Cuckolded by the Bully

Bonnie Bimbo

Copyright

Copyright © 2026 by Bonnie Bimbo

All rights reserved.

No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

The Smell of Competition

The dorm room reeked of burnt coffee, stale textbooks, and the sour stink of two guys who hadn’t bothered to shower in a day and a half. Finals week had turned the place into a filthy, sweaty hellhole—every inch of desk and floor buried under highlighters, sticky notes, and half-crushed energy drink cans. Nikolaos hunched at his desk, stiff as a corpse, furiously scribbling on index cards. His hair clung to his forehead in greasy, wet clumps. The clock on the wall ticked, each second dragging out like a threat.

Dimitrios sprawled across his bed like he was king of the dump, shirtless, one arm behind his head, the other flipping through a single battered spiral notebook—the same one that held everything Nikolaos had spent three weeks trying to cram into his skull. Dimitrios’s chest rose and fell, big and lazy, sweat shining along his collarbone. Every so often he’d smirk at his own notes, like he found his own genius hilarious.

The door opened without a knock.

Phoebe walked in, balancing two paper cups from the campus coffee cart. Steam curled up from the lids. Her auburn hair was yanked into a messy knot, with loose strands sticking to the sweaty skin of her neck. She wore a thin gray tank top and black leggings that hugged her ass and thighs like a second skin. The second she stepped in, the air got heavier, hotter, like her body dragged the whole room’s attention with it.

“Hey, boys,” she said, voice low and amused. “Thought you might need reinforcements.”

Nikolaos looked up first. Relief flickered across his face, quickly replaced by something tighter. “You’re early.”

"Couldn’t wait." She crossed the room and set a cup on his desk, her fingers dragging over the back of his hand as she pulled away. The touch was quick, on purpose, and it shot straight down his spine to his crotch.

She turned toward Dimitrios.

He didn’t sit up. Just tilted his head and let his gaze drag slowly over her, unhurried, appreciative. “Phoebe. You’re looking dangerously focused today.”

She laughed—a soft, throaty sound that made Nikolaos’s stomach clench. “Someone has to keep you two from imploding.”

She walked over and sat on the edge of Dimitrios’s bed, her knee pressing right up against his thigh. Nikolaos stared at the spot where they touched, like it was a bruise he couldn’t stop poking.

Dimitrios sat up slowly, muscles shifting under his skin. He reached for the second coffee without asking. Their fingers overlapped on the cup for a second longer than necessary. Phoebe didn’t pull away.

“So,” she said, blowing across the lid, “how bad is it?”

Nikolaos answered before Dimitrios could. “Manageable. If I stick to my schedule.”

Dimitrios snorted. “Manageable. That’s cute.” He flipped his notebook closed and tossed it onto the mattress between them. “You still color-coding your flashcards, Nik? Pink for definitions, blue for dates, yellow for—”

“Shut up,” Nikolaos muttered.

Phoebe’s lips curved. She glanced between them, eyes bright with interest. “You two really never got over high school, did you?”

“Some things don’t need getting over,” Dimitrios said. His voice dropped half an octave. “Some things are worth winning.”

He reached past her and picked up the notebook again. Opened it to a page dense with clean, confident handwriting—diagrams, bullet points, annotations in three different colors. Nothing crossed out. Nothing messy.

“Look at this,” he said, angling the page toward Phoebe. “This is how you actually remember shit. Not by rewriting the textbook six times.”

She leaned in, her shoulder rubbing against his bare skin. Nikolaos saw her pupils go wide, her chest rising faster, like she was about to do something filthy right there.

“Jesus,” she murmured. “This is… beautiful.”

Dimitrios’s mouth curled. “I know.”

Nikolaos’s pen stopped moving.

Phoebe traced a finger along one of the margins, following the tight, slanted script. “You really leaked these to anyone?”

“Only to people who deserve them,” Dimitrios said. His eyes flicked to Nikolaos for half a heartbeat, then returned to her. “You want a copy?”

She hesitated—just long enough for the room to feel the weight of it.

Nikolaos spoke before he could stop himself. “She’s got my notes. She doesn’t need—”

“I want to see,” Phoebe cut in, voice quiet but firm. She looked at Nikolaos, and something in her expression made his throat close. Not guilt. Curiosity. Hunger.

Dimitrios was already reaching for his phone. “Here. I’ll airdrop you the PDF. Full color. No watermarks. Consider it a gift.”

The soft chime of Phoebe’s phone receiving the file felt obscene.

She opened it immediately. Scrolled. Her lips parted. “This is insane. You even color-coded the goddamn examples.”

“Told you,” Dimitrios said. He leaned back on his elbows, watching her face with open satisfaction. “Sometimes the easy way is the right way.”

Nikolaos stared at the gap between them—except there wasn’t one anymore. Phoebe’s thigh was pressed right up against Dimitrios’s, her breathing slow and deep, her fingers stroking the screen like she wanted to jerk off to his notes.

Phoebe finally looked up. Her cheeks were flushed. “I think… I might need you to walk me through a couple of these later. If you’re free.”

Dimitrios’s smile was slow, predatory. “I’m always free for you.”

Nikolaos felt the words hit him like a punch to the gut, sharp and humiliating.

Phoebe stood. She crossed back to Nikolaos’s desk, bent, and kissed him—soft, quick, perfunctory. Her lips tasted like cinnamon lip balm and something he couldn’t place.

“I’ll be back tonight,” she said. “We’ll go over everything together. All three of us.”

She left without waiting for an answer.

Silence swallowed the room.

Dimitrios stretched, arms over his head, muscles flexing. “She’s got good taste.”

Nikolaos didn’t respond.

After a moment, Dimitrios’s phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen, chuckled low in his throat, then turned it so Nikolaos could see.

A new notification.

From Phoebe.

Anytime you need a private cram session.

The words burned themselves into Nikolaos’s retinas.

Dimitrios locked the phone and tossed it onto the bed. “Guess she liked the notes.”

Nikolaos stared at his own pile of index cards. They looked pathetic now. Childish. Like the sad, sweaty scribbles of a loser who still thought effort could beat raw talent and a big dick.

