Room 314

Chapter 1. The New Girl

The silence of the dormitory hallway was broken only by the squeak of my bag on the linoleum. The air smelled of old books, cheap air freshener, and melancholy. I stopped at door 314, the very one indicated by the dean's office. My new life. Or an attempt to start it with a clean slate.

Sighing, I pushed the door open.

The room greeted me with semi-darkness. The evening sun broke through the dirty window, pulling from the gloom a narrow bed, a desk, and the silhouette of a person at the computer. A man.

I froze on the threshold, gripping the handle of my bag until my knuckles turned white.

— Oh… hi," I whispered, feeling heat rise to my cheeks. "You…

are probably my roommate? I'm Sophia. Sorry if I'm disturbing you…"

My eyes dropped on their own. I set my bag down by the nearest bed, trying not to make noise. My heart was pounding somewhere in my throat.

The guy at the computer didn't turn around immediately. The monitor light illuminated his profile: a sharp chin, a straight nose, focused brows.

— It's fine, I'm compiling a report on the cheerleading team's preparation," his voice sounded. Low, even, emotionless.

Cheerleaders? I nodded, though he couldn't see me, and timidly sat on the edge of the bed. The springs creaked plaintively. From my bag, I pulled out a notebook—a familiar shield against awkwardness.

— Sounds… interesting. Are you in a sports club?" I asked in a whisper, not raising my eyes, fiddling with the corner of a page.

— No. I'm the head student and I have to oversee and control everything.

A note that brooked no argument sounded in his voice. Head student. So, authority. I smiled a little wider, but my gaze was still fixed on my own sneakers.

— Yeah, probably… I just arrived, I don't know anything yet. Have you been here long?

I adjusted my t-shirt, which had ridden up slightly, exposing a strip of skin on my stomach. That movement made me feel even hotter.

— I'm already in my final year," he finally turned around. His eyes were light gray, like a dreary winter sky. They slid over me appraisingly, from the top of my head to the tips of my shoes, and I shrank. "Make yourself at home. Your bed is in that room," he nodded towards a slightly open door. "The left bed is Alina's, by the window sleeps Nadezhda. And this room is mine. Behind that door is the bathroom and toilet, the cleaning schedule is on the door. In the kitchen, we don't cook smelly food, we wash dishes immediately. There's another schedule—for significant others visiting.

The information came down like an avalanche. I nodded, trying to grasp it all, feeling my ears turn red.

— Got it… Thanks for explaining. I… I'll try to remember everything. And significant others… that means… guests are allowed?

— Yes. You'll make the schedule yourselves.

I nodded, blushing so hard I thought I might glow in the dark. "Okay… I probably won't invite anyone. I'm too shy." My fingers reached to fiddle with the hem of my t-shirt on their own. "And you… you're the head student, right? Is that a lot of work?"

— A lot. And at the moment, you're distracting me.

I flinched as if I'd received a light electric shock. I adjusted my sweater, which had slipped again, and threw a quick glance at him. The corners of his lips didn't twitch.

— Okay… if anything, I'm here, if you have questions," I whispered, averting my eyes to my bag.

Silence hung in the room, broken only by the quiet hum of the system unit. Then he unexpectedly said:

— Try writing the report for me.

I looked up, surprised. "The report? I… can try, if you want. What exactly is needed? I'm in the philology department, I can formulate text…" My hands automatically opened a clean page in the notebook.

— I'll tell you, and you'll write.

Nodding, I took a pen, ready. He turned back to the monitor, his back—a straight, broad line—seemed like an impregnable wall.

— Final draft," he began, and his voice took on a strange, narrative tone.

And he began to tell.

The story flowed from him in a cold, measured stream, leaving no room for questions or misunderstanding. The locker room. Three cheerleaders. Alina—the captain, predatory and domineering. Max—the head student, caught in her web. A power play, blackmail, humiliation, turning into something else. Something terrible. Extreme.

I wrote, trying to keep up, but my fingers trembled. The description was so… visual, tactile. I could smell the old linoleum and sweat, hear the door creak, see the skirt fly up. And then… the shower. Power, changing hands. A cruel, methodical takedown. The order to state names and ages. Round after round. Until they broke.

