Number 18
Christopher was my greatest triumph.
As a college professor, I get nonstop access to beautiful young men. And I've had plenty of themÑfrom football quarterbacks to valedictorians to gutter punks. But Christopher, the most average of them all, is the conquest I cherish most.
And Number 18 was my greatest victory.
Early Saturday afternoon, early spring, I opened the front door to see ChristopherÑsweet, blonde Christopher, formerly innocent, straight-acting Christopher. I took in his look. His pale cheeks were flushed, a crest of sweat glistening on his temples. He was breathing heavilyÑhe had run here.
"Why are you here, Christopher?"
"I want to give you Number 18."
"And what are you going to do for Number 18?"
He looked around nervously, making sure he was alone before he could express his basest desires. Of course he was aloneÑhe was standing on a doorstep in a quiet, wooded neighborhood. But it was still cute to see his embarrassment.
"I, uh..." he stammered.
He looked adorableÑin other words, incredibly fuckable. He was 5'9", about 145 pounds, a mop of blond hair, sparkling green-blue eyes, with the ultimate twink bodyÑsmooth skin layering defined young muscle.
Today, he also looked awkward, maybe even ridiculous, in his outfit: a long t-shirt entirely covering up a pair of short jean shorts, his bright white thighs visible and still shaven from Number 16 a couple of days ago.
Maybe I should have felt bad for having turned him into such a horny thing. He just turned me on too much to resist. Still, I had to put him through his paces.
"I can't let you in, Christopher, if I don't know why you're here."
He paused, gathered himself. Then he looked me in the eye and said,
"I want to suck your dick until you are rock hard. Then I want you to put that rock hard dick all the way up my sweet ass. Then I want you to fuck me as hard as you want to, and I don't want you to stop even if I beg you."
"And where do you want my cum, Christopher?"
"Wherever you want, sir."
"Come on in."
Christopher FryeÑthat was his name on the roster of students enrolled in Psych 203. He told me later that he'd also been in my Psych 101 lecture in the fallÑand that he'd begun to fall for me then. I did vaguely remember a blonde kid staring at me at the end of a lecture. I should have known the kid had a boner for meÑhe was staring at me even as the other students were leaving the lecture hall.
But what was I going to do then, fuck him in the middle of the lecture hall? Use him as a live demonstration of the existence of pure, unadulterated faggotry? He would have left no doubt. I just think I might have pissed off the administration with that particular teaching technique.
No, a discussion-based classroom was a much better opportunity to get into the pants and between the legs of young Christopher Frye. And I would not get in trouble for it, either. Technically, I should have waited till the end of the semester to fuck himÑthe university is surprisingly liberal about professors fucking their students, you just have to wait until they are not your student anymore. But why would I wait? This kid was enslaved to my big dick. What would he tell the administration? That he had locked his dick and balls in a cage and given me the key? That he had willingly submitted to getting me off, gloriously, twenty times before he could touch his dick again?
I don't think they would have believed it.
My formal courtship of Christopher started when he sat for writing notes on his first essay.
"SEE ME." That's all you have to write to get a private meeting with any student. It's too easy.
He sat down sheepishly in my office.
"Christopher... is it OK if I call you that?"
"Most people call me Chris."
I gave him a look.
"Yes, please call me Christopher."
Feeling cruel, maybe a bit sadistic, I swung for the fences on the first pitch.
"Christopher, how much dick have you sucked?"
His face went brick red. He nervously exhaled and laughed at the same time, shifted in his seat, pulling at his khaki shorts, trying to get comfortable in an impossibly uncomfortable situation.
"Excuse me?"
"You heard me."
He sat in silence, his breath heaving, tears welling up in his eyes. Was he going to cry? We sat in deliriously, deliciously awkward silence for maybe two minutes. He couldn't look me in the eyes, and whenever he did look, he saw me staring back at him and reading his soul.
"Well, Christopher, if I can't have an honest conversation with you, I can't help you. Come back another time when you're ready to share what's inside you."
"Four."
Aha.
"Four what?"
"I've sucked four dicks."
We were getting somewhere.
"And how many times did you suck those four dicks?"