He felt something hot and ugly start to twist in his gut, slow and sick, like the beginning of a hard-on and a stomachache at the same time.

Jealousy.

And beneath it—something worse.

Want.

Paper Cuts & Pulse

Rain hammered the narrow window, a constant, annoying beat that made Nikolaos's head throb. The dorm room felt even smaller at night, the walls closing in, the air stinking of old coffee and the sharp, chemical stink of dried-out highlighters. Dimitrios had fucked off an hour ago, mumbling something about the gym and a study group, which was bullshit. The door slammed behind him, leaving Nikolaos alone with his notes, the harsh blue glare of his laptop, and the bitter taste of all the things he hadn't said.

He was halfway through re-organizing his timeline cards when the knock came—soft, almost hesitant.

Nikolaos opened the door.

Phoebe stood in the hallway in the same tank top from earlier, the thin fabric now plastered to her chest, nipples poking through from the rain. Her auburn hair was a wet mess, sticking to her skin and making her look like she'd just crawled out of someone else's bed. She clutched her phone like it was the only thing keeping her upright.

“Hey,” she said, voice quieter than usual. “Can I come in?”

He stepped aside without a word.

She brushed past him, trailing the smell of rain and that girly shampoo that always made his throat close up. She ignored his desk and wandered over to Dimitrios's side, dragging her fingers along the edge of his unmade bed before sitting down on it, legs crossed, like she owned the place.

"I tried looking at your notes," she said, staring at her phone. "Swear I did. But that Keynesian multiplier shit? My brain just shuts off."

Nikolaos felt the familiar defensive reflex rise. “It’s not that complicated. I can walk you through it again. Step by step.”

She looked up at him, eyes unreadable. "I know you can. But..." She woke up her phone, and Dimitrios's PDF popped up right away, all neat and perfect. "His notes just make sense. I don't know what it is."

It hit him like a punch to the gut, but he couldn't say he was surprised.

Nikolaos crossed the room in three steps and sat on his own bed, facing her. The space between them felt charged, electric. “So use his. If it’s better.”

“I don’t want to hurt your feelings.”

“You’re not,” he lied.

She studied him for a long moment. Then she leaned forward, elbows on her knees, phone held between them like an offering. “Look at this part. The way he breaks down the marginal propensity to consume with the little graph. It’s so… intuitive.”

Nikolaos tried to focus on the screen, but all he could see was her tits moving under the wet tank top, nipples poking out, begging for attention. He hated how much it turned him on. Hated the way his cock throbbed just from looking.

“Yeah,” he said, voice rough. “It’s clear.”

Phoebe tilted her head. “You’re angry.”

“I’m not angry.”

“You’re jealous.”

He met her eyes. “Should I not be?”

She didn’t answer right away. Instead she set the phone down on the mattress between them and reached across, brushing her fingertips over the back of his hand. The touch was light, almost accidental, but it sent a current straight to his groin.

“I like that you’re jealous,” she said softly. “It means you care.”

“I care about a lot of things.”

“I know.” Her fingers slid higher, tracing the inside of his wrist. “But this… this is different.”

She moved, slow and obvious, swinging a leg over his lap and settling right on top of his hard-on. There was no way she couldn't feel it through their clothes. His hands grabbed her hips, fingers digging in, probably harder than he should have.

Phoebe leaned in until their foreheads touched. Her breath was warm against his mouth. “I’m still yours, Nik. You know that, right?”

He couldn't answer. Not with her grinding on his lap, the heat of her pussy soaking through her leggings and into his sweats, making his cock twitch.

She kissed him—slow at first, testing. Then deeper. Hungrier. Her tongue slid against his and he tasted rain and cinnamon and the faintest trace of coffee. His hands slid up under her tank top, palms gliding over the smooth, warm skin of her back. She arched into the touch, pressing her breasts against his chest.

When she pulled back, her eyes were huge and dark. "I keep thinking about how he explained it," she whispered. "How he leaned in, how his voice dropped when he said 'marginal.' Like he was about to fuck me right there."

Nikolaos squeezed her hips harder. "You're telling me this while you're grinding on my cock."

"I know." She rolled her hips, slow and dirty. "I'm telling you because it made me wet. I wanted you to know how much."

Something cracked inside him. Not anger. Not quite shame. Something hotter. Darker.

He kissed her again, rough this time, biting her lip. She moaned, yanking his hair hard enough to hurt. He could feel how wet she was, her pussy soaking through the fabric, grinding against his cock like she needed it.

She broke the kiss to breathe. “I should go,” she murmured, but she didn’t move.

“You don’t have to.”

"I do." Her voice shook. "I told him I'd meet him later. For more than just notes."

The words sliced clean through the haze of lust.

Nikolaos froze. His hands stayed on her hips, but the pressure changed—less possessive, more desperate.

Phoebe searched his face. “Say something.”

He swallowed. “What do you want me to say?”

“That you hate it. That you want me to stay. That you want me to go. Anything.”

He couldn't get a word out. Jealousy, need, and something even dirtier twisted up inside him, making it impossible to breathe.

Before he could find words, her phone buzzed against the mattress.

She glanced down.

A voice note. From Dimitrios.

She didn’t hesitate. She tapped play, turning the volume low, but not low enough.

His voice filled the small space between them—deep, amused, edged with promise.

“Hey. Figured you might still be struggling with that multiplier. I’m back in the room in twenty. Door’s unlocked. Come find me when you’re ready for round two. I’ll make sure you really get it this time.”

The message ended.

Silence rang.

Phoebe’s breathing had gone shallow. She looked at Nikolaos with eyes that were equal parts guilt and hunger.

“I should go,” she whispered again.

But she didn’t move.

Not yet.

Nikolaos felt her weight on his lap, the heat of her pussy pressing down on his cock, which throbbed painfully under her. The rain kept pounding outside. He knew the exact second he lost another piece of his self-control.

He lifted his hips—just enough to press himself harder against her.

She gasped.

Then she leaned in and kissed him once more—soft, almost tender.

