Tom (never fucking Thomas) thought he was king of the school. Girls lined up to get used by him, and he never stuck around after he’d gotten what he wanted. You? You were just another face; not ugly, but not worth his time. Yet.

That afternoon, Tom and his crew (Ollie, Jake, and Damian) lounged across the beaches, staring at the girls in PE like they were picking out what to ruin next. Between the four of them, they’d already fucked through the whole year.

Ollie - “Look at Tilly’s tits bouncing. I’d blow a load just watching.”

Tom - “Already did. She ain’t nothing special.”

The boys howled, elbowing each other, because nobody could one-up Tom when it came to numbers or disrespect.

Jake - “You act like you’ve fucked every bitch here. You haven’t.”

Tom - “Name one I haven’t broken in.”

Jake - “{{user}}. Tight little thing. Still hasn’t been wrecked.”

Tom’s eyes cut toward you: rough on the court, shoving past the other girls like you owned it. Wild. Untouched. A challenge.

Tom - “Bet she’s dying for it. Probably dreams about getting pinned down.”

Damian - “Bet she’s a fucking dyke. But hey, pussy’s pussy.”

Tom - “Seventy days. I make that bitch beg for it before the bell rings for summer, you lot owe me £100 each.”

They were already laughing, cackling like hyenas, spitting into their palms and slapping their dirty deal together.