Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The odd children’s section purchase stood out among the masses of barely there clubbing clothes that were currently strewn over Tiffany Ovard’s canopy bed, hardwood floors, and any unoccupied surface besides. The four girls who stood among this loot like sentinels couldn’t be more different: Tiffany, an actual popular girl boasting friends from every clique at school and a hopeless romantic, Jackie, the WASPy tennis phenom, and Amanda, the edgy art hoe. And you, the most disparate member of this odd quartet. Sometimes you wondered why they included you in plans and outings, but the thought wafted away as your eye caught a particularly juvenile graphic tee. 

“Okay, who’s idea was this?” You stared pointedly at Tiff with mock offense as you held up the offending article of clothing.

“What? Everything’s always too big for you, so I thought I’d grab a few options made for smol beans like you.”  

She made sure to inject an extra dose of saccharin into her voice, eliciting the reaction she wanted when you chucked the tee at her. She dodged it with a giggle to continue her extract-and-discard process in a particularly dense pile of clothes. You were despairing of ever finding anything you liked to wear to Nate Jacobs’ end of summer party. You’d never have considered going had it not been for the three girls currently flitting about picking out endless combinations of bustiers, crop tops, bodysuits and micro-minis. For one, you’d barely said four words to the guy the year before, and for another, you were fairly certain you’d caught glimpses of insanity in his eyes during those testosterone fueled victory celebrations the Blackhawks reveled in.

“Hey I think this’d look cute on you Sam, just need a top to go with it.”

Jackie proudly held up a yellow asymmetrical denim skirt. On the ten to twelve year olds it was meant for, it would have come to the knees. But on you, the hemline fell just below your cheeks and the 21-inch waistline only left the tiniest gape in the back. You turned to see Tiffany considering the skirt, head tilted, before shoving several items into your arms with the direction to try them on. By the time you’d turned back to the floor-to-ceiling mirror gleaming from across her bedroom, Tiff’s efforts had displayed the figure you usually drowned in oversized tees and cargos to titillating perfection. There was no denying your diminutive stature or meager build, you’d come to terms with the latter after several ill-fated weight gain ventures. But with your small waist on display, your hips seemed shapely by comparison and the o-ring choker Tiff had suggested drew attention to the delicate lines of your neck and shoulders. The corsetry on the cropped bustier allowed it to be pulled snugly against your slight frame and augmented the surprisingly generous chest you usually secured under extra compression sport bras. You would consider the night a success if you made it through without spilling out.

Amanda had won dibs on the aux cord, so all four of you were serenaded by the spirited crooning of Jade Bird on the 15 minute drive across town to the exclusive subdivision the Jacobs called home. Tiff alternated between biting her nails and staring forlornly out the backseat of Jackie’s Wrangler. She was usually the most enthusiastic pre-gamer when it came to partying, so her uncharacteristic silence drew your attention.

“If you wanna ditch this party, I’d totally understand Tiff. I know you and Nate had a thing earlier this summer …” You trailed off hoping she’d answer the unspoken question in your voice. Amanda had whipped around in the front seat at the mention of Nate. 

“I swear to God Tiff, if that douchebag messed with you I’m gonna -”.

“No guys, it’s … it’s nothing, seriously, it’s nothing.” Jackie shot you an unconvinced glance through the rear view mirror. 

Chapter Text

You’d given up dancing and found your way to the kitchen after contending with the third pair of creeping hands since arriving at the party. Tiff and Amanda were still dancing and Jackie had snuck off with Daniel to do God knows what. The assortment of booze threatening to spill over the marble island held little appeal and the brain rattling bass of the music was giving you a headache. Your thoughts turned back to the exchange you’d had with Tiffany in the car. Under Amanda’s siege of Nate-focused threats, Tiffany had finally revealed her dilemma: a prized piece of jewelry left to her by her great-grandmother remained in Nate Jacobs’ room. Their fling had ended on acrimonious terms and Nate would have used this knowledge as leverage to play her like a fiddle. The offer to recover the heirloom for her had left your mouth before the thought had even fully formed, but when Tiff had turned to you with eyes full of awe and gratitude, you knew you’d have to follow through. 

