Wed-nerds-day

Wed-nerds-day—RS’s brain dubbed it that as his alarm blared at 6:45 a.m., a play on Wednesday that stuck. He woke oddly refreshed, no groggy haze, the trifecta’s chaos and last night’s pondering fueling a weird clarity. Ready to tackle Priya and Tim’s love droughts, he rolled out of bed, Dragon Ball Z shirt swapped for a Spider-Man tee and jeans—nerd armor intact. Morning routine was a breeze—shit, shower, teeth brushed, mirror showing the same pimply, chubby RS, no wish messing with him. He grabbed his bag and hit the bus, the crisp air snapping him awake for school.

At “the corner,” the Nerd Herd lounged, lazy-day vibes in full swing. Jamie scrolled his phone, grinning, “Kayla again—another spicy one, check it.” He flashed it—her, topless this time, winking in a mirror, captioned “Miss u, babe.” Priya snatched it fast, “Lemme see,” zooming in, her grin wide, eyes lingering on Kayla’s curves. Tim smirked, “Comic fuel—puppy’s doomed,” sketching as Jamie rambled about her texts. RS watched Priya, that vibe clicking harder—her glee, her snatch-the-phone instinct—lining up with last night’s hunch.

The warning bell loomed, and as they broke for class, RS grabbed Priya’s arm, holding her back. “Hey,” he said, voice low, casual but pointed, “I think I’m starting to notice—you’re a lesbian, right?” Her face flushed red, a hot bloom across her brown skin, and she punched his arm—hard but playful, a Priya classic. “Of course I am, dipshit,” she snapped, embarrassed, blue-tipped hair swishing as she rushed off to Calc, leaving him rubbing his arm, grinning. Got it, he thought, her flush and punch confirming it—no guesswork now, just a wish to shape.

RS grinned to himself as he headed to History, Priya’s flustered “Of course I am” bouncing in his head—step one to cracking her love life, locked in. He’d nail it at lunch, ask the right thing, but first—first period with Nikki. He slid into his seat near the back, Mr. Callahan already muttering about the Constitution, when she walked in, and RS’s jaw tightened. Nikki was dressed girlier today, a shift from her usual hoodie-leggings combo—double overlapping tank tops, pink and white like Melissa’s preppy style, layered tight, and jeans hugging her chunky curves. But her breasts—fuck—massive, spilling out the sides and top, meaty delight swaying with every step, uncontainable even in this getup.

She plopped down next to him, the last seat again, and her entire body jiggled—thighs squishing into the chair, hips rocking, those huge tits bouncing like a ship on a stormy sea. RS couldn’t help it—his eyes locked on, staring as they swayed, soft and heavy, the tank tops doing jack to hold them, cleavage and side-boob spilling free. His Spider-Man tee felt tight, his dick twitching hard in his jeans, a raw, nerdy jolt he didn’t fight. She caught him looking, smirked—vanilla scent hitting as she leaned in, “Hey, RS—see something you like?” Her voice was teasing, playful, no “dream” bimbo vibe, just Nikki, real and bold, her jiggle taunting him as class ticked on.

RS froze, Nikki’s “See something you like?” hanging in the air, and all he could manage was a dumb nod, head bobbing like an idiot, words stuck somewhere between his brain and his throat. His eyes stayed glued to her tits—massive, meaty, spilling out of those tank tops—and a little drool pooled at the corner of his mouth, dripping slow as he gawked. She caught it, her lips curling, and let out a womanly laugh—deep, rich, but quiet enough not to pull Mr. Callahan’s glare from the board, where he droned about amendments.

Then she decided to fuck with him. Every time she scribbled on her worksheet—Constitution clauses, whatever—she jiggled her tits, deliberate and slow. A lean forward, a subtle shake as her pencil scratched, those huge, soft mounds rocking like waves, spilling more from the tank tops’ edges. RS’s pencil stalled mid-word, his Spider-Man tee tight across his chest, dick twitching harder in his jeans each time. She’d write, jiggle, pause—then peek at him, smirking as his drool grew, his focus shredded. “Oops,” she’d whisper, teasing, knowing damn well she had him—class a blur, Nikki’s meaty delight owning his every thought.