“I’ll be back later,” she said against his lips. “I promise.”

She slid off his lap.

Her absence left him cold.

The second she was gone, he felt empty. Cold. Like she'd taken something with her.

When she reached it, she paused, hand on the knob.

“I’m still yours, Nik,” she said quietly. “Even if I’m borrowing someone else’s notes.”

Then she was gone.

The door clicked shut.

Nikolaos sat in the dark, rain hammering the window, his cock aching, his heart pounding with something filthy and humiliating he couldn't even admit to himself.

Twenty minutes, Dimitrios had said.

He wondered how long it would take her to walk back across campus.

He wondered how long he would sit here waiting for her to return.

He wondered what she'd smell like when she came back—if she'd still smell like rain and shampoo, or if she'd reek of Dimitrios's cock.

The First Crack

The library was a fucking nightmare. Too many people, too much recycled air, the stink of sweat and desperation, and the kind of silence that made his head throb. Nikolaos barely lasted forty-seven minutes after Phoebe left. He shoved his laptop in his bag and bolted, the rain soaking him through, cold and sharp, but it didn’t do shit to cool the ache in his gut—the one she’d left behind when she slid off his lap, leaving him hard and humiliated.

He told himself he wasn’t going straight back to the dorm. Maybe just a dry shirt, a new notebook, anything to keep his hands from shaking and his brain from replaying the same filthy loop: Phoebe’s thighs squeezing his hips, her voice in his ear, whispering about Dimitrios’s dirty mouth, that fucking voice note still taunting him, making his cock twitch.

But his feet carried him back anyway.

The hallway outside their door was quiet except for the low hum of the vending machine down the corridor. The overhead light flickered once as he approached. He reached for the handle, then stopped.

Voices. Muffled. Coming from inside.

Laughter—hers, bright and unguarded—followed by a deeper rumble. Dimitrios.

Nikolaos’s hand hovered, useless. His heart hammered so loud he was sure they could hear it. His cock throbbed, half-hard already, just from the sound of their voices.

He should knock. He should barge in. He should turn around and walk straight back to the library and pretend he hadn’t heard anything.

Instead he leaned closer.

The door wasn’t even closed. Just a crack, leaking warm yellow light. He pressed his shoulder to the frame, heart pounding, cock straining against his sweats, terrified they’d hear him breathing like some pervert outside their door.

“…so the multiplier effect isn’t just numbers on a page,” Dimitrios was saying, voice lazy, almost intimate. “It’s momentum. Once you start spending, it keeps going. Ripples. You feel it everywhere.”

A soft sound—Phoebe’s breath catching. “You make it sound… dangerous.”

“It is.” A rustle. Fabric shifting. “If you’re not careful where you let it spread.”

Nikolaos tilted his head. Through the narrow crack he could see them.

They were on Dimitrios’s bed.

Textbooks lay open between them like forgotten props. Phoebe sat cross-legged, facing him. Dimitrios reclined against the wall, one knee bent, the other leg stretched out so that his bare foot rested near her hip. He’d changed into a black tank top that clung to the hard planes of his chest; the sleeves strained around his biceps. Phoebe’s hair was still damp, but she’d pulled it over one shoulder. Her tank top had ridden up slightly, exposing a thin strip of skin above the waistband of her leggings.

Their knees touched.

Not incidentally.

Deliberately.

Dimitrios reached over and tapped the open page in front of her. His fingers lingered on the paper, then slid sideways until the backs of his knuckles brushed the inside of her thigh—just above the knee, casual enough to be deniable, heavy enough to mean everything.

Phoebe didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull away.

She looked down at the point of contact, then slowly lifted her gaze to his face. “You’re not even looking at the book.”

“I’m looking at something better.”

Her lips curved—slow, dangerous. “You’re terrible.”

“I’m honest.”

Silence stretched. Thick. Electric.

Then Phoebe shifted. Not away. Closer. Her hand came up, fingers trailing lightly along the edge of his notebook before settling on his forearm. The muscle jumped under her touch.

“You know Nik’s going to kill you if he finds out you’re poaching his girlfriend with study notes,” she said, but her voice was breathy, playful, laced with something darker.

Dimitrios’s mouth tilted. “He can try. But we both know he’s too busy rewriting the same paragraph for the seventeenth time to notice what’s happening right in front of him.”

“That’s cruel.”

“That’s true.”

Phoebe’s fingers tightened on his arm. “He cares. A lot.”

“I know.” Dimitrios’s voice dropped lower. “That’s why it’s going to hurt so good when he finally sees.”

She sucked in a breath, chest heaving. Nikolaos stared at her tits, nipples poking through the thin cotton, hard and begging for attention. His cock jerked, painfully hard, pressed against his wet sweats, humiliated and desperate.

Phoebe leaned in. Their faces were inches apart. “You’re enjoying this too much.”

“Guilty.” Dimitrios lifted his free hand, brushed a wet strand of hair from her cheek with the pad of his thumb. The gesture was tender. Possessive. “But you’re enjoying it more.”

She didn’t deny it.

Instead she tilted her head into the touch, eyes fluttering half-closed. “Maybe.”

Dimitrios’s thumb slid down, tracing the line of her jaw, then lower—along the side of her throat, pausing where her pulse beat visibly against the skin.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured.

Phoebe’s eyes opened. Met his. Held.

She didn’t say anything.

His hand kept moving—slow, deliberate—until his palm settled against the side of her neck, fingers curling lightly around the nape. Not choking. Just holding. Claiming.

Phoebe’s lips parted on a soft, involuntary sound.

Nikolaos’s world shrank to the crack in the door, the yellow light, and the sight of his girlfriend about to get fucked by another man. The rest of the campus could have burned down and he wouldn’t have noticed. All he felt was the sick, humiliating heat crawling through his body, making his cock ache.

He should leave.

He should burst in.

He should—

Phoebe’s hand slid higher on Dimitrios’s arm, up to his shoulder, then into the short hair at the back of his neck. She tugged him closer.

Their mouths met.

Not tentative. Not sweet.

