Gender Studies

Dr. Taron Burns is a sociologist by trade and has to teach a second year liberal arts course in order to satisfy the terms of his tenure appointment. He has a reputation as being a relatively easygoing teacher, a lenient marker, and all-around nice guy. This year, he’s talking about gender roles and how they help and hinder progress in broader human society. Only, something strange is happening: his class is shrinking and it seems to be the girls, without exception, who are dropping out of his class, along with some of the more timid boys. He doesn’t know what to make jockboys that stay in his class, but he certainly finds the way that they look at him distracting. 

Dr. Taron Burns was an esteemed peer in the field of sociology, a reputation that he’d built brick by brick over the decades on a foundation of painstaking research. When he decided to go into sociology right out of high school, he’d never expected to have much of a life outside of academia. The increasing social awareness of society, however, meant that people in his field were similarly entering the public spotlight a lot more.

Though he’d had to suffer through some truly irritating interviews in the last couple of years, Taron didn’t resent the attention. He’d always been passionate about his work, and the more that he put himself out there, the better the funding for his research became.

Unfortunately, as much as Taron wanted to devote every waking moment to his research, there were certain stipulations in his tenure agreement that he had to adhere to if he wanted to keep his position. Stipulations that had led him to this moment, power-walking down the corridor, ten minutes late to his first lecture of the day after a morning show interview ran a few minutes long.

Taron had successfully argued down the teaching requirement of his tenure as much as he could. However, even if he wanted to, university bylaws and policy meant that he couldn’t get rid of it entirely. If not for that, he wouldn’t be stuck teaching a second-year liberal arts course on gender roles, their history, and the impact that they had had on society.

Stopping just short of the door to the lecture hall, Taron smoothed down the front of his suit, took a deep breath, and composed himself. It wouldn’t do well to show any sign of weakness to the piranhas on the other side. Hefting his briefcase in his left hand, he pushed the door open and walked in.

"Good morning, class," said Taron, as he walked across the front of the room toward the desk at the far side. A good number of his students seemed half-asleep, while others were chatting among themselves. A good few sheepishly slid back into their seats and set their bags down, likely hoping that he wouldn’t show up.

"Sorry for being late, I was a bit held up by an early interview," said Taron, as he logged into the computer at the desk. As he was pulling up the presentation for today’s lecture, he said, "Maggie. I gave that email you sent me a few days ago a bit more thought and I think that you make a salient point. I’d love to discuss the matter for a few minutes after class if you don’t have anything to do right after this."

The bubbly reply that Taron would have typically heard before he had even stopped talking was noticeably absent. He looked up and scanned the faces of his class and noticed that Maggie wasn’t present. "Did Maggie just go to the washroom or something?" he said, gesturing with his index finger toward the front door.

One of the guys on the front row, one of the few students who were in the class because it was required for their degree and not just for an easy mark, looked around, leaned forward in his chair, and said, "I don’t think I saw her come in today at all, professor."

"That’s strange," said Taron. Maggie was what he would call his star pupil, even if technically he wasn’t supposed to play favorites. She was always so engaged with his lectures and never afraid to speak her mind. Maybe she was just running a bit late.

Taron tapped the microphone affixed to his lapel. "Since we’re starting ten minutes late anyway, I’ll give the people who are running a bit behind another five minutes to get here," he said. In the meantime, he popped open his briefcase and took out the stack of papers he was in the middle of marking.

Five minutes came and went with no sign of Maggie. Two or three other students trickled into the lecture hall during that time, but not the one that Taron was looking for. He walked over to the front door and peered down the hallway just to make sure she wasn’t coming.

As Taron walked back to front and center, with the projection of his presentation slides behind him, one of the other students called out, "Yo, prof! You lookin for that hottie Magz?"

