The next morning, my alarm went off bright and early. My muscles throbbed, each movement sending sharp jolts of pain through my body, a constant reminder of the brutal night before. Every step felt like wading through thick mud, my body weighed down by an invisible force, the soreness clinging to my bones like a second skin.... "Ouch," I muttered to myself as I shifted, trying to get out of bed. I had a full day of classes ahead, and there was no time to waste.
I had to bury what happened and get to class. I ignored the pain and put on the essentials, making a mad dash out the door with supplies in hand, heading toward campus.
The day was uneventful, but pieces of last night surfaced during the day. I felt like shit—I was confused, and the feelings scared me.
I got to my character design class 2, which was my last class of the day. It started promptly at 5 p.m. and ended at 9 p.m.
My instructor was Aresh. He was from India but had worked for several studios before coming to teach here.
Aresh loved telling us about India; he really loved his country. Unfortunately, he had refused to marry a young woman and had been banished for dishonoring his family—or at least that’s what I gathered from the story he shared with us. Something about an arranged marriage that went terribly wrong.
He was slim and in great shape, he loved running and you could easily find him on the track making laps. , or admiring the many hiking pictures on his office board—he'd been to Nevada, Washington, Florida, Arizona, Texas, Utah, and Colorado.
“Art?” Aresh called me over to his desk as the first assignment presentations were taking place. “Yes, sir?” I replied as I walked up to his desk.
“The Dean, Russ, has asked that you meet him at his office,” he said, his face shadowed with concern. “He doesn’t want you back in class until you come see him.”
“Is everything alright? Tuition? Academically?” I asked, trying to figure out what could be wrong.
“No, not that I know of,” I said, a sinking feeling in my stomach as I went back to my desk and packed up my things. I headed out toward the Dean’s office, my mind racing with possibilities.
“Hello, Mary,” I said as I entered the administrative office.
“Hello, Art. I’m glad you’re here; now I can leave,” she said, smiling as she picked up the phone and spoke with Dean Russ. “He’s here... okay, perfect. Do you need me to stay? No problem, and thank you, I will.”
“Dean Russ will be right out for you,” she said as she grabbed her purse and binders and locked the door behind her.
I heard the heavy steps of Dean Russ before I could even see him. Dean Russ was a 40-year-old ex-military man, straight to the point and no-nonsense. He was a big guy—6'2" of muscle—and he took pride in his appearance. “A healthy body is a healthy mind,” I’d heard him say as he tried to sign up the guys on campus for boot camp workouts.
He had several connections with media studios, thanks to friendships he’d made with executives back in his youth.
“Hello there, young man,” his voice boomed as he approached.
“Hello, sir,” I replied.
“Dean Russ will do it for now,” he corrected me as I stood up to follow him to his office.
“Take a seat,” he commanded, and I obeyed. “One second, let me get some paperwork,” he said as he moved around, looking for something.
His office was huge, with several war books like "The Planes of WW2," "Weapons of War," and "The Art of War." He also had books about bodybuilding, nothing surprising there.
The jewel of his office was a massive, imposing desk, its dark wood polished to a sinister gleam. The feet were carved into menacing claws gripping a ball, as if they could spring to life at any moment and trap whatever dared approach. The desk dominated the room, a silent witness to countless fates decided behind its solid, unforgiving surface.
“Okay, let’s get started,” he said as he came around and sat at his desk. “What can you tell me about this?” He handed me large 11x17 photocopies.
"My stomach twisted into a tight knot as I stared at the drawings, each one a brutal reminder of my humiliation. Shawn’s sketches weren’t just images—they were my nightmare captured in stark black and white, the evidence of my shame laid bare. My breath caught in my throat, my hands trembling as I held the pages that held the power to ruin me.