I finished writing and sat staring at the filled sheets. My cheeks burned with fire, there was a ringing in my ears. This wasn't a report. This was… a thriller. An erotic nightmare.

— Sorry… I really don't know what to do with this. Maybe we should just forget it?" I babbled, standing up and moving to the mirror in the corner to hide my embarrassment. In the reflection, I saw a flushed face and huge, frightened eyes.

— No. We need to make a report out of this.

I slowly turned around, clutching the notebook. "This… is a report? It's so… detailed. I… I'll try to rewrite it in a normal form, but… can we leave out those details?"

— Leave out which ones???

His voice became sharper. I shrank, hiding my face in my hands. "The… the intimate moments. About the shower, the touches… It's all too… personal for a report. Can we just say it's about checking the locker room?"

— Well, that's my job.

Job? I looked at him, not believing my ears. "Your… job? You mean, checking… locker rooms in such detail? I… had no idea."

— And not just locker rooms.

The room became stuffy. I slowly turned to him, awkwardly sat on the edge of the bed, crossing my legs. My curiosity, stupid, irrepressible, overpowered the shame.

— And not just locker rooms," he repeated, and his gray eyes locked onto mine, waiting.

I froze, feeling all modesty melt under that gaze. He didn't look away when he asked:

— So, will you be my assistant? You have a chance to prove yourself.

I froze. "An assistant? In… the inspections? I… don't know if I can. It's scary, there are girls there…"

— And not just girls. That's why I need an assistant.

— Not just… girls? You mean… boys too?" My imagination immediately painted vague, frightening pictures. But along with the fear, something else twinged in my chest. Excitement? "That's… scary.

— Alina and Nadezhda are also assistants.

My roommates. The very ones whose beds awaited me in the next room. I remembered his story. Alina—that same captain? No, it can't be… Or can it? I nervously unbuttoned my cardigan, trying to cope with a wave of strange excitement.

— Alina and Nadezhda… they're so confident, probably. And I…

— We'll make you confident too.

— Confident… like them? I… I'm scared, but… I'll try. Tell me, what do I need to do?

— For starters, here's some paper. Write a report about the cheerleaders' preparation. Write only the main points.

I took the sheet with a trembling hand, sat at the desk. "A report about… the cheerleaders' preparation? Only the main points… Okay, I'll try. What exactly? Warm-up, costumes?"

— Write what you think are the main points from my story.

— Read what you've written.

The door closed behind him. I remained sitting, touching the spot where his lips had been. My body was on fire. "More detail… okay, I'll add," I muttered and picked up the pen again.

Chapter 2. The Roommates

An hour passed in a nervous tremor. I wrote, crossed out, wrote again. Then I heard footsteps in the hallway and voices. Female.

The door to our room opened slightly, and he went out. I froze at the desk, holding my breath.

— Hi, Alina.

The voice that answered him was low, chesty, with a slight huskiness. "Oh, hi, Max. I'll just take a shower and then read you the report on the football team's readiness check." A pause, and the same voice, closer now, quieter, added: "And if you want, I'll show you too."

— I'll take a look. But later.

I heard light footsteps, the click of the shower lock, then the sound of water. And his voice, addressed, apparently, to the second girl: "Nadya, what's for dinner tonight?"

The answer sounded cold, detached: "There are dumplings, pizza, sushi. Choose."

— Don't be jealous, I'll leave in 30 minutes. Max, she made you a surprise: rolls and sushi on an unusual platter with wine from a navel," Alina shouted loudly, laughing, from behind the shower door.

Silence. Then the crash of dishes thrown into the sink and quick footsteps into our room. The door swung open, and I saw her.

Nadezhda. Long hair of light blonde, as if woven from sun rays, fell over her shoulders in silky curls. Her face—delicate, with large blue eyes, now brimming with hurt. She wore a light strapless dress that emphasized her slender, graceful figure. She didn't notice me sitting in the shadows, and, with a choked sob, threw herself onto her bed by the window.

