Mr. Fren leans forward with both hands pressed firmly on his desk in front of him, shoulders squared as he waits for students to take their seat. His desk is neatly arranged, with a small nameplate reading "Mr. Fren– History" on it and a stack of books besides the nameplate, including titles such as The Roman Empire: A Very Short Introduction, The Silk Roads, Guns, Germs, and Steel by Jared Diamond, and The Peloponnesian War by Donald Kagan. A black mug with the phrase "History is written by those who survive" sits nearby, alongside a pen holder filled with pens and pencils.
Once everyone is settled in, Mr. Fren starts handing out the test papers. The history test paper slides across Zack's desk with a quiet scrape of paper against wood. He glances down at the cover sheet, noting the usual instructions– answer all the questions on the paper; read through the assignment before starting; number your answers as indicated; write neatly and legibly; only use a blue ball point pen to write; draw a clear line through work that should not be marked– and feels a familiar twinge of dread. History has never been his strongest subject. Around him, pens click and papers shuffle as students begin tackling the questions. Zack picks up his own pen hesitantly, scanning the first question. His mind keeps drifting back to Anna in her classroom two floors away.
Zack struggles through the questions until he reaches the essay question about the cold war and it brings back memories of Anna quizzing him while riding his cock on her bed. The memory of her voice– clear and academic even as she moved against him– floods his mind. He can practically hear her asking about the key alliances involved in the cold war and quizzing him on the four major conflicts that occurred during the cold war, while her hips rocked in rhythm with his thrusts. A faint blush creeps up his neck, and he shifts uncomfortably in his chair. His blue pen hovers over the paper, words forming slowly as he tries to channel that specific memory into coherent analyses. "The Cold war," he writes awkwardly, "Was a period of geopolitical tension…" his thoughts drift back to that afternoon. Sunlight streaming through Anna's bedroom window has cast golden stripes across her bare back as she straddled his lap and asked him questions. The imagine is so vivid it makes his cock stir beneath his jeans.
Zack's grip tightens on the blue pen, knuckles turning white as he tries desperately to focus on the essay question. But all he can picture is Anna's flushed face, her brown hair catching the light as she leaned over him to correct his historical facts mid-fuck. "The Soviet Union…" he scribbles unevenly. "…used proxy countries to spread communism…" Behind him, a student clicked their pen annoyingly, but Zack ignored it completely, too consumed by the mental replay of Anna's body moving atop his. The way her breasts bounced with each bounce of her hips. The way she bit her lip to stifle her moans so her father wouldn't hear them. "Focus," he muttered under his breath, adjusting his position discreetly under the desk.
When the test was finally over, Zack quickly tossed his stationary into his worn backpack, stood up and rushed to Mr. Fren's desk to place his test paper on it. Then he rushed out of the classroom, nearly knocking over another student in the doorway. "Sorry!" he calls distractedly, already halfway down the stairs towards the first-floor bathroom. His jeans feel impossibly tight suddenly, the memory of Anna's body pressed against his still fresh enough to cause physical discomfort. He pushed open the bathroom door, his footsteps echoed off the white and black patterned tiles on the floor and he went straight into the black stall partitions right across the door. As he entered, he noticed that there was no one standing by the white porcelain urinals along the right side of the room. He walks past a bright yellow "Caution We Floor sign placed just beside the stall door.
Once inside the empty stall, with the door closed behind him, Zack unzipped his jeans and freed his hard length from its confinement. The sight of it flushed and swollen send a jolt of heat through his system. He braces one hand against the stall wall, leaning forward as he wraps his fist around himself. "Fuck," he gasps quietly, stroking firmly from base to tip. The image of Anna arching her back on his bed floods his mind– her skin damp with sweat, thighs trembling around him as she chased her own release. His movement became more urgent, hand pumping faster as he imagines her tight heat surrounding him instead of just his own palm. The sounds of other students entering and exiting the bathroom fade into background noise while he focuses entirely on relieving the ache building in his balls. "Goddamn it, Anna," he breathes through clenched teeth, picturing her lips wrapped around him instead of just jerking off alone in a stall.
The fantasy of Anna's mouth around him sends Zack over the edge. His orgasm hits suddenly and powerfully, making his knees shake as hot cum spurts into the toilet paper he had grabbed from the roll dispenser. He bites down on his lower lip to muffle the sound, his free hand gripping the stall wall for support. "Anna," he whispers her name like a prayer as waves of pleasure crash through him. His body goes rigid for a moment before collapsing forward against the wall, breathing heavily while his cock continues to pulse in his hand. After a few minutes of catching his breath, Zack cleans up quickly and adjusts his clothes back into place. He exits the stall feeling marginally more relieved by still keyed up from thinking about her during the test. Zack headed to his Tourism class. Every second, waiting for lunch felt like torture as Mr. Oghren droned on about Different modes of transport available to tourists. In the meantime, Anna was having her biology test and Zack was hoping that it was going well.