Crossing the Line
Dr. Jeff Hart, a 38-year-old associate professor of computer science at Westfield Technical University, stood at the front of his lecture hall, his voice crisp as he broke down backpropagation algorithms for his senior-level machine learning course. Lean and angular, with close-cropped dark hair graying at the edges and sharp hazel eyes behind rimless glasses, Jeff’s plain button-down and khakis blended into the sterile, concrete-heavy campus. His no-nonsense demeanor earned him respect, but as an openly gay man, he kept his private life airtight—especially his obsession as a size queen, a bottom who craved the gut-punching thrill of a huge cock stretching him to his limits. His nights were spent on hookup apps, chasing anonymous tops who could fuck him raw and leave him leaking, no names, no second dates.
Ethan Cole, a 21-year-old senior in Jeff’s class, was a walking violation of Jeff’s carefully maintained boundaries. Slender, with knife-sharp cheekbones, green eyes that burned with intent, and a tousled mop of sandy hair, Ethan was a twink with a predator’s edge. His tight tank tops and ripped jeans hugged a wiry frame, but the real talk came from the queer student Discord: Ethan was packing a 10-inch beast, and as a cocky top, he wielded it like a weapon. His coding projects were solid, but his stares were obscene, raking over Jeff with a smirk that screamed he knew exactly what the professor wanted.
It started in October, after a lecture on neural networks. Ethan hung back as students filed out, his backpack slung low, his stance all lazy confidence. “Dr. Hart, can you check my code?” he asked, his tone neutral but his eyes glinting like he was daring Jeff to flinch. Jeff pulled up the file on his laptop, but Ethan leaned over the desk, his arm brushing Jeff’s, his cheap body spray—musk and leather—invading Jeff’s space. As they reviewed, Ethan’s voice dropped, low and deliberate. “I optimized it for… bigger inputs. Thought you’d like something that can handle a lot.”
The innuendo was shameless, and Jeff’s jaw clenched, a pulse of heat hitting his gut. He loved a huge dick, and Ethan’s taunt was a direct hit. “Keep it to the assignment,” Jeff snapped, his voice tight, but his mind was already spiraling, picturing what Ethan was hiding in those jeans. Ethan’s smirk widened, and as he sauntered out, he tossed a casual, “Office hours, Jeff,” over his shoulder. The first-name drop was a middle finger to professionalism, and Jeff’s cock twitched, his control slipping.
This was wrong—dangerously, career-endingly wrong. Ethan was his student, the power dynamic a screaming red flag. Jeff had signed the university’s code of conduct, sat through ethics trainings, knew the consequences: a student fling could cost him his tenure track, his reputation, everything. But knowing didn’t stop the fantasies. Ethan’s confidence, the rumors about his 10-inch cock—they burrowed into Jeff’s brain, feeding his obsession with size. He’d lie awake, stroking himself, imagining Ethan fucking him senseless, and hate himself for it. He should report Ethan’s behavior, set boundaries, but the thought of that cock kept him silent.
Ethan smelled blood and went for the kill. He crashed every office hour, sprawling in the chair across Jeff’s cluttered desk, his questions about code a flimsy excuse. “You ever push past what’s safe, Jeff?” he asked one evening, his sneaker nudging Jeff’s shin under the desk. “Like, take on more than you should?” The double entendre was blatant, and Jeff’s pulse raced, his khakis tightening. He deflected, but Ethan’s lean body, his smug drawl, were a constant assault. Sticky notes appeared in Jeff’s lecture slides: “Library stacks, 9 p.m. Let’s overload some systems.” Texts pinged his phone after midnight, crude and relentless: “Bet you’re jerking off thinking about my dick right now.”
Each move was a step deeper into ethical quicksand. Jeff could lose everything—a single complaint from Ethan, a stray rumor, and he’d be hauled before the dean, his career gutted. He should shut it down, but Ethan’s taunts tapped into his deepest need. Jeff had spent years chasing tops who could deliver the kind of fuck that left him limping, and Ethan’s reputation promised exactly that. At night, he’d ride a thick dildo, grunting as he pictured Ethan’s cock, his shame drowned out by lust. He was crossing lines he’d sworn never to touch, and he couldn’t stop.
