Kota walked out of the principal's office with his pulse still hammering in his ears. The hallway had cleared out for class periods, only a few stragglers hurrying toward doors that were already half shut. He kept his head down just enough to avoid drawing extra attention but did not hunch or rush. No one needed to know he had just left Theo bent over a desk with cum running down his thighs and a stupid, blissful smile on his face. The faint ache in his own thighs reminded him how real it had been, but he pushed the thought aside and headed straight for history class.
Mr. Ellis taught senior history. Early twenties, slim build, hips flared wide enough to make his khakis look painted on, and an ass that clapped softly every time he turned to write on the whiteboard. He had soft brown hair that fell into his eyes and a habit of biting his lower lip when he was thinking. Most of the boys in class spent half the period staring at his backside instead of the projected timelines. Today was no different.
Kota slipped into his seat near the back just as the bell rang. Mr. Ellis glanced up from his notes, gave a quick nod in his direction without comment, and started passing out the test packets. The room filled with the rustle of paper and the occasional low murmur. Kota accepted his packet, flipped it open, and stared at the first page.
Multiple choice. Short answer. One essay question on post-Vanishing economic restructuring.
He read the first question. Then the second.
Then he closed the packet.
He did not bother circling a single answer. Did not write his name. Did not even pretend to think about it. He simply slid the test to the corner of his desk, folded his arms on top of it, laid his head down, and closed his eyes.
The room stayed quiet around him. A few boys glanced back, eyebrows raised, but no one said anything. Mr. Ellis noticed after a minute or two. He walked over, heels clicking softly on the tile, and stood beside Kota's desk.
"Kota?" His voice was gentle, almost hesitant. "You feeling okay?"
Kota did not lift his head. "I'm good."
A pause. Mr. Ellis shifted his weight; his cheeks clapped once, very quietly. "You sure? The test is worth twenty percent of your quarter grade."
Kota exhaled through his nose. "I'm sure."
Another long silence. Mr. Ellis sighed, soft and resigned. "Alright. If you're certain." He picked up the untouched packet, glanced at the blank front page, and carried it back to his desk without another word.
Kota stayed like that for the full period. Head down. Breathing slow. The sounds of pencils scratching, chairs creaking, occasional whispers drifted around him like background noise. He did not dream. He just rested. Deeply. Calmly. For the first time in years, school felt optional.
When the bell rang, he waited until most of the room had emptied before sitting up. Mr. Ellis was already stacking papers at the front, ass swaying gently as he moved between desks. He did not look over again. Kota grabbed his backpack and walked out without a backward glance.
The rest of the day passed in the same detached haze. Lunch was a sandwich from his bag eaten alone at the far end of the cafeteria. A few boys stared, whispered, but no one approached. Afternoon classes blurred together. He showed up, sat in the back, kept his eyes forward or closed. No notes. No participation. No effort. The teachers were all young, early to mid twenties, all built the same way now: narrow shoulders, dramatic hips, asses that jiggled with every step. None of them pushed him. None of them seemed surprised. Word had spread fast. Kota Abdel was untouchable.
By the final bell he was already at his locker, shoving books inside without looking at them. The hallway filled with the usual chaos: asses clapping as boys hurried toward exits, laughter echoing off lockers, phones buzzing with group chat notifications. He ignored all of it and headed outside.
Khalil's truck idled at the curb, same spot as always. Kota climbed in, dropped his backpack between his feet, and buckled up.
Khalil was on the phone again. Mid sentence. "...yeah, 142 percent this month alone. Told you the new territory was gold. Ramirez is still whining about his split, but numbers don't lie. Boss already sent the bonus email. Straight deposit Friday."
He did not look over. Did not ask how school went. Just kept talking, voice loud and proud, gesturing with his free hand while steering one handed through traffic. Kota stared out the window at the passing streets. Strip malls. Billboards. Boys walking home in tight shorts, cheeks bouncing with every step. He did not mind the silence from his dad. It meant no questions. No need to explain the faint sweat still clinging to his skin, the way his thighs felt sore in a good way, the vague ache deep inside that reminded him of Theo's heat wrapped around him.
They got home in the usual twenty minutes. Khalil killed the engine, ended the call with a satisfied grunt, and clapped Kota on the shoulder. "Good day?"
"Yeah," Kota said. "Fine."
Khalil nodded, already pulling out his keys. "I'm in a mood. Pizza tonight. Your pick."
Kota paused halfway out of the truck. "For real?"
"For real. Extra cheese. Whatever toppings. I got the bonus coming."
Kota allowed himself a small smile. "Cool. Thanks."
Inside the apartment smelled like coffee and yesterday's rice. Khalil kicked off his boots, dropped onto the couch, and pulled up the delivery app on his phone. "Order it. My treat."
Kota took the phone when it was offered. "Can I... keep it for the night? Just today?"
Khalil glanced up, eyebrows raised. Then he shrugged. "Yeah. Why not. Good mood. Don't abuse it."
Kota nodded once. "Won't."
He took the iPhone 19, the screen already cracked in one corner from years of use, and headed straight to his room. The door clicked shut behind him. He set the phone face down on his desk, next to the weight bench and the old football posters. The room was quiet. Just the low hum of the air conditioner and the distant sound of Khalil flipping channels in the living room.
Kota stood there for a long second, staring at the phone.
He sat on the edge of his bed instead, elbows on knees, hands clasped. The events of the day replayed in slow motion: Theo bent over the desk, thong swallowed between those cheeks, calling him Daddy. The slap. The way Theo came from it, untouched. The envelope. Ten thousand dollars locked in a safe. A number coming soon. Power. Real power. Not the kind Khalil earned with quotas and overtime. The kind that made people beg. The kind that made principals cry and cum and hand over cash.
He flexed his fingers, feeling the faint soreness in his palm from those slaps.
He thought about Riley in the hallway yesterday, pleading, offering everything.
Thought about the way the hallway had gone quiet when he walked past today.
Thought about the blank test sitting in Mr. Ellis's stack, about to get an A anyway.
All he knew now was the fact that he was freed of all worrys.