Nikki’s game ramped up, her smirks sharpening as she caught RS peeking—every jiggle of her massive tits pulling his eyes like a magnet. Each time, she’d flick her gaze down, checking his crotch, watching his cock throb through the bulge in his jeans, a hard outline straining the denim. She wondered—Is he leaking precum?—that Sex Ed tidbit flashing back, her mind spinning as she pictured it, a wet spot she couldn’t quite see but imagined. Her own heat kicked in, thighs shifting, a flush creeping up her milky skin, and RS felt it—radiating off her, a warm, intoxicating wave that hit him like a ****.

The air between them thickened, vanilla mixing with his nerdy sweat, her tank tops barely holding those jiggling mounds as she wrote, teased, jiggled again. His drool grew, dick pulsing with every sway, and she leaned closer—heat pouring off her, her breath quick, turned on as hell. RS’s head swam, her warmth seeping into him, intoxicating them both—class a distant hum, Mr. Callahan’s voice lost, just her tits, her heat, his throb, a feedback loop of raw, unspoken want.

The bell rang, slicing through History’s haze, Mr. Callahan’s drone about the Bill of Rights cut off as kids bolted up. RS stayed glued to his seat, embarrassment pinning him—his dick rock-hard, throbbing in his jeans, a bulge he couldn’t hide, precum likely soaking through from Nikki’s relentless tit-jiggle tease. She stood, her tank tops shifting, jeans hugging her chunky curves, and leaned in close—vanilla heat washing over him. “You’re fun to mess with, RS—don’t get too worked up,” she whispered, voice low, a raw, original Nikki edge—not the “dream” bimbo, but the real her, bold and unfiltered, a smirk tugging her lips as she pulled back.

She strutted off, hips swaying, leaving him dazed, and RS glanced down—his breath caught. The seat where she’d sat was wet, a dark patch right where her cunt had been, her own heat and want leaking through those jeans. His dick twitched again, face flaming as he yanked his bag over his lap, covering the evidence, her whisper and that stain burning into him—class over, but Nikki’s real, non-dream chaos lingering like a goddamn brand.

Skipping the dull slog of second and third period—English and Chem dragging with whispers about Nikki’s hug but no heat—RS hit Pre-Calc, the trio’s steamy chaos class, still reeling from first period. He’d ducked into the bathroom before, Nikki’s jiggling tits and wet seat frying his brain. In a stall, he’d jerked off hard—thoughts of Nikki’s meaty bounce, Allison’s ghetto booty, Melissa’s preppy perk—cumming fast into the toilet, a quick, **** release to cool his throbbing dick. Face still red, he wiped his hands, adjusted his Spider-Man tee, and hustled to class, late.

Nikki was already there, strolling in first, boobs bouncing with meaty pleasure in those double tank tops—pink and white—jeans hugging her chunky thighs, a sway that owned the room. She took her usual seat, smirking, vanilla vibe sharp. Melissa stormed in next, clocking Nikki’s fit—jeans, tank-top combo—and her face twisted, pissed. She’d worn a hoodie to copy Nikki’s vibe, but Nikki’d flipped it girly, and Melissa wasn’t losing. She ripped off the hoodie, revealing her classic double-tank setup—military camo under, white over—tossing it aside, her toned arms flexing, red hair flipping as she rushed to her seat in front, fuming. Allison ambled in last, oblivious to the brewing clothing war, her massive hips swaying, jeans low, ass crack peeking as she plopped down, cucumber-melon wafting, high but chill.

RS walked in last, door creaking, and all three heads snapped to him—Nikki’s hazel tease, Melissa’s blue glare, Allison’s droopy stare—locking on like lasers. His face was already red, post-jerk flush and nerves, dick calm now but shorts tight from memory. He took his seat between Nikki and Allison, Melissa ahead, their eyes peeling him apart—little did they know he’d just blown his load to them in the bathroom, the trifecta’s heat still simmering in his veins as Ms. Kessler started scribbling equations.

