Thwap!
It cracked across his cheek with a sharp slap that echoed over the music. The sting bloomed hot and immediate, shocking him into stillness.
"Fuck off!" she spat, her voice rising. "Touch me or say one more word, and I'll scream for security. Perverted little shi!t"
The slap and loud shouting ignited the room into a round of laughter that erupted like fireworks, deep belly laughs from the guys clustered nearby, and high-pitched giggles from the girls.
"Oh my god, did you see his face?" one of Megan's friends howled, doubling over. A tall dude in a backward cap slapped his knee, tears streaming. "Bro got owned! Slapped by the queen herself!"
Another voice chimed in, "What a loser—staring like a horny dog. Go jerk off in the corner!"
Roy's face burned; the slap's heat was nothing compared to the humiliation washing over him.
He rubbed his cheek, beer sloshing in his cup as he backed away, the crowd parting with more jeers. "Nice one, creep!" someone yelled.
"Bet that's the closest you'll get to tits tonight!" The laughter swelled, a chorus of mockery that drowned out the bass, bodies pressing in to get a better look at the spectacle.
Roy stumbled through them while keeping his head down; the party's energy now felt like a weapon aimed at him.
He pushed toward the door, the voices trailing: "Pervert!" "Slap heard 'round the house!' "Go home and cry to your hand!" His heart pounded, rage mixing with the ache in his balls.
"Shit! Fucking bitches!" he spat out, shoving past a group of cheerleaders who burst into fresh giggles at his red-marked face.
The door banged open to the cool night air, but even outside, echoes of the laughter followed him down the porch steps.
The walk back to his off-campus apartment was a blur of streetlights and distant traffic, the humiliation replaying in his head like a bad loop.
Roy kicked at a loose pebble on the sidewalk.
"H-y!...Hey!" He finally heard the voice shouting at him from behind.
Roy stopped in his tracks, waiting for the familiar face to catch up.
The only friend Roy had made in the past year as a freshman, the lanky guy named Jake, was trailing behind, chuckling.
"Dude, that was epic," Jake said, clapping Roy on the shoulder.
They'd met in freshman orientation last year and bonded over video games, manga comics, and complaining about classes, but Jake was the kind of friend who laughed first and helped second—if at all.
"Her handprint's still glowing on your cheek. You went full caveman on her, man. " 'Those tits are begging.' Classic!"
Roy shrugged off the hand, his jaw clenched. "Shut up, Jake. It wasn't that bad." But it was—every word, every stare, was now ammunition for Jake's amusement.
Jake snorted, falling into step beside him. The street was quiet, lined with parked cars and flickering porch lights from other student houses.
"Nah, it was hilarious. You looked like a puppy humping the air. And the slap? Chef's kiss. Everyone's gonna be talking about it tomorrow." He mimed the motion, his hand whipping through the air. "Pow! Perverted creep strikes again."
"Fuck you," Roy muttered, quickening his pace. The apartment building loomed ahead, a squat brick thing with buzzing neon signs from the pizza joint next door. "If you think it's so funny, why don't you try hitting on someone for once? Oh, wait, you're too busy laughing at me."
Jake raised his hands in mock surrender, but the grin didn't fade. "Hey, I'm just saying—maybe ease up on the leering? Girls can tell when you're eye-fucking them from across the room. But damn, that crowd lost it. I swear, I almost pissed myself." Another chuckle escaped.
They reached the steps, Roy yanking open the outer door with more force than needed. "Yeah, well, laugh it up. You're the only 'friend' I've got, and even you're a dick about it." The stairwell smelled of stale laundry and takeout, fluorescent lights buzzing overhead.
Jake followed up to the second floor, still snickering. "Come on, Roy, don't be salty. Grab a beer from my fridge later? We can game it off."
At his door—number 2B—Roy jammed the key in, twisting it hard. "Fuck off, Jake. Go laugh with someone else."
Bang!
