King's Game

The evening class was usually a time reserved for self-study. The students were bored, scrolling through their phones, and I was no exception. This tranquility was broken when someone posted on the class group chat. Seeing a notification pop up on my phone's screen, I wasted no time and checked it out. The message had me close to laughing out loud. Someone nicknamed King started up a “Chelsea Adams harassment event”. One would only have to tease her to earn a quick buck, and the reward listed below was... W-what?! Twelve hundred bucks?! Chelsea was our classmate. While she was no supermodel, she was a head-turner no doubt, making up for her plain face with a killer figure; her most prominent feature was the pair of 36D mounds that annihilated all senior girls’ self-esteem, and put even our teachers to shame. Many of the guys in my class saw Chelsea as top tier spank bank content, the leading lady in their lewdest fantasies—those curves and those bodacious tatas! And now, there was an event about harassing her, one that would pay them twelve hundred dollars. Everyone was hyped at the prospect, and one person after another tapped the “Join” button on their screen. With a casual flick of a curious finger, I was in as well. We all saw it as a game, but King swore up and down that he was a man of his word. The money would be paid to the first challenger to complete this mighty task. Since the evening class was all about self-study, there was no teacher on duty to watch us, and things got heated pretty fast. Someone hollered at me, "Evan, feel her up, man. This chance doesn't just come whenever you want it. You'll get to enjoy a moment of bliss and get paid for doing it!" It was no secret I was poor, and everyone looked down on me for it. But the biggest reason I became the target of their schadenfreude was because my desk mate was… none other than Chelsea herself. They just could not help themselves with their taunts and snide remarks. Chelsea jumped to her feet beside me. Seeing a phone in her hand it was obvious she had gotten the notification as well. Anger twisted her features, yet her perky mountains rolled with every ragged breath. "Who the hell is King? Show yourself, coward!" Her blustering had the whole class crack up. Chelsea was utterly pissed off, tapping away at her phone as she tried to extricate herself from the threat King had imposed on her. It was at this moment that my phone rang. It was my best bud, Jayden Rees. The ring gave Chelsea all she needed to flip out—the next thing I knew, I was seeing stars from the heavy book she had smashed into my noggin. "What the- Are you insane?" Her blindsiding and unfounded attack got me so mad I wanted to slap the girl in retaliation. "How is it that, just when I sent that King a message, yours happened to ring? It can only mean one thing, you're behind this! I never thought you'd stoop so low, Evan!" Chelsea accused while coming at me for another attack with the heavy book. On guard and with my wits about, I managed to get out of the way of her wide swing, though it did nothing to dissuade this stacked maniacal girl from wanting to bash my head in with knowledge. Her ludicrous and totally unfounded violence wore down my nerves and patience. Having had enough, I pushed her down in anger, only to find my hand resting on her most outstanding features for the briefest of moments. Sure, it was all in the heat of the moment, and oh-so-short, but that sensation of softness was one I would never forget for as long as I lived. "You're dead, Evan!" Chelsea staggered back a few steps, holding her chest in shame and sending killer glares my way. "It was that retard Jayden who pinged me. What are you going all berserk on me for?" I showed her my phone screen, a chat window with Jayden open. Chelsea looked closer and realized she was in the wrong. She went from being vindictive to striking a most awkward pose at the drop of the hat. As my phone rang again, with it, Chelsea's fury burned away any trace of guilt she had ever had to begin with. The sudden hubbub around and the envious glares got me curious as to what could that message be all about. The Chelsea Adams harassment event was over. It stated that I had completed it and earned 1,200 dollars. It was followed by King sending me a gift. I was half-expecting it to be a few dimes, or some quarters at most, as a joke. No one in my class was well-off, sending each other a couple of bucks at most, if they had any to send. Lo and behold, twelve hundred dollars in all their green glory came out of the red gift box that had popped up on my screen. The other classmates rushed over and shoved each other as they crowded around and upon seeing the digits, their envy spiked. "f**k me, it's real! Who's this King, anyway? I thought our class didn't have anyone that well-off." "The lightest teasing and you'd get a prize? With over one grand in my pocket, God knows how many times I could flex on a chick from around the corner. Does King have so much money he doesn't know where to spend it?" "Hey, King, give us another round. Give me a chance, I'll complete it this time!" The reward of $1,200 