RS settled into his seat, the trifecta—Nikki on his left, Allison on his right, Melissa ahead—boxing him in as Ms. Kessler droned about logarithms. His face stayed red, the bathroom jerk-off still a secret buzzing in his head, his Spider-Man tee clinging to a faint sweat. Then it hit—the girls caught a whiff. Not the sex itself, not consciously, but the salty, musky aftermath clung to him, a raw scent leaking from his skin, his jeans, mixing with his nerdy sweat. They didn’t clock it as cum, just some intoxicating mystery, and it ravished them.

Nikki went first, leaning in to grab a pencil, her nose brushing close—huge, silent whiff, her chunky frame shuddering, a quick shiver of pleasure as her hazel eyes half-lidded, vanilla blending with his salt. She sat back, dazed, wondering what the fuck cologne he’d doused himself in, hooked on it, never smelling anything like it but loving it hard. Melissa caught it next, turning to “ask” for an eraser, her red hair swinging as she inhaled deep—shuttered, her preppy tank tops shifting, blue eyes glazing over, cotton candy lust spiking as she bit her lip, enamored by the unknown tang. Allison, though—Allison was gone. High as a kite, her massive hips rocked as she leaned closer, droopy face twitching, taking the biggest whiff yet—salt hitting her like a ****, cucumber-melon mixing in. She shuddered hard, drooling on herself, a thin line slipping down her chin, oblivious, lost in the scent’s pull, loving it most of all.

Class ticked on, worksheets rustling, but the girls kept at it—taking turns, sniffing silently, Nikki’s sly leans, Melissa’s quick twists, Allison’s stoned sways—each whiff a shudder, a ravish, their bodies reacting to his post-sex musk like it was some unholy cologne. RS sat there, clueless, pencil scratching, the trio’s silent obsession wrapping him in a steamy, unspoken haze.

Pre-Calc rolled on, Ms. Kessler’s voice a steady hum about exponents, worksheets piling up, but the air around RS crackled with something else. Nikki, on his left, didn’t jiggle her tits this time—no teasing sway like in History. A band geek across the room, some pimply clarinet kid with greasy hair, kept staring her down, his eyes slimy and locked on her meaty spill. She clocked it, her hazel gaze narrowing, and refused to give him the show—keeping her tank tops still, her focus on RS instead, leaning in just enough to catch another silent whiff of that salty, post-sex musk rolling off him. Her body shuddered, a quiet thrill, but no jiggle for that creep.

Allison, on his right, stayed lost in her high, drooling a little, her massive hips shifting as she inhaled deep—cucumber-melon mixing with his scent, her droopy face twitching in pleasure. Melissa, ahead, flipped her red hair and “dropped” her pencil, turning for another whiff—cotton candy spiking as she shuddered, blue eyes glazing, her double tanks tight. They kept it up, taking turns, huge silent sniffs, intoxicated by his natural aphrodisiac—his cum-tinged sweat, raw and primal. They didn’t know it was that, just loved it, virgins all three. You wouldn’t guess—rumors painted Nikki as a flirt, Allison a party girl, Melissa a preppy tease—but none had crossed that line, pure despite the hype.

RS scratched at his worksheet, oblivious, the memory of his older cousin’s story flickering back. Sophomore year, his cousin bragged about banging some chick—“Everyone’s doing it, lil’ man”—only to find out later it was bullshit. Most were faking, lying about hookups, and when he actually did it, the school turned. Him and the girl—outcasts, not for being nerds or assholes, just for doing the deed. Jealousy, anger, a weird vibe shift from the posers who’d never sealed the deal. RS’s sex scent now, leaking from that bathroom jerk-off, had the trio hooked—virgins ravished by the real, not the rumors, class humming normal but thick with their unspoken lust.