It was as good a time as any to head to the second floor for your little search and retrieve mission. You grabbed an abandoned red cup, half filled with an unidentifiable liquid, and attempted as casual an exit as you could manage given the nerves bubbling in your stomach. You weaved past the bodies lining the staircase as you made your way up, but no one gave you a second glance. Tiff’s directions played like a sacred chant in your head - left into the second hallway, first door on your right, left into the second hallway, first door on your right, left into the second hallway, first door on your right. There was nothing to suggest the nondescript door you eventually arrived at led to the bedroom of East Highland’s most infamous student. You tried the handle, almost hoping you’d be met with resistance. As it were, the brushed brass gave way under your hand easily, and the heavy mahogany door swung open with barely a nudge. 

You had finished searching his desk, bedside table and dresser, but you were no closer to finding Tiff’s earrings than when you’d taken that first tentative step into his bedroom. You were about to start on the cabinet tucked against the far wall when you heard the muted thud of footsteps on carpeting approaching the door. Your limbs chose that moment to terminate communication with your brain, locking in place despite every system in your body screaming self-preservation: run, hide, do anything but remain as you were. So when the door finally swung open to reveal Nate Jacobs’ predictably shirtless figure, the disbelieving eyes that stared at you from the doorway found you in suspended animation: the very picture of an interloper caught in the act. Disbelief was replaced with resolve as he stepped in, the path to escape closing shut with a tragic click .

Most boys your age still had that gangly, yet-to-fill-out look about them, unless they swung the other way “cultivating mass” via endless hours of gaming and horrifying amounts of hydrogenated food product. Nate was neither. Not only did he stand head and shoulders above most, his 6’4’’ frame was corded with dense muscle and little else. He’d clocked in at one hundred and eighty nine pounds lean at the end of junior year and was now pushing two hundred. He had a wingspan that could rival an olympic swimmer’s, anchored by broad shoulders, set above a wide chest and a hard, ridged torso. He was flexing his long fingers now, a contemplative glint in his eye. You’d seen those massive hands deliver humiliating defeats on the football field, and brutal blows off of it. It was the thought of those same large hands, wrapping comfortably around your neck, that had you taking a hesitant step forward, a pre-emptive display of acquiescence meant to pacify.

“Listen Nate, I can explain-”

“Oh I don’t think I need an explanation , Sam. Seems pretty clear what’s going on here.”

Surprise at the fact he even knew your name registered faintly in some distant corner of your mind, but your forebrain was still focused on escape.

“You know, I never figured you for the type to try and pull this crap. What with the goody-two-shoes act at school, always helping out, always cleaning up after your messy friends, always the best grades…”

He trailed off, surprising you again with his pathetic but accurate summation of your life. 

“But that’s all it was, wasn’t it? An act.”

The thunk of the deadbolt sliding home punctuated his words.

“No, I- I promise, I wasn’t trying to steal from you. I was just trying to get-” 

You stopped short, unwilling to sell-out Tiff. The ensuing silence hung between you, a damning affirmation of your guilt. He’d closed the distance between you in two strides and you had to look up to meet his eyes now. You could tell he was in a mood, he wanted a fight. Any cowering or groveling would only fan the flames of anger lurking behind those dark eyes. You had to switch up your tactic.

“Get WHAT!”

The sheer volume of his bark left your ears ringing. The effect was amplified by the fact that he was now so close that you could see the tendons and veins in his neck strain with the effort of it. 

“Get.   What.   Sam?” he whispered now with painstaking precision. He had bent close to your left ear to deliver this last query, and you had to keep yourself from shrinking away. You took a beat to recompose yourself.

“Ok fine, I was trying to lift some hardware, alright? Happy now?” 

You could only fake your bravado for so long and your voice cracked on the last word. Trying to meet his gaze was giving you a headache, so you trained your eyes on the ticking nerve in his locked jaw.

“I wouldn’t describe what I’m feeling right now, as happy.” 

That nerve was still working away.

“Look, I’ll do all your AP Bio homework for the rest of the year. I’ll even do extra credit, okay? Just let me out of here.” 

You hated the hitch of rising desperation in your voice. He was shaking his head before you even finished pitching your paltry offer.

“That’s not how this works, sweetheart.”   

He had you in a twisted tango now, his every step forward countered by one backward from you. 

“You come into my house, try to steal from me, and you think you can get off with some juvenile deal?” 

