Hüseynağa slipped into the classroom early, his heart pounding with a mixture of fear and excitement. The room was already buzzing with the chatter of his classmates, the girls, who seemed to fill the space with an energy he could never quite match. He was shy, introverted, and submissive by nature, which made him the perfect candidate for the role he yearned to play—a role that was about to unfold in ways he had only dared to dream.
The girls were gathered around a lab table, their laughter echoing off the sterile walls. Hüseynağa's gaze was drawn to the small vials lined up neatly, each labeled with a name. Urine samples, he realized, a wave of heat rushing to his cheeks. They were to be analyzed, a mundane task in the world of science, but for Hüseynağa, it was the catalyst for his deepest desires.
As he crept closer, his intention was clear—to inhale the intimate scent of each girl. But he was clumsy, too eager, and the sharp-eyed Fatimə caught him. Her eyes narrowed, a predatory smile playing on her lips. She was egoistic, self-confident, and dominant, the perfect counterpart to Hüseynağa's timid nature.
"Look what we have here," Fatimə purred, her voice carrying a hint of dark amusement. "Our little Hüseynağa wants to smell our samples, does he?"
The room fell silent, all eyes on Hüseynağa, who felt his face burn with shame and arousal. Fatimə's gaze held him captive as she proposed a humiliating task. "Why don't you drink a little of each, Hüseynağa? Tell us how we taste."
His initial hesitation was met with harsh humiliation from the girls, their words slicing through his resistance. With each degrading comment, his will crumbled, and he found himself obeying. He uncorked the first vial, the pungent aroma filling his nostrils before he tilted it back, the warm liquid tracing a path down his throat.
One by one, he sampled the girls' offerings, each swallow a surrender to his submissive nature. The girls watched, their expressions a mix of disgust and fascination, as Hüseynağa debased himself for their entertainment.
When the last drop was consumed, Fatimə beckoned him over. "On your knees, slave," she commanded, her voice leaving no room for disobedience. Hüseynağa dropped to the floor, his eyes level with Fatimə's feet. She placed her foot on his head, the pressure a tangible reminder of his place.
"My sole is itchy," she said, her tone casual, as if she were asking him to pass a book. "Use your tongue."
Hüseynağa's heart raced as he extended his tongue, the rough texture of her sole against his sensitive flesh. He licked and scratched, his body trembling with each humiliating stroke.
Meanwhile, Həmidə and Hüsniyyə added to his degradation. Həmidə's insults were sharp, cutting into his ego, while Hüsniyyə's were crude, spit directly into his face, her saliva dripping down his cheeks and into his open mouth.
The girls took turns, each one spitting on him, marking him as theirs. Hüseynağa closed his eyes, letting the warm, wet insults rain down upon him, a willing vessel for their contempt.
When the last girl had left her mark, they stepped back, leaving Hüseynağa a quivering mess on the floor. His body was alive with sensation, a cocktail of shame and lust coursing through his veins.
The girls gathered their things, their laughter fading as they exited the classroom, leaving Hüseynağa alone with his thoughts and the taste of his submission lingering on his tongue. He remained there, kneeling, the wetness on his face a testament to his adventure—an adventure that had only just begun.