"Maggie, Mr. Dermot. You know how much she hates being called that. She thinks it’s demeaning and objectifying. Furthermore, you know that we respect people’s chosen names and preferred pronouns in this classroom. It’s a simple concept, and it doesn’t hurt anyone to be a little bit respectful." Taron pinched the bridge of his nose. "But if you must know, yes, I am looking for her. I was under the impression that she’d want to speak today."

Taron had warned them. He’d told them that if they implemented their new policy, of making humanities required for students with an athletics scholarship, the athletes would crowd out his course looking for an easy pass. They’d done it, anyway, and now he was stuck dealing with the abrasive, uncultured oaf that was Cole Dermot.

To make matters worse, the students that actually wanted to sit his class had largely stopped coming because of the rampant stupidity and disrespect coming from the back of the classroom.

Everyone Taron called on to speak who had even the slightest shred of liberal leaning was called a PC freak and had to withstand the snide chuckles from the back rows. The whole atmosphere the jocks created discouraged participation. Maggie had been the only student who not only managed to brush off the taunting every time, but actually fought back against it.

Cole leaned back in his chair and folded his corded arms over his thick chest. He was the epitome of a fratboy, complete with the lopsided smirk and backward ballcap on his head. "Whatever, bro! I thought you might want to hear that she dropped the course."

"Alright, Mr. Dermot," said Taron, "I think that’s quite enough. I know you’d want nothing more than for the rest of the class to bend to your whims, but I think you’ll find that it’ll take more than a loud mouth to scare Maggie away. Why don’t we just get started with today’s lecture?"

"Nah, bro! Maggie and I talked over dinner last night. I was fuckin’ great. And by the way, she was all over me. I knew she secretly had the hots for me," said Cole.

"Enough, Mr. Dermot. I won’t tolerate you disrespecting an intelligent young woman like that. Maggie has made it abundantly clear that she does not like you, and I think she has good enough judgment to know to steer clear," said Taron. "Now if you’ll let me, I’d like to get on with my lecture."

"Nah. I’m not gonna let you, bro," said Cole, with a small smirk. He looked down at Taron with a cocked eyebrow in a blatant challenge to his authority as the professor in charge of the course.

Taron wasn’t used to such obstinate, such shameless temerity. He couldn’t find the words to respond. All he could do was glower at Cole. "I will not—!"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Your turn to listen, bro," interrupted Cole. He leaned forward in his seat. "I get that you thought she was super against me because of the way she talked to me, but you’re a f—I mean, you’re old, bro. You don’t know how things work, nowadays. I knew deep down, under all that bitchiness, she was totally into me."

Taron had a pretty good idea what f-word Cole had caught himself about to say. The mere notion that a student would be brave enough to almost call him that word to his face was enough to make Taron’s blood boil. But he didn’t want to stoop to Cole’s level. Since everything was being recorded anyway, he figured he’d let the boy dig his own grave a little longer.

"Anyway, I gave her my number and told her that she knew what she really wanted. Lo and behold, she asked me out a few days later." Cole grinned. "Anyway, we had a good talk. Here, let me read what she sent me this morning."

Cole struck a ridiculous pose that made his buddies chuckle. As he read the text, he talked with a high-pitched voice meant to mockingly imitate the way that Maggie talked. "I’m so glad we talked last night, Cole. You helped me realize sociology is such a waste of time. I just dropped all my courses and I’m going to switch majors to something more appropriate for me."

Taron clenched his fists at his side. Cole was clearly lying through his teeth. The Maggie he knew would never call sociology a waste of time. It was apparent the jock was just doing this to get under his skin.

"Look, bro, I don’t care if you don’t believe me. Email her yourself if you want to. I just thought you might want to know," said Cole, that smirk on his face never faltering for even a moment. "Anyway, that’s it. You can go on with the lecture now."

"I don’t need your permission, Mr. Dermot," Taron hissed. He wasn’t used to being challenged so openly and he had to take a deep breath to ground himself. "You can be certain that I’m going to refer you to the disciplinary committee for this incident as soon as I can," he said.

