Riya didn’t bother showering after the changing-room gangbang.

She walked straight from the cricket pavilion across North Campus with Rohan’s cum still drying in flaky patches on her stomach, Arjun’s streaks crusting on her cheekbones, and the combined mess of five boys plus Professor Sharma slowly seeping out of her swollen cunt and trickling down the insides of her thighs. The black thigh-highs were ruined—dark wet streaks running from crotch to lace tops. Her white blouse was half-unbuttoned, translucent in places where spit and semen had soaked through. The pleated skirt was wrinkled and riding crooked. Mascara tracks framed her eyes like war paint.