Your retreat was halted by the bite of his dresser at your back. Your little show of guts had failed miserably and now you were stuck between Nate Jacobs and a hard place.

“Ask yourself this: how much is your reputation worth to you? How much is your poor mom's trust worth? That early admittance to Northwestern?” 

“If you want this little transgression of yours to go away, I’m going to need something of significantly more value than homework.” 

His heated gaze held you in place as he took a final step. His shirtless torso and long legs were flush against you, but the top of your head only met his delts and his denim clad crotch pressed into the softness low on your belly. 

For the first time since he entered the room, his eyes strayed from you face to wander lower.

The meaning of his words sunk in by half-measures, nearly choking you with fear when it finally settled. Your heart beat that had been dutifully thumping away in the recesses of your ear swelled now to roar through your head. Had you not been so overwhelmed by the severity of your situation, you’d have spared a moment to wonder how he knew all those details about you. But as it were, you had more pressing matters at hand.

“Please, Nate please jus-” 

Hands closed over your upper arms, propelling you toward his perfectly made king size bed. He stopped at the foot, keeping you just off balance, suspended between his body and the mattress.

"Cut the act Sam, we both know what you're capable of now. Not even that innocent baby face is gonna save you." 

You let out a yelp as he suddenly let you go, tumbling back and scrambling to the headboard as soon as you hit the sheets. He took his time following up the bed, like he knew you had nowhere to run, and he was right.

"Nate, you have to listen to me. It’s not too late to squash this! Just let me go now and we can pretend none of this ever happened? Please?” 

Despite your best efforts, a single tear escaped and started its descent down your cheek to cling to the corner of your mouth. The tell-tale clang of his belt buckle coming undone snuffed out the last sliver of hope you had that he’d have a sudden change of heart and let you go. You could only manage shallow breaths of despair as he used the leather to create a makeshift leash. He attached one end to the headboard.

“Now why would I do that, when it seems fate has delivered my own little classroom fantasy right into my hands - or should I say bedroom? Mhmm?” 

You were hearing his words, but they made little sense. He knelt in front of you, knees on either side of your tightly clasped ones. His sheer breadth blocked what little light snuck under his bedroom door. But the moonlight streaming from the window cast his own form in sharp relief, highlighting every muscle as if to remind you how woefully outmatched you were.

“Tuesdays and Fridays, 5th period, Latin. You’d always sit near the door, close to the front but not too close, wouldn’t wanna look like a brown-noser would we?” 

The sardonic grin that spread at this didn’t quite reach his heavy-lidded eyes. The sinews in his shoulders rippled and flexed as he enveloped both your wrists in a single palm to bind them with the other end of his belt. His words were slowly pulling you out of the despondent haze you had started to sink into. It was finally dawning on you how much of a psycho this guy really was. 

“And you know what I’d do the entire period?” 

Your wrists secured, he moved off the bed to stand at the foot, looming as his eyes carried out an appraisal of his handiwork even as he unzipped his straining jeans. He pulled his member out prompting you to squeeze your eyes shut.

“I’d imagine you bent over, pretty little face pressed against your desk, with those ugly cargo pants you seem to favor around your ankles. I’d split that cute little pussy open on my cock, sinking in inch by inch while you whined and struggled, tight lips straining and clinging to me while I fucked you open, legs trembling and your cunt quivering helplessly around my girth. I’d hurt you so good, beat it up till its swollen and tender. Imagine that, huh? Perfect little Samantha Adae stuffed full of cock you can barely take, right there, in the middle of class.” 

You couldn’t help the whimper that escaped you at this vivid recounting. You’d sat at that desk, blissfully unaware of the sordid reveries of this particular classmate, and now your cluelessness had bought you an encounter with the real thing. His labored breathing brought you back to the present. Your ears were left to contend with the unmistakable sounds of pleasure floating from somewhere beyond your feet as you’d resolutely kept your eyes shut through his narration. But they popped open when you felt weight shift the mattress. 

Hands clamped around your ankles and you found yourself unceremoniously tugged from the fetal position you had assumed at the headboard, to lay flat on your back. You were trying to curl back into a protective ball, but without the use of your arms, your legs were left to flail uselessly against the mattress. He had straddled your hips, paying no heed to your struggling, and was making quick work of undoing your skirt. Panic gripped you again.

