the pipe and tightening one valve, she still pressed a thick envelope into my hand. Folded clean. I opened it halfway and saw the edge of a hundred-dollar bill. Then another. Easily three hundred, maybe more.
"I may need your help again," she whispered at the door. She kissed me, lips still swollen from getting wrecked twenty minutes ago. One hand on my chest, fingernails tracing lightly before she stepped back and let the door close.
[System]: Mmm~ sugar, she just paid for a D appointment like it was Amazon Prime. You deliver, I confirm.
When I got home, May was by the window, arms crossed, chin raised like she had just smelled something illegal. Door creaked as I stepped in. She turned, sniffed once, then again like a bloodhound with a grudge.
"She had her claws out, didn't she?" she said. Her nose scrunched up.
I dropped my backpack near the couch. "You mean Mrs. Thompson?"
May pointed at me. "That woman walks around in robes at two in the afternoon. You think I don't know when a cougar is on the prowl?"
I shrugged. "You told me to go fix the radiator."
"Fix the radiator, not plow the landlady special out of her bedroom." She crossed the room, grabbed my arm, sniffed again. "You smell like lavender and sex."
"I smell like sweat and tools."
"You smell like you were riding MILF waves like a surfer in a Viagra commercial." She stepped back, arms still folded, gaze narrowed. "And don't even try to deny it. You have that dumb post-fuck swagger. The one where your knees barely work, and your eyes keep zoning out like you are replaying the moment she licked your..."
"Stop," I said. "You aren't allowed to finish that sentence."
"...young cock," she finished anyway, glaring like I had personally molested her tax refund. I rolled my eyes and walked up the stairs. Yeah, she smelled it. That thick MILF musk I probably reeked of. Shampoo, pussy, sweat, and a guilt-sprinkled nut trail. Mrs. Thompson had me drained like I owed her something spiritual. May was right... I oozed MILF magnetism now. Whole house probably smelled like grown woman regrets.
But it was weird. Her tone had heat under it. Like she was jealous. Which was nuts. She was on my list, sure. Everyone had a list. But was I on hers?
[System]: Mmm~ jealousy in mom-flavored packaging. She wants the dick, sugar. She just doesn't know if she should unwrap the family discount.
"Don't say family discount. Ever again."
[System]: Then stop thinking about how hot she looked sniffing your MILF stains. Her thighs flexed when she glared. I scanned it.
I tossed my hoodie on the chair, stripped down, and stepped into the shower. Washed the scent of guilt and grown-up pussy off my cock. Rinsed twice.
Dinner smelled halfway done by the time I dried off. May was in the kitchen, one slipper on, spatula in hand. Just reheated rice and a couple curry leftovers from yesterday. Paneer from earlier still tasted good.
After dinner and washing dishes, I sat on the bed and tapped the screen. Cassie already sent four messages. First one was a selfie. Hair messy. Lips bruised. "Still dripping," it said. Next one had a voice note. Just her breathing. Moaning. "My pussy won't stop twitching."
I replied with a photo. Just abs. Caption: "You'll twitch again by Friday."
Trixie typed a wall of chaos.
Trixie: "I bought vibrating panties. No clue why. Wanna test them on me in the library? Imagine me biting my lip while Gwen pretends not to look."
I sent a thumbs up. She sent back a sticker that moaned. Actual audio. Trash app.
Felicia had dropped two selfies. One was tame. Just her in black. The second? Full back shot. No caption. I replied with eggplant and sweating face emoji. She hearted it.
Gwen's message was short. "Next group project meet's Friday. Don't bring vanilla slush this time."
I replied: "Blue only. You get what you get." She left me on seen. Typical.
I swiped left through the chat window, ignored the blue checkmarks, and switched apps. The screen lit up with MJ's feed. Redhead MJ. Not MJB. Her posts were the usual. Mirror selfies, rooftop skyline shots with deep-ass quotes, and one where she wore a beanie that somehow made thirst look like art.
The comments were all the usual suspects. Fire emojis. Some guy named Trent trying too hard. I didn't like it. I closed her feed and slid over to DM. Clicked on Bracelet Girl, Zoey. The one who sat with Harry.
I tapped on Zoey's DM. She was mid-tier hot, artsy with a hint of feral. She wore chunky silver bracelets like they were cursed heirlooms. Always had a filter on her pics, mostly blues and purples. Her bio just said "Don't try. I bite." Bold. Probably true.
I scrolled down, picked three reels from my burner account. One showed me webbing a guy mid-run, flipping him into a trash bin before tagging "Recycled." Another was a dropkick off a rooftop, perfectly timed to knock a dealer off his scooter. Last one was slow-mo. I landed between two guys. They rushed. I ducked. Elbowed one, webbed the other to a lamp post, then stared at the camera like I just clocked in for night shift murder.
Sent all three.
