Gwen, Lindsay, and surprisingly Scarlet for the screaming gophers and for the killer bass Izzy, Bridgette, and the superfan Sierra

The fluorescent lights intensified the sweat beading on Cody’s forehead as he unbuckled his jeans, the metallic clink echoing unnervingly in the sudden hush of the cafeteria. Gwen’s breath hitched, her gaze locked on the tile floor once speckled with crumbs, now a canvas for shifting shadows of the approaching contestants.

Lindsay blinked rapidly, her usually vacant expression still on her dumb face , while Sierra bounced on her heels, muttering feverishly about ‘optimal mouth capacity.’ A sickly-sweet odor of overcooked broccoli fought against the musk of anticipation thickening in the air.

Cody’s fingers fumbled with his zipper, the sound gratingly deliberate. Trent shifted uncomfortably beside him, knuckles pale where he gripped his own waistband. Owen’s booming laugh cracked the tension like brittle glass. "Hehe, gonna fill ya right up, Izzy!" he chuckled, already palming himself through his shorts.

Izzy grinned maniacally back, bouncing slightly. "Bring it on, chunky boy! My jaw’s a spring-loaded vice!" Her eyes finding yours really wanting to taste your load.

Scarlett took Harold by his pants and made him stay in front of her. Her quick voice going fast as intelligence words spill from her lips. "Statistical probability suggests optimal positioning near the rear minimizes premature gag reflex interference," she stated matter-of-factly, shoving Harold directly before her gaping mouth. Gwen kept her eyes squeezed shut, trembling as

Cody's belt buckle clattered to the floor beside her worn boots. The sound echoed like gunfire in the silence. Cody always wanted Gwen to suck his cock, and now he was grinning at Gwen, his erection already thickening in his hands. Gwen didn't look up, her shoulders hunched forward, strands of black blue hair sticking to her damp temples. Her knuckles were bloodless.

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