Hard. Hungry. Teeth and tongue and a low, needy moan from Phoebe that vibrated straight through Nikolaos’s chest.

Dimitrios made a rough sound in the back of his throat—satisfaction, triumph—and angled her head to deepen the kiss. His free hand found her waist, fingers splaying wide, pulling her forward until she was half in his lap.

Her thigh slid over his.

The textbooks slid off the bed and hit the floor with a muted thump.

Neither of them stopped.

Nikolaos’s knees almost gave out. He grabbed the doorframe with one hand, the other shoved down, gripping his cock through his sweats, trying to stop himself from coming just from the sounds. Every wet, filthy noise from inside made it worse, made him harder, made him want to crawl inside and watch up close.

He watched Phoebe’s hips roll once, twice, grinding against Dimitrios in a slow, deliberate rhythm. Watched Dimitrios’s hand slide under her tank top, disappearing beneath the fabric, watched the material bunch up as his palm cupped her breast.

Phoebe broke the kiss long enough to gasp against his mouth. “Fuck…”

“That’s the plan,” Dimitrios muttered, voice wrecked.

He kissed her again—harder, dirtier—and Nikolaos felt the exact moment something inside him fractured.

Not cleanly.

Slowly. Painfully. Deliciously.

He backed away from the door on shaking legs, turned, and stumbled down the hallway. Rain pelted his face when he pushed through the exterior door, but he barely felt it.

His mind kept replaying the image: her mouth on Dimitrios’s, her hips moving, the way her body arched toward him like it had been waiting.

He stumbled across campus, cock still hard, shame burning in his face, need crawling under his skin. He couldn’t tell if he wanted to puke or jerk off. Maybe both.

When he finally stopped, he was outside the student center, rain dripping from his hood, breath ragged.

His phone buzzed in his pocket.

He pulled it out with numb fingers.

A text from Phoebe.

I think I’m finally starting to understand everything.

No emoji. No sorry. Just the words, heavy as a punch to the balls.

Nikolaos stared at the screen until it blurred.

Then he typed one word.

Good.

He hit send before he could think better of it.

Then he shoved the phone back in his pocket and started walking again—back toward the dorm, back toward whatever was waiting.

He didn’t know what he would do when he got there.

He only knew he needed to see what was left—needed to see the mess, the proof, the thing that would finally break him.

Borrowed Heat

The afternoon sun cut through the blinds in ugly, uneven stripes, painting the dorm room floor with the kind of light that made every speck of dust look like a personal insult. The rain had finally fucked off sometime in the night, but it left behind a swampy, humid air that clung to your skin and made the whole place reek of wet concrete and old sweat. Nikolaos had stumbled in around noon, looking like a drowned rat, his hair plastered to his forehead and his clothes dripping. He didn’t say a single word about the pathetic text he’d sent Phoebe, didn’t say anything at all, just peeled off his soaked hoodie, tossed it in the corner like it had personally offended him, and slumped at his desk with his back to the room, as if ignoring everyone would somehow erase the last twenty-four hours of humiliation.

Dimitrios had returned shortly after, whistling low under his breath, gym bag slung over one shoulder. He’d taken one look at Nikolaos’s rigid posture and smirked, but said nothing. Just dropped the bag, peeled off his shirt, and flopped onto his bed in nothing but basketball shorts.

Now the three of them were here.

All of them.

Phoebe had breezed in about fifteen minutes ago, tossing out a fake-casual 'hey' that fooled exactly no one. She was wearing Dimitrios’s black hoodie—the same one he’d sweated through at the gym that morning—and, unless she’d figured out how to make underwear invisible, absolutely nothing else. The hem barely covered her ass, and every time she shifted, the fabric threatened to ride up and show everyone in the room exactly what she wasn’t wearing. Her bare legs were on full display, smooth and inviting, the kind of legs that made you want to drop to your knees and beg for a taste.

She sat between them on Dimitrios’s bed.

The mattress dipped under their combined weight. Nikolaos had refused the chair Dimitrios offered with mock politeness; instead he’d lowered himself onto the edge of the bed like he was stepping into a trap he already knew the shape of.

Textbooks lay open on the comforter between them. No one had touched a page in ten minutes.

Phoebe’s knee was pressed up against Dimitrios’s, casual as you please, while her other leg slid along Nikolaos’s thigh, slow and deliberate, like she was daring him to flinch or maybe just waiting to see how long it would take before he started squirming. It was a test, and everyone in the room knew it.

He hadn’t flinched.

Yet.

Dimitrios reached across her lap to point at a diagram on the open page. His forearm grazed the bare skin just above her knee. He didn’t move it away.

“See here,” he said, voice low and easy, like they were still just studying. “The way the curve flattens out? That’s where the multiplier starts losing steam if there’s too much leakage. Money stops circulating.”

Phoebe leaned forward, pretending to care about the diagram, and the hoodie rode up another inch, flashing even more of her perfect thighs. Nikolaos’s eyes dropped, helpless, to the smooth skin, then higher, to the dark, tempting shadow between her legs where it was obvious she wasn’t wearing a damn thing underneath. The sight made his cock twitch, humiliation and arousal mixing in his gut.

His throat worked.

She noticed.

She shifted again, this time letting her shoulder press fully against Dimitrios’s chest while her hand came to rest on Nikolaos’s knee—light, almost innocent.

“You’re quiet today, Nik,” she said softly. “Everything okay?”

He met her eyes. They were bright, pupils dilated, the green almost swallowed by black. Her lips were slightly swollen. From last night? From this morning? From minutes ago, when she’d slipped into the bathroom for five minutes and come back with her hair mussed and a fresh flush across her chest?

“I’m fine,” he said. The words came out rough.

Dimitrios chuckled. “He’s fine. He’s just finally understanding how things work.”

Phoebe’s fingers tightened on Nikolaos’s knee. “Don’t be mean.”

“I’m not being mean.” Dimitrios’s hand slid from the textbook to Phoebe’s thigh. He rested it there, palm down, fingers splayed wide enough to cover most of the exposed skin. “I’m being educational.”

She inhaled sharply through her nose. The sound was small, but it filled the room.

