Chapter 2: Part 2
Jim lay on his dorm-room bed, curled up in the fetal position and wearing only a pair of basketball shorts. He was whimpering softly to himself with his hands clutched between his legs. He had been in this position for hours, as yesterday’s introduction to this university had been a particularly painful one. No further trauma had occurred at class in the morning, but a room full of young coeds leering at him like a piece of meat certainly didn’t reassure him.
One end of Ali’s leash was tied securely around his scrotum, the other end was tied to one of his bedposts. Ali herself was lying on her bed, lazily scrolling through her phone when the peculiar pair were interrupted by a soft knock on the open door. It was Beth.
“Howdy! How are y’all two doing on this fine afternoon?”
Ali was quick to engage. Jim … not so much.
“We’re doing great! We’re just killing some time before going to dinner.”
“That’s perfect, actually. I was hoping to talk with you two about something.”
Beth leaned against the doorframe, her arms folded under her chest. She had that easy, friendly smile that never quite reached her eyes. Jim watched her from his fetal curl, one hand still clutching his shorts like they might save him.
"So here's the thing," Beth said, stepping into the room and closing the door behind her. "I'm the RA for this building, and that means I take pride in one thing above all else. Making sure the boys here are properly obedient."
Ali sat up on her bed, eyes bright with interest. "Ooh, like a rule thing?"
"Exactly like a rule thing." Beth perched on the edge of Ali's desk, crossing her legs. "See, this dorm runs on a very simple system. Good, obedient boys get to play with the girls in the common areas. They get to hang out, watch movies, get their leashes pulled by whoever wants a turn." Her smile widened. "Naughty boys, on the other hand, get punished. And I don't mean a slap on the wrist."
Jim felt his stomach drop. He pulled his knees tighter against his chest.
"First rule," Beth said, ticking it off on her finger. "Obedient boys are naked one hundred percent of the time in this dorm. No exceptions, no excuses. If you're inside these walls, your clothes stay off."
Ali clapped her hands together. "I love it."
"Thought you might." Beth pushed off the desk and walked over to Jim's bed. She looked down at him, and for a moment her expression softened, almost pitying. "Come on, honey. Up you get. Let's see what we're working with."
Jim shook his head weakly. "Please, I just... I've had a really rough day."
"They get rougher," Beth said cheerfully. "That's the point. Ali, give him a hand."
Ali was on her feet in an instant. She didn't even bother untying the leash from the bedpost. She just gave it a sharp, decisive yank, and Jim gasped as the cord bit into his swollen scrotum. His whole body seized, and he uncurled involuntarily, hands flying between his legs.
"Up, up," Ali cooed, yanking again. "You heard the lady. Naked, little bro. Naked as the day you were born."
Jim stumbled off the bed, his legs shaking. He stood there, one hand pressed against his groin, the other gripping the edge of his mattress for balance. His face was flushed a deep, humiliated red.
Beth crossed her arms and nodded patiently. "It's not going to take itself off, love."
He looked at her, at Ali, at the closed door. There was no way out. He'd learned that much about this place already. Every corner led to another lesson, another proof that his body wasn't his own anymore.
Slowly, he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his shorts. He hesitated, and Ali gave the leash another warning flick.
"Tick tock," she sang.
Jim swallowed and pushed the shorts down. They fell to his ankles in a soft heap of grey cotton. He stood there, naked, his arms crossed uselessly over his chest, his bruised and swollen testicles hanging low and heavy between his legs. The black leash was still tied around the base of his scrotum, the cord now trailing to the bedpost like some grotesque umbilical cord.
Beth studied him. She circled slowly, taking in the mottled purple bruising, the swelling, the way he trembled under her gaze. Her expression was appraising, clinical.
"There we go," she said softly. "Now doesn't that feel... well, not better. But more honest, at least."
Jim's hands itched to cover himself, but he kept them at his sides. He'd learned that lesson too. Covering up only invited more attention.
Beth stopped in front of him, close enough that he could smell her perfume, something floral and clean. She reached out and ran a finger along the leash where it met his skin, and he flinched.
Beth let the finger linger, then patted his cheek twice. "One more thing before I go, honey. Dorm tradition."
Jim braced. There was always one more thing.
"New boys have to ask for their welcome knee. It's how the building gets to know you." She stepped back and slid one foot forward on the worn carpet, her leg coiling casually. "Go on. Ask me."
