The bass thumped through the crowded frat house like a heartbeat on steroids, vibrating the sticky floorboards under Roy's Nike Air Force sneakers.
Red solo cups littered every surface, and the air hung thick with the stench of cheap beer, weed, and sweat-soaked bodies grinding against each other.
Laughter exploded in bursts from clusters of students, their faces flushed under the dim glow of string lights and strobe flashes.
Roy sighed audibly. He stood by his lonesome, clutching his lukewarm beer, the condensation dripping down his fingers as he scanned the room.
"I hope today is my day..."
College was supposed to be his playground, a non-stop parade of easy lays and wild nights where girls threw themselves at him. But so far, it had been a drought—endless blue balls and awkward silences that left him retreating to his laptop every damn night.
But today. Today was the day. He could feel it. That was what he told himself.
He spotted her across the room, leaning against the kitchen counter, chatting with a couple of giggling sorority types.
Damn, she was a vision: long brunette waves cascading over her shoulders, a tight tank crop top hugging her curves like it was painted on, the thin fabric straining against her full, heavy breasts that jiggled slightly with every laugh.
The top rode up just enough to tease a sliver of toned midriff, and her low-rise jeans clung to wide hips that swayed as she shifted her weight.
Roy's mouth went dry, his grip tightening on the cup.
'Fuck, those tits,' he thought, imagining how they'd bounce if he grabbed her right there, yanked that top down, and buried his face between them.
His cock twitched in his jeans, already half-hard from the visual alone.
He didn't even need to think about what he would do next. The beer did the thinking for him.
Pushing through the throng of bodies, Roy made his way over, dodging a couple making out sloppily against the wall and a guy chugging from a funnel.
The music pulsed louder as he approached, some trap beat with lyrics about popping bottles and dropping panties.
He sidled up next to her group, flashing what he hoped was a charming grin, though it came out more like a leer.
"Hey, ladies," he said, his voice cutting through the noise, eyes locked on the brunette in the most obvious manner. "This party's lit, right? But it's missing something... like you dancing with me."
The two friends exchanged glances, smirking, but the brunette turned to him with a raised eyebrow. She was even hotter up close, her green eyes sparkling under mascaraed lashes, lips glossy and full.
Roy's gaze dipped immediately, tracing the swell of her cleavage, the way her nipples poked faintly against the fabric in the cool air from the open window.
He lingered there, unashamed, like a dog catching a scent, his beer forgotten in his hand as he pictured sucking on those peaks until she moaned.
Megan noticed, of course. Her smile faltered into a tight line. "Excuse me?" she said, crossing her arms under her chest, which only pushed her breasts up higher, making Roy's stare drop even lower.
The motion drew his eyes right back, and he didn't bother hiding it, letting his tongue dart out to wet his lips.
"Come on, don't play coy," Roy pressed, stepping closer, the heat of her body radiating toward him.
He could smell her perfume—something sweet and floral—mixing with the smell of weed in the air.
"You look like you know how to have fun. What's your name? I'm Roy. Bet you'd look even better out on the floor, shaking that ass." His words tumbled out, laced with that desperate edge he couldn't shake, his free hand itching to touch her hip.
Her friends snickered now, one whispering, "Oh god, incoming creep alert." Megan uncrossed her arms, planting a hand on her hip. "Seriously? That's your line? You're staring at my chest like you've never seen boobs before. Back off, dude."
Roy blinked, heat creeping up his neck, but he doubled down, fueled by the beer buzzing in his veins. "What? Can't a guy appreciate a fine view? You're stacked, babe. Those tits are begging for attention."
He gestured vaguely with his cup, spilling a drop of beer on the floor, his eyes flicking down again, tracing the curve from her collarbone to the hem of her top.
In his mind, he was already peeling it off, palming those soft mounds, pinching until she gasped.
The room seemed to quiet just a fraction around them, heads turning as the conversation escalated.
A guy nearby hooted, "Get it, bro!" but Megan's face hardened. "You're disgusting. Perverted creep—do you talk to all girls like this, or am I just lucky?" Roy, however, did not answer; his eyes raked over her tits over and over.
