Copyright 2006 Herb Cat. Do not reproduce or distribute this story without the author's permission.
Please note: this story depicts oral, anal, sado-masochistic and group sex between males. If any of these offend you or are illegal to publish in your jurisdiction, or you are under the age of 18, read no further.
The characters, locations and incidents in this story are fictional. Any resemblance to actual events or locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
As an author, I welcome feedback on my writing. Please send any comments about this story, positive or negative, to Herb_Cat@mailcity.com. Thank you.
Part One - The Boys In B11
The semester was already into its third week when the Dean called me into his office. In addition to my one Shakespeare class, he wanted me to take over a section of English 101. Like most lower rung faculty, I had taught it before. So I knew the syllabus: mostly basic communication skills, clearly getting your point across on paper. The teacher had to leave unexpectedly and it was crucial that this class continue. Crucial because this section was made up of athletes, young men who were stars on the field but who lacked the rudiments of English. So in essence it was a class in remedial writing and it was up to me to get these boys in shape. These students were only in college because of the physical prowess, but the rules were they had to keep up their academics as well. The coaches were depending on me, as were the alumni with the deep pockets who attended every football and basketball game.
I needed the money of course, and I saw I would be able to fit the three weekly classes into my schedule. The classes started an hour after I finished Shakespeare, and left me the rest of the week to hold down my PT job at the sex novelty shop, and to pursue my floundering writing career. So I agreed to take on the section. The fact that I would have ten excellent examples of young manhood in my class was of course also an enticement. One of the things that kept drawing me back to the college was the sight of sexy horny men in their late teens on campus.
The following Wednesday after I dismissed my regular students with their assignment to read and analyze Romeo and Juliet Act V, I headed down to the basement of Simpson Hall and located room B11. An odd room. No windows. Even the classroom door was solid. The fluorescent bulbs gave off that annoying buzzing noise. And there was an odd odor that I couldn't quite put a name on. B11 seemed to have been a storage room, converted to a classroom by simply outfitting it with the usual dry mark board, a teachers desk, and a couple dozen one armed student desk chairs scattered about. No pictures on the wall; not even campus notices. No books. There was no reason to set foot in this room if you didn't have to. I located a black marker and wrote "Mr. Kent" on the board.
I checked my watch. It was time for class to begin but I was still the only one in the room. I sat and waited. Two husky hunks finally entered ten minutes late. Football players I assumed. They glared at me like I was a turd and threw their legs over a couple of the chairs. Gradually, six more guys arrived. There were ten on the roster, but I figured I might as well begin with what I had.
"Good afternoon, class. I'm your new teacher, Mr. Kent."
"Yo, teach!" a tall lad interrupted, "Where's Whinin?"
"It's Mr. Wyman," I corrected, "and he had to leave. I'm not aware of his reasons. Now, let ..."
Several boys started snickering. "Oh, I think we know his reasons."
"Yup, just like Faggot Boy n Pig Ass."
"Uh, who did you say?"
"Look, Teach, yoo's number four here n we got a pool goin u aint gonna be back next week." I later found out they were right on the first score. I was indeed the fourth victim delivered to these lions, a fact the dean didn't seem important enough to tell me earlier. But I was confident that I could prove them wrong on the second. I resolved to indeed make it through this ordeal one way or another. Of course at that moment I wasn't aware of what the ordeal entailed.
"Well, let me start by taking the roll."
"No," mumbled a tall lanky boy in the front row.
"Excuse me?"
"No," he repeated more forcefully.
"No what?"
"No, we's not gonna let yoo do nothin', Teach. And, no, we don't scuse yoo. There ain't no scuse for a piece o' shit like yoo."
"Well, I'm afraid you've got a few things to learn, Son. You see, in this room, I'm in charge and ..."
"Yeah, Teach, yoo's afraid all right. But yoo ain't in charge no where, specially down here in our hole. We's in charge, yoo got it? And yoo knows why we's in charge, Teach?" He didn't wait for an answer. He simply stood up, opened his fly and flopped out his tool. "That's why!" The boy had a dick that was seven inches soft, cut, with a flaming pink head that seemed to glow against his dark brown skin and rich pubic bush. "Now, fore yoo's claimin yoo's in charge, let's see what yoo's got, Teach. Unless yoo got nothin' there."
"I'm not about to compare my penis with yours, big shot."
"Yup," another boy piped up, "he's got nothin' there."
"You think the size of a man's penis is all that counts?"
"In this hole, yeah," said a third, and with that they all stood up and dropped their pants. I had never been treated to such an awesome display of mansausage. Each one was truly impressive. As I sat, the boys began sauntering up to my desk, their schlongs wagging back and forth. They soon had me circled. "Now," the last boy continued, "now that yoo understand who's really in charge here, open yoor mouth."
"Excuse me?"
"Guess yoo didn't hear me the first time," said the lanky one, "there ain't no `scuse for a piece o' shit like yoo."
"Oh," I started, but my words were soon stifled by a brown hispanic mantool. Several other boys held my head against this cock and instructed me to suck. Others held me down in my chair. I had no choice. I proceeded to give my first student a blow job. I worked his cock with my lips and tongue and it was soon obvious to all I had some experience. His mantool stiffened and he began moaning. In a matter of minutes he rewarded his teacher with a mouthful of boycream. He pulled away and my head began to drop down to my desk, but someone grabbed my hair and quickly I had another boy cock in my mouth.
"Hey, this one's all right!"
"I'll say! Man, Teach is a born cocksucker! Don't choke or nothin'."
"Yeah, and he swallows too."
One after another, I blew every jock in the room, `til at last they let me collapse, dribbling spunk on my desk. The young men got their pants back on and began heading for the door.
"So, Teach, who's in charge down here in B11?"
"You are," I blubbered.
"That's fuckin' right, Teach."
"Twenty bucks we got a new Teach on Friday. Who's on?"
"Make it fifty. You see how he chowed down on our meat? No way this girly boy's gonna miss out on that again."
It probably took me half an hour to pull myself together and straighten myself enough to head out the door. My mind was reeling. What had just happened? Gradually, the pieces began to fall into place. I realized I had just blown each of these studs. The esteemed "professor," I had been humiliated into having my mouth gang banged. And of course I truly enjoyed every moment of it. That last kid had it right. I was hooked.
When I was only 16, thumbing a ride back from the mall, a truck driver picked me up. Instead of taking me home, he drove to a deserted warehouse, took me inside and forced me to play his bitch for an hour. After that first rape, I was a card-carrying masochist. I began hanging out in risky locations: truck stops, public toilets, outside of bars in seedy areas. I was rewarded with repeated molestations, until with age I lost my innocent vulnerable appearance. Then I began to seek out sex partners with a strong take-command attitude and a penchant for abuse and humiliation. So if these boys thought they were going to scare me off like Whinin, Faggot Boy and Pig Ass, in actuality they were giving me every reason to return to B11.