He slammed the door behind him, the lock clicking. Through the peephole, he saw Jake shake his head, muttering something under his breath before heading down the hall.
Alone in the dim apartment, Roy tossed his empty cup into the sink, the plastic clattering.
The place was a mess—pizza boxes on the coffee table, clothes piled on the couch, his gaming setup dominating the bedroom.
He stripped off his shirt, tossing it aside, his reflection in the bathroom mirror showing the faint red welt on his cheek.
Perverted creep. It wasn't far off the mark. Well, actually, it was far below the actual fantasies going on in his head.
The kinds of fantasies he cooked up in his mind were enough to make anyone who called themselves a pervert shrink back in shame.
His browsing history spoke for itself.
His moral lines, when it came to his fantasies, there were none. Pretty much non-existent.
He was quite literally the king of perverts, a pervert among perverts. Still, frustration was heating in his gut.
'Yet another failure.'
He flopped onto his bed, and the springs creaked. He fired up his laptop. The screen glowed to life, and he navigated straight to his bookmarks with no hesitation or shame.
Pornhabit loaded, thumbnails of busty amateurs and fantasy babes filling the screen.
He clicked on one: 'Elf Girl Gets Railed in the Woods.' The video buffered, then exploded into motion—a silver-haired beauty on her knees, lips wrapped around a thick cock, her massive tits spilling out of a skimpy top.
Roy's hand dove into his jeans, freeing his aching shaft. It sprang out, veined and throbbing, already leaking pre-cum from the party's tease.
He stroked slowly at first, matching the rhythm on screen as the elf gagged and slurped, her throat bulging.
"Fuck yeah," he groaned, eyes glued to the way her breasts heaved with each bob. His fist pumped faster, imagining it was Megan—or better, that elf—bent over for him, begging instead of slapping.
The first orgasm hit quickly, his balls tightening as he grunted, ropes of cum splattering his stomach.
He didn't stop, wiping it off with a tissue and diving into another tab: 'College Slut Gangbang.' Bodies writhed, pussies stretched around multiple dicks, moans filling his headphones.
Roy jerked harder, his cock slick and sensitive, chasing the release. "Take it, you bitch," he muttered, picturing the party's laughter turning to screams of pleasure under him.
By the third video—a hentai loop of tentacles invading every hole—he was sweating, hips bucking into his hand.
Cum leaked steadily now; his strokes were sloppy and greasy with his own fluids. The screen showed a girl much like Megan, with her crop top torn, her tits bouncing as she got filled.
"Nnnnngh~"
Roy's vision blurred, and he came again, spilling over his knuckles with a shuddering gasp. Exhausted, he cleaned up haphazardly, the laptop still humming with paused scenes.
The clock read 2:17 AM. He killed the lights, collapsing under the thin sheet, the ache in his chest mixing with the post-nut haze.
'One of these days,' he thought, drifting off, 'I'll make them someone beg for my dick.'
...
Sunlight filtered through unfamiliar curtains, pulling Roy from sleep. He blinked, feeling a bit disoriented, but his body felt oddly refreshed, like he'd just napped, and not crashed after a marathon wank.
The ceiling above was vaulted with ornate wood beams etched with intricate carvings, not the cracked plaster of his apartment. There was no hum of traffic outside, and no neighbor's bass thumping through the walls early in the morning.
Just birdsong and a faint scent of lavender.
"What the fuck?" Roy sat up quickly, his heart racing, the sheets pooling around a body that felt... very different.
He felt stronger.
His hands, normally callused from gaming controllers, looked smooth and veined with muscle.
He swung his legs over the edge of a four-poster bed draped in silk, staring at the room: There were tapestries on stone walls, a massive mirror reflecting a stranger's face, his face?
A chiseled jaw, tousled dark hair, eyes sharp and piercing.
"That's not my face!"
And lower, under the loose nightshirt, a bulge that stood out more prominently more than his old equipment.
"What, the actual fuck!?"