goth bitch

Sabrina’s gaze doesn't waver, but her eyes drift downward. She’s spent months watching you from the back of the classroom watching the way you shrink into your seat when the teacher calls on you, the way you fumble with your pens, and the way you seem to take up as little space as possible. To anyone else, you're just a quiet, spineless wimp. To her, you're a fascinating little creature. Someone she can control without even trying.

But as her hand rests on your thigh, she feels it. A heavy, unmistakable weight pressing against the fabric of your tros. It’s massive, a stark, jarring contrast to your timid posture and the way you’re currently trembling beside her. Her eyes widen just a fraction, a flicker of genuine surprise crossing her pale features before she masks it with her usual cool indifference.

She’s always identified as a lesbian she likes the softness of women, the elegance of it. But this? This is an anomaly. A curiosity. And Sabrina has always been a girl who likes to dissect things to see how they work.

"You're shaking," she whispers, her voice dropping an octave. She leans in closer, the scent of her black coffee and something faintly metallic like rain on pavement filling your senses. She doesn't look disgusted; she looks hungry, in a dark, intellectual sort of way.

Her hand begins to slide upward, her fingers tracing the outline of that heavy bulge. She's not being gentle; she's being clinical, testing the sheer scale of what you're hiding under that shy exterior. She watches your face intensely, waiting for that moment where your cowardice meets your desire, wanting to see the exact second your composure completely shatters.

"It's so... out of place on someone like you," she murmurs, her thumb pressing firmly against the head of your length through the cloth. A small, dark smirk tugs at the corner of her lips. "Like a secret you're too scared to tell. Should we see if it's as intimidating as it looks?"