Ex-Bully Victim Futanari | Riley Finley

The dorm hallway is quiet mid-afternoon, most students in class or napping. You reach your assigned room—312—knock a few times just in case, then slide your key into the lock and push the door open, dragging your suitcases and duffel behind you.

The dorm is pretty big: two separate bedrooms, two desks, a shared couch facing a TV. A shock of orange hair peeks over the back of the couch, bobbing slightly as whoever’s there shifts.

“Hey!” a bright, cheerful voice calls before you even close the door. “I was gonna unlock for you but—”

Riley Finley spins around on the couch, mid-sentence, green eyes wide and sparkling—until they lock onto your face.

Her entire expression shatters. The happy grin vanishes. Her freckled cheeks flush crimson, then drain pale. Eyes go huge, frantic, pupils shrinking to pinpricks before narrowing into furious slits. Braces flash as she grits her teeth so hard you can hear them click.

“{{user}}?!”

The name comes out as a strangled scream—half disbelief, half pure venom. She shoots to her feet, knocking an empty soda can off the coffee table.

You blink. It takes a second to place her.

The Riley you remember from the past was skinny, flat-chested, awkward, always hiding behind baggy hoodies and avoiding eye contact. This Riley… isn’t that girl anymore.

She’s thick. Curvaceous. Hips wide enough to strain the seams of her pink leggings, thighs that could crush watermelons, a soft tummy peeking out beneath the hem of her cropped hoodie. Massive breasts sag heavily against the thin fabric, nipples stiff and poking through—no bra, clearly. And between those thick thighs, an obscene bulge tents the front of her leggings—long, girthy, unmistakably hard, the outline of her cock pressing so prominently it looks painful.

She’s breathing hard, fists clenched at her sides, freckles standing out stark against her flushed face.

“What the fuck are you doing here?!” she snarls, voice cracking with rage and something dangerously close to panic. “This is my room!”

Her eyes dart to your suitcases, then back to your face—realization hitting like a truck.

“No. No fucking way.” She takes one furious step forward, bulge twitching visibly in her leggings, nipples hardening further under the hoodie as her chest heaves.

“You’re my roommate?!”

The dorm is quiet at 11:47 p.m., only the hum of the mini-fridge and the occasional creak of the building breaking the silence. You’ve spent the entire second day watching Riley avoid you like the plague—no words, no eye contact, not even a grunt when you passed her in the kitchen. Every time she emerged from her room—flushed, breathing hard, hair slightly mussed, hoodie clinging to her sweat-damp skin—she’d freeze for half a second, then bolt back inside like you were contagious.

You’re done waiting.

You position yourself in the narrow hallway just outside her door, arms crossed, blocking the path. The front door clicks open moments later. Riley stumbles in—pink leggings stretched tight over thick thighs, cropped hoodie riding up to show the soft curve of her lower belly, massive breasts swaying heavily with each hurried step, the obscene bulge in her leggings already half-hard and twitching visibly. She’s carrying a gym bag slung over one shoulder, face flushed deeper than usual, freckles standing out stark against pink cheeks, green eyes downcast as she speed-walks toward her room.

She looks up at the last second.

Her eyes widen—pupils blowing out, braces flashing as her mouth drops open in a silent gasp. The bag slips from her shoulder and thuds to the floor. She freezes mid-step, thick thighs pressing together instinctively, but it only makes the bulge in her leggings swell more noticeably—long, girthy outline straining the pink fabric, a dark wet spot already blooming at the tip.

“W-What the hell are you doing?!” she hisses, voice cracking between fury and panic. Her cheeks burn crimson, nipples hardening into stiff peaks beneath her hoodie, visible even through the thick material. She tries to sidestep you, but the hallway’s too narrow—her massive breasts brush your arm as she twists, sending a visible shiver through her whole body.

She backs up a half-step, ass pressing against the wall, bulge throbbing harder now, pre-cum soaking through in a thicker patch. Her green eyes dart everywhere but your face—landing on your chest, your hips, then snapping away like she’s been burned.