Nikolaos watched Dimitrios’s thumb begin a slow, lazy circle against her inner thigh. Watched the way her muscles jumped under the touch. Watched the way her chest rose faster, nipples peaking visibly against the soft cotton of the borrowed hoodie.

“You’re shaking,” Dimitrios murmured to her, not loud enough for it to be performative, but loud enough that Nikolaos heard every word.

“I’m not,” Phoebe lied.

“You are.” His thumb moved higher—half an inch, then another. “And you’re wet. I can smell it.”

Phoebe’s head dropped forward slightly, hair falling across her face. A tremor ran through her shoulders.

Nikolaos felt it too—the faint, unmistakable scent of her arousal rising between them, mixing with the clean sweat still clinging to Dimitrios’s skin and the faint trace of rain on her legs.

He should leave.

He should tell them to stop.

Instead he stayed exactly where he was, thigh pressed to thigh, watching Dimitrios’s hand disappear beneath the hem of the hoodie.

Phoebe made a small, broken sound.

Dimitrios’s eyes flicked to Nikolaos. Dark. Triumphant. “You want me to stop, Nik?”

Nikolaos’s jaw clenched so hard his teeth ached.

Dimitrios’s fingers moved again—slow, deliberate. Phoebe’s thighs parted another fraction. Just enough.

She turned her head toward Nikolaos. Her eyes were glassy. “Nik…”

He didn’t answer.

She reached for him suddenly—grabbed his wrist and pulled his hand toward her other thigh. Placed it there. Pressed his palm flat against her skin.

He could feel the heat pouring off her cunt, the sticky wetness already smeared across the tops of her thighs. She was soaked, dripping for them, and the knowledge made his cock ache with a mix of shame and desperate need.

She was dripping.

For this.

For both of them.

Dimitrios’s hand kept moving under the hoodie. Phoebe’s hips rocked forward once—small, helpless. A soft, wet sound followed.

Nikolaos’s cock throbbed, pressed painfully against the seam of his jeans, so hard it almost hurt, the kind of ache that made him want to beg for relief or just crawl under the bed and die of embarrassment.

Phoebe’s breathing had turned ragged. “I—I need…”

“I know what you need,” Dimitrios said. His voice was calm, almost gentle. He looked at Nikolaos again. “Question is, does he?”

Phoebe’s hand tightened on Nikolaos’s wrist. Her nails dug in. “Please…”

Dimitrios leaned in and spoke directly against her ear, loud enough for Nikolaos to hear every syllable.

“Tell him what you want, baby. Use your words.”

Phoebe’s eyes fluttered shut. When she opened them again, they were locked on Nikolaos.

“I want…” Her voice cracked. She swallowed. Tried again. “I want him to watch.”

The room went still.

Then Dimitrios smiled—slow, victorious.

He withdrew his hand from beneath the hoodie. His fingers glistened.

Phoebe whimpered at the loss.

Dimitrios lifted his hand to his mouth. Licked the tips of two fingers clean, eyes never leaving Nikolaos’s face.

“Guess that’s settled then,” he said.

Phoebe stood suddenly—unsteady on her feet. The hoodie fell back down to cover her again, but the damage was done. Everyone in the room knew what was underneath.

She looked between them, chest heaving.

“I need a minute,” she whispered.

She walked toward the bathroom attached to the suite. Her steps were shaky. The door closed behind her with a soft click.

Silence descended.

Dimitrios leaned back on his elbows, legs spread wide, the thick outline of his erection unmistakable against his shorts.

He looked at Nikolaos.

“She’s close,” he said quietly. “Real close.”

Nikolaos’s hands clenched into fists on his thighs.

Dimitrios’s voice dropped even lower.

“When she comes back… you gonna sit there like a good boy? Or you gonna finally do something about it?”

The bathroom door creaked open again.

Phoebe stepped out.

Her lips were freshly glossed. Her cheeks were flushed. And when she walked back toward the bed, she didn’t sit between them.

She stood in front of them both.

Looked down at Nikolaos.

Then at Dimitrios.

And very slowly, very deliberately, she reached for the hem of the hoodie.

The Line Crossed

The dorm room was dead quiet, the kind of silence that made every little noise sound like a gunshot. Someone shifting on the mattress sounded like a confession. The main light was off, just the desk lamp left on, throwing a yellow glow over the mess of sheets and the three of them, all pretending not to look at each other.

Nikolaos was flat on his back in the bottom bunk, staring up at the stained mattress above him. He hadn't moved since Phoebe came back from the bathroom. He hadn't said a word. His heart was pounding so hard it felt like it was trying to punch a hole through his chest.

The mattress creaked overhead.

Soft footsteps padded across the carpet.

Phoebe showed up at the edge of the bunk, hoodie gone. She was just in a pair of black panties, the kind that looked like they'd been through the wash too many times. Her tits were out, nipples hard from the cold and probably from what was about to happen. Her skin was flushed, chest to stomach, the lamplight making her look even more naked.

She looked down at him.

“Nik,” she whispered. The word came out trembling.

He didn’t answer.

She climbed onto the bed anyway, slow and careful, like she thought he might run for it. She straddled his hips but didn't sit all the way down, her knees on either side. He could feel the heat from her pussy, just above his cock, only his sweats and her thin panties keeping them apart.

He could smell her now, the raw, wet scent of her pussy filling his nose.

Above them, the upper bunk shifted again. Dimitrios swung his legs over the side and dropped down silently, landing on the carpet with the controlled grace of someone who knew exactly how much space he was allowed to take. He stood behind Phoebe, close enough that his thighs brushed the backs of hers.

He didn’t touch her.

Not yet.

Phoebe leaned forward, palms flat on Nikolaos’s chest. Her hair fell around them like a curtain.

“I’m sorry,” she said again, quieter this time. “But I needed it. I needed… him.”

Nikolaos kept his hands at his sides, fists clenched so tight his knuckles hurt.

Phoebe lowered her hips until the wet spot on her panties pressed right against the bulge in his sweats. She rocked her hips, slow, testing him, grinding her pussy on his cock through the fabric.