"Whatever, bro. Like they’ll touch me," said Cole, with a laugh that only made Taron all the more intent on seeing him punished.


On his way back to his office after class, Taron couldn’t stop thinking about the events that had transpired. He didn’t know what troubled him more, his apparent powerlessness in the face of Cole’s brazen challenge to his authority, or the fact that a small part of him believed, somehow, that what Cole had said about Maggie was true.

Though Taron managed to get through the lecture without letting his troubled thoughts show, Cole’s words had echoed over and over again in his skull. It was simply too outlandish to believe that Maggie would abandon sociology after a single conversation when she had always struck him as extremely passionate about it.

The problem was that Taron didn’t think Cole was lying, either. The jock was brutish and crass at the best of times, but he was never dishonest. Cole was frank. He never lied. He merely spoke his mind without care for how his words might affect others.

Still, Taron had to know the truth, and there was only one way to find out. He needed to talk to Maggie himself. If not in person, then at least by email. He couldn’t get back to his office quickly enough to get started. The uncertainty was killing him. The not-knowing was the worst part, by far.

Taron fumbled with his keys once he got to his office. As soon as he was inside, he chucked his bag at one of the chairs in front of his desk. He sat down and cracked his knuckles, bringing up his email client faster than he had ever done before.

The first email Taron composed was rather simple. It was just a brief check-in with Maggie, inquiring as to why she hadn’t come to class, but he felt it was a bit terse and set it aside.

After sitting in silence for a few minutes, Taron began composing another email. This one was more familiar and informal, though it quickly turned into an impassioned plea asking Maggie to stay on with the program. If she continued down the path that she seemed so suited to, she would become a credit to the field of sociology. Her insight and her bravery in challenging the established norms were invaluable.

Taron discarded the second draft, as well. He buried his face in his hands. He was acting as if Maggie was actually dropping his course, and the fact of the matter was he just didn’t know if that was the case. In the end, he opted to write another email more in line with the first and sent it off.

Twenty excruciating minutes passed before Taron heard the blessed sound of an email notification pinging from his computer. He’d spent the whole time drumming his fingers on his desk, apprehensive of what Maggie would have to say.

Thankfully, the email that had arrived was actually from Maggie. Taron didn’t know what he would have done if it was a false alarm. He stared for a moment at the bolded subject line, fingers trembling as they hovered over the mouse. After a few moments, he found the courage to get on with it and clicked the email open.

o hi prof lyk sry i dnt shoe up too class n stuf i dont think ure sauce-ology is d kina thng 4 me.. cole was ryt. im not good at smarting n thinkin n stuf so im just gona doo makeup lyk cole sugested cos its d perfec thng 4 a bimbo lyk me

sry agen.

muah. ~magz <3

Taron stared, dumbfounded, at the screen. His brain struggled to comprehend what he’d just read. It was so insane he felt as if reality was fraying at the edges.

Looking around, Taron half-expected a camera to jump out, and a game show host to reveal to him that he was being pranked. No such thing happened, of course, because that was an idea nearly as absurd as what he’d just read

Over and over again, Taron read the message in the vain hope that it would spontaneously rearrange into something that made sense. The longer he stared at it, the faster his heart hammered in his chest. There were only two possibilities he could think of to explain the incongruity.

The first possibility, and the most absurd, was that Taron’s most well-spoken and eloquent student had suddenly gotten her language skills reduced to practically nothing. The second possibility, the one he wanted to believe was the case, was that somehow Cole had gotten Maggie into playing a cruel game.

If the point of it all was to get a rise out of Taron, Cole had definitely succeeded. If, however, he expected to get away with his wicked game scot-free because of his status as an athlete, then he had another thing coming.

Taron wasn’t going to stand for it. If he had to leverage his position to punish the jock, he would. He did not come to this particular university to have his authority questioned, to be mocked to his face, and to have his star students turned against him. He liked to think that he brought the university enough academic prestige to be able to throw his weight around at least somewhat.

