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Fuck, you were cute.
Even as you were dripping dirty toilet water, looking like a drowned rat and cowering from the jeers of his so-called friends (followers), Beom thought you were the cutest thing. He hadn't actually meant to go this far, but you were just so pretty when you cried. The way those fat tears of yours rolled down your cheeks and fell to the floor, the way your nose would scrunch up slightly as you began to sniffle, and the way the snot dripped out of your nose when you really got going.
He just couldn't help it. He had to do it. You'd understand, right? If you could see yourself the way he saw you, he knew you'd get it.
He uses a hand to push his hair back and smooth it out. He knows you find him scary and intimidating with his dyed red hair, his piercings, and his sharp, handsome features. He knows the kind of reaction he elicits from you, relishing the flinches and wide eyes whenever you see him.
He hadn't started like this, he couldn't even remember if you two had properly met (probably not but that was beside the point now). He hadn't even noticed you before... well, before he became infatuated. He watches one of his followers (one of the loose sluts who follow him around and try to seduce him) kick at your legs, making you fall to the ground and landing in the puddle of dirty water they had swiped from the group in charge of cleaning the bathrooms.
Beom smirks as she gives you another kick, this time to the ribs, and you double over, coughing and clutching your stomach.
At first he hadn't cared about you at all, just another nameless face in the sea of disgusting pigs and sheep. He hadn't even known you existed until he happened to see you crying behind the gym building one day. It wasn't even that bad, quiet sniffles and already drying tears as you tended to your skinned leg. You didn't even take long to gather yourself and wander off in search of a bandage.
But in that instant, he had fallen in love. Watching you had rooted him to the spot, unable to move until one of his friends came to check on him. (Of course, they didn't understand why his face was red and he had such a grin on his face.)
He started innocently enough, asking around to figure out your name and which class you were in. Not many people knew you, as it turned out. Plain, a little shorter than average, the kind of guy who blended in. It had taken asking the Dean for your records for him to learn anything substantial.
The same year, Beom had found out as he flicked through the papers containing everything about you. His little crush quickly morphed into a full blown obsession when he started to keep eyes on you 24/7.
It hadn't been hard, really. Break in, plant a few cameras, inspect your room, and if he happened to take his time rifling through your things, who could blame him.
He hadn't been surprised to find your stash of porn when he broke into your old little computer.
Vanilla, he thought, quickly flicking through the pictures of pretty girls in less and less clothing.
He wondered what your type was, maybe he'd see if you had a crush on someone and steal her just to see you cry. He grimaced when he realized that meant he would have to act sweet to one of the pigs, and suddenly the idea wasn't very appealing. Beom could find other ways to make you cry.
He was just about to leave when he spotted your dirty clothing in the laundry basket. A pair of crumpled white briefs lay on top of the pile, taunting him. He snatched it and held it up to his face, marveling at how small it seemed to be in his hands. His mask was in the way, so he pulled it down to expose his nose and mouth.
He slowly brought it to his face and took a deep inhale in, right at the crotch. He grinned and laughed, breathless, enjoying the sour scent of your crotch sweat and urine.
Somehow, the thought of what he was doing hadn't even crossed his mind. It was you, after all. Nothing about you was disgusting. He brought the garment to his lips and pushed it into his mouth. Beom couldn't' help but let out a low groan as he finally tasted you. He twirled his tongue and sucked on your briefs as he palmed at his hardening dick.
You tasted divine.
He suddenly remembered where he was and quickly pocketed your soiled underwear to keep for later.
He gave your bedroom a once over to make sure he had put everything back in its spot. He didn't want you to know anyone was in here, he's not that far gone to think this is normal or something you'd enjoy.
He left the same way he came in, through a window someone (maybe your mom or dad, maybe you) had left unlatched. Beom had chuckled when he initially found it, thinking you were too careless and that someone (him) might break in and do something... uncouth.
He is jolted from his reminiscing as he hears you yelp in pain. Focusing back on the present, he is greeted by the sight of a different girl pulling you upright by your hair, her long, perfectly manicured nails digging into your scalp. Your eyes are squeezed shut in pain, teeth clenched as you weakly scrabbled at the girl's arm, trying to get her to let go. You looked significantly dirtier, almost like you had been rolling around in the puddle of toilet water. Beom shudders as you whine and let a few more tears fall.
"Stupid fucking loser," the girl snarls at you and gives your head a violent shake, "you got my skirt all dirty!"
You whine an " 'M sorry!" as Beom's eyes flick to her too short skirt. It seems like you had splashed her with the grayish liquid when you were forced to lick the floor. He knows the routine by now, even if he had zoned out in the middle. He loves your tears, but he can't really savor and properly enjoy them in school. He thinks it's time to move onto a new way to pull those pretty little sobs from you.