I gulped as I checked the other drawings. The first showed my face sucking on something, with a tear rolling down my cheek. The second drawing had me with my arms and legs stretched out, my cock leaning against my leg and my balls hanging low. The next drawing showed an overweight person standing while I was on my knees sucking cock. My breath became short as fear gripped me. The final drawing was a cock clearly shoved into a huge round ass—my ass.
“Shit,” I whispered in fear.
“Is there anything you need to tell me, son?” Dean Russ asked, his eyes boring into my face and soul.
“Uhm, well, what happened was—” he cut me off.
“You’re just another guy who craves cock” he said sternly.
“No, I’m not gay! We were all drunk, and I—”
Dean Russ cut me off again. “It wasn’t a question,” he said, His gaze raked over me, filled with disdain. “You’re a fag, and you love dick.”
I was in stunned silence.
He got up and then leaned on the table near me. “I’ve seen you around campus. I had you pegged as a ladies' man,” he said, looking away into the distance.
I was staring down at his desk, unable to gather my thoughts.
“I’m over here, son,” he said. I looked up to meet his gaze, the strong face of a strong man. His blue eyes and thick eyebrows framed his disappointment.
“I know you’re in college, and that makes you an adult,” he paused, “to do and be who you really are,” he paused again, “away from family.” He looked across the office and away from me. “But this is unacceptable.” He grabbed the copies and crumpled them up in his hand before tossing them into the trash
“Did you know the email with these scans had your full name on it?” He smirked. “Not hard to figure out it was you,” he paused as I wanted to fade away. “So what should I call you? Art, Arturo, or Ponyboy?”
I was breathing hard, looking down at my shaking hands.
“You’re in deep shit,” he said, smiling. All I could do was look at him in silence.
“I’ve already talked to Shawn and made arrangements. He’ll be out of classes for the next week, and when he returns, he’ll be busy around campus doing manual work,” he paused with a devilish smile. “He agreed quickly once I told him his mother might be interested in knowing where her hard-earned college money was going.”
‘Shit,’ I thought. ‘Shawn is so fucking stupid. How could he do this?’
“So, this is what I’m going to do with you,” he said. I was lost in my thoughts, full of regret and shame.
I heard the faint sound of a zipper, and my heart dropped. Fear coursed through my veins as I looked over to see a thick, hairy cock right in my face. My mind raced, searching for an escape, but all I could think about was the power Dean Russ held over my future. He could ruin everything—my dreams, my career.
“Suck it,” he growled, the command cutting through the air like a whip. My stomach twisted as the words hit me, and the acrid taste of bile rose in my throat. His rough hand tightened in my hair, the sharp pull forcing my head down. The scent of sweat and musk filled my nostrils, suffocating me as his body heat pressed against my face, leaving me no choice but to obey.
“Aarrg,” I managed to sound off. As his cock pushed past my lips, my stomach churned with disgust. But beneath the revulsion, my body responded in a way that horrified me—an involuntary throb of arousal at the raw physicality of it. I wanted to recoil, but I was frozen in place, trapped between loathing and lust."
“This is what’s going to happen, son. You’ll obey my every demand, or you’ll have no future” he said as he began to shove his cock deeper into my mouth.
“It’s gonna work out for everyone,” he said with a smile. “I’m not getting pussy at home,” he said. “Bitch says I’m too rough,” anger flashing across his face, “but your faggotty ass loves dick,” and he smiled. “Everybody wins.”
Now on your knees,” he commanded. A part of me screamed to resist, to fight back, but I felt utterly helpless. This man held all the cards—my education, my career, my entire future. The thought of my parents’ disappointment, of losing everything I’d worked so hard for, paralyzed me. With trembling legs, I got off the chair and knelt before him, not because I wanted to—I’m not gay—but because I knew one wrong move, one word of defiance, could destroy me.
"My mind screamed to resist, to push him away and run, but a darker, quieter part of me stirred with something else—an urge to obey, to submit, to feel his control. It was as if my body was betraying me, leaning into the power that Dean Russ wielded over me."