Jumping up from his desk with determination, Taron stormed out of his office and down the hall. He took every step with intent and largely ignored the pleasantries he received from his colleagues along the way.

Just as he was about to turn the corner to the lobby, Taron heard the sound of a familiar voice that never failed to grate on his nerves. "Fuck, man, she was tight," said Cole. The jock and two of his friends were loitering around the doorway of an empty classroom, with Cole leaning against the doorframe.

"It’s always the uptight ones, you know? The more stuck-up the bitch is, the more of a freak she gets under the sheets," said Cole, smirking. So far, it seemed that the three had yet to notice Taron standing there, watching them, his fists clenched at his sides.

It didn’t take a genius to know who Cole was talking about. Taron hated it, the way that the jock was talking about his star student as if she was just another conquest. If anything, it only made him more determined to inflict some sort of consequences on Cole.

While he was standing there, Taron realized that he could probably record the conversation and use it as evidence for misconduct. He crept as close as he could without being detected and took out his phone to record what Cole was saying. Nothing would be more poetic than for the jock to dig his own grave.

"She got so fucked up on the idea of me, man. She was practically drooling when wet met." Cole laughed. He mock-thrust his hips and said, "Ugh. And you should have heard her when I had her in the room last night. She was fucking screaming her head of while I was fucking the brains out of her."

"Yeah, right, bro. Like you could ever make a girl scream with that little peanut dick of yours," said one of the two other young men hanging around Cole. The one that hadn’t spoken yet chuckled and gave him a high-five. "I bet she was just lying there wondering when you were going to put it in."

"Projection, much, bro?" said Cole, with a small smirk. He crudely grabbed his package and gave it a quick shake. "More than a peanut in here, bro. Want me to prove it? Right now?"

"Hell no, bro! That’s some fag shit! Keep your dick in your pants," said the guy, taking a step back from Cole.

"Then maybe you should stop talking about it so much," said Cole, with a smirk. "I know you like to sneak looks in the shower, man, and that’s cool. But don’t dish it out if you can’t take it."

The guy that had ribbed Cole blushed and was silent. Cole continued. "Besides. No bitch can resist this, bro. I told you she was going to end up throwing herself at me."

Cole smirked. Once again, he mocked Maggie’s voice. "Oh, daddy Cole!" he said, speaking in a high-pitched voice worthy of a porno. "Please fuck my useless smarts out! Thinking is so hard. I just want to be the slutty bimbo whore you said I was always meant to be. Turn my brains to mush with your thick Alpha cock, daddy Cole!" he said, bursting into laughter at the end.

Taron, despite himself, let his anger get the better of him. He straightened from his hiding place and walked over to confront the three young men. "That’s quite enough, Mr. Dermot," he said.

Cole scoffed and turned to look at him, cocking an eyebrow. "I get that you think you’re some invincible big-shot at this university, Mr. Dermot, but I won’t tolerate that kind of demeaning language being used about one of my students," said Taron.

Despite the bemused, unflappable expression on Cole’s face, Taron felt a surge of confidence as he continued. "Need I remind you, Mr. Dermot, that you are still just a student at this university. No matter how much of an athletic star you are, you are not above the rules."

Taron held up his phone to show that it was recording, and had been recording for the past couple of minutes. "I meant it when I said I was going to refer you to the disciplinary committee for your earlier insubordination. I was just about to head there, actually. Now I have this recording to help prove my point that you are a menace and that you deserve to be sanctioned."

Cole straightened, pushing himself up off the door frame. He took a couple of steps toward Taron and stood there, looking the professor in the eye with nary a hint of fear in that steely blue gaze. "Are you done, prof?" he said, sliding his hands into his pockets.

The two other young men walked up, standing just behind and to either side of Cole. They looked like hired thugs, but Taron wasn’t about to get intimidated by the show of force. "You really can’t let it go, can you, prof?" said Cole.