Caption: "He has better reflexes than your ex."
Typing bubble popped.
Zoey: "Holy shit. That is Spider."
Me: "Or his cousin. Spider-Crackhead."
Zoey: "You into him?"
Am I into myself?
Sure. Who isn't into the guy who can bench press a car, flip off rooftops, and still pull straight A's while webbing creeps into the recycling bin? But typing that made me sound like I owned a ring light and called myself a "manfluencer." So I wrote:
"I am into beating down criminals in the dark until they fear the very same thing that made them scary, and posting it for money."
Zoey left a like on all three reels.
Zoey: "Kinky."
I typed back, Are you?
Bubble popped again.
Zoey: "Only if the bruises spell my name."
Damn. This girl had issues... the fun kind. I was about to send something back when a reel pinged in. Harry. Captioned, "Bro… I swear this dog is me every Monday." I tapped.
A bulldog in a hoodie sat in a kiddie pool, dead inside, as a toddler poured cereal over its head. The dog blinked. Then laid down in defeat while "Eye of the Tiger" played in the background. I laughed out loud. Replied with "This you when you watch Hannah post thirst traps during lectures."
Harry replied with three skull emojis and one clip of himself in class with his hoodie pulled halfway over his head and one eye visible, pretending to die slowly while Hannah in the front row stretched.
Then my English teacher sent me a friend request.
No fucking way.
The name popped up like a jumpscare. "Ms. Harland added you." Profile pic had her holding a coffee, chin tilted, smile light. Not the forced school photo smile either. This one had teeth and lipstick. She was out in sunlight, like she had just wrapped up wrecking someone's marriage and needed caffeine after.
I tapped her profile.
Most of it was locked down. Typical. But the visible posts? Damn. One of her in a long black coat, split up the thigh. Caption said something dumb like "Sunday walks" but the camera angle was basically thirst bait. Another one had her holding a book with the title blurred, glasses low on her nose like she was pretending not to be reading smut at the library.
The friend list had two other students.
Boys.
Both of them seniors.
I grinned.
[System]: Sugar, your teacher just invited you to detention with benefits. She got extra credit written all over those cheekbones.
I tilted my phone. Zoomed in on the glasses pic. She knew what she was doing. Hell, that angle was designed. No accident crops. This was intentional thirst with grammar and a syllabus.
The only problem was... how could I put it nicely... she didn't age well. She was not Mrs. Thompson.
She had that sun-dried look. Skin tight where it should have been soft. Eyes that screamed "wine aunt with a Pinterest board full of male models." The lipstick in her profile pic looked like it was fighting for its life. A bold red that probably worked in 2007, now just made her teeth look like they were trying to escape. Why the hell was she adding students? Two seniors were already in her list. Creepy? A little. Strategic? Probably. Teachers don't just add teenage boys for laughs. This smelled like desperation.
Still. I clicked accept.
I was curious.
[System]: Mmm~ curiosity, thy name is horny. You clicked that knowing full well she is gonna try to grade your D on a curve.
I ignored it. Scrolled back to Zoey.
She typed again.
Zoey: "Come to my art show Saturday. Got something dark I want you to see.
Eh, what the hell. If I could not be a horny teenager, what was the point?
So I typed, "Dark? By your complexion and blush the other day, I could have sworn it would be pink. So it is dark, huh?"
Bubble popped instantly.
Zoey: "Excuse me?"
Me: "Just saying. That blush on your face last Tuesday? Screamed cute and pink, not dark and deadly."
Zoey: "You think my pussy is dark?"
Alright. There it was. Full frontal, no hesitation. The kind of response that only comes from girls who either know what they are packing or are dangerously close to proving it to strangers with better jawlines.
I replied: "I don't trust blushes anymore. Too many filters. Lipstick doesn't count either. You could be hiding a war crime behind thigh gap and a filter."
Zoey: "Bitch, mine is pink. Not the fake baby-doll pink, either. The real kind. Like, healthy and soft, like rose petals dipped in slut."
Damn. That description felt like it came out of a poet who used a vibrator as a writing tool. I bit my lip and typed: "Prove it."
Three seconds.
No typing bubble.
Five seconds.
Still nothing.
Then, a bubble.
Zoey: "You are lucky I am ovulating. Give me ten."
[System]: Ovulation activated, sugar. She is about to send you a fertility spell disguised as art. Prepare your web shooter.
I sat back on the bed. No way this girl was about to drop a pic of her enchanted pink pocket just because I said blushes lied.
I scrolled, waiting. Cassie was online again. She had sent another pic, this time of her thighs, crossed and glistening. Caption: "Daddy. I am so wet."
I sent a gif back. One of a water bottle exploding.
She hearted it.
Back to Zoey. The DM flashed.
Image incoming.
I tapped.
And holy mother of...
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You can read up to Chapter 85...
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