"The first one I sucked twice."
"The same night?"
"Yes. The second and third ones, just once each."
"They didn't come back for seconds?"
"They called me a fag after they came."
"So you sucked them at the same time."
He paused, his face still flush.
"Yes."
"And the fourth one? How often did you suck the fourth one?"
"A bunch of times."
"How recently did you suck that dick, Christopher?"
"Just after breakfast."
The ice broken, melted, and flushed down the sewer, Christopher recited to me his entire sexual history. He'd pretended to be straight in high school, taking a girl to prom and fucking her, all while fantasizing about the beautiful body of his best friend Drew.
He'd convinced Drew to fool around while they were drunk at Chris's parents' cabin in the woods. His friend had tried sucking too, but he wasn't turned on. Chris sucked Drew dry twice. Their friendship fell off after they got home from the trip.
Drew must have outed himÑa week later, a kid named Troy and his friend cornered him at a party and said, "we heard you suck dick." He barely even knew these guys, but he was horny. He sucked them off on his knees in a bathroom. They came on his face and in his mouth. They laughed, high-fived. They called him a fag and left him there.
I told him I knew the type. "Troy's a fag too, you know." Christopher's eyes brightened. "It's sad, though, because he hates that he is. He sought you out. He lusts after you. He had to bring his friend along as an alibiÑas proof that he was just taking advantage of a pathetic faggot. Which, well, you were."
Christopher shifted uncomfortably again... perhaps recognizing the truth in what I said.
"But there's nothing wrong with that. If you were born to be a cocksucker, then be that. Don't apologize for it. Make your mouth available to men who want to use it. Practice. Become a truly great cocksucker."
Chris swelled with a mixture of pride and embarrassment.
"Now: who's the man using your sweet little mouth these days?"
"My roommate. Colin."
Colin and Christopher, both sophomores, had chosen to live in the dorms together this year. Amazingly, they had never had any sexual contact before they moved in. Put two horny 19 year olds with a little bit of free spirit in one small room together and it won't take too long for things to turn sexual.
Christopher had caught Colin jerking off one afternoon. Chris, turned on and smart enough to see an opportunity, asked if he could join in. Colin, rock hard and in the throes of lust, said yes. Chris slipped his hand down and started jerking Colin's dick for him.
"Jesus... that feels amazing," said Colin to his roommate, the expert cock lover, the secret fag.
Colin shot a huge load in Chris's hand that day. Starting that day, Chris would get Colin off every day.
By the end of the week, Chris asked if he could suck Colin. He's been blowing him at least once a day since.
"I don't know if he even jerks off anymore."
"Does he cum in your mouth?"
Christopher blushed. "Yes."
"Do you know how I knew you were a cocksucker? I know people. Some people, at least. Cocksuckers, certainly."
Christopher heard this label, knew, despite the resistance in his conscious mind, that it applied to himÑfit him to a tee, in fact.
"Do you know WHY I wanted to know that you're a cocksucker, Christopher?"
He paused. He could get up and leave, or he could surrender.
"Because you want me to suck your dick."
"Good boy. Lock the door."
That's how we started. Chris blew me that dayÑI shot a fat load down his throat while staring into his beautiful eyes.
After a week of occasional blowjobs, I became competitive with Colin. Why should this horny sophomore get off more often in this beautiful boy than I? I told Christopher that he could only suck my dick. Colin would have to be cut off.
According to Christopher, my dick was bigger than Colin's. And I knew how to use it better too. Christopher, pressed for a description of the tastes of our cum, admitted he liked the creamy, nutty flavor of mine better than Colin's
And so it was that Christopher became my personal cocksucker.
Which was great, but it wasn't enough. I wanted to push him further, explore the depths of his subservience.
So I devised a game: I would lock his cock and balls in a cage until he got me off twenty times, each time better than the last.
I figured that would, ironically, turn him on, that his lack of release would eat away at him, that he would take all of his own horniness and use it to become an even more divine, pure, perfect cocksucker. He would probably have to give his ass to me too.
I had no idea how right I would be.