She stepped forward, jabbing a finger into his chest. "Eyes up here, asshole. And no, I'm not interested in whatever sad pickup game you're running."
Roy's grin faltered, but he laughed it off, trying to play cool. "Lighten up, it's a party. We're all here to hook up. Bet you'd change your mind if you felt what I've got going on."
He shifted his stance, subtly thrusting his hips forward, as if that would seal the deal. The leer returned full force, his gaze raking her body from head to toe, lingering on her thighs squeezed into those jeans, imagining spreading them wide.
That did it.
Megan's hand flew up.
Thwap!
It cracked across his cheek with a sharp slap that echoed over the music. The sting bloomed hot and immediate, shocking him into stillness. "Fuck off!" she spat, her voice rising. "Touch me or say one more word, and I'll scream for security. Perverted little shit."
The slap ignited the room. Laughter erupted like fireworks, deep belly laughs from the guys clustered nearby, high-pitched giggles from the girls.
"Oh my god, did you see his face?" one of Megan's friends howled, doubling over. A tall dude in a backward cap slapped his knee, tears streaming. "Bro got owned! Slapped by the queen herself!"
Another voice chimed in, "What a loser—staring like a horny dog. Go jerk off in the corner!"
Roy's face burned; the slap's heat was nothing compared to the humiliation washing over him.
He rubbed his cheek, beer sloshing in his cup as he backed away, the crowd parting with more jeers. "Nice one, creep!" someone yelled.
"Bet that's the closest you'll get to tits tonight!" The laughter swelled, a chorus of mockery that drowned out the bass, bodies pressing in to get a better look at the spectacle.
Roy stumbled through them, head down, the party's energy now a weapon aimed at him.
He pushed toward the door, the voices trailing: "Pervert!" "Slap heard 'round the house!' "Go home and cry to your hand!" His heart pounded, rage mixing with the ache in his balls.
"Shit! Fucking bitches!" he spat out, shoving past a group of cheerleaders who burst into fresh giggles at his red-marked face.
The door banged open to the cool night air, but even outside, echoes of the laughter followed him down the porch steps.
The walk back to his off-campus apartment was a blur of streetlights and distant traffic, the humiliation replaying in his head like a bad loop.
Roy kicked at a loose pebble on the sidewalk.
"H-y!...Hey!" He finally heard the voice shouting at him from behind.
Roy stopped in his tracks, waiting for the familiar face to catch up.
The only friend Roy had made in the past year as a freshman, the lanky guy named Jake, was trailing behind, still chuckling.
"Dude, that was epic," Jake said, clapping Roy on the shoulder.
They'd met in freshman orientation last year, bonded over video games and complaining about classes, but Jake was the kind of friend who laughed first and helped second—if at all.
"Her handprint's still glowing on your cheek. You went full caveman on her, man. " 'Those tits are begging.' Classic!"
Roy shrugged off the hand, his jaw clenched. "Shut up, Jake. It wasn't that bad." But it was—every word, every stare, was now ammunition for Jake's amusement.
Jake snorted, falling into step beside him. The street was quiet, lined with parked cars and flickering porch lights from other student houses.
"Nah, it was hilarious. You looked like a puppy humping the air. And the slap? Chef's kiss. Everyone's gonna be talking about it tomorrow." He mimed the motion, his hand whipping through the air. "Pow! Perverted creep strikes again."
"Fuck you," Roy muttered, quickening his pace. The apartment building loomed ahead, a squat brick thing with buzzing neon signs from the pizza joint next door. "If you think it's so funny, why don't you try hitting on someone for once? Oh, wait, you're too busy laughing at me."
Jake raised his hands in mock surrender, but the grin didn't fade. "Hey, I'm just saying—maybe ease up on the leering? Girls can tell when you're eye-fucking them from across the room. But damn, that crowd lost it. I swear, I almost pissed myself." Another chuckle escaped.
They reached the steps, Roy yanking open the outer door with more force than needed. "Yeah, well, laugh it up. You're the only 'friend' I've got, and even you're a dick about it." The stairwell smelled of stale laundry and takeout, fluorescent lights buzzing overhead.