had the class come to a boiling point after seeing the prospects of easy and quick money. All the classmates from the evening self-study class were living on campus, in dorms, with their folks only sending them money once a month, twice if they were among the lucky ones. They would usually burn through all of it in the first couple of days, too. Now that they found someone with too much money on his hands who did not know what to do with it, they wanted to get their fair share as well, it was only proper. With all the students shouting and hollering, the clamor got so bad the pot-bellied homeroom teacher paid us a visit, standing in the doorway, and taking up all the space. The kids calmed down, somewhat, and returned to their desks with their noses in their books, though it was obvious to anyone they were faking it. The homeroom teacher never took another step from the doorway, only eyeing us for a while before leaving. He clearly had better things to do than watch over some brats. Then came King's next announcement: "Since everyone's so eager to play, another game will begin shortly. But this time, there will be penalties. Playing without risks is too boring, there's no thrill!" King followed up with another message in the chat group: "Anyone who wishes to join may participate in the event. The ones who complete the task will earn $1,200 to spend as they please, while failing to accomplish the objective will draw a penalty upon them." He ended with posting another event on the chat group. The warnings and dangers of penalty made the kids think twice about just tapping "Join", at least not before checking the details. The moment they saw the content, the guys burst out laughing. "Someone in the class is naughty, coming to school without underwear. The first to find the culprit and prove it by taking off their pants will get twelve hundred dollars!" It was just like the pranks shown on TV. Someone was not wearing their underwear and would now get their pants taken off for the audience to see. The guys were about to join when a towering mountain of muscle stood up. "No one is to join! That prize is mine, and mine alone!" This musclebound thug was Blake Grant. He was always getting involved in gangs and street fights outside campus. Everyone was scared of him and wanted nothing to do with him. Knowing he was one to follow through on his threats, the guys balked and let him have the event all to himself. It ended up with only King, the host of the game, and Blake as the sole participant. The thug snickered over at the girls in skirts and started flipping them with wild abandon. The girls cried bloody murder, screaming at him on and on to "check the bloody details!". The announcement clearly stated the target had pants and was not gender-specific. There was no reason for Blake to only target girls, the target might well have been a guy. With that reminder, Blake's predatory smile spun on the guys. As he dove for them, the classroom was turned upside down, everyone running to and fro, shouting and cursing. Chelsea was deathly pale, shuddering at every sound and clamping her thighs for dear life. Her reaction made it obvious to me that King's target was once again none other than my desk mate. "Please, don't tell on me." Chelsea gave me a frightened look, so vulnerable now that I figured I had her in my palm. "Relax, try to lighten up or you'll only draw attention to yourself by being so jumpy." I had lent Blake some money once and I still hadn't gotten it back since. There was no way in hell I was going to do him a favor by pointing Chelsea out. I whispered, "This is the second time King is after you. Did you perhaps cross someone, recently?" The girl shook her head in denial, having no clue who she could have possibly offended to make them repeatedly go after her. I, however, immediately suspected she must have gotten on the bad side of another girl from the girls' dorm. It was the most logical conclusion. They were the most obvious suspects to know Chelsea had gone commando. Blake was still searching for the missing pair of underwear among the other classmates when the notification for the game's end came. He was too excited by the reward and the easy game that he did not pay attention to the details, missing out on crucial information—that the game would only last for five minutes. He joined it thinking he had it in the bag, taking his sweet time with it. As soon as the timer rang, he cussed and swore like an irate pirate. The end of the game marked King's call for a vote. It involved Blake's penalty for losing the game and not completing the task. There were two options to choose from: "Let Blake Off the Hook" or "Go to HELL!". The voting would be anonymous, playing well on the class's bitter resentment toward the bully. We all hated him, guys and girls alike. There was virtually no delay on the voting, with all choosing for Blake to "Go to HELL!". Blake had been pacing as he vented his anger, but now, still cursing, he went toward the back window. As natural as can be, he reached out a hand and opened the window, then stepped on a nearby chair, got on the window sill and jumped off.