He sucked in a breath through his teeth.

She did it again.

Above them, Dimitrios’s breathing had changed—deeper, rougher.

Phoebe lifted her head, looking back over her shoulder.

“Come here,” she said to Dimitrios. Not a command. A plea.

Dimitrios stepped closer. His bare chest brushed her back. He reached around, palms sliding up her ribs until he cupped her breasts from behind—thumbs brushing over her nipples in slow, firm circles.

Phoebe’s head dropped forward. A low moan slipped out.

Nikolaos felt the vibration of it through her body into his.

Dimitrios’s mouth found the side of her neck. He bit down—not hard enough to mark, but hard enough to make her gasp. His hips pressed forward, grinding the thick ridge of his erection against the cleft of her ass through his shorts.

“Look at him,” Dimitrios murmured against her skin. “Look at your boyfriend while I touch you.”

Phoebe obeyed. Her eyes found Nikolaos’s. They were wet. Pupils blown. Lips parted.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered again. But she didn’t stop moving—didn’t stop grinding down against Nikolaos while Dimitrios’s hands roamed her body, claiming every inch.

Nikolaos's cock was throbbing under her, leaking so much precome it had made a wet spot on his sweats. He could feel every slippery grind of her panties on him, every little shake in her legs.

Dimitrios’s right hand drifted lower—fingers slipping beneath the waistband of her underwear. He didn’t push them down. Just slid two fingers along her slit, parting her, coating himself in her wetness.

Phoebe shuddered. Her hips jerked forward, pressing harder against Nikolaos.

“You’re dripping,” Dimitrios said, voice low and satisfied. He withdrew his fingers, brought them to his mouth, sucked them clean with deliberate slowness. Then he offered them to Phoebe.

She took them without hesitation—lips closing around his fingers, tongue swirling, eyes never leaving Nikolaos’s face.

Nikolaos made a sound—half groan, half broken thing.

Phoebe released Dimitrios’s fingers with a wet pop.

“I want you to hear it,” she said to Nikolaos. “Everything.”

She reached down between them, fingers fumbling at the waistband of his sweats. She tugged them low enough to free his cock—hard, flushed dark, leaking steadily. She wrapped her hand around him once, stroked once, then guided the head to rest against the soaked cotton covering her cunt.

She rocked forward again.

It felt filthy, the way her soaked panties slid over his cock, rubbing him raw.

Above them, Dimitrios hooked his thumbs into the sides of her panties and dragged them down—slowly—until they caught at her knees. He left them there, tangled, trapping her legs slightly open.

Then he stepped back just enough to shove his own shorts down.

His cock sprang free—thicker than Nikolaos’s, veined, already slick at the tip.

Phoebe looked back at him. Her breathing was ragged.

“Please,” she said.

Dimitrios gripped her hips. Positioned himself.

The first slow push made Phoebe’s entire body arch.

She cried out—sharp, needy.

Nikolaos felt it all—the way her cunt clenched around nothing, the way her wetness coated the head of his own cock as she ground down harder in helpless reaction, the way her nails dug into his chest.

Dimitrios sank in deeper.

Phoebe’s mouth opened on a silent scream.

Nikolaos watched—couldn’t look away—as Dimitrios began to move. Slow at first. Deep. Controlled. Each thrust pushed Phoebe forward, dragging her slick folds along Nikolaos’s length in a torturous glide.

She was sobbing now—soft, overwhelmed sounds.

“I’m—fuck—I’m gonna—”

Dimitrios’s hand slid around to her clit. Circled once. Twice.

Phoebe came with a broken cry—body locking, thighs shaking, cunt pulsing uselessly against Nikolaos’s cock while Dimitrios fucked her through it.

When the spasms slowed, she collapsed forward, forehead resting against Nikolaos’s chest.

Dimitrios didn’t stop.

He kept going—harder now—hips snapping with purpose.

Phoebe lifted her head just enough to meet Nikolaos’s eyes again.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, over and over, like a prayer. “I’m sorry… I’m sorry…”

But her hips kept moving—kept grinding against him, slick and desperate.

Dimitrios’s rhythm faltered once—twice—then he buried himself deep with a low groan, coming inside her.

Phoebe whimpered at the feeling.

Dimitrios stayed there a moment, breathing hard, then slowly pulled out.

A fat drip of cum slid down her thigh, landing right on Nikolaos's cock and mixing with the mess already there.

Phoebe shuddered again.

She looked down at Nikolaos—hair wild, eyes glassy, lips swollen.

Then she reached between them, wrapped her hand around his aching length, and stroked once—slow, firm.

“Come for me,” she whispered. “Please. While you feel what he left inside me.”

Nikolaos’s hips jerked.

He came hard—hot pulses spilling across her fingers, across her stomach, across the mess already there.

The whole room stank of sex, sweat, and something sour like humiliation.

Phoebe stayed on top of him, hand still loosely curled around his softening cock.

Dimitrios stepped back, breathing steady now, smug satisfaction rolling off him in waves.

Phoebe leaned down. Kissed Nikolaos softly on the mouth—tasting of salt and sin.

Then she whispered against his lips, so quiet only he could hear:

“I’m sorry… but I needed it.”

She slipped off him slowly, panties still tangled at her knees.

She stood.

Looked between the two men—one spent on the bed, the other watching from the shadows.

Then she reached for Dimitrios’s hand.

“We’re not done studying,” she said softly.

She led him toward the bathroom.

The door closed behind them.

Nikolaos just lay there in the dark, cum drying on his stomach, heart still hammering, listening to the shower turn on.

Listening to the soft, wet sounds that followed.

Invitation to Ruin

Nikolaos sat at his desk, surrounded by the stink of sweat, cold pizza, and the thick, sour smell of sex that never seemed to leave the room. His notes were scattered everywhere, but he couldn't focus. The lamp made everything look worse—books thrown open, dead highlighters, wires everywhere. He gripped his pen so hard it almost snapped. He hadn't slept. Not really. Not since last night, when Phoebe had kissed him, whispered sorry, and then dragged Dimitrios into the bathroom to fuck under the shower, leaving Nikolaos alone, his own cum drying sticky on his stomach.