The breaking point came at a department mixer in November, held in the library’s brutalist reading room—harsh fluorescents, gray linoleum, and cheap wine in plastic cups. Jeff, in a plain polo, sipped his drink, dodging colleagues’ chatter about grant proposals. Ethan showed up, his black tank clinging to his chest, jeans slung low enough to flash a strip of pale skin. He cornered Jeff in a deserted aisle of technical journals, the concrete walls muffling the mixer’s hum.
“You’re dodging me,” Ethan said, his voice a low taunt, stepping so close Jeff felt his breath. “I know you want it, Jeff. Those looks you give me? You’re fucking starving.” His hand shot out, grabbing Jeff’s cock through his khakis, squeezing hard enough to make Jeff gasp.
“You’re my student,” Jeff hissed, his dick hardening under Ethan’s grip, his voice shaky. “This could ruin me.” The words were true—Ethan held all the power. One word to the administration, and Jeff’s career was done. But his body didn’t care, betraying him with every pulse of arousal.
“Ruin’s fun,” Ethan shot back, his fingers tightening, stroking through the fabric. “Tell me you don’t want to gag on this.” His smirk was infuriating, and Jeff’s restraint shattered. He didn’t want romance or promises—just a fuck that’d break him, and Ethan’s 10-inch cock was the key.
“Not here,” Jeff growled, shoving Ethan’s hand away, his face burning. “Pick a place, and this stays between us.”
Ethan’s grin was predatory. “Greenhouse, midnight. Don’t flake.”
The pursuit turned filthy. Ethan’s notes were pornographic scrawls (“Greenhouse, tonight. Gonna make you my bitch”), his texts pure smut (“You ever take a dick so big you can’t think?”). Jeff’s ethics were in tatters. He was risking everything—his job, his reputation—for a student’s cock, and the shame only made him harder. He’d jerk off to Ethan’s texts, cursing himself, knowing he was too deep to pull back. This wasn’t just unprofessional; it was a betrayal of every principle he’d built his career on. But the promise of Ethan’s size was a drug, and Jeff was addicted.
The night of the hookup, Jeff prepped like it was a mission. Ethan’s cock was a challenge, and Jeff wasn’t fucking around. He needed to be ready, stretched and slick, to take something that big. He hit up a regular from his app, a hung mechanic who’d fucked him raw before. In a seedy motel two hours before meeting Ethan, Jeff let the guy rail him, his thick cock pounding Jeff’s hole until he came deep inside, leaving Jeff dripping and loose. Jeff didn’t clean up, letting the cum leak down his thighs as he drove to campus, the sloppy fullness a rehearsal for what Ethan would do. It was calculated, depraved, and exactly what Jeff needed to handle a 10-inch dick.
He slipped into the greenhouse just after midnight, rain hammering the glass roof, the air thick with the stench of fertilizer and damp concrete. The space was a functional grid of hydroponic rigs and metal benches, lit by flickering sodium lamps casting harsh shadows. Ethan was waiting, slouched against a workbench, his soaked t-shirt plastered to his lean frame, jeans unbuttoned to show a trail of hair disappearing into his waistband. His eyes locked onto Jeff, catching the slight wince in his step, the flushed look of someone already used.
“Late,” Ethan said, his voice smug, pushing off the bench. He grabbed Jeff’s chin, forcing eye contact, his grip bruising. “You’ve been busy, haven’t you? Fucking reek of it.”
“Had to get ready,” Jeff shot back, unashamed, his voice rough. “Heard you’re a lot to handle.”
Ethan’s laugh was dark, his hand sliding down to palm Jeff’s crotch, feeling the dampness in his khakis. “You’re leaking some other guy’s cum, and you still want me? That’s fucking nasty.” He shoved Jeff back against the workbench, the metal edge digging into Jeff’s ass. “Let’s see how much you can take.”