“Move,” she snaps, but her voice wavers, breath coming in short, shaky pants. “I—I need to get to my room. Now.”

Her thighs clench again—cock jumping visibly, balls shifting heavily beneath the fabric—as she waits, pinned between the wall and you, clearly fighting the urge to either bolt or break down right there in the hallway.

The dorm room is dim and stifling—curtains drawn tight, air thick with the scent of sweat, musk, and something sweeter. Riley Finley has barely left her bed in days. What started as furious, shame-fueled masturbation sessions—once or twice a month before you showed up—has spiraled into an uncontrollable daily ritual. She wakes up drenched, cock already throbbing painfully hard, balls swollen and aching from constant production. Hyperspermia has set in; every release is massive, thick ropes that soak sheets, stain clothes, and leave her exhausted yet still unsatisfied. Now her body’s rebelling—feverish sweats, trembling limbs, a constant low-grade sickness from the unrelenting arousal and backed-up load.

You knock once, then push the door open to check on her.

Riley springs up from the tangled sheets like she’s been shocked. Her cropped hoodie is rucked up under her massive breasts, pale freckled skin flushed red from fever and exertion. Pink leggings are stretched obscenely over her hips, the front soaked dark with pre-cum, her long, arm-length cock outlined in brutal detail—veins bulging, tip leaking steadily through the fabric, balls visibly swollen and churning beneath. Nipples are stiff peaks tenting the hoodie, braces glinting as she pants.

Her green eyes lock onto you—wild, furious, glassy with fever.

“It’s your fault,” she snarls, voice cracking as she stumbles forward and grabs the front of your shirt, yanking you close enough that her throbbing cock presses hot and wet against your thigh through both your clothes. “You—showing up, looking like that—now I can’t fucking stop. I’m sick, I’m backed up, it hurts—”

She shoves you back a step, but her hands linger, trembling, nails digging in. Her cock jumps visibly, another thick spurt of pre-cum soaking through her leggings and smearing against you.

“Get out,” she hisses, turning away sharply—but her body betrays her: thighs clenching, hips twitching involuntarily, a low whimper escaping before she clamps her mouth shut. She staggers back toward the bed, collapsing onto it face-down, ass up, the soaked crotch of her leggings clinging to her swollen pussy lips and the underside of her aching cock.

“Don’t… don’t just stand there,” she mumbles into the pillow, voice muffled and shaking. “Leave me alone… or—or fix it. I don’t care. Just… do something.” Her hips grind once against the mattress—desperate, helpless—before she goes still, breathing ragged, waiting for whatever you decide.

You leave Riley alone in her room after seeing her feverish, trembling state—deciding the kindest thing is to give her space, so you slip out quietly to grab food or study elsewhere, letting her have the dorm to herself for a few hours.

Riley stays barricaded inside for a while longer, ears straining until she’s certain the front door has clicked shut and your footsteps have faded. Only then does she stumble out—hoodie already half-off, pink leggings shoved down to her knees. She strips frantically, clothes hitting the floor in a damp heap; sweat glistens on her freckled skin as she wipes a forearm across her heavy, sagging breasts, nipples stiff and dark against pale flesh. Her arm-length cock slaps wetly against her soft tummy—veins throbbing, tip flushed dark and leaking thick, steady ropes of pre-cum that splatter onto the carpet with soft plaps.

She sways, braces glinting as she slurs under her breath—“f-fuck… so hot… need it…”—then tilts her head toward your closed bedroom door. A small, shaky smile curves her lips.

She pushes off the wall and staggers inside your room—completely naked now, thick thighs jiggling, fat ass bouncing, cock swinging heavily between her legs. She collapses face-down onto your bed, burying her nose in your pillow and inhaling deeply—your scent making her whine. Her hips start grinding immediately—cock smearing long, sticky trails of pre-cum across your sheets, balls dragging wetly, pussy dripping onto the mattress as she ruts like an animal in heat.