He stared at her. His mouth opened, then closed. The words were somewhere behind his sternum, lodged under the bruising.
"Ask me to knee you in the balls," Beth repeated, patient as a toll booth.
Ali tugged the leash, a small reminder. "You heard her, little bro."
"I..." Jim's voice cracked. He swallowed and tried again, the syllables scraping out one at a time. "Please. Knee me. In the balls."
"There he is!" Ali cheered, bouncing on her heels.
Beth smiled and tilted her head. "Good boy. Now, let's get the specifics right. Do you want it hard? Really hard? Or as hard as I possibly can?"
The question hung there like a trap with three doors, all of them open onto the same abyss. Jim's eyes flicked between her knee and her face, searching for a mercy option that did not exist.
"As hard," he whispered, barely a breath. "As you possibly can."
"Sorry, didn't catch that." Beth cupped a hand behind her ear. "One more time, loud and proud."
"As hard as you possibly can," he said, louder, his face burning so hot he felt feverish. "Please."
"Better." Beth rolled her shoulders, loose and easy, like a woman stretching before a jog. "Go ahead and say the whole thing for me. Ask me for the hardest knee I've got, right as I..."
Jim took a breath and opened his mouth. "Please knee me as hard as you pos—"
Her thigh was already moving.
The knee came up from the floor with her whole body behind it, hip, leg, everything, and buried itself in his balls with a wet, muffled slap of flesh on flesh. His sac exploded against his pelvis. The sound was obscene, a fat, meaty compression.
Jim's scream came out before his lungs were ready for it, a raw, high tearing note that bent double the instant his knees did. He folded around her leg, then around nothing, and went down, clutching himself, his whole body twisting on the carpet like something under a boot.
"Ooooh," Ali said, hands pressed to her mouth, delighted. "That was a huge one."
Beth shook out her leg and watched him with warm satisfaction. "Textbook."
Jim rolled onto his side, then his back, hips jackknifing off the floor. His hands clawed at his scrotum, kneading it against the pain, which only made it worse, which made him knead harder. He was sobbing openly now, hitching, ugly sobs.
Then the leash snapped taut.
Still tied to the bedpost, the cord ran out of slack and yanked him backward mid-writhe. His body jerked a full foot across the carpet, his heels scrabbling, his head thunking against the bed frame. The pull wrenched his scrotum away from his own protective hands, stretching it toward the post, and he howled a second, different howl.
"Careful, honey," Beth said, laughing now. "You're anchored."
Ali leaned over and unclipped the leash from the cord, then gathered the slack and held it like a fisherman with a lively catch. "There, there, little bro. Kick your feet, that's it. Get it all out."
Jim kept writhing, rolling his forehead against the carpet, one leg drawn up, the other kicking spastically. "Oh God. Oh God, oh God, oh God."
Beth crouched beside him, elbows on her knees, watching his contortions with an expert's interest. "Feel how deep that one lives? Give it a minute. It nests."
He gurgled something that might have been begging or might have been a prayer. His cross necklace had flipped over his shoulder and swung above the carpet, catching the light.
"That's the welcome," Beth said, standing and straightening her shorts. "Everyone in this building got that exact same knee. You're officially one of us now. Isn't that nice?"
Ali gave the leash a fond little bounce. "He looks so at home."
Beth straightened her shorts and looked down at Jim, who was still hunched on the carpet, both hands wrapped around his swollen sac. He was making small, wet sounds, his breath coming in ragged bursts.
"You know what?" Beth said, hands on her hips. "I think he's still not feeling quite at home yet."
Ali tilted her head. "What do you mean?"
"Warm-up knee's nice and all, but the real bonding happens when your big sister gives you her own. Something personal." Beth looked between them. "House rule. The RA introduces the building. The big sister introduces herself."
Ali's eyes went wide and bright. "Oh, I love that."
"You wanna try him? See how he handles it?" Beth nodded at Jim's crumpled form. "He's all yours."
Jim heard the words through a thick fog of pain. He tried to shake his head, tried to form the word no, but all that came out was a wet cough. The leash was still in Ali's hand, and she gave it a gentle, almost affectionate tug.
"Come on, little bro. We're not done meeting you yet."