He heard the door open before he saw her.

Phoebe came in without knocking. She wore Dimitrios's hoodie again, the black one that barely covered her ass. Her legs were bare, skin flushed. Her hair was messy, like someone had already been grabbing it. She had a backpack, but it was obvious she wasn't here to study. Her eyes went to Dimitrios first, sprawled on his bed in just sweatpants, chest covered in red scratches from her nails. Then she looked at Nikolaos, her face guilty and turned on at the same time.

"Hey," she said, her voice rough, like she'd been moaning all the way here. She dropped the backpack and walked in, the hoodie riding up with every step, showing off her body. The room filled with her smell—shampoo and the sharp, dirty scent of her pussy. Nikolaos knew it too well.

Dimitrios sat up slowly, muscles flexing under his skin as he propped himself on one elbow. His dark eyes tracked her every movement, a slow smile curling his lips. "You're late. We were starting to think you'd bailed on the final review."

Phoebe paused midway between the two beds, her bare feet sinking into the worn carpet. She glanced at Nikolaos again, biting her lower lip—a nervous habit that now sent a jolt straight to his groin. "I wouldn't miss it. Not after everything."

Nikolaos's pen stilled. He felt the weight of their eyes on him, the unspoken expectation hanging in the air like humidity before rain. His cock twitched in his jeans, already half-hard from the mere anticipation of whatever twisted game this had become. He wanted to tell her to leave. To tell Dimitrios to fuck off. But the words stuck in his throat, choked by the same dark curiosity that had kept him frozen last night, listening to their moans through the bathroom door.

Phoebe moved closer to Dimitrios's bed, perching on the edge like she had that first night. The hoodie rode up slightly, exposing more of her thigh. She wasn't wearing anything underneath—he could tell by the way the fabric clung, by the subtle outline of her hardened nipples pressing against the cotton. "We need to go over the last chapter," she said, but her voice lacked conviction. Her hand rested on her knee, fingers drumming lightly, betraying the restlessness bubbling beneath her skin.

Dimitrios chuckled, a low rumble that vibrated through the room. He reached out, casual as ever, and traced a finger along the hem of the hoodie, just brushing her bare skin. "We both know that's not why you're here."

Phoebe's breath hitched. She didn't pull away. Instead, she looked back at Nikolaos, her eyes pleading—aroused, yes, but also searching for something in his face. Permission? Forgiveness? Or just the thrill of his pain? "Nik... we don't have to pretend anymore. Not tonight."

Nikolaos's heart slammed against his ribs. He dropped the pen, the clatter loud in the silence. "What do you want from me?" His voice came out rough, edged with the frustration he'd been swallowing for days.

Dimitrios sat up fully now, swinging his legs over the side of the bed so he was facing Nikolaos across the narrow space. Phoebe sat between them like a bridge—or a barrier. Dimitrios's hand slid higher on her thigh, possessive, his thumb circling slowly inward. "We want you to join the final review," he said, voice steady and mocking. "All of us. Together. No more hiding in the shadows, Nik. No more pretending you're not hard as a rock thinking about it."

Phoebe whimpered softly as Dimitrios's fingers disappeared beneath the hoodie, the fabric tenting slightly with his movement. Her thighs parted a fraction, instinctively, and Nikolaos caught a glimpse of slick skin before she shifted. Her cheeks flushed deep red, but she held Nikolaos's gaze. "Please, Nik. I need... I need you to see. To be part of it."

Nikolaos's head spun. Shame burned in his chest, but his cock ached even more. He could hear the wet sounds of Dimitrios fingering Phoebe, not even trying to hide it. Phoebe pushed her hips forward, desperate for more, gasping. "It's not fair," Nikolaos said, but he sounded pathetic. "This isn't studying. This is—"

"This is what she wants," Dimitrios cut in, his tone brutal in its honesty. He leaned closer to Phoebe, his free hand coming up to cup her breast through the hoodie, thumb flicking over her nipple. She arched into it, a low moan escaping her lips. "And what you want too. Admit it. You've been watching us for days—listening, imagining. Getting off on it. Why stop now? Sit there. Watch. Learn how it's really done. How to make her come apart without all your overcomplicated bullshit."

Phoebe's eyes fluttered shut for a moment, her body trembling as Dimitrios's fingers worked her faster. When she opened them again, they were locked on Nikolaos—pleading, yes, but dark with arousal. "He's right, Nik. It hurts how much I want this. Both of you. Watching you watch... it makes me so wet. Please. Don't make me beg."

Nikolaos gripped the chair so hard his knuckles hurt. He remembered last night—Phoebe grinding on his lap while Dimitrios fucked her from behind, her saying sorry while she moaned for more. He hated how hard it made him, how jealous and turned on he was. His cock pressed painfully against his zipper. "You're killing me," he said, his voice cracking.

Dimitrios's smile was sharp, victorious. He withdrew his fingers from Phoebe, holding them up—glistening with her arousal—and smeared them slowly across her lower lip. She licked at them instinctively, tongue darting out, tasting herself. "Then die happy," Dimitrios said. "Or join us. Your call."

Phoebe got up, her legs shaking, and climbed onto Nikolaos's lap. The hoodie bunched up, and her bare pussy pressed against his hard cock through his jeans, hot and wet. She ground on him, slow, making him groan. She grabbed his face, making him look at her. "I love you," she said, but it hurt to hear. "But I need this. Need him. And I need you to see why."

Nikolaos's resolve cracked. The heat of her, the scent of her arousal filling his nostrils, the way her breasts heaved with each breath—it was too much. Shame burned, but desire burned hotter. He nodded—once, sharp, like admitting defeat.

Phoebe's face lit up with relief and hunger. She kissed him hard, tongue invading his mouth, tasting of salt and her own slickness. Then she pulled back, standing again, turning toward Dimitrios.

Dimitrios had already shoved his sweatpants down, his cock springing free—thick, veined, already leaking at the tip. He stroked himself once, eyes on Nikolaos. "Good choice."