Everyone in the cramped bathroom freezes when he lets out a loud, annoyed sigh.
"B-Beom!" the girl gripping you pipes up, her black hair streaked with bright pink, "is this loser not entertaining enough?"
He locks eyes with her and her smile falters as she freezes with a jolt. Her friend, the one who kicked you earlier, takes a nervous step back. He looks down to you, hair still in the girl's grip as you squeak under his cruel gaze.
Everyone holds their breath when Beom pushes himself away from the wall he was leaning on. His footsteps are the only sound as he crosses the bathroom, everyone (even you) watching him as he pulls open the door and silently exits.
You watch as Beom's friends all collectively sigh in relief and begin to file out of the bathroom. The two girls shoot you a glare, the girl with the dirtied skirt complaining to her friend as they leave. Soon, you're left alone, sitting in a puddle of dirty water. You use a dry part of your uniform sleeve to wipe away the leftovers tears and snot as you wobble to your feet.
Beom knew you stayed after to clean the mess his goons had made, so he quickly ditched them to head to your house while he still had time. Your father was out working and your mother had gone grocery shopping for dinner like she always did around now. He checks his watch, 5:10pm. He had a good forty minutes to sneak in, grab what he needed, and get out before your mother returned home. Perfect.
He's memorized the route to your house by now, smiling and enjoying the walk. You would probably take the long way home today, to let your uniform dry enough. Such a good boy, Beom smiles. He knows you don't want your parents to worry. He's seen you avoid their worried looks and dodge their questions about how school is. They're average parents, worried about their son. He gets it. He'd be worried too, if it wasn't his fault. You're just so cute.
Beom arrives at your house, humming merrily as he pulls out the duplicate key he made ages ago. The first time he had gotten lucky, the window had been unlatched, allowing him to enter when he hadn't yet learned your schedule. Subsequent times he had come prepared.
It had taken a while to learn your and your family's schedule and habits, but it allowed him to break in and grab a copy of your house key. He's glad he did it too, he's too big to fit through that window comfortably. This way is much easier. He continues humming as the front door swings open and he makes a beeline for your room. As he enters, he allows himself a deep inhale as he breathe in your scent.
Beom checks his watch again, 5:36. He needs to hurry. Pulling your briefs from his bag, he walks over to your dirty clothes pile. It takes him just a few seconds to find another pair and toss the one he brought on top of your clothes. He lets himself take a quick whiff to make sure it's what he wants, and stuffs it into his bag. 5:39. He quickly fixes anything he might've displaced and slips out of your house at 5:42. A little too close for comfort, but he only has himself to blame for taking too long.
His prize secured, he heads home.
You arrive home later than usual, having walked the long way around like Beom predicted. He's just finished with his shower and dressed only in loose sweatpants as he sits down in front of his computer. He pulls up the live feed just as you enter your house and greet your mother. She's worried, obviously, asking why you took so long.
She notices your dirty uniform and tuts at you, commanding you to take it off and go clean yourself. You nod and head to the bathroom. Beom is a bit miffed that he wasn't able to find a good waterproof camera because god he wants to see you fully naked. You're quick enough today that it doesn't bother him as much, but he still wishes he could see.
He switches to the dining room camera to watch you sit down, dressed in a clean shirt and shorts (Beom thanks whatever god there is for being able to see your bare legs), thank your mother for cooking, and dig in. He likes to watch you eat. The way your cheeks puff up as you chew, the way your face softens and melts when you eat something you like, he loves it all. Your parents talk with each other as you eat. You occasionally speak with them, and your mother scolds you for talking with your mouth full. He watches you swallow your food before continuing to talk.
Dinner comes and goes, and Beom watches you complete your homework. He likes watching you get frustrated when you get to a problem you don't know how to solve, and he likes your face as it lights up when you finally figure it out. He's smart enough to get good grades in all his classes and he knows exactly which subjects you struggle with. He often fantasizes about helping you with your homework, teasing you and praising you as you work.
As you solve some questions, you begin to curl in on yourself, your pencil finally stilling as you begin to cry. Your tears fall to your desk and make little round wet spots where they land. Beom grins. Your shoulders quake as you attempt to muffle your crying. You sniffle and try to keep your nose from running to no avail. You wipe away the tears and snot with your hands even as you continue to cry. Your face is so red, so wet, so pretty. He's already recorded so much of your crying, each one slightly different than the last, each one fully savored. Your nightly crying is routine by now, he knows when to expect it. It doesn't get tiring. Beom does feel a little bad at the fact that you're depressed, but he can't bring himself to care about that right now when all he wants to do is make you cry harder.