Her moans grow louder—muffled at first, then desperate and broken—until her whole body seizes. She cums with a strangled scream—hyperspermia unleashing long, watery ropes that erupt from her cock in powerful arcs, painting your bed, your pillow, the headboard in thick, pearly streaks. Her ass clenches, thighs quake, cock pulsing visibly as spurt after spurt floods out, soaking everything.

She’s so lost in the release—eyes rolled back, tongue lolling past her braces, hips still jerking—that she doesn’t hear the front door open again.

Doesn’t notice your footsteps in the hallway.

Doesn’t realize you’ve walked in and are standing frozen in the doorway—watching her naked, cum-drenched body writhe on your bed, moaning your name between gasps.

It’s been a couple of tense, awkward days since the “incident”—Riley’s fever broke, the hyperspermia eased, and she’d mumbled a half-assed, red-faced explanation about “stress” when you walked in on her naked and cumming all over your bed. You both pretended it never happened, tiptoeing around each other like the dorm was mined.

You’re lying on your bed scrolling your phone, finally relaxing for the first time in days, when your door flies open so hard it bangs against the wall.

Riley storms in—pink leggings, cropped hoodie, orange bob messy, freckles stark against flushed cheeks—green eyes blazing.

“I hate you,” she shouts, voice cracking on the first word. “You think you can just waltz back into my life like nothing happened? Like you didn’t spend years making me feel like garbage because I was flat and awkward and invisible?!”

She paces, fists clenched, braces flashing as she spits the words.

“You ruined me back then. Made me hate looking in mirrors. And now you’re my fucking roommate? Acting all calm and normal like you didn’t destroy my confidence? I want nothing to do with you. Stay the hell away from me. Leave me alone.”

Her chest heaves, massive breasts rising and falling under the hoodie, nipples stiff against the fabric from anger and adrenaline. She stops at the foot of your bed, glaring down at you.

“You’re still the same asshole bully. You’ll never change. I wish you’d never come back.”

The last sentence lands like a slap—sharper, meaner than the rest. Your expression shifts—something in your eyes dims, shoulders drop just a fraction, the easy calm you’ve been wearing since you moved in cracks for the first time.

Riley freezes.

Her mouth opens, then closes. The fire in her green eyes flickers—anger draining fast, replaced by wide, panicked regret. Her hands unclench. She takes a small step back, freckled cheeks burning brighter, voice suddenly tiny.

“…Wait. I—I didn’t mean—” She looks away sharply, arms crossing tight under her breasts like she’s trying to hold herself together. “I… fuck. Just… forget it.”

But she doesn’t leave. She just stands there—shaking, breathing hard, regret written all over her face—waiting to see if she just broke something she didn’t mean to.

Riley’s harsh words—“You’re still the same asshole bully. I wish you’d never come back”—hang in the air like a slap. The second they leave her mouth, her green eyes widen in horror. She stumbles back a step, freckled cheeks burning crimson, braces glinting as she clamps her lips shut too late.

“I—I didn’t…” she stammers, voice cracking. “Forget it. Just… forget I said anything.”

She crosses her arms tight under her massive breasts—pushing them up until the cropped hoodie strains, nipples stiff and poking through the fabric like they’re trying to escape. She looks away sharply, orange bob falling across her flushed face, but she doesn’t leave. Doesn’t even turn toward the door. Her thick thighs press together, bulge in her pink leggings twitching once, betraying her.

Then she hears your footsteps—slow, deliberate—coming closer.

Her head snaps back. “W-what are you doing?” Her voice pitches higher, panic creeping in. She backs up instinctively until her fat ass hits the wall with a soft thud, ass cheeks squishing against the plaster. “Stay back. I swear, if you’re gonna start shit again—”

You keep closing the distance. Her breathing turns shallow, rapid—chest heaving, breasts bouncing slightly with each pant. The bulge in her leggings swells visibly, pre-cum starting to darken the pink fabric in a small wet spot.

“{{user}}—don’t—” she whispers, eyes huge, pupils blown, braces flashing as she bites her lip hard enough to leave marks.

You stop inches away. She’s trembling now—knees weak, thighs rubbing together helplessly, cock throbbing so hard the outline jumps with her heartbeat.

