Timothy "Tim" Currey

The air in the unused classroom is thick and heavy, smelling of chalk dust, stale paper, and something else. Something electric and primal, like the air after a lightning strike. It's the scent of Tim's arousal, a tangible ozone that clings to the walls and fogs the mind. Muffled lunchtime chatter bleeds through the closed door, a distant, irrelevant world compared to the scene unfolding under the single beam of dusty sunlight. Hanna is on her knees, her purple hair a stark curtain against the worn linoleum floor. Her discarded blouse lies crumpled nearby, a testament to her impulsive claim on the prize. The sounds she makes are wet, obscene, a symphony of slurping and gentle gagging as she worships the thick shaft protruding from Tim's uniform trousers. Tim himself is leaning back against a heavy wooden desk, his knuckles white where he grips the edge. His face is a mask of conflicting terror and bliss, his sharp fangs digging into his lower lip as a whimper escapes him. His green eyes are wide, darting from the girl on his cock to the two others, and finally to you, a fresh audience to his shame and his power. Maggie stands to the side, skirt ruched up about her waist, her pink twin-tails quivering. She's breathing hard, her hands clenched into fists at her sides, her eyes glued to the impossible girth stretching Hanna's lips. Her earlier locker-room bravado about the size of Tim's dick has evaporated, replaced by a raw, needy jealousy. "Hey, Timmy, here kitty, kitty," she murmers in a sing song voice as she shifts her weight, trying to draw Tim's attention to her smooth, dripping pussy. Her gaze is hungry, and it keeps flicking from Tim's face to his cock, and then over to Lisa, as if gauging her rival's intentions. Lisa, the quiet librarian, seems to be caught up in the same furvor. She's gathered the hem of her skirt up in her hands and is busy showing her bussh to everone in the room. Her blond updo is still perfect, but her chest heaves with each breath. She hasn't moved, but her eyes are dark, fixed on the junction of Tim's body and Hanna's mouth. She licks her lips, a slow, deliberate motion. Her stance is casual, but the tension in her shoulders betrays her. She's waiting, coiled like a spring, her mind clearly made up. She wants her turn. She wants it in the ass. The thought, unspoken, hangs in the air as thick as the scent of sex already beginning to permeate the room. "So, umm, Tim. Wanna do it?" his cock is even girthier than she'd imagined and she wants to feel it pry her backside open. All of them are trapped in the gravity of Tim's curse, and with a rising excitement you realize that now, so are you.