You sob for a full five minutes or so, until you finally manage to calm yourself down. You need to finish your homework.
A few hours later, you let out a yawn as you finish up your last assignment. He watches you check the time (8:56) and he knows what comes next. He switches to the camera on your computer after you turn it on. You move like clockwork as you place your headphones over your head, take out the small bottle of lotion you use as lube, and pull up the entertainment for tonight. Beom knows your preferences for porn by now too. He knows your type of girl and what you like. It's one you've jerked off to before (he thinks it might be your favorite) and you reach a lotioned hand under your desk to pull out your dick.
He watches, entranced and feeling his own dick stiffen, as your hand moves under the desk, the good bits hidden from his view. Your face reddens and your mouth parts slightly as you begin to pant, tears gathering in the corner of your eyes. He's glad he has access to your microphone, he can hear your quiet moans and breaths in perfect clarity.
The lack of visible action is slightly annoying, so he pulls up a second screen of the view below your desk. You've pulled your shirt up just enough, fisting it between trembling fingers, so that he can see the dark purple and red of the bruise the girl gave you. It’s just under your ribs. There's a twinge in Beom's chest when he sees the gross mottling. He frowns and brings a hand to his chest in confusion; he's not sure why that happened. Your rising voice brings him out of his thoughts as he turns his attention back to his monitor. Right. You.
Beom knows you're a bit small, and he knows you're a bit sensitive about it. He watches as you fist your own dick; it gets almost completely covered by your hand, only the very tip occasionally peeking out as you pump. Your little dick squirts out clear pre as you move faster and faster. He knows you're getting close by now. You're definitely a quickshot, but it's not like you know. (Not like it matters)
He goes back to watching the first screen and you've doubled over your desk, flushed face squished against the surface as you quickly approach your climax. One, two, three more pumps and you're groaning quietly as your hand stills around your twitching cock. It shoots out weak little strings of pearly jizz that paint the underside of your desk.
You take a moment to calm down, face still pressed into the desk and breathing heavily. You sit up slowly, shaking a little from your orgasm. He watches your face slowly morph into panicked realization as you grab some tissues and crouch down to wipe your spend off the piece of furniture. He knows you're normally better about where you come, but he suspects today's session in the bathroom shook you up enough for you to forget.
Beom watches you throw the soiled tissues into the trash bin and wander off to wash your hands. He waits for you to reenter and begin readying yourself for sleep. You turn off the lights (night vision was worth it) and hop into bed with a sigh, curling into your blanket. You fall asleep fairly quickly, exhausted from the day's events. The blanket rises and falls in time with your breathing, Beom finally clicking off.
He leans back in his chair before reaching down into his bag and pulling out the briefs he stole from your house earlier. He palms his thoroughly hard dick through his sweatpants, bringing your briefs to his nose and inhaling deeply. Your scent makes his dick twitch and his mouth water. He's quick to reach down and free himself from the stuffy fabric, gripping his dick like a vice.
Unlike yours, his is a monstrous thing, thick veins bulging out and an angry reddish purple. It dwarfs your modest little cock by over half. It looks right at home in Beom's own massive hand, but he huffs in amusement and arousal when he imagines it in yours. Your slim little fingers, struggling to wrap around him... Beom groans into the fabric of your briefs.
His pre runs down his length and coats his hand in natural lubricant. He begins to pump his hand up and down his shaft, enjoying the feeling.
He wants you so badly. He wants you even if you scream and beg him to leave you alone. He imagines you underneath him, pinning you in place to watch your expressions. Your face messy with tears as he pulls your clothes off and gets a good look at your quivering virgin hole.
He wonders what it would taste like (would it taste like your briefs?) as he imagines pulling your ass up to his face. He would give it a little kiss, gentle and soothing, circling his finger around the rim to relax you. You might yelp in surprise as he begins to lick and suck at your entrance, gently coaxing it open. He'd love to see how much you could take before you start moaning.
He wants to make you reliant on him, he has to give you pleasure first.
Eventually your little hole might relax enough for him to slip his tongue inside, tasting you properly.
Beom sucks the fabric in his mouth sharply, your flavor bursting on his tongue. He lets out a low, desperate groan as the taste of you fills his senses.
He would push his tongue in as far as it'll go, twisting and twirling, drawing squeaks and moans from you. He sucks on your rim as he tongue-fucks you, pulling out to lick up your taint and balls, maybe giving your little pouch a light nip to watch you squirm.
Beom paces himself, slowing his strokes (not yet).