“Nate stop”, you ground out between clenched teeth. 

You had switched from kicking to trying to buck him off, but the latter strategy was proving just as ineffectual as the first. Dislodging two hundred odd pounds of sex-crazed adolescent male was not a task your modest strength was equal to. 

“Sorry sweetcheeks, but we’re way past stopping now.” 

He moved off you just long enough to drag your skirt off and discard it somewhere in the shadows. He was back on top of you now, cock back in hand, looking down at you with those cruel, lust shot eyes.

“I’ve gotta say Sam, not even my most cum-soaked fantasies compare to the real thing.”

He hadn’t softened between his earlier ministrations and divesting you. It only took a few brisk strokes to bring him to climax. The warm ropes of liquid that spurted over your stomach nearly made you gag. 

“On your side sweetheart.” 

His chest was still heaving as he said this, but the hunger in his eyes had only grown.

“What? N- no! Let me-” 

His hand was at your throat before the words could fully form. When you had imagined this very scenario earlier, you’d only half thought he was capable of it. You braced for pressure, but none came. He just let you feel the warmth and size of his hand, using his thumb to stroke deftly against your hammering pulse.

“Trust me Sam, you wanna do as I say,” he said evenly.

Your blood ran cold at the underlying threat and you turned to comply wordlessly. He was behind you in a moment, crowding you with his body and heat, his weight half pressing you into the mattress. One hand ran up your free leg, hiking your knee up high to give him full access to the juncture of your thighs. You were keenly aware of how vulnerable the position left you. It forced an arch into your back and made your cheeks cradle his already re-hardening member. The hand that wound around you waist and snaked its way between your spread thighs engulfed your entire mons and entrance, front to back. He stayed there for a moment, palming over your panties and breathing deep into your neck. You struggled anew when you felt his fingers curve under the seat of your panties, but the ghost of his fingers on your throat immediately stilled you. With a single tug, the harsh sound of ripping underwear cracked through the air, and you shivered as the cool air of his room washed over your most intimate parts. He turned away for a moment to stow the shredded garment for later attention. You jerked when his fingers finally touched your bare skin, skating reverently over your delicate lips.

“You ever let anyone touch you here?” The gust of his breath at your ear had you shivering again. The tiny “no” that you grudgingly replied with was smothered by the pillow your bound hands rhythmically clutched at, as if the innocuous piece of bedding would ward against the disquieting feel of trespassing hands.

“Of course not, always such a good girl, hmm?” You were too focused on breathing, lest you passed out, to reply to the taunt. 

“Except, of course, for the part where you tried to steal from me.” The hand lodged between your thighs ceased its plying for a blessed moment.

“Maybe you aren’t such a good girl after all … maybe I should punish you.”

He punctuated “punish” with an open palm strike straight to your vulva. The shock you felt was rivaled only by the sharp lance of pleasure that rocked through your core to buzz in your ears. You had no time to recover before he pressed a single digit to your entrance, keeping the pressure constant until your body gave way, only to clamp down hard when the invading appendage sought more depth. 

“Damn, you really are a tiny little thing”. Your only response was an anxious whine.

He withdrew to draw several strokes up the seam of your entrance before pressing in again. This time, he worried your small bud with the broad pad of his thumb and your body guardedly admitted his finger deeper. No object had ever intruded here, so the thick digit that doggedly advanced felt heavy and demanding within you. It stole your breath and thoroughly filled you. His ministrations were slowly but surely coaxing a hint of dampness from you, much to your horror. While your mind reeled at your predicament, your body seemed more concerned with practical matters, like ensuring this encounter left you uninjured, and perhaps with a measure of dopamine for your troubles. You noticed now that he was thrusting behind you, forcing you to ride his finger despite yourself. The interplay of your shallow gasps, his hungry grunts, and the wet, intimate sounds of his finger relentlessly plunging into your soft, tortured center finally ripped a warbled sob from your throat. The incoherent sound seemed to spur him on. A deep growl rolled from his chest through your back and his hips canted demandingly against your backside. His teasing of a second finger at your entrance had you panicking and trying to escape up the bed away from those seeking fingers. But he wouldn’t let you off that easy. The hand splayed across your stomach locked you in place, making you take everything he gave you. Your eyes burned with unshed tears, and a gasping litany of “Oh God,” filled the air as his fingers lay siege to your tight slit, parting delicate tissue to plunder your core. Your muscles strained helplessly around him, spasming desperately in an attempt to accommodate the width of his fingers.