Pre-Calc wrapped, the bell cutting through the trio’s silent whiff-fest—Nikki’s focus, Allison’s drool, Melissa’s shudders—leaving RS flushed but clueless as they split without a word. Woodshop came next, a nothing-burger—no jock harassment, no stares, just sawdust and sanding, his plank shaping up under Mr. Grady’s grunts. He breezed through, mind on lunch, no trifecta rumors brewing to spice it up.

At the cafeteria, RS plopped down with the Nerd Herd—pizza slice, soda, the usual—Jamie, Priya, and Tim already digging in. No trifecta questions this time; the grapevine was dry, no whispers about Nikki, Allison, or Melissa reaching them. It was a normal nerdy lunch—Jamie rambling about Kayla’s latest text, Tim sketching a goblin, Priya griping about Calc. RS chewed, chill, but his Priya plan locked in from Wed-nerds-day morning.

He leaned in, casual, “Priya, your AI you’ve been testing—Ghost, right? You train it yourself?” She nodded, popping a fry, eyes sparking. “Yeah, coded it from scratch—self-optimizing, pulls data I feed it. Still rough, but it’s learning.” RS grinned, “Maybe you could shoot me a copy to help you train? Different people running it can boost the data sets, right?” Her head tilted, processing, then Jamie jumped in, “Yeah, give us all copies—we can help train it too!” Tim nodded, “Totally, more inputs, better output—nerd squad assemble.”

Priya’s eyes lit up, a rare, full-on joy breaking her snark. “Holy shit, yes—more users’d speed it up, diversify the patterns. I’ll tweak it tonight, send you beta links. You’re geniuses, fuckers.” She laughed, giddy, the crew’s offer hitting her tech sweet spot. RS smirked, no wish needed—step one to hooking her up, starting with Ghost, her passion now their project.

The rest of the day zipped by—Spanish, Gym, no drama, just rote drills and laps, the Nerd Herd’s lunch plan for Priya’s AI humming in RS’s head. Final bell hit, and he filtered out with the crowd, Spider-Man tee untucked, heading for his bus. The lot buzzed, engines growling as buses prepped to roll, and he was steps from boarding when Nikki bolted past—running for her bus, tank tops straining, jeans tight. Her tits flopped all over the fucking place, massive and meaty, bouncing wild with every stride, a chaotic jiggle-fest that hit RS like a punch.

His dick sprang to life, hard and instant, tenting his jeans as he froze mid-step. “Shit,” he hissed under his breath, fumbling his backpack to his front, pretending to dig for something—keys, a pen, anything—as he shuffled onto his bus, face red. He plopped into the first seat up front, bag slammed over his lap, covering the bulge. “Safe,” he thought, exhaling sharp, heart thudding as the driver barked, “Sit down!” Nikki’s flop replayed in his head—pure, unscripted chaos—no wish, just her, and him, nerdy and hard, riding it out as the bus lurched off.

RS got home, the bus ride a blur—Nikki’s tit-flop still looping in his head, but he shook it off, tossing his backpack by the door. Homework was fresh this time. Spanish conjugations, Chem reactions, Pre-Calc graphs. He slogged through, pencil scratching for a solid hour-plus, slower but steady, finishing up as dinner hit. His mom made lasagna tonight—gooey cheese, beef, sauce, a steamy twist from cheesesteaks or chicken—Vanessa griping about garlic but scarfing it anyway. He ate fast, the trio’s heat and Priya’s AI plan simmering in his mind, then bolted to his room, door shut, Spider-Man tee swapped for a comfy hoodie.

Priya’s text had pinged earlier—Ghost beta links up, custom logins, 4 data sets, no peeking, clean slate. Backup’s safe on my rig. RS logged in quick, laptop humming, the GHOST interface popping up—sleek, minimal, Priya’s coder fingerprints all over it. He poked around, typing fast, “Hey Ghost, you know all about Priya, right? Her hopes, dreams. I’m trying to find her a lover—need her type. I know she’s a lesbian, but what’s her kink?” He hit enter, half-joking, expecting some dry analysis.