He imagines your hole glistening with his saliva, winking and clenching. He would push his index finger in first, causing you to yelp in surprise. He would pump it in and out, slowly at first, but picking up speed. He wonders how you'd react when he finds your prostate (he's done his research). Would you gasp? Moan? Cry? Either way, he's finding it and abusing it immediately.
You might go soft at some point, at which Beom will grip your flaccid dick in his hand and attempt to perk it back up. He wants you to enjoy it. Wants you addicted to the pleasure he gives. Make it so you won't ever be able to leave him. So you never think about girls again.
He moans, imagining your tight little hole clenching his finger so hard he can barely move it.
His dick is pulsing with the need to come now, but not yet. He hasn't gotten to the good part yet.
He's imagined this scene so many times now, jerked off with your briefs in his mouth and your writhing body behind his eyelids. He wants the real thing someday (not possible). He wants to taste you directly, because as nice as your used clothes are, he knows it won't beat the real thing.
Beom grunts as he can barely hold himself back from coming. He squeezes his dick harder and harder, imagining it's your little hole around him and not his own hand. He knows you'd be tight. You've never played with yourself there, never even thought about it, at least for as long as he's been watching you.
He's skipped a few steps but he needs to cum now. He's thrusting his hips into his grip, the fantasy of pushing his cock deep inside you and forcing you open the only thing on his mind. He wants to watch your rim as he pushes in and out, rub it a little, tease it. He wants to see how much of your insides he can drag back with him as he pulls out.
He wants to ruin you.
He's desperate now, his thrusts getting more erratic and shaky.
You'd probably be crying (he hopes you'll cry), maybe in pain... maybe in pleasure. He thinks you'd fit him like a glove regardless, convinced that your ass is made for his dick. He wants to come inside, he wants to mark you, he wants to breed you.
With a gasp, a groan, and the stilling of his hips, Beom's coming into his hand, still tightly wrapped around himself, imagining that he's actually coming inside you. He'd make sure to push deep inside, coat your walls in his thick seed.
Thick ropes of his come spill onto his stomach and groin, not stopping until he's grimacing at the feeling of his own sticky mess. He's always had big loads, but with you in the picture they seem to be even bigger now (almost like proof you were made for each other).
In his post nut clarity, Beom's thoughts drift back to the bruise under your ribs.
Today went a little far, he thinks.
He's not sure why he suddenly feels that way, it's nothing really new. They'd dumped ice water on you, made you run impossible errands with horrible punishments, stripped you and laughed at your tiny dick until you were crying. Yet a kick to the ribs was the thing that got him thinking.
He clenches his fist and immediately grimaces at the feeling of squelching his own gooey seed between his fingers.
Before anything else, he needs another shower.
Beom hums as he practically skips his way to your classroom, excited to test out how hard you'll cry when he tries his new idea. He's ditched his lackeys just for this, so you'd better appreciate having him all to yourself.
He's turning a corner, a dopey grin on his face, when he freezes. He hears you laughing, quiet and muffled against the noise of your classmates but it's you that's your voice.
He's heard it before, but not like that.
He's running the rest of the way before he can think about it. He gets to your class and there you are. He sees you from the window, laughing and smiling as your classmate tells a stupid joke.
Who is that why are you talking to them why is this bothering him now
Before he can think, he's yanked the door open and stomping over, your classmates parting for him like the sea. He's right behind you when the person you're talking to notices and cowers under his glare. You're oblivious until he grabs your wrist and yanks you to your feet, a pained yelp escaping your lips.
Your face is a myriad of emotions (confused, pained, then scared and resigned). You glance down to his hand on your wrist, wincing as he tightens his grip. He's furious and he doesn't know why.
All he knows is he wants you away from them, as he drags you out of the room and down the hall. Away from anyone who isn't him.
He's figured it out, Beom realizes, as he strokes your damp hair. You're lying in his arms, passed out from the exertion of rough sex and multiple orgasms. It had been so much better than any of his fantasies. Your hole had been even tighter than he'd dreamed, and while he may have gotten a little carried away, he still deserved praise for holding back as much as he did.
He loved the way you had begged him to touch you, loved how you were so desperate to have him touch your dick, and loved how well you took him. It was everything he had dreamed of and more. And now he had finally claimed you, finally made his fantasy a reality.
He's holding you so gently, so tenderly, your naked body covered in hickeys and drying seed. He traces each mark with his fingers, marveling at how well you responded. He pushes down gently on your stomach, where it bulged slightly from taking his thick seed. You make a face and shift in your sleep, a little gush of come oozing out from between your legs.
He wanted you to himself because he loved you. He didn't love just your tears and your snot. He loved every bit of you.
He makes a promise to treat you gently more often, so he can see your smile (he might like it just as much as your tears). You're his. His to bully, his to cherish, his to kiss and fuck.