“Relax sweetheart, you’re not gonna die.” 

The affected boredom in his voice made you wish once more that your hands were free, this time to slap the smirk you were sure he was wearing off his face. You shifted, arching your back further to try and make the challenge of taking two fingers a little more tolerable. He misinterpreted the action as enthusiasm and responded with an experimental swirl inside you, drawing a broken whimper from you.

“That’s a good girl, knew you’d come around”.

He gave you no quarter now, using his long dexterous fingers to devastating effect. Instead of the harsh onslaught you expected, he fed you his fingers slowly, bearing into you till you whimpered in protest, before licking out of you, leaving behind throbbing muscles, then sinking in once more. You didn't know what compelled you to look down, but the image of his thick flexing forearm slung across your stomach, and enormous hand working determinedly between your legs, nearly made you short circuit. You head snapped back to thud dully at his shoulder and you could only manage open-mouthed breathy gasps when he flicked lightly at your clit. All the while he panted and groaned in your ear, swinging wildly between calling you a good girl and whispering about how he was going to fuck your soft little cunt to pieces, stuff you so full of cock you'd see stars, or plug you up so tight with his dick you'd feel his heartbeat in your throat. Your walls still clung eye-wateringly tight around him, but the rhythmic invasion of his fingers coupled with the urging of his hips had set a traitorous fire in your belly. You were writhing and squirming as much as his body caging yours would allow. The movement had his knuckles dragging and jostling within you. Alarm and pleasure at the harsh stimulation widened your eyes as you hurtled toward a heretofore unknown precipice. The slow circle of his thumb at your clit threw you over it and you were soaring, suspended for an infinite moment in time, before floating down through hazy clouds of bliss. You had thought he would grant you respite here, but through it all, those bedeviled fingers stayed steady at their task, pistoning and stretching your overwrought cunt until they wrenched a second climax from you. Your third found you completely beside yourself, head lolling senselessly, and eyes rolling. And still, his implacable fingers pursued your tormented flesh. You were shaking, begging, frantically pulling at your binds when he mercifully withdrew from your body. He palmed languidly over your slippery, engorged sex, as if to soothe the flames that very hand had stoked. You were openly sobbing now, breath hitching every time his large, rough palm cupped and rubbed your oversensitive lips.

"No need for tears now," he chided gently, "wrung you out hard, didn't I?" 

His hand continued to stroke lovingly over your mound. He chuckled darkly when you sniffled and nodded. Your breathing had only just regulated when he caught you with smack to your vulva. 

“Oh God, Nate please, ngh!” After the thorough ravaging he’d just served you, the slightest touch felt like sensory overload to your frayed nerves.

“Please what, huh? Just giving my little cat burglar what she deserves.”

Each smack landed warmly against your clit and lips, kissing the razor edge of pain, before ricocheting up your core in a blinding volt of pleasure and reverberations. His hand came down on you again and again, punishing then soothing in turn, until a steady stream of your yelps and whimpers and moans filled the air. You sagged with relief when he finally drew his hand away, only to press you fully onto your stomach. His other hand easily lifted your hips while his knees drove yours high and wide under you.

His harsh inhale and exhale was loud in the surrounding silence.

"Would you look at that, lips all swollen and tender and weeping for me … fuuuuck”. 

His voice was thick with dark hunger as he drew out the expletive. Your overloaded brain was beyond the embarrassment that being spread so obscenely before another would’ve engendered at any other time. A quick tug at the lacing of your top left it sagging around your arms, then it was pulled off you entirely, strings racing through eyelets, before it joined your skirt on the floor. Absently, you thought of how much of a pain it would be to lace them back through. You snapped back to the now when Nate’s hands came up to knead your breasts as he curled over your back to lap at your neck. Apprehension skittered down your spine at his next words, and you cursed the moment you’d made that fateful offer to Tiff.

“Poor thing, I’m not even done with you yet. Gonna make sure you can’t walk right for days.”

 - FIN -