Jeff didn’t bother with bullshit. “Fuck me,” he growled, his hands clawing at Ethan’s tank, ripping it off to reveal a smooth, wiry chest. Ethan yanked Jeff’s polo over his head, tossing it into a pile of dirt, and his hands were ruthless—grabbing Jeff’s pecs, twisting his nipples until Jeff hissed, his cock throbbing in his pants. Ethan’s mouth crashed into Jeff’s, a brutal clash of teeth and tongue, no softness, just raw, animal need.
“Gonna fuck you till you can’t walk,” Ethan snarled, his hands tearing at Jeff’s belt, ripping his khakis and boxers down in one go. The humid air hit Jeff’s skin, his cock rock-hard and dripping, his hole slick and loose from the motel fuck, cum seeping out in a filthy trail. Ethan stepped back, his eyes black with lust as they raked over Jeff’s body—the lean muscle, the flushed skin, the used, gaping look of his ass. “Fuck, you’re a slut,” he muttered, stripping off his jeans and briefs.
Jeff’s breath stopped. Ethan’s cock was a fucking monster—10 inches, thick as a wrist, veined and heavy, precum glistening at the tip. Jeff’s hole clenched, his body screaming for it despite the cum already inside him. He’d spent years chasing cocks this big, and Ethan’s was a goddamn masterpiece. Ethan stroked himself, slow and taunting, his smirk vicious. “You think you can take this?”
“Fucking try me,” Jeff spat, spreading his thighs on the workbench, his voice raw with need. Ethan grabbed a tube of lube from his jeans—no condom, no question. Jeff wanted it bare, wanted to feel every inch, every pulse, and Ethan was game.
Ethan slicked his fingers, shoving three inside Jeff without warning, deep and rough, stretching him further. Jeff grunted, the burn sharp but perfect, the mechanic’s cum easing the way as Ethan’s fingers pumped hard, curling to slam Jeff’s prostate. Jeff’s head fell back, a moan ripping out, his cock leaking onto his stomach. “You’re already fucked open,” Ethan growled, his free hand pinning Jeff’s hip, bruising. “But I’m gonna make you feel every fucking inch.”
“Do it,” Jeff snarled, his body shaking, his hole aching for more. Ethan pulled his fingers out, slicking his cock with lube, and lined up, his hands gripping Jeff’s thighs so hard they’d leave marks. “Look at me,” he ordered, and Jeff did, their eyes locked as Ethan pushed inside, bare and merciless.
The stretch was fucking unreal, a searing, gut-deep fullness that made Jeff’s vision blur, his breath coming in choked gasps. Ethan didn’t ease in, sinking deeper, his massive cock forcing Jeff’s body to surrender, the cum already inside mixing with the lube in a sloppy, obscene mess. Jeff’s hands scrabbled at the bench, his moans loud and broken, the greenhouse swallowing the sound. Ethan bottomed out, his balls pressed against Jeff’s ass, and growled, “Fuck, you’re tight, even after that other guy.”
“Move,” Jeff begged, his voice wrecked, and Ethan didn’t hold back. He pulled out halfway and slammed back in, setting a savage pace, each thrust a brutal claim that hit Jeff’s prostate with punishing force. Jeff’s screams were raw, echoing in the humid air, drowned by the rain. Ethan’s hands pinned Jeff’s shoulders, his lean frame a machine of relentless power, fucking Jeff like he was nothing but a hole to ruin.
“You fucking love this,” Ethan snarled, his hips snapping, the workbench rattling under the assault. “Love getting ripped open by a huge cock.” He angled deeper, merciless, and Jeff’s body arched, his mind blank except for the overwhelming stretch, the raw heat of Ethan’s bare dick. The cum inside him made it filthier, slicker, every thrust pushing it out in wet, lewd sounds.
