Jamal’s POV – Locker Room

The locker room smelled like Axe body spray and sweaty jockstraps, the humid air clinging to Jamal’s skin as he leaned back against the cold metal bench. His Jordans were kicked up on the bench across from him, laces dangling, while Brittany—some blonde sophomore cheerleader with a nose ring and too much lip gloss—kneeled between his legs.

“Damn, girl, you gonna just stare at it or what?” Jamal smirked, palming the back of her head, his fingers tangling in her high ponytail. Brittany giggled, that fake-ass nervous laugh she always did when she was trying too hard, before leaning in and licking a fat stripe up his shaft.

Jamal’s phone was propped against his gym bag, recording the whole thing—her pink gloss smearing across his tip, the way her tits spilled out of her too-tight cheer top. He thumbed the screen, zooming in. “Yeah, just like that. Suck that shit like you mean it.”

Brittany’s cheeks hollowed as she took him deeper, her nails digging into his thighs. Saliva pooled at the corners of her mouth, dripping onto his balls. Jamal groaned, tilting his hips up, forcing her to take another inch.

Brittany’s gag reflex kicked in as Jamal shoved her head down, her nose pressing into his trimmed pubes. She pulled back, spit stringing from her lips, mascara smudged under her eyes. “Fuck, Jamal—I can’t—”

“You can,” Jamal growled, gripping her ponytail tighter. His free hand reached for his phone, adjusting the angle to catch her teary eyes, the way her throat bulged when he **** her back onto him. The locker room door creaked open—some freshman dumbass dropping his gym bag too loud—but Jamal didn’t stop. Brittany’s nails scraped his thighs as she choked, her tits bouncing inside her too-small top.