I started fucking him on Number 10. It was always my goal to fuck him, but you sometimes need to warm a fag boy up. Once you do, thoughÑonce you are fully inside him, your pubes rubbing up against his tight little assÑyou see the look in his eyes. He knows that you know that he was born for this. There is no more apologizing, no more embarrassment, no more shame. He needs cockÑyour cockÑpure and simple.
Number 10 was his first fucking, but not his last. On Number 14, after I came up his ass, I gave him a buttplug, one with a rhinestone on the end, and told him to wear it 24 hours a dayÑin the dorm showers, in class, everywhere.
Before Number 16, I told him to shave his legs. He did. I ate his little pussy out and then fucked him so hard he couldn't speak for half an hour.
After Number 17, I gave him these cut-off jean shorts, "Daisy Dukes," about four inches long, the pockets showing at the bottom. No one could see a boy in those and not know that he was a complete and utter faggot. He put them on and blew me, making love to my penis with the whole of his mouth and throat like it was his one goal in life.
I gave him no instructions, but he wore the jean shorts to our next meeting, Number 18. I had texted him that morning, "Christopher, come see me." He had literally come running.
"And where do you want my cum, Christopher?"
"Wherever you want, sir."
"Come on in."
I opened the door and ushered him into the house. We stood in the quiet kitchen. I rubbed his shoulders, facing him. "You know, wearing this oversized t-shirt over your jean shorts, it looks like you're not wearing any pants at all."
He blushed like mad. "You asked me to wear the shorts."
"Oh, I'm not complaining, Christopher. I just wanted to make sure you know how much of a faggot you look like."
He came clean: "I am a faggot."
As I massaged his shoulders, I pushed down gently. He smoothly sunk to his knees, his eyes locked on mine.
"Suck my dick."
He reached up, expertly unhitched my belt, pulled my pants and underwear down, and had the tip of my dick in his mouth in about two seconds flat. Man, this kid was getting good!
We locked eyes as he held the first two inches in his mouth. I was hard just witnessing his willingness to serve me. We held there for a minute. Then in a moment of random inspiration, I told him to use his tongue on my dick to send me a message. He began to trace a message with his tongue on the underside of my thick eight-inch dick that just neatly fit inside of his young mouth. I think it was either "I love you" or "I love sucking your cock."
To be honest, I just wanted him to lick it a little.
"That's sweet, Christopher."
I grabbed the sides of his head and began to gently fuck his head, sliding, for now, four or five inches into his mouth, pulling out so the tip was on his lips, then burying myself again. Over the course of my long, horny life, I've fucked a lotÑmostly college boys, but some college girls tooÑand fucking this mouth felt most like fucking a tight, young pussy.
I took my pace to slow-and-steady and increased the depth. Chris's nose bounced against my pubes as I got seven inchesÑnearly the whole thingÑinside his mouth and throat. I paused and pulled out.
"Take off the shirt, and the shorts. Leave the underwear."
Chris, still on his knees, stripped. Underneath the short jean shorts he had on a pair of impossibly-skimpy sky-blue briefs. They were either gay men's briefs or panties; I didn't really care. His dick, locked in a cage inside the blue briefs, was dripping so much pre-cum there was a two-inch diameter wet spot in front.
The ravenous boy started sucking again, this time taking the fucking action in his own throat and head.
"Mmmmm... that feels good."
I let him pump on my dick for a minute or so.
"Can you take the whole thing?"
If you've sucked dick before, you know sucking an eight-inch dickÑa thick, round eight-inch horse cockÑall the way into your throat, takes practice, skill, and a willingness to submit completely. Check, check, and check.
Chris worked my dick so far back into his throat that he could barely breathe through his nose. As his lips kissed the base of my cock, he looked up at me. His eyes were watering. He was fighting off a gag reflex, but underneath that I could see a sense of prideÑthe pride that he was giving me the best pleasure a mouth can give.
"Good boy."
His eyes smiled, and a tear streamed down his cheek. I slid my dick, now fully engorged and covered in his heavy juice, from his mouth. I pulled him to his feet.
"To the bedroom."
He knew the way. We walked the steps up to the bedroom, bathed in afternoon light and lent privacy only by the forest.
"Ass up, face down."