Beth moved before Jim could react. Her fingers closed in his hair, right at the crown, and she yanked upward. The pull was sharp and sudden, dragging him off the carpet onto his knees, then his feet, his neck craning awkwardly under her grip.
"Heel," she said, calm as a zookeeper.
Jim stumbled upright, his hands flying to cover himself. Ali was already there. She stepped in close, pressed her palm flat against his chest, and shoved. His back hit the wall with a soft thud, and she planted herself in front of him, one hand braced on either side of his waist, boxing him in.
His heels were against the baseboard. There was nowhere to go.
"See?" Beth said, stepping back. "Now he can't chicken out."
Ali looked up at him. She was a head shorter, but the angle didn't matter. She owned the space. "Okay. You heard the lady. I want you to ask me, real pretty, to knee you even harder than Beth just did."
Jim's throat closed. His balls throbbed like a second heartbeat, a hot, heavy pulse that seemed to fill his whole pelvis. He looked down at her, his eyes wide and wet.
"Ali, please, I can't, I can't do this again, I'm begging you—"
"That's not it," she said pleasantly. "That's the wrong words. Try again."
He swallowed. His voice came out cracked and small. "Please... please, Ali, I need you to... I need you to knee me..."
"Mm, closer." She tilted her head, enjoying it. "But you didn't say harder. You didn't say harder than Beth. Come on, little bro. Use your mouth."
"I can't ask you to hurt me like that—"
"You can and you will." She pressed a finger to his sternum. "You're mine. That's the whole point. Now say it, or I'll assume you want me to start with my heel instead."
Jim's breath hitched. He thought about his homework card. The ten kicks. The way her heel had flattened everything beneath it. The wall at his back was cool, ungiving. Her hands boxed him in like a cage.
"Please," he choked out. "Please, Ali, knee me... knee me harder than Beth did. Please. I want you to. I need you to."
"Louder," she purred.
"Please, Ali, I need you to knee me in the balls harder than anyone ever has! Please! Just—"
She wound up. He saw it coming, the coil of her petite frame, the knee drawing back like a wound spring. He tried to flinch sideways, but the wall was right there, and her hands were on his hips, and there was nowhere to go.
The knee buried itself in his sac. The impact drove his testicles up against his pelvis like a battering ram, and the sound it made was obscene, a wet, liquid crack of compressed tissue. Jim's scream was swallowed by the pressure. His vision went white, then black, then red, a fireworks show of pure neurological overload.
His body jackknifed. His forehead hit her shoulder. But before he could slide down the wall, before gravity could even catch him, she retracted her leg and drove it up again.
The second knee hit the same spot, but the first one had already flattened everything. There was no resistance left, nothing to protect. It was pure, undiluted agony, a full-body seizure of pain that snapped his spine straight and bounced his skull off the plaster behind him.
"Whoa," Ali breathed, watching his face contort. "That's even better the second time."
Jim's legs gave out. He slid down the wall like water, leaving a smear of sweat on the paint, and collapsed at her feet in a heap of naked, shaking flesh. His hands found his balls, cradling them like something broken, and he made a sound that was almost a laugh, a hysterical, hitching wheeze.
"Rule number two," Beth said from somewhere above him, her voice casual. "The first one breaks the seal. The second one breaks him."
Ali crouched beside him and patted his head. "You did so good, little bro."
Beth stood, brushed off her knees, and glanced at the door. "Actually, since you're both in such a good mood now, I've got something better than homework. Common room. Right now."
Ali's eyes lit up. "What kind of something?"
"Got a few other freshmen down there. Three girls, one boy. Figured we'd play a little get-to-know-you game before dinner." Beth winked at Jim, who was still a crumpled heap on the carpet. "You're going to love it."
"I'm in," Ali said instantly. She gave the leash a brisk tug. "Come on, little bro. Up we go."
Jim made a sound like a deflating balloon. His hands stayed wrapped around his sac, and his whole body trembled with the effort of simply breathing.
"Don't make me drag you," Ali said pleasantly. She gave the leash another yank, harder this time, and Jim's body jerked across the carpet. He gasped, a sharp, wounded sound, and she leaned down to hook her hand under his arm. "There we go. Good boy. One foot, then the other."
She hauled him upright. He wobbled, swaying, and had to brace a hand against the wall. His balls hung heavy and bruised between his legs, still throbbing from the double knee Ali had just buried into them.