I stood hesitantly, then, still in my peignoir, approached and timidly sat on the edge.

— Nadya… are you okay? Alina… was probably just joking. Do you want me to sit with you?

She looked up at me with tear-filled eyes, then nodded, turning to the wall. I sat closer, carefully placed a hand on her shoulder. Under the thin fabric of the dress, I felt hot, firm skin.

— Nadya… don't be mad at Alina, she just likes to joke. Your surprise… sounds so romantic, wine in a navel? Tell me more, I'll listen.

She turned, her eyes gleaming. "I wanted to do something nice for Max. I ordered rolls and sushi, bought a bottle of wine… Well, naturally, I wanted the evening to be perfect. I asked Alina to help arrange it all on my naked body. And as a sauce dish, I decided to use my navel…"

She lifted the hem of her dress. A finger pointed to a neat, deep navel. But the movement was too sharp, the fabric rode up higher, and I saw… everything. The smooth curve of her stomach, the dark triangle below…

I gasped and recoiled, feeling blood rush to my face. "Nadya… and he… will Max appreciate it? You're so brave, I would never…"

But something inside flipped. Excitement, strange, aching, rose to my throat. The scent of her perfume, mixed with the smell of clean skin, hit my head. My fingers, as if on their own, lay on her shoulder. And I… moved them. Slid down, over the tense muscle of her back.

Nadya shuddered. But she didn't pull away. On the contrary, her back arched, offering more. Her breathing deepened.

— You have such gentle hands," she whispered, and her voice sounded different now—deeper, more languid.

Something in me broke loose. Fear, shame, all conventions—dissolved in this thick, sweet air. My hand slid under her dress, found the hot, damp skin of her inner thigh. Nadya froze, then weakly whispered: "Sophia…"

I didn't answer. My finger found what it was looking for—a small, hard pearl, hidden in velvety folds. A light touch—and her body arched, a choked moan escaped her chest. Her thighs closed on my hand, but I was persistent. I caressed her, listening as her breathing hitched into sobs, as her body shuddered in convulsions of mounting pleasure.

She came quickly, with a quiet, drawn-out moan, pressing her face into the pillow. Her body went limp. I sat, breathing heavily, looking at my hand, wet from her juices. The smell was pungent, animalistic, incredibly arousing. I brought my fingers to my nose, inhaled… and at that moment the door swung open.

Max stood in the doorway. His face was impassive, but a spark flickered in his eyes—surprise? Approval?

— Damn, not a sight for the faint of heart," he said in an even tone, as if commenting on the weather.

I wanted to recoil, cover myself, but my body wouldn't listen. I froze on my knees before Nadya, feeling my peignoir slip off one shoulder, exposing my t-shirt. And there was no bra underneath.

He approached. Slowly. His steps were silent on the carpet. He stood behind me. His hands, large, warm, encircled my waist. I felt the hard touch of his cock against my lower back, then against my buttocks.

I shuddered, but didn't pull away. On the contrary, my body itself gave him a signal—I slightly moved my leg aside, opening access.

He entered me with one confident, deep thrust. It didn't hurt. It was… fullness. Warmth. I cried out, but it wasn't a cry of pain, but of release. My body accepted him, embraced him from within.

I didn't forget about Nadya. My hand reached for her again, for her breast, and my lips found her clit once more. She moaned, no longer shy, her fingers dug into my hair, pulling me to her.

Max moved inside me with methodical, relentless force. Each thrust wrung a moan from me, mixed my "ah" with her "yes." We were linked in a strange, depraved triangle, where he was the axis, the fulcrum, and we were the two ends of one arc, swinging on the edge of madness.

Nadya came first, with a loud, piercing cry, her legs closing around my neck. And then his rhythm changed, became fiercer, deeper.

— I want… in the ass," I exhaled, not believing I was saying it. "I miss that so much!

He froze for a moment, then slipped out of me. I felt emptiness, cold. But then his hands were on my hips again, he lifted me, found another, tighter opening. The head pressed, pushed… and entered. Slowly