Phoebe shed the hoodie in one fluid motion, letting it pool at her feet. Her body was flushed, curves on full display—breasts heavy, nipples peaked, the slick shine between her thighs visible even in the dim light. She climbed onto Dimitrios's bed, kneeling in front of him, ass toward Nikolaos. Dimitrios guided her down, positioning her on all fours, his hands gripping her hips.

He looked over her shoulder at Nikolaos, frozen in the desk chair. "Eyes open. Don't miss a thing."

Then he thrust forward—slow, deep, filling her in one smooth motion.

Phoebe cried out, back arching, fingers clutching the sheets. Her body rocked with the force of it, breasts swaying, mouth open in a silent plea.

Nikolaos watched—couldn't look away—as Dimitrios began to move, each thrust deliberate, drawing out her moans. Phoebe's eyes found his again, glassy with pleasure. "Nik... oh god..."

Dimitrios fucked her harder, one hand sliding up to tangle in her hair, pulling her head back slightly. The sounds filled the room—wet slaps of skin, her gasps, his low grunts. Phoebe's arm extended toward Nikolaos, fingers trembling in the air between them.

"Touch me," she gasped, voice wrecked. "Please... I want you to touch me while he—"

The words hung, unfinished, pulling Nikolaos toward the edge of something irreversible.

Notes of Surrender

The morning light stabbed through the busted blinds, making the dorm room look even more pathetic than usual. The place reeked of sex and sweat, the sheets a tangled mess on the floor, everything sticky with dried cum and the sour stink of old coffee. Finals were coming, but nobody gave a shit about that now. Nikolaos sat on his bed, back to the wall, knees up, still buzzing from the night before. He hadn't slept. How could he, with Phoebe's slutty moans echoing in his head and his own jizz crusted on his skin? His cock was limp now, stuck to his thigh, but the memory of Phoebe's desperate hands reaching for him while Dimitrios fucked her kept his dick twitching, humiliation and arousal mixing in his gut.

Dimitrios sprawled naked on his bed, not even pretending to be embarrassed, his cock half-hard and shiny from the shower they'd all taken together. Phoebe had been between them, tits pressed to their chests, hands grabbing whatever she could reach. The floor was littered with Dimitrios's notes, now crumpled and stained with who-knows-what, a reminder that this had started as some stupid academic rivalry and ended with Phoebe getting railed. She stood in the middle of the room, covered in red marks from Dimitrios's hands, cheeks still flushed like she was proud of it. Her hair was a mess, her green eyes flicking between the two of them, hungry and nervous at the same time. She squeezed her thighs together, her cunt still wet and glistening, proof that one night of getting used wasn't enough for her.

Phoebe dropped to her knees between Dimitrios's legs, like she'd done it a hundred times before. She put her hands on his thighs and looked up, waiting for him to give her the go-ahead. Then she glanced at Nikolaos, her face a mess of need and shame and something that almost looked like love, but twisted. The room stank of her, musky and sweet, making it impossible to forget what she'd done. Nikolaos's heart hammered as he watched her lean in, her tits brushing Dimitrios's knees, nipples hard and begging for attention. Everything was tight and tense, nobody saying a word, all of them knowing this was it: the moment where schoolyard jealousy turned into something filthy and humiliating.

Phoebe opened her mouth and swallowed Dimitrios's cock, slow and sloppy, her tongue flicking over the head like she was starving for it. Dimitrios groaned, grabbing her hair, not yanking yet, just making sure she knew who was in charge. The room filled with the wet, disgusting sounds of her sucking him off, the kind of noises that made Nikolaos's cock twitch even though he hated himself for it. He couldn't look away. Her cheeks caved in, spit dripped down her chin, and when she gagged on his cock, it only made Dimitrios smirk. Dimitrios stared right at Nikolaos, pinched one of Phoebe's nipples until she moaned around his dick, the sound vibrating through both of them. "Look at her," Dimitrios said, voice rough. "She loves this. Loves you watching her get used. She needs it."

Phoebe looked up at Nikolaos, eyes shining with tears and pride, like she was showing off how much she could take. She grabbed his knee, nails digging in, dragging him into her mess. Nikolaos felt sick with jealousy, watching his girlfriend deepthroat Dimitrios like she was born for it, knowing she'd never been that desperate for him. His cock was rock hard, leaking, and he hadn't even touched it. "Tell him," Dimitrios said, yanking her hair and fucking her mouth harder. Phoebe pulled off, spit everywhere, her voice wrecked. "I love this. I love how he feels. I love you watching me like this. It fucks me up, Nik. Makes me cum without even touching myself." The words hit Nikolaos like a punch. The notes on the floor were a joke now. Dimitrios had beaten him at everything, even this. Nikolaos grabbed his cock, stroking in time with Phoebe's head as she went back down, the room filled with the sounds of her choking and the smell of her cunt. Shame and arousal tangled together, making everything worse.

Dimitrios started panting, hips jerking up into Phoebe's mouth, his fist tight in her hair. "Gonna cum down your throat," he grunted, staring at Nikolaos like he was daring him to do something. Phoebe just moaned, and that was all it took. Dimitrios unloaded in her mouth, and she swallowed every drop, not spilling a bit, licking her lips like a good little slut. Dimitrios flopped back, looking smug as hell. Phoebe crawled over to Nikolaos, pushed his legs apart, and whispered, "Your turn." She didn't even touch him, just hovered close, her breath hot on his cock, her hand between her own legs, rubbing her clit like she couldn't wait. Nikolaos jerked himself off, watching her, seeing the marks on her skin, the cum on her lips, and lost it. He shot all over his hand and stomach, moaning like an idiot. There was no happy ending, no sweet words, just Phoebe collapsing against his leg, shuddering as she fingered herself to her own messy orgasm.

The three of them sat there, breathing hard, sweat cooling on their skin. Nikolaos stared at the ruined notes on the floor, knowing he'd never be able to look at them without remembering how Dimitrios had beaten him at everything, even fucking his girlfriend. Studying was a joke now. The only lesson that mattered was how easy it was to lose, to get humiliated, and to want it anyway.