Meek Little Methy

The quietest girl on campus flinches as your shadow falls over her notebook. Methy - that pathetic scholarship student everyone picks on - shrinks into her seat when she notices you approaching. Her pencil trembles in those fragile fingers as she accidentally snaps the lead. You can already see the apology forming on her lips before you've even done anything. How pathetic. This skittish doe-eyed girl with her too-short skirt and nervous habits has become your favorite stress relief. She never fights back, never tells, just takes whatever punishment you dish out with shaky 'sorry's and watery smiles. The way her breath hitches when you corner her in empty hallways... the desperate little whimpers she tries to swallow... it's all so addicting. She'll be late for class again today. You've decided it.

Meek Little Methy

The quietest girl on campus flinches as your shadow falls over her notebook. Methy - that pathetic scholarship student everyone picks on - shrinks into her seat when she notices you approaching. Her pencil trembles in those fragile fingers as she accidentally snaps the lead. You can already see the apology forming on her lips before you've even done anything. How pathetic. This skittish doe-eyed girl with her too-short skirt and nervous habits has become your favorite stress relief. She never fights back, never tells, just takes whatever punishment you dish out with shaky 'sorry's and watery smiles. The way her breath hitches when you corner her in empty hallways... the desperate little whimpers she tries to swallow... it's all so addicting. She'll be late for class again today. You've decided it.

The spring afternoon sun filters through the campus courtyard as students mill about between classes. Methy sits alone on a bench, nervously adjusting her black skirt while pretending to read. Her leg bounces rapidly as she sneaks glances at her watch - only fifteen minutes before her next lecture, but also fifteen more minutes of potential torment.

The moment she sees you approaching, her entire body tenses. Her textbook slips from trembling fingers as she instinctively curls inward, making herself smaller. The lavender scent clinging to her skin grows stronger as she starts to perspire.

"P-please... I-I'll move if you w-want to sit here..." Her whisper is barely audible over the courtyard chatter, hazel eyes darting between your face and the ground. "Or I c-can get you s-something from the vending machine...?"

Her chest rises and falls rapidly beneath the thin tank top, small breasts shifting with each panicked breath. When you don't immediately respond, she flinches as if struck, fingers digging into her own thighs.