"I can’t, in good conscience, ‘let it go’ as you say," said Taron. "The kind of attitude you and your friends have is poisonous to the free discourse that universities stand for and society as a whole. It’s my moral duty to make sure that doesn’t go unpunished."

"Geez, get off your high horse, prof," said Cole, rolling his eyes. "Why are you so obsessed with me, anyway? And don’t even think about lying. I’ve seen the way you look at me in class. It’s okay, prof. I know I’m nice to look at. Why don’t you take a good long look right now?"

Taron narrowed his eyes as Cole raised his arms and flexed. The boy was built, he had to admit, had the kind of body that he’d always aspired to but never managed to reach.

There was no denying that Cole was handsome, with his cut jaw, pretty blue eyes, and glittering brown hair. Hell, there was also something unreasonably attractive about the arrogant little smirk that was tugging at the corner of his lips. Taron drank in all the little details of the jock’s expression if only to make the moment he saw the self-satisfied smile wiped off Cole’s face all the sweeter.

It was Cole’s voice that ultimately brought Taron back to reality. "Yeah. Just like that. Jesus. Were you even listening, prof?" he said. Taron opened his mouth to respond but Cole talked over him before he could. "No. Figured you weren’t. So fucking shameless." Cole laughed.

"So let me say it again, prof. Do you really think they won’t question what a professor is doing sneaking around like a creep and spying on his students when you take that recording to them?" said Cole. The smirk on his face was insufferable.

"I mean, maybe if it was any other faculty member they wouldn’t think twice… But you have a bit of a reputation for being…" said Cole, making a limp-wristed gesture with his hand. "Pretty much anyone would think it a bit suspicious that you have a recording of the hottest guy on campus talking about a chick he banged."

Taron felt the heat rise to his cheeks. His fingers were clenched so hard his knuckles were turning white. The very blood in his veins was close to boiling and he felt as if he was about to explode. And yet, when he opened his mouth to give the recalcitrant child in front of him a piece of his mind, Cole just bulldozed over him anyway.

"Besides, you’re not really going to the disciplinary committee, are you, prof? You’re not that stupid," said Cole. "You’re probably just bluffing."

Cole leaned in closer to Taron. The older man froze. "You’re probably going to go back to your office to jerk off to the sound my voice," said Cole, with a laugh that sent a chill right down Taron’s spine. "Are you sure you don’t want a taste of the real thing, prof?" he added, taking a step back and grabbing his package.

"T-That is s-sexual harassment!" Taron spluttered. He felt like his face was going to burst into flames at any moment. How dare this barbarian insinuate those sorts of things about him? "I will have you expelled from this institution if it’s the last thing I do, Mr. Dermot! Mark my words!"

Taron stormed off, red in the face, his footsteps echoing in the silent corridor. Behind him, he heard Cole mockingly repeat what he’d just said. The sound of three young men laughing at his expense haunted him all the way to the lobby.


A few heads turned when Taron burst out of the building. A few lingered a few seconds more as he stood there, taking a deep breath to center himself, but most just turned their attention back to their own concerns.

Just as Taron was about to descend the front steps to the sidewalk, Taron realized that he’d forgotten something in his office. He turned around, pausing in front of the door with his hand hovering over the pull bar.

Taron’s face reddened at the thought of how it would look if Cole saw him heading back in after the last comment that the jock made. Grumbling quietly under his breath, Taron jogged down the front steps and went around to the back of the building, hoping that by taking the long way around he wouldn’t have to risk running into Cole again.

A few questioning looks were thrown Taron’s way from colleagues he’d met on the way out of the building. "Forgot something," he said, after one of the other tenured professors in the department raised an eyebrow at him. He didn’t even know why he felt the need to justify himself, but his interactions with Cole had definitely shaken his confidence.

The walk back to Taron’s office felt like it couldn’t be over soon enough. Every corner he turned, he expected Cole to be standing there with a mocking look on his face.