“You need to learn to worship this cock,” he said as I gobbled down his hairy dick and sucked hard.
“Fucker, you’re a natural,” he grunted in pleasure. I was screaming in my head. I was angry—no, I was furious!
Dean Russ grabbed my hair, yanking my head forward as he roughly fucked my mouth. My mind was a whirlwind of anger and shame, yet beneath it all was the chilling realization that I was trapped. I wanted to scream, to push him away, but what would that accomplish? He had the power to make or break me, and deep down, I knew this was my only option. I held onto the tops of his legs to steady myself, forcing my body to comply as my thoughts spiraled.
His breathing was rapid now, and he was talking to me like I was a cheap whore. “That’s it, faggot,” “Faggot loves dick,” “Deeper, faggot,” “Show me what a good faggot you are,” “Faggot like the view?”
Every time Dean Russ slammed into me, "Pain shot through me with every thrust, but with it came something else—a sickening, confusing pleasure that twisted in my gut. I wanted it to stop, yet some twisted part of me craved the roughness, the force of his desire."
What the hell was I thinking? Shit, I was fucked up.
“Aaaa yes, faggot, you fucking know how to work a dick alright,” he grunted in pleasure as I kept slobbering and jerking his cock.
the memories of Shawn and Micheal giving me a hard fucking on both ends crept in—their grunting, my grunting as they pushed my limits and stretched my holes—sent blood rushing to my cock.
“Here it comes, faggot,” Dean Russ yelled, his voice booming out into the small space, his body shaking as my blowjob sent him over the edge. “Arrhhhhg, arrhhg, arrrgh,” I choked as three massive loads of cum were shot down my throat. “Swallow every last drop, faggot.” I kept sucking and jerking, making sure I got every last drop I could squeeze out of him, his body shaking, his hands firmly gripping my hair.
He yanked himself out with a brutal force that left my jaw aching, then casually reached for a tissue from his desk. The sound of the tissue tearing from the box was harsh in the stillness of the room, and I watched, dazed and humiliated, as he wiped his dick clean with a detached efficiency, discarding the crumpled tissue without a second thought.
I was still on my knees, leaning against his desk. What was I gonna do? How could I get out of this?
“Good job, faggot. What time is your next class?” he asked.
“My next class is on Monday,” I said, catching my breath. “Monday at 10 a.m.”
He looked me over with his usual stoic expression.
“Excellent. From now on, faggot, you will report one hour before every class to my office,” he said, smiling.
“Dean Russ, I’m not a—” he interrupted me.
“You’re not a what? A faggot? A homo? A cocksucker?” Each word struck me like a blow, tearing at the fragile sense of self I had left. As he pulled me up to my feet, his words echoed in my mind, and I couldn’t help but question—was this who I was? I’d always been straight, right? But here I was, submitting to this man’s every demand, my identity unraveling with every humiliating command. I flinched as he knelt in front of me, smirking as he undid my belt and pulled my pants down, each movement a twisted confirmation of the labels he’d thrown at me.
My cock jumped out fully engorged. My face blushed red. How the hell was this happening? Why was I so fucking horny?
Dean Russ stood up, grabbed my hard cock, and then, using his left hand, raised my face to meet his stare. “Explain this, faggot,” he challenged as he gave my hard cock a good squeeze, making me moan in surprise. I had nothing to say; I just looked down in defeat.
“From now on, faggot, you will wear only white jockstraps. Is that clear?” I nodded my head as he handed me some cash. “I’m sure you have lots of thongs and bikinis, but as my personal faggot, you will only wear those under your clothes,” he smiled coldly. “Is that clear, faggot?” His voice was menacing.
“Yes, Dean Russ,” I replied.
“Good boy,” he said, patting me on the head. I was still standing there, cock out, when he moved back behind his desk and sat in his chair.
“Well, you might as well take care of that,” he pointed at my erect cock. his voice full of insult. I was going to open my mouth to say something when he boomed, “NOW!”