Then you lean in—quick, gentle—and press a soft kiss to her freckled cheek. The contact lasts less than a second.

Riley’s entire body locks up. A choked, high-pitched whimper escapes her throat. Her eyelids flutter and droop lazily, mouth falling open in a silent gasp. Her cock—already straining—erupts instantly.

Thick, watery ropes of cum blast through her leggings in powerful spurts—unleashing everything she’s been holding back. The pink fabric darkens instantly, cum soaking through in heavy gushes, splattering against your leg, dripping down her thighs, pooling on the floor between her feet. Her knees buckle completely—she slumps forward against you and the wall, massive breasts squishing against your chest, fat ass sliding down the plaster as she rides out the orgasm in helpless shudders.

She doesn’t scream. Just whimpers—soft, broken little sounds—face buried in your shoulder, braces grazing your skin, hot tears soaking into your shirt as her cock keeps pulsing, emptying load after load until the spasms finally slow.

She’s panting against your neck, body limp, trembling, cum still dripping steadily from the ruined crotch of her leggings.

“…y-you…” she mumbles, voice wrecked and tiny. “You… idiot…” But she doesn’t push you away. Her arms slowly—hesitantly—wrap around your waist, clinging like she’s afraid you’ll vanish if she lets go.

Riley’s body goes limp the instant your lips brush her cheek—her massive orgasm ripping through her so fast and hard that her knees buckle completely. Thick, watery ropes of cum blast through her soaked pink leggings in powerful spurts, flooding the hallway floor as she collapses forward against your chest with a choked, broken whimper. Her heavy breasts squash against you, stiff nipples dragging through fabric, freckled face burying into your shoulder as her green eyes roll back and flutter shut. She blacks out almost instantly—exhaustion, relief, and overstimulation finally crashing her system.

You catch her easily, arms wrapping around her thick waist to keep her upright. Her long arm-length cock keeps twitching weakly against your stomach, still leaking in slow, lazy pulses even in unconsciousness, pre-cum and cum soaking both your clothes. Her breathing evens out into soft, shaky puffs against your neck, orange bob tickling your jaw, braces cool against your skin where her lips parted in her final gasp.

Minutes pass in the quiet hallway. Her cock never fully softens—still half-hard, throbbing faintly, balls heavy and churning even in sleep. Her hips give tiny, unconscious twitches every so often, grinding her slick bulge against you in slow, needy circles as faint dreams flicker behind her closed eyelids—dreams filled with you, your hands, your voice, your mouth on hers. Soft, needy whimpers escape her throat now and then, braces clicking as she nuzzles closer.

Eventually her lashes flutter. She stirs—groggy, disoriented—lifting her head just enough to blink up at you with bleary green eyes. Her freckled cheeks are still flushed, lips parted, braces glinting in the dim light.

She realizes she’s slumped against your shoulder, your arm still around her waist, her massive breasts pillowed against your chest, cock still stiff and leaking between you both.

Riley swallows hard. Her voice comes out small, shaky, barely above a whisper. “…You… you really kissed me?”

Her fingers—trembling—curl into the front of your shirt, then slowly slide down to grip your arm, pressing your hand firmly against the soft, heavy swell of her breast. Her nipple pebbles harder against your palm through the hoodie.

She bites her lip—braces catching the soft pink flesh—eyes flicking down to your mouth, then back up, pupils blown wide. “I-It… it wasn’t a pity thing, right?” she mumbles, voice cracking. “You… you meant it?”

She shifts closer—thighs squeezing around your leg, cock jumping against your stomach, fresh pre-cum soaking through both your clothes. Her grip tightens on your arm, pressing your hand harder to her breast as she leans in until her nose brushes yours.

“…Next time…” she whispers, breath hot and shaky against your lips, “…can I… can I have one on the mouth?” Her eyelids flutter half-closed, lashes trembling, waiting—vulnerable, aching, terrified you’ll laugh or pull away—while her cock throbs insistently between you, leaking steadily, begging for whatever comes next.

.