“Fuck—harder,” Jeff growled, his shame gone, his world narrowed to the cock splitting him, the brutal fullness he’d craved for years. Ethan’s grin was feral, his hands shifting to grip Jeff’s ankles, spreading him wider, pounding him with a ferocity that shook the bench. “You’re my fucking slut,” Ethan spat, his thrusts so deep Jeff felt them in his core, his body trembling on the edge of breaking.
Ethan’s hand wrapped around Jeff’s cock, stroking rough and fast, no finesse, just intent to wreck him. He spit on Jeff’s hole, adding to the mess, and leaned in, biting Jeff’s neck hard enough to draw a yelp. “Come for me, you filthy bitch,” Ethan growled, slamming in so hard the workbench screeched across the concrete. Jeff’s body snapped taut, his orgasm tearing through him, a guttural scream ripping from his throat. His cock erupted, spraying cum across his chest and Ethan’s hand, his hole clamping down on Ethan’s dick, milking him.
Ethan didn’t stop, fucking Jeff through the aftershocks, his thrusts erratic as he chased his own release. “Gonna fill you up,” he grunted, his hips stuttering. “Gonna make you drip for days.” With a final, savage thrust, he came, his cock pulsing as he pumped his load deep inside Jeff, hot and thick, mixing with the mechanic’s cum in a filthy flood. Jeff felt it, the heat overwhelming, pushing him into a second, shuddering climax, his body convulsing, cum leaking from his hole onto the bench.
They collapsed, panting, the greenhouse reeking of sex, sweat, and rain. Ethan pulled out, a gush of cum following, splattering the concrete. He wiped his cock on Jeff’s thigh, his smirk smug as ever. “Told you I’d fuck you stupid,” he said, no trace of warmth, just raw triumph.
Jeff sat up, wincing, his hole raw and gaping, his body a mess of cum, sweat, and bruises. “Yeah, you fucking did,” he muttered, grabbing his shirt, his voice flat. This was what he’d wanted—a cock so big it broke him, no strings, no bullshit. But the weight of what he’d done hit hard. He’d risked his career, his ethics, everything, for a student’s dick. The shame was a knot in his chest, but it didn’t erase the satisfaction.
The weeks that followed were a spiral of depravity. Ethan fucked Jeff wherever they could—his office, where he shoved Jeff face-down on the desk, fucking him raw until the keyboard clattered to the floor; a server room, Ethan’s hand clamped over Jeff’s mouth to muffle his screams as he pounded him against a rack of blinking machines; a lecture hall after hours, Ethan bending Jeff over the podium, leaving cum dripping down his legs onto the carpet. Each time, Ethan’s massive cock was a fucking revelation, stretching Jeff to his limits, feeding his obsession with size. They didn’t talk about feelings or futures—just fucked, hard and dirty, no pretense of anything else.
Jeff’s guilt grew with every encounter. He was violating every rule, betraying his role as a professor, risking exposure that could end him. A single slip—Ethan bragging, a colleague noticing—could bring the administration down on him. He’d wake up sweating, imagining HR hearings, his name dragged through the mud. But the next time Ethan texted (“Greenhouse, now. Bring that slutty hole”), Jeff went, his need for that huge cock overriding everything.
As graduation loomed, Jeff knew it’d stop. Ethan would leave, and Jeff would go back to his apps, chasing the next hung top to fill the void. One night, after a brutal fuck in the greenhouse—Ethan pinning Jeff against the glass, fucking him so hard the panes rattled—they sprawled on the concrete, catching their breath. Ethan lit a cigarette, the glow catching his sharp features. “Done after May, right?” he said, exhaling smoke, his voice casual.
“Yeah,” Jeff replied, pulling on his khakis, his hole still leaking, his body sore but sated. “Was a hell of a ride.”
Ethan smirked, flicking the cigarette away. “Fucking right.”
Jeff stood, the weight of his choices heavy. He’d crossed every line, risked it all for a cock, and while his body hummed with satisfaction, his mind churned with the cost. Ethan walked away, and Jeff knew he’d never see him again after graduation. But the memory of that 10-inch dick, the way it broke him, would linger, a secret he’d carry alongside the shame.