"I can't," he whispered. "Ali, please, I can't—"
"You can and you will." She gave the leash a little flick, not a hard one, just enough to remind him it was there. "It's just the common room. Twenty feet. You've walked further with worse."
He hadn't, not really. But he put one foot in front of the other anyway.
The common room was three doors down, a wide space with a battered couch, a low coffee table, and a television bolted to the wall. Three young women were already there. Two sat on the couch, legs crossed, sharing a bag of chips. The third perched on the armrest, scrolling through her phone. They all looked up when Ali walked in leading Jim on the leash.
"Finally," one of them said. She was tall, with red hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. "Beth said you'd be coming. This him?"
"This is him," Ali said proudly. She gave the leash a flourish. "Meet my little bro. Broke him in about an hour ago. He's already getting the hang of it."
The women laughed. Jim stood in the middle of the room, naked, hands cupped over his swollen balls, trying very hard not to meet anyone's eyes.
And in the corner, curled up in the fetal position with his back to the wall, was another young man.
He was crying. Soft, hitching sobs, his shoulders shaking, his arms wrapped around his knees. He wore nothing but a pair of grey briefs, and there was a leash tied to his scrotum just like Jim's, the loose end dragging on the floor. His face was buried in his arms, but Jim could see the mottled bruising on his thighs, the way he kept rocking gently back and forth.
"Who's that?" Ali asked.
The redhead shrugged. "That's Marcus. He's been like that since this morning. Won't talk, won't move. His big sister's had enough of him, so she said we could use him for the game."
"Use him how?"
The girl on the armrest finally looked up from her phone. "Well, that depends." She had sharp, clever eyes and a slow smile. "You two are new, right? You know what the game is?"
"No idea," Ali said cheerfully. "Tell me."
Ava pocketed her phone and slid off the armrest. "The game is simple. It's called First Touch. Big sisters go naked, stand side by side. Their boys hold position, hands on the tits, legs spread, cock out. When Beth blows the whistle, Jane and I kick both of you in the balls. As hard as we can."
She paused, letting the words settle.
"Whoever gets his hands back on his big sister's tits first wins the point. First to five points gets a real prize. A blowjob. From both of us." She nodded at Jane. "Loser plays footrest for the whole floor for the rest of the night."
Jim's stomach dropped through the floor. He looked at Marcus, who had stopped crying and was now staring at the ceiling with dead, hollow eyes.
"No," Jim whispered. "No, please, I can't. Look at me, I can barely stand."
"Perfect," Beth said, appearing in the doorway with a metal whistle on a lanyard. "That's exactly the kind of spirit this game was made to honor. Ali, get naked. Amber, get your boy up."
A girl with a bob cut and angry eyes stepped out from behind the couch, dragging a plastic chair with her. She was Amber, presumably. She kicked the chair into place and grabbed Marcus by the arm.
"Up," she said flatly. "We're doing this."
Marcus didn't move. She grabbed the loose end of his leash and pulled. He yelped, scrambling to his feet, his briefs already off and lost somewhere on the floor. He swayed, blinking, his hands hovering uselessly near his groin.
Ali, meanwhile, was stripping with enthusiasm. She pulled her sports bra over her head and stepped out of her booty shorts, leaving herself naked in the middle of the common room. Her breasts were small and firm, her nipples dark, her body taut and athletic. She stood with her hands on her hips, proud as a prizefighter.
That's what a big sister looked like. The thought slid through Jim's pain and made him feel even smaller.
"Your turn," Amber said, looking at Jim without interest. "Hands on. Legs spread."
Ali beckoned him over. He shuffled forward, every step agony. She grabbed his wrists and placed them on her breasts herself, pressing his palms flat against the warm flesh. Her nipples were hard against his fingers.
"Don't get excited," she murmured. "This isn't for you."
"Marcus!" Amber snapped. Marcus shambled over to her, unable to look her in the face. She placed his hands on her chest with the same businesslike efficiency. His fingers trembled against her sternum.
Beth stood back, surveying the arrangement. Jim and Marcus stood in a line, legs spread, hands on the girls' tits. Ali and Amber stood naked at their side, arms crossed, watching.
Beside them, Jane and Ava stretched like athletes warming up. Jane rolled her ankle. Ava bounced on her heels, grinning.
"Ready?" Beth called.
