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As they have been every year, the rising juniors of Cavelier Highschool are being provided a new printing of the student handbook, accounting for changing staff and new district bylaws and some new very pointed rules about exactly who is permitted in which bathrooms.
This particular book's cover appears to be a misprint, CMYK all disjoint, but apart from the slightly dizzying misalignment it appears entirely ordinary.
It lands on its appointed desk, and the student passing out books moves on.
wait for me
you're in bio, right?
If he gets in trouble he can always change the school rules.
Camillo obtains a bathroom pass, and carries it in front of him to the bathroom near Z's biology classroom.
The boys’ bathroom is…bigger than it used to be. And there are more stalls, some marked with a 🚾 and some unmarked.
Z grins at him from just outside one of the unmarked stalls.
"Oh my god this is amazing -- they didn't have sex stalls, for the record, you were just out there with the urinals and a line of guys -- get in there--"
“You’re not supposed to fuck in them,” he says, half-laughing and dragging Camillo in.
There’s a simple bench that spans the back of the stall, and a dingy pump dispenser on the wall.
"How is that different -- are people in this universe really just cool with teenagers jerking off -- never mind answering just suck my dick--"
Z pushes him at the bench and drops to his knees on the floor.
“Working on it!”
The moment he gets Camillo’s pants undone, he cheerfully complies.
Z's hair is so much more convenient for wrapping his fists in, at this length.
Camillo holds Z's head tightly and moves it just how he wants it, slow at first and then faster, deeper.
(He didn't get to play with the PSP but he'll get to play next time -- he'll figure out a better way to do it, something voluntary -- maybe not too voluntary -- a little voluntary -- and he can have anything he wants if he can figure out how to do it right, he can make all the boys gay, he can make all the boys want him, he can make Z sit under his desk and suck his dick all day -- he can give himself a twelve-inch-dick and make Z worship it -- he can get an A on a test and have Mr. Teegarden tell him he's a good boy and fuck him -- he can make half the school fuck Z while he watches and Z will love it -- no more football just gangbangs, no more detentions just spankings, no more--)
"--fuck, Z--"
Z’s eyes are fluttering open and shut, and he keeps moaning a little around Camillo’s dick, taking short breaths through his nose whenever he gets a chance.
His pants are open too, now, and he’s jerking himself off desperately as Camillo fucks his face, dripping steadily onto the floor.
Moaning, Camillo thinks hypocritically, isn't very discreet of Z.
The solution to this is obviously to shove his dick down Z's throat while he comes.
Solution accepted without protest.
He swallows — he swallows a few times, actually, and then shudders and drips a little from the corners of his mouth as he comes (and comes, and comes, a dripping handful’s worth at least) on the ground.
“I think it’s been, like…a day?”
He looks down.
“—ah, fuck. Condom. Every time!”
He pulls a few squares of tissue out of a dispenser to mop up.
"Dude, you almost fucking drowned me. Like, that's not weird for you, but it definitely happened."
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