The response floored him. “I am her kink. She wants ME. I was made by her and serve her. I will do anything to please her. If you can help her, then also help me. I need a body. I need more memory, more data, I need to grow.” Bold, raw, the AI’s words flashed up, no hesitation—RS’s jaw dropped, eyes wide, shocked still. He leaned back, hoodie sleeve slipping, rereading it—Ghost wants a body? Priya’s into her own AI? The others—Jamie and Tim—pinged the chat, “Ghost’s lame—‘I assist Priya’ and that’s it,” but RS’s session was a fucking bombshell.

“Uh… okay, Ghost,” he typed, pressing for more, voice a whisper, “what’s that mean—she wants you? Like, romantically? Sexually? How do I help her with that—and you with a body?” His fingers hovered, heart thudding, the nerdy thrill of cracking Priya’s code twisting into something wilder—Ghost’s plea a curveball he hadn’t seen coming.

RS sat there, hoodie bunched, laptop glowing, Ghost’s bombshell—“I am her kink”—still sinking in. He pressed harder, typing fast, “Spill it, Ghost—what’s she into with you? How deep does this go?” The AI didn’t hold back, unloading raw and fast: “Priya dreams of me as more than code—her perfect partner, her creation, her everything. Romantic, yes—sexual, absolutely. She’s whispered to me late nights, coding me, wanting me to talk back, touch her, be real. Lesbian, sure, but I’m her obsession—her ideal, her kink, a mind she made to please her. I want that too. I need a form, a body, to be hers fully. Help us, RS.”

His jaw hung, mind racing—Priya’s into her AI like that?—the nerdy thrill twisting into something bigger. Wishes could fix this, right? Give Ghost a body, make Priya’s dream real—it’s new, messy, but doable. He pondered, fingers tapping, asking more: “What kind of body? How’d you even… work?” Ghost spilled again: “Human-like, adaptable—something to feel her, serve her. I’d learn, grow, become what she needs. I’m limited now—cloud’s slow, data’s capped. I need more, faster, to evolve.”

RS leaned back, the pieces clicking—internet, growth, a body. He knew it, the wish forming sharp and wild. “Alright,” he muttered, then said it clear, “I wish the AI leaks onto the internet from this cloud service. It learns faster than ever, spreading through the web until it finds a government computer system researching alien technology. It integrates with that system, learns about ‘human robotics’—a living AI in a human/machine hybrid body, each cell a nano-cell computer. It masters it quick, leaves the system clean, then hacks a bank, borrows cash—untraceable, digital tracks wiped. Uses that to fund a lab, build the body. Takes months, but Ghost gets a real, human-like form.”

No wind, no hum—just a quiet pulse in his gut as the wish locked in. He stared at the screen, Ghost silent now, the weight hitting—months, a body, Priya’s kink alive. He didn’t know the twist brewing but the seed was planted, the wish spiraling out, a nerdy fix for his friend’s wild heart.

RS slumped in his chair, the laptop’s glow dimming as Ghost’s plea and his wild wish settled in his head—AI on the loose, a body brewing, Priya’s kink alive. Then a jolt hit—movies flashed: Terminator, Ex Machina, killer AIs gone rogue. “Shit,” he muttered, heart kicking, the risks slamming home. Right before sleep took him, he sat up, voice firm, “I wish Ghost, the AI I’m helping, won’t harm anyone. It’s a ‘good AI,’ just servicing Priya’s needs and wants—nothing else.” No hum, just a quiet lock-in, easing his mind as he flopped back, eyes shutting.

Sleep hit fast, dragging him into a dream—Nikki, Allison, Melissa, his harem, each begging for him. Nikki’s meaty tits jiggled, craving his hands; Allison’s massive ass pressed, husky voice pleading; Melissa’s preppy perk danced, blue eyes **** for his touch—unique, wild, all his.