"No—" Jim started.
"Kick!"
Ava moved first. Her shin plowed into Jim's dangling testicles with the force of a pendulum, crushing them against his pelvis. The impact lifted him off his feet. He would have screamed, but Jane's kick to Marcus's balls synchronized with his own just as his breath was stolen.
The two boys crumpled simultaneously, a pair of marionettes with cut strings.
Marcus hit the floor first. He curled into a ball, hands wrapped around his sac, sobbing before he even landed.
Jim landed on his knees, caught himself on his hands, and hung there, head bowed, his body a single trembling overload of nerve. His testicles felt like they'd been compressed into wet paste and shoved back up inside him.
"Point," Beth said, "to whoever gets up first. That's the rule. Get up!"
Ali crouched in front of him. Her breasts swayed with the movement. "Come on, little bro. Come on. You can do it. Hands back on my tits. That's all. Just get your hands back on me."
Jim's vision swam. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't think.
"Aww, look at him," Jane said, peeking over. "I think he's dead."
But something in Ali's voice, the coaxing, the almost-kindness, cut through. His hands left the carpet. He dragged himself up her body, one hand on her hip, then her ribs, then her breast. He could see Marcus still on the floor, arms wrapped around himself.
"One... zero," Beth said. "Jim. And that's the danger of being fast. You get more kicks."
"No, no, no," Jim breathed.
"Second kick," Beth said cheerfully. "Position up."
Ali grabbed his wrists and put them back on her breasts. He was shaking so hard he could barely keep his fingers spread. Next to him, Amber was smacking Marcus's cheeks, trying to wake him up enough to stand.
"Ready?" Beth called.
"Please," Jim whispered. "Please, I'll do anything—"
"Kick!"
This time Jane came at him. Her foot swung into his sac like a golf club, the top of her foot catching the full weight of his swollen testicles and driving them upward into his pelvis with a wet, meaty crack. Jim's body tried to fold around the point of impact, but his hands were already gone from Ali's chest, flying down to shield his groin.
He fell to his knees, then his face, the carpet burning his cheek.
Marcus was still on the floor, crawling toward Amber's ankles, one hand dragging his leash behind him. He reached her foot and pulled himself up her leg.
"Point, Marcus!" Beth announced. "One, one."
"Get up!" Ali's voice was sharp now, no longer coaxing. "Jim, get up! You're going to lose to the crying one!"
Jim rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling. His mouth opened, but all that came out was a thin, reedy whine. His cross necklace lay on his chest, neatly placed, untouched and useless.
"Ten seconds," Beth said. "If you're not in position, it's two, one."
Something in Jim broke open. Not his will, not his spirit. Something else. Something smaller. He rolled onto his side, then his knees, and crawled to Ali. His hands found her calves, then her thighs, then her hips, then her breasts. He pressed his palms flat and held, swaying.
She ran her hand through his hair, almost tenderly. "Good boy."
"That's one," Beth said. "Okay, kick number three. This time, both of them. Jane, Ava, go together."
Jim watched Marcus get his hands back on Amber's chest. Marcus was crying harder now, but his hands were there.
"Ready," Beth sang.
Jim closed his eyes. He could smell Ali's skin, just inches from his face. He could feel the warmth of her, the soft weight of her breast against his palm.
"Kick!"
Two feet arrived simultaneously, one from each side. Jim's entire body seized, his spine arching, his neck craning back, a sound coming out of him that wasn't a scream but something lower, more animal. His hands left Ali's chest, clawing at his own groin.
He collapsed in a heap. He was dimly aware that a point was called, that Ali said his name, that someone was pulling him to his feet by the leash. The world reframed around a single fact: he had to get his hands back on her tits or he was going to lose.
His hands came off the carpet. He didn't stand so much as claw his way up her body, wrist over wrist, like a man climbing out of deep water. His palms found her hip, the soft dip of her waist, the underside of her breast. He pressed them flat against her chest and held them there, gasping, his forehead almost touching her collarbone.
"That's two, two," Beth said. "Look at that. Heart of a champion."
Ali smiled down at him, her fingers combing through his sweaty hair. "Knew you had it in you, little bro."
"He's upright, so he earns another kick," Beth said. "Make it immediate. Position up!"
Jim hadn't even finished relocking his knees. He was still swaying, his knuckles white where they gripped her ribcage, when the fourth kick arrived.