Jake followed up to the second floor, still snickering. "Come on, Roy, don't be salty. Grab a beer from my fridge later? We can game it off."
At his door—number 2B—Roy jammed the key in, twisting it hard. "Fuck off, Jake. Go laugh with someone else."
Bang!
He slammed the door behind him, the lock clicking. Through the peephole, he saw Jake shake his head, muttering something under his breath before heading down the hall.
Alone in the dim apartment, Roy tossed his empty cup into the sink, the plastic clattering.
The place was a mess—pizza boxes on the coffee table, clothes piled on the couch, his gaming setup dominating the bedroom.
He stripped off his shirt, tossing it aside, his reflection in the bathroom mirror showing the faint red welt on his cheek.
Perverted creep. It wasn't far off the mark. Well, actually, it was far below the actual fantasies going on in his head.
The kinds of fantasies he cooked up in his mind were enough to make anyone who called themselves a pervert shrink back in shame.
His browsing history spoke for itself.
Moral lines, when it came to his fantasies, there were none. Pretty much non-existent.
He was quite literally the king of perverts.
A pervert among perverts.
Still, frustration was heating in his gut.
Yet another failure.
He flopped onto his bed, the springs creaking, and fired up his laptop. The screen glowed to life, and he navigated straight to his bookmarks—no hesitation or shame.
Pornhub loaded, thumbnails of busty amateurs and fantasy babes filling the screen.
He clicked on one: 'Elf Girl Gets Railed in the Woods.' The video buffered, then exploded into motion—a silver-haired beauty on her knees, lips wrapped around a thick cock, her massive tits spilling out of a skimpy top.
Roy's hand dove into his jeans, freeing his aching shaft. It sprang out, veined and throbbing, already leaking pre-cum from the party's tease.
He stroked slowly at first, matching the rhythm on screen as the elf gagged and slurped, her throat bulging.
"Fuck yeah," he groaned, eyes glued to the way her breasts heaved with each bob. His fist pumped faster, imagining it was Megan—or better, that elf—bent over for him, begging instead of slapping.
The first orgasm hit quickly, his balls tightening as he grunted, ropes of cum splattering his stomach.
He didn't stop, wiping it off with a tissue and diving into another tab: 'College Slut Gangbang.' Bodies writhed, pussies stretched around multiple dicks, moans filling his headphones.
Roy jerked harder, his cock slick and sensitive, chasing the release. "Take it, you bitch," he muttered, picturing the party's laughter turning to screams of pleasure under him.
By the third video—a hentai loop of tentacles invading every hole—he was sweating, hips bucking into his hand.
Cum leaked steadily now, his strokes sloppy and greasy with his own fluids. The screen showed a girl much like Megan, her crop top torn, her tits bouncing as she got filled.
"Nnnnngh~"
Roy's vision blurred, and he came again, hard, spilling over his knuckles with a shuddering gasp.
Exhausted, he cleaned up haphazardly, the laptop still humming with paused scenes.
The clock read 2:17 AM. He killed the lights, collapsing under the thin sheet, the ache in his chest mixing with the post-nut haze.
One day, he thought, drifting off, I'll make them all beg for my cock.
...
Sunlight filtered through unfamiliar curtains, pulling Roy from sleep. He blinked, disoriented, his body feeling oddly refreshed, like he'd just napped, not crashed after a marathon wank.
The ceiling above was vaulted, ornate wood beams etched with intricate carvings, not the cracked plaster of his apartment. No hum of traffic outside, no neighbor's bass thumping through the walls.
Just birdsong and a faint scent of lavender.
"What the fuck?" Roy sat up, his heart racing, the sheets pooling around a body that felt... different.
Stronger.
His hands, normally callused from gaming controllers, are now smooth and veined with muscle.
He swung his legs over the edge of a four-poster bed draped in silk, staring at the room: tapestries on stone walls, a massive mirror reflecting a stranger's face, his face? Chiseled jaw, tousled dark hair, eyes sharp and piercing.
And lower, under the loose nightshirt, a bulge that promised more than his old equipment.
"What, the actual fuck!?"