Sam

The last year of your life has been hell.

Your final year in school as you turned eighteen was meant to be a final victory lap. Your academics had always been good enough, and you had a small circle of friends. You weren't on top of the world or anything, but for a geeky kid it was good enough -you'd got through school, and that was the main thing.

Instead, you found yourself dreading it. A return to the misery you faced last year after you met him.

Sam- the reason for your abject misery. At first you'd barely noticed him. Physically, the only real description was "small". Not just short, but also skinny —hardly a physically threatening presence. A less popular guy probably would have got mocked for his small stature and androgynous looks.

That said, it turns out that someone doesn't need to be physically threatening to decide they are going to bully the shit out of you. People say bullies are always covering insecurity, so maybe that was it. Either way, he could hit hard, and had a little gang very willing to help out. More than that, you were never particularly popular, while he was. It didn't take long for you to become a complete social outcast with the constant mockery.

~

You make your way to the toilets on the top floor, glad to find they didn't get locked over the summer break. No one else seems to know that they aren't locked, but you make sure to close the door soundlessly anyway. You have become used to keeping a low profile.

Entering a stall at random, you sit crouched over on the toilet, but you aren't using it. In fact, you couldn't if you wanted to- the toilets have been messed up for ages, hence the closure. Instead you hold your head in your hands.

Today, your so-called "friends" had joined in with Sam. Righteous anger rises up inside you alongside a pain of betrayal that stings and pushes up to your eyes, threatening to come out as tears. What kind of fucking friends just go along with that?

Realistically, you get it. Being associated with you put a target on their back. Honestly, you should have been surprised they lasted this long. Still...

You hadn't exactly been "BFFs", but you'd thought they wouldn't actively help him.

You go to smash your fist into the wall of the stall in anger, but as you swing your fist you hear the door open. Your fist stops mid-air, frozen.

Were you followed?

The other person does not take the same precautions as you, noisily making their way in. and you wince as the door loudly bangs shut.

You wait in fear as they cross the room, your breath held as they approach the door you are behind. There is a soft bang as they push open the door of the stall next to yours and another as they close it. There is a slap as they drop down a bag and you look down to find a bag strap poking in under the stall wall. The strap is covered in concert wristbands, stapled on haphazardly.

Your heart sinks in your chest and you feel a cold sweat form on your forehead. Unmistakably, this is Sam's bag— you know for sure from the many times the thing has "accidentally" smacked you in the forehead. You try to remain quiet, not wanting to draw any attention. There is a soft sound from the stall- a soft repetitive noise, and muffled deep breathing.

It sure sounds like Sam is masturbating.

Your mind races. This could end very well for you, or very, very badly. If you can get some blackmail material here, you could make your life lot easier. Taking great pains not to make any noise, you open the camera on your phone and swap to video. Hitting record, you slowly raise the phone until the camera looks down over the thin wall.

Realising you have no idea if you are actually getting anything, you swap to the front-facing camera. This time as you raise it up, you see what you are recording. Sam is awkwardly slouched down on the toilet, head almost level with his crotch where his hands work with increasing fervor. Fortunately, Sam's eyes are closed and he seems oblivious to the world, focused on the matter at hand. Quite literally.

Then, the pace quickens and the muffled breathing breaks into an outright moan. Sam's body tenses as he pushes his crotch higher, as if trying to help his hand. His back arches, and his dick sprays a surprising amount of cum up into the air, landing on his shirt and face. He lies there, riding out the last waves of pleasure as his breathing slowly returns to a more normal pace.

You quickly stop the video and start it uploading to your Dropbox account. This is your ticket to freedom from the bullying you've face over the year. You never thought that Sam would look so... vulnerable. Nor—for that matter—that you'd find it so... exciting.

You take a deep breath and open your stall, and you hear movement in the next stall. You see the door bounce back slightly as it is knocked from the other side. The door is unlocked.

This is working out shockingly well for you.

With a firm shove, you swing the door forwards, revealing Sam desperately trying to pull up his trousers, a look of absolute horror on his face. Very quickly, that look changes to anger.

"You fucker!" He steps forward, arm raised to take a swing. You take a quick step backwards, and as he comes forwards, his trousers fall and he trips, landing face first on the dusty ground. He snarls as he turns to face you and pushes up from the ground.

"I'll kill you for this!"

"You'll need to literally kill me." You press play and hold your phone out in front of you, a miniature Sam pleasuring himself on-screen. Sam freezes and stares at your phone with even more rage.

"It's in the cloud now, so unless you literally kill me here, even if you beat me and trash my phone, I can send it to everyone."

Sam doesn't move, but the look in his eyes is like fire. If looks could kill, you would be dead many times over. For a second, you begin to worry you may have misjudged and you might literally die here.

"Delete it." You see something entirely new, something that sends a spark through your body, turning you on in a way you never expected: fear.