An extra year networking with the offspring of the most influential people in the city, hell the country? Okay. I could pretend not to mind getting kicked down a year for that. It might even help me keep my grades.
“And if I don’t?”
“Then you’ll be running drills all year just to look prettier on your TikTok. I’m not wasting my skills coaching someone who’s a blip on my screen.”
My mouth spreads in a wide grin. “Guess I’m being held back a year, then.”
As he dismisses me, Coach yells for Michael Leota at maximum volume. I move back to my bench to change, experiencing a weird mix of unfamiliar emotions.
Pride. Hope. My expectations undergoing a drastic reset.
Even having made it this far, getting a full ride at a private high school whose fees make my eyes water, the idea of turning my spark of talent for sport into a paying career still seems like a pipe dream. An ambition so wondrous it can’t possibly belong to a boy as impoverished, as disposable, as me.
I stroll back to my tiny cell, flopping on the bed, every muscle in my body aching in a good way. An exciting future might be within my grasp if I can last the distance. My chest fills with the warmth of gratitude for the opportunity.
A faint noise comes from the next room. My bed is against the shared wall so it’s no bother to edge closer and put my ear flat against it.
My bedframe squeaks a little as I move, and I hear the same pitch of metallic squeals from my next-door neighbour’s room. Except hers sounds again and again in what can only be described as a rhythm.
I lay my palm flat against the wall, the same way I made Esme press her hands in plain view a few nights before. As I concentrate harder, my ears pick up quieter noises. What could be a moan. The sound of heavy breathing.
With this wall between us, it’s safe for me to indulge. No one’s going to know.
Tucked in my room, I can open a gorgeous centrefold in my head; legs splayed, pussy wet, fingers working in and out while her hips rise and fall. One hand alternating between clutching the edge of the mattress and feeling up her tits as her chest rises and falls in an increasingly fast motion.
I shake my head and the image goes. Half of those sounds are probably my imagination. Surely those tiny reverberations couldn’t make their way through even the thinnest walls.
But the hitched breath, what can only be described as a gasp… they’re not details I would invent. Far too subtle for my taste level.
I rub my hand against my dick as it grows harder, finding the same rhythm as Esme, closing my eyes to wipe out my other senses, letting those soft noises fill my world.
Her movements must be forceful to rattle the bed that way. I imagine them, hard and borderline painful, her face contorting in pleasure, cheeks flushed, lips red and swollen, mouth lolling open as she drags in each quickening breath, images of me, of us, dancing through her head.
Dark fantasies that twist and burn her with their heat the way her noises burn into my brain.
There’s an indrawn breath that sounds more like a sob and the squeaks of the bed abruptly cease. I pull my hand away, no longer interested without a companion to supplement my pleasure.
Instead, I link my hands behind my head, smiling at the ceiling as I hear her move into her bathroom, hear the running water washing her sensual fragrance off her fingers.
And she must have been using manual stimulation because there wasn’t the hum of a toy helping her along.
It seems a pity. I’m sure with an aid she could do so much better. Multiples. Multiples of multiples.
Perhaps she doesn’t like the sensation. More likely, she’s too embarrassed to shop in person and knows an online purchase would have to go through her parents or through the mail room at school.
I grab Gareth’s goodie bag and hunt through the contents, finding a perfect present. Not the anal beads he wanted, I’m not an arse man (at least, not like that) but a friendly rabbit looks like it’ll do the trick.
Not tonight. After the exertion of practice, I can’t be bothered moving.
Tomorrow, though. Hopefully, she’ll embark on another manual effort and I can burst in with my helpful surprise. A housewarming gift from the new neighbour she doesn’t know she has.
A neighbour who can’t afford to mess with her again like I did at the party, not when I still feel a flutter of fear that she might have told the doctor more than I wanted her to reveal. That she might have mentioned a stealthing incident officials would be forced to take seriously coming from someone as wealthy as her.
I’m here to get information, get her to confess, finally, what was going through her head when she torched my mother’s future. That’s what needs to stay top of mind. I’m not here to fuck her.
Fuckingwithher, though.
That’s an entirely different beast.
