**The Quiet Handjob in Study Hall**

Study hall was supposed to be boring—just me, my notebook, and the clock ticking slow as hell while Mrs. Thompson graded papers up front. But then Amy sat down next to me.

Amy was the quiet type, always buttoned-up in her cardigan and keeping to herself. Never the girl to flirt or laugh too loud. That’s why I almost choked when she slid her fingers over my thigh under the desk.

I froze, glancing at her. She wasn’t even looking my way—just staring at her history book like nothing was happening. But her hand didn’t stop. It crept higher, fingertips brushing the seam of my jeans where my cock was already waking up hard just from the surprise of it.

*No way this is happening.*

I swallowed hard, keeping my face neutral while her fingers traced the bulge forming in my pants. I was so fucking hard so fast, and she knew it—I saw the tiny smirk playing at the corner of her lips.

Then she squeezed.

Fuck.

My hips twitched, and I had to grip the edge of the desk to keep from groaning. She did it again, rubbing me through my jeans with her whole palm now, slow and firm like she was mapping me out. I bit my lip, trying to stay still, but my dick was throbbing, trapped tight in my pants.

Amy leaned a little closer, still pretending to read. “You’re big,” she whispered, so quiet I barely heard her. Her fingers found my zipper and tugged it down inch by inch while my heart pounded.

I couldn’t believe it. Prudish, quiet Amy had my cock in her hand before I even realized she’d gotten it out. Her fingers wrapped around me, warm and tight, and I nearly fucking lost it right there.

She started slow, stroking me with just her fingertips at first, teasing the tip where I was already leaking. I gritted my teeth, trying not to pant, but god, her hand felt good. Then she tightened her grip, dragging her fist down my shaft, and my hips jerked again.

“Shit,” I hissed under my breath, and she giggled—actually *giggled*—like this was just some fun little game for her.

She sped up, her palm slick with my precum now, rubbing it over my cock as she worked me faster. I could hear the wet sounds under the desk, quiet but filthy, and I was so close already, my balls tightening.

Amy must’ve noticed because she leaned in again, her breath hot on my ear. “You gonna come for me?” she whispered.

That was it. My stomach clenched, and I came hard, spurting over her fingers and my own thighs while I tried to keep quiet. She milked me through it, not stopping until I was twitching and oversensitive.

Then, like nothing happened, she pulled her hand back, wiped her fingers on my jeans, and went back to her book like she hadn’t just wrecked me.

Mrs. Thompson never even looked up.