Ava didn't wind up. She just swung, a short, brutal arc, and the ball of her foot slammed into his scrotum like a wrecking ball striking brick. The crack of compressed flesh echoed off the cinderblock walls. Every bruise, every stomp, every knee from the last twenty-four hours lit up at once, one chain of fire from his groin to his skull.
Jim's scream came out as a roar. His hands didn't drop. They clawed upward, past her breasts, locking around her shoulders, and his whole body folded forward into her.
"Hold the position!" Beth called. "Hands stay on!"
"I'm trying," Ali grunted, because Jim was falling and he was taking her with him. His weight came forward, his knees buckling, and her feet went out from under her on the carpet.
They went down together. Ali hit the floor on her back with a thud, Jim crashing down on top of her, his naked chest slapping against hers, his elbow catching the coffee table on the way. He convulsed on top of her, hips bucking, legs kicking uselessly at the carpet, a full-body spasm that rode her whole frame like an earthquake.
"Oh, that's a nasty one," Jane said, wincing happily.
Jim was gone. He thrashed on top of her, blind, drooling against her shoulder, his testicles a white-hot stone wedged under his own weight. Ali grunted under him, pinned, and then her eyes went sharp. Her arms came up and closed around his wrists.
"Got you," she hissed.
She dragged his hands off her shoulders, forced them down, and pressed his palms flat against her bare chest, holding them there with the grip of someone winning an arm wrestle. His fingers twitched, curled, then splayed against the warm softness of her tits.
"Stay," she commanded, pinning them with her weight.
"Point, Jim!" Beth called, laughing. "Three, two. That's got to be the cheapest point in First Touch history."
"He'll take it," Ali said from underneath him. "My hero. Big strong boy, tackle-hugging his big sister."
"Final kick," Beth announced. "Five points wins. Marcus, up!"
Amber hauled Marcus into position by his hair, his hands pressed to her chest, his whole body shaking. Ali rolled Jim off her, and he flopped onto his back on the carpet, moaning, his hands drifting helplessly toward his groin. She caught his wrists again.
"No, no. Hands on, little bro."
She dragged him upright against her and slid his palms onto her breasts one more time. He swayed there, barely standing, his eyes unfocused, his breath coming in wet, shuddering sips.
"Please," he breathed. "Please, it's the last one, please, I can't—"
"Ready?" Beth sang.
Ali leaned in close to his ear. "You're going to finish this. I know you are. Look at me."
His eyes found hers, wide and wet and glassy.
"Kick!"
Ava took three steps and swung her leg like she was punting a football, her whole body torquing into it, her shin snapping up under his sac. The impact lifted his testicles into his pelvis and lifted Jim's heels off the floor. The sound was a dull, wet drumbeat. The follow-through carried his body a half step sideways, and then his legs simply stopped existing.
He collapsed, and this time he didn't reach for his balls, didn't curl, didn't do anything but shake. His spine arched, his fists balled in the carpet, and a long, low moan poured out of him, continuous, like a machine failing.
"Point or no point?" Beth said. "That's the game. Count him."
Ali didn't count. She dropped to her knees beside him, dragged his head into her lap, and hooked her thighs around it, trapping him between her legs. She pressed his hands up against her chest with one arm and held his skull in place with the other, his cheek smashed against the bare skin of her lower belly, his mouth inches from her crotch.
"Hands on," she announced. "Point, Jim!"
"Four, two!" Beth said. "Game to Jim!"
Ali looked down at him, her thighs tightening around his ears, and she wasn't smiling anymore. Or she was, but it was a different one. Her hips rolled up against his face, slow, and she let out a long, unsteady breath.
"God," she moaned, her fingers tightening in his hair, holding his head exactly where she wanted it. "He's still shaking. I can feel it. Look at him writhing."
Jim's whole body thrashed between her legs, his shoulder blades grinding into the carpet, his moans buzzing directly against her skin. She kept his head pinned, her breath coming faster, and ground herself against the vibration.
"Don't you dare pass out," she purred, threading her fingers deeper into his hair. "This is your prize too, little bro. Lap it up."
Across the room, Marcus lay in a heap at Amber's feet, and Beth cleared her throat.
"Nobody move," she said, pulling out her phone. "I'm getting pictures of the scoreboard before anyone contests it."