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"There you are."
It’s Trace. She’s a blond, skinny, salad-eating Regina George type who’s quite possibly the worst thing to happen to my life. Sophomore year, I fucked her best friend and her friend tattled that I was the best dick she’d ever had. Trace has been throwing herself at me ever since, even though she ought to know by now that the very sight of her makes me sick.
It’s bad enough that she’s always following me everywhere like she’s obsessed with me. Because her father is the Dean of Students at Saintswood, she thinks she has sway over me that no one else has.
That couldn’t be further from the truth. Not only does she not control me, she barely factors into my daily life. The few times I acknowledge her pathetic existence are when she’s blocking my path either to enter or exit the locker room.
"Get away from me, slut."
"I’ve been waiting for you."
"She really has," Trace’s minion says.
I whip toward Trace and her two bitches. "You three are the nastiest and ugliest skinny whores at this entire school. Go fuck a spiked dildo."
Trace and her bitches really are mean girls. They’re always commenting on other girls’ weight and saying that they shouldn’t wear sweatpants until they quit eating cake in their dorm rooms every night.
I don't understand women who pull that shit. It makes them so much more unattractive than if they were kind and polite to everyone.
"I only want your cock in my pussy." Trace runs her pink manicured fingernails down my forearm.
The urge to smack her in her fucking face is too strong. I shake her hand off because if I don’t, she’ll be on the ground with a black eye and I’ll be kicked off the team.
Trace confirms what I already suspected.
I want nothing to do with other bitches.
Not popular ones.
Not blonde ones.
Not ones whose fathers could kick me out of Saintswood with a swipe of their pen.
I only want my angel.
Another shard of my frozen heart cracks off and sinks into my soul. Nothing is melting. But shit is breaking apart. I think about her auburn hair, her mouth that I nearly split as I forced my dick deep into her throat, and the way her pain turned me on.
Mine.
Mine.
Brock
I’m the playboy of the group. For the duration of my collegiate athlete career here at Saintswood, I haven’t gone a day without a new bitch to fuck.
The bitches here are top tier or at least I thought they used to be. Models, check. Powerful business titans’ daughters, check. Beautiful, check.
I run through bitches like they’re stoplights and I’m a drunk driver. No slut with fake tits and ass shots is powerful enough to lock down my cock.
Plenty of bitches have tried. Freshman year, this smoking hot TA I was banging pleaded with me to go exclusive with her because she’d give me an A+ in English lit. I fucked her pussy, ass, and throat every day and night for a semester while fucking the married professor on the side. When the TA found out I was double crossing her, I told her that my dick was too great to be tied down to one pussy alone. That prompted the TA to consult with the professor and we had a threesome in the classroom over winter break. I broke the professor’s back and split the TA’s pussy in two. She needed to rush to the ER to get stitches.
Being a playboy is in my nature. As a teenager, I’d fuck anything that walked. My father’s French maid was the first to discover the awe-inspiring power of my cock. I surprised her one day while she was vacuuming my room, lifted up her outfit, and fucked her before she knew who it was. She came so hard screaming out my father’s name and when she finally turned around to see who it was, she fainted.
Bitches mean jack shit to me. Pussy is pussy. When you’ve fucked one bitch, you’ve fucked them all. The only thing that matters is that you get pussy. Pussy you can bust in before going back to what really matters.
Football.
Going pro.
