Chapter 1: The Planted Tab
I was twenty-four, deep into my computer science degree at the University of South Florida, the kind of student who treated every assignment like it was ithing.. I have Straight A's. I have a side tutoring job. A clean one-bedroom near campus that I kept ordered because clutter slowed me down.
My cousin Maya was twenty-two, same school, different orbit. She was popular, had plenty of fruends. She had the kind of body that made tight clothes look intentional. Full C-cup breasts sat heavy on her chest, stretching the fabric of every tank top she owned. Her waist stayed relatively narrow before flaring out into wide hips and thick, powerful thighs that looked strong even when she was standing still. Her ass was round and solid, the kind that filled out shorts and left little to the imagination when she sat down. She wasn’t soft or delicate. There was real muscle in her legs and shoulders, the kind that came from actually using her body, and it showed every time she moved with purpose. . Long dark hair, sharp eyes, a body that filled out jeans and tank tops in ways that made guys forget what they were saying mid-sentence. She had the looks and the attitude. What she did not have was the grades. Basic classes were eating her alive, and mom had decided I was the solution.
After receiving a text from my mom that Maya was comjng i prepared snacks and drinks. She showed up Thursday night with a backpack full of half-finished notebooks and the same crooked grin she had worn since we were kids. No small talk. She dropped the bag on my kitchen table, kicked off her sneakers, and sat like she already owned the chair.
“You’re the smart one. Mom said i need to fix this. I need a B or better on the midterm or the scholarship gets ugly.”
I nodded, opened the first notebook, and started walking her through the mechanisms. She was sharper than she pretended. She just hated admitting when something did not click. We worked for almost an hour before my bladder forced the issue. I stood, told her to keep reading the next section, and headed down the short hallway to the bathroom.
I was gone maybe four minutes. Water running. Hands washed. Nothing dramatic. When I came back she was still at the table, posture relaxed, eyes on the notebook like she had never moved. My laptop sat exactly where I left it. I did not notice the new tab sitting quietly in the browser. I sat back down, pulled the laptop closer, and kept explaining the next set of reactions. Maya watched me with an expression I could not quite read. Calm. Patient. Like she was waiting for a timer only she could hear.
We finished another page. She leaned back, stretched her arms over her head until her tank top rode up, and said she needed to see a visual of the energy diagram I had just described. I nodded, opened the browser to pull up a lecture slide I had bookmarked, and clicked the wrong tab by pure accident.
The page loaded fast.
A girl in a short skirt was already mid-sit on a guy’s face. The audio kicked in before I could close it. The farts were.wet, low, unmistakable. Comments scrolled underneath. Titles in the sidebar left nothing to imagination. My hand froze on the trackpad. The room went quiet except for the video.
Maya did not look surprised. She just looked at the screen, then at me, then back at the screen. Her smile came slow and sharp, the kind that never reached her eyes.
“Well. Look at that.”
I closed the tab so hard the laptop almost shook “That is not mine. I have never seen that site in my life. How the hell did that get—”
“I put it there,” she said. Simple. Flat. No apology. No hesitation. “While you were in the bathroom. I opened a private window, searched for face fart videos, found a good long one, and left the tab open on purpose. I wanted to see your face when it loaded. And I wanted proof sitting right there on your computer.”
My stomach dropped hard. “You framed me.”
“I created leverage.” She stood up. The chair scraped. At five-eight she was not towering, but the way she moved made the kitchen feel smaller. Strong shoulders. Thick thighs under the shorts. She walked around the table without hurry and stopped right beside my chair, close enough that the coconut smell of her hair mixed with the leftover heat of the room.
“Here is how this works now,” she said. Voice low. Steady. No room for negotiation. “You are going to keep tutoring me. Every night until the midterm. Then through the final if I say so. You are going to make sure I pass with a real grade, not some pity curve. And in return, you are going to take what I decide to give you. Face down. Mouth open. Every time I feel like it.”
“That is blackmail. I did not even—”
“Does not matter.” She reached past me, reopened the browser history herself, and scrolled just far enough to make the point. The planted video sat there like a loaded gun. “It is on your laptop. In your browser. Timestamped while you were supposedly alone with me. I even had you email me a copy. I mean password was C easy to figure. If I send screenshots to the group chat, to Mom, to your professors, to that TA you keep trading notes with, who do you think they believe? Your reputation is gone in one message. Your tutoring jobs. Your recommendation letters. Everything.”
I stared at her. She was not bluffing. The same girl who used to steal my fries at cookouts was standing in my kitchen with manufactured evidence and zero hesitation in her eyes. Pure calculation. Pure spite.
“You would actually do that?”
“In a heartbeat.” She put one hand on the back of my chair and leaned down until her mouth was near my ear. “Or you can be smart about this. Help me. Take what I give you. Keep your clean little life. Your call.”
Silence stretched. My pulse hammered in my throat. She waited exactly long enough for the reality to settle, then straightened up and pointed at the living room.
“Couch. Now. We seal the deal before you start second-guessing.”
I stood because the alternative was worse. She followed close enough that I could feel the heat coming off her. When I sat on the edge of the couch she pushed my shoulders back until I was flat, head near the cushion edge. Then she swung one strong leg over and settled her full weight across my chest and face in one smooth drop. The soft gray shorts pressed against my nose and mouth. Her thighs locked on either side of my head like a vice. She was heavier than she looked when she wanted to be. Solid. Unmoving. The kind of strength that made fighting the position feel pointless.
“Breathe,” she said. Not a request.
The first one came without warning. A warm, dense push of air that forced its way past my lips and filled the space under her shorts before I could turn my head. The smell hit next. Earthy. Thick. The kind that clings to the inside of your nose and stays. She giggled once, short and satisfied, and pressed down harder so the rest of it had nowhere to go except into me.
“That is just the warm-up. I have been holding since lunch. All for you.”
The second release was longer. Louder. A rolling, wet sound that vibrated through her body into my face. Hot air flooded my mouth. The taste followed, sharp and unmistakable. I coughed hard. She only shifted her hips, grinding the soft curve of her ass more firmly against my nose, and held the seal until the last of it drained into me. My eyes watered. My chest burned for clean air. She did not lift.
“You are going to learn to like this,” she said above me. Calm. Certain. “Or at least learn to take it without complaining. This is the deal. You help me pass. I use your face whenever I want. If you try to back out, the screenshots go live tonight. Clear?”
I made a muffled sound that might have been agreement. She took it as yes and gave me a third one, deeper and heavier than the first two. The smell was stronger this time, richer, the product of a full day of real food and zero concern for what it would do to the person underneath her. She stayed seated through it, rocking slightly, making sure every bit of pressure and scent went straight into my lungs. Only when it finally ended did she ease up enough for me to gasp.
She stayed on my face another full minute, just breathing, letting the residual heat and smell settle while I struggled underneath her. Then she stood, pulled her shorts back into place like nothing had happened, and walked back to the table.
“ Tomorrow i have a next set of problems,” she said. Voice normal. Almost cheerful. “And tomorrow night you are going to be ready when I get here. I already know what I am eating for dinner. You are going to smell every bit of it.”
I sat up slowly. Face hot. The laptop still open on the table like a loaded weapon she had built from nothing. Maya flipped open her notebook and waited, pen tapping, eyes steady on me.
She had looked up the video herself. Planted it. Framed me. All for leverage.
The hell she had created was not coming later.
It had already started.
And she was only getting started with the blackmail.