I moved forward—what choice did I have? “Take everything off and get on top of the fucking table,” he yelled, looking at me with a mix of lust and disgust.
"My skin crawled with shame, but a darker thrill coursed through me as I felt his eyes on me, watching every movement. I hated myself for it, but the idea of being watched, of being forced to perform, sent a shiver of excitement through my core."
I did as I was told. I took my clothes off, got on the table on my knees, and began to jerk off. It was embarrassing; other than with Shawn and Michael, I’d never done this with anyone else, much less in front of my school dean.
I spit into my hand, the wet sound echoing unnaturally in the oppressive silence of the room. The saliva felt cold and slimy against my skin as I smeared it onto my dick, each motion sending shivers through my body.
I thought, the faster I get through this, the faster it will be over. I began to jerk off hard, then slowed it down, then jerked while pulling on my nuts. I was squeezing hard, pulling on my cock, getting closer and closer to the finish line.
Dean Russ was looking at me as I writhed, putting on my own personal show for him, the look of satisfaction all over his face.
"Mmmm," I moaned as I felt the first shivers of a coming climax. “Yes, faggot, that’s how it’s done,” Dean Russ encouraged me as I jerked, pulled, and bounced on my knees. My sight narrowed as I grunted through my throat, “I’m gonna cum.”
“Ass up, face down as you finish, faggot!” I was so close. I immediately flipped over, opening my legs wide to give Dean Russ a clear view of my ass. I lowered my face to his desk in a hurry as I felt I might explode.
"Every fiber of my being screamed to pull back from the edge, but the rush of pleasure was unstoppable. the closer I got, the more I craved the release, as if it would somehow free me from the shame—even though I knew it would only make it worse."
“Aaaaaaa,” I moaned as the first glob of hot, wet cum shot out. “That’s how you do it, faggot. Keep jerking for me,” he ordered. “Oh shiiiiiiiiit!” I yelled as the second spurt of cum came flying out at the same time that Dean Russ stuck his finger deep in my hole. The third spurt came as my mouth opened in shock. I felt his finger settle in my hole, my body jerking and squeezing around it.
“Good job, faggot,” he said as I was breathing hard, trying to catch my breath. I was still face down, ass up, when he pulled his finger out of my ass.
I was open and exposed. Dean Russ was feeling me up, running his hands over my ass, squeezing it, exploring the folds of my hole, and then pulling my balls backward, making me moan again.
He then came around the desk, pulling my face up by my hair. I winced in pain as I came off the desk and met his face. “You're going to make a great slut for me, faggot,” he said.
I couldn’t say anything; I was in turmoil. “Who’s a faggot?” he asked, and I knew what he wanted to hear. It was about being in control, and he had me. There was no way out. I wasn’t gay, but I had no choice. “I’m a faggot,” I replied in defeat.
He let go of my hair and moved back behind his desk, sitting once again. I got off the desk and moved toward my clothes. “No, faggot,” he said, pulling open his drawer and taking out a sheer white pair of shorts.
“You’re leaving with this on and only this.” Is this fucking real? I thought. Anyone looking at me in the right light will see everything. “Hurry, the class is ending soon,” he said with a smile. Shit, I thought, my classmates will see me on the way out.
I pulled on the white shorts and put my clothes in my backpack.
Dean Russ was already at the door, ready to walk me down the hall and out the front door.
We walked in silence, and when we got to the door, he gave my neck a good squeeze. “See you Monday, faggot,” he whispered, and I nodded in agreement and walked out.
As soon as I was out of view, I made a mad dash to the apartment. I ran through some backstreets, avoiding the hungry looks as the sheer white shorts left nothing to the imagination—one could clearly see my cock and balls bouncing as I ran for dear life. I met the judging eyes of others as I walked into the apartment parking lot, heart racing.
I was out of breath… I was afraid and confused. A white-hot rage boiled within me, seething just beneath the surface.