He hopped onto the bed like a well-trained dog, edged his ass off the bed, his knees clinging to the side of the mattress, his shoulders and chest planted on the bed. I grabbed his underwear and ripped it downward, tearing it off his legs. I pulled it over his knees and took a whiffÑthe perfect smell of boy-ass.
He had his bejeweled butt plug up his sweet, tight hole. Good thing, or I would have whipped him. I might still.
"Did you lube up before you came here?"
He nodded his head into the mattress. He knew this was not the time for conversation. I wiggled the butt plug out and saw his glistening hole.
"Good boy. So I can sink my big dick into you in one go?"
He nodded again. On another day, I would make love to that tight hole with my tongue, but I was so goddamn horny that I had to slam the whole thing, right now.
I slid my dick up his crack once, then settled down and found his petite opening. Without any more preamble, I sank into him. I felt his tightness grab onto me. I gently, insistently pushed through it until my manly, hairy crotch pressed against his smooth shaven ass.
He moaned deep and long, a mix of pain and pleasure, of shame and pure fulfillment.
"Do you feel that?" He made a sound like a rutted animal. "You were built for thisÑbuilt to take my dick."
I began to slide out, then slid back in all the way. I held there for a minute. Then I pressed forward, using the weight of my muscular body to press my dick even deeper inside of him. His knees bent and his toes curledÑthis was definitely the deepest he'd ever been penetrated.
I began to fuckÑjust a good, solid fucking, taking him deep, working his tight pussy hard and fast. We got into a rhythm. I held onto his feet, his hips, his shoulders, and pulled him back onto me. Each time my crotch bounced off his ass, I grunted, and he moaned. We were sweaty from the exertion. I must have fucked him like this for 15 minutes.
I could have fucked like this for the rest of the afternoon.
"Fuck me hard," he pleaded.
I might be a little turned off by a little faggot asking for what he thinks he wants. But I knew that he knew what that meant, and that it would not necessarily be fun for him.
Fun for me, though.
I slam-fucked him, hitting the bottom hard, pulled out nearly all the way, then sunk in rough again. After a few minutes of pounding him like that, I pulled out all the way, then entered with my full length, deep dicking him as quickly as I could get the whole dick inside him. He gasped in pain and shock. I could tell he was really crying this time.
The faggot wanted it. Amazing.
I rough-fucked him for ten minutes until the moment happenedÑhis total physical submission. You can feel it in their muscles, in how they respond to your thrusts. He no longer put up any resistance or pressure whatsoever. Both of us had one priorityÑto get me off and make my dick feel as wonderful as possible.
Now THAT is what turns me on.
I appreciated that posture and gave it to him deeply for another minute, then pulled out.
"On your knees."
He hopped onto the wood floor and took my dickÑsaturated in pre-cum, lube, and his assÑback into his mouth. He stared up at me as I fucked him feverishly.
I felt my load coming up like a fucking freight train.
"Oh my GOD..."
The orgasm I had as my firehose shot off was so powerful that I half-blacked out. Did it last 10 seconds or three minutes? Did I shoot a teaspoon or two cups of cum? All I know is I blasted off in his warm mouth. I know I kept fucking his face as I shot load after load. I know it was the most intense orgasm I've ever had.
Maybe a minute after the last megawave of my cum hit his mouth, my vision returned. Christopher was still sitting on his knees, looking up at me admiringly, and a little bit proud.
"Jesus."
He had a sweet smile as he looked up at me, his cute but not-so-innocent face spattered with cum and the residues of a deep ass-fucking.
"What a mouth you have. And ass. Jesus...
"I know that was Number 18, but I'd be willing to count that as Number 19 and 20, too. As a reward for giving me such an amazing fuck. Plus I don't know if you can do any better than that."
"So if you want, I can set you free right now and let you milk your little dick."
Christopher, still on his knees, looked up with wide eyes. He gave my dick a soft, slow, loving kiss on the tip.
"Please: keep me locked up for now."
Hope you enjoyed. If you have any thoughts or responses, or you shot your load, or maybe you're an aspiring Christopher, write to me at jack.straight@hotmail.com.