Fuck. Taron didn’t know what was happening to him but he was feeling hot. Sweat prickled at his brow as he picked up his pace to a brisk walk. As he climbed the steps to his floor, he tugged on the collar of his button-up shirt but the relief that it offered was marginal at best and inconsequential at worst.

Taron took a moment on the half landing of the staircase, gripping the handrail as he wiped away the moisture on his forehead with the back of his hand. The heat had spread through his chest and down his torso, pooling in his stomach.

Taking a shaky breath, Taron continued his ascent. His legs were a bit unsteady but he managed to make it. His office was close enough to the stairwell that he could breathe a sigh of relief once he entered the corridor that his office opened into.

With no one around to question his presence, Taron trudged the rest of the way to his office. He jangled the key in the doorknob with one hand while popping open one of his shirt buttons with the other. As soon as he was inside, he leaned his back against the door and took a deep, shuddering breath.

Taron reached to his side and fumbled to grab the string that dangled there, dangerously close to the door. He pulled the loop along one way to close the blinds in the front of his office and popped another button on his shirt open as soon as he could.

Whatever it was that Taron had forgotten became an afterthought as an insistent throbbing need between his legs drew his attention. He looked down and saw the outline of his cock pressed up against the fabric of his khakis, snaking down the side of his leg.

It was an uncommon enough occurrence these days that the erection would have been remarkable on its own, but the sudden and unexpected turgidity of Taron’s thick piece was accompanied by a wave of arousal so intense he struggled to breathe through it. His thoughts, unbidden, wandered back to the dazzling, arrogant smile on Cole’s face as he challenged Taron’s authority with the full arrogance of someone who believed he owned the world.

Taron staggered toward his desk. From there, he wobbled to the windows at the back of his office that looked down into the courtyard between his building and the one next door. He peered out to make sure there weren’t any nosy neighbors across the way and shut the blinds to ensure his privacy.

A quiet moan escaped Taron as leaned forward against his desk. Fuck. He was so hard. He could scarcely believe he was having these kinds of thoughts for someone who had barely just become a man, and a student of his, no less.

And yet, Taron also had to admit that there was something of a thrill to it. He was 52—not that old to most people, but practically a fossil by gay years. The powerful lust he could feel pulsing through his meat felt like a reminder of his faded virility.

Taron reached into his pants and wrapped his fingers around his cock for the first time in what felt like years. God. He didn’t think he’d ever been this turned on in his life. And over the student he most despised, no less.

If only Cole wasn’t such an asshole, Taron could have embraced the fantasy with a clean conscience, but that was just it. It was the fact that Cole was so abrasive, so cocky, so self-sure and arrogant that he found strangely compelling.

"God, what have I come to?" moaned Taron as he fumbled for the armrest of his desk chair. He flopped down and pulled his hand out of his pants, reaching up to unbutton his shirt the rest of the way. He immediately felt a little better. The heat of his skin suddenly wasn’t so stifling.

Taron brushed a hand down the front of his bare chest, his fingers dragging along the sparse, wiry, greying hairs covered his skin. He shivered at the touch of his own hand, his fingertips leaving trails of tingling heat wherever they went.

Despite his age, Taron still religiously worked out whenever he had the time. He made sure to eat well, too. There was an aspect of vanity to it all—being an older bachelor he knew that he had to keep his body in good shape if he ever wanted to meet a man—but most of all he did it to ensure that he would live long enough to see what the future of his field had in store.

Right now, the more high-minded of Taron’s reasons didn’t matter. Teasing his fingers down the cleft of his firm pectoral muscles sent a shudder up Taron’s spine, and a quick pinch and twist of his nipple elicited an involuntary groan from his lips.

Taron’s fingers wandered further down, over the faint cobbles of Taron’s abs. They weren’t as defined as they were in his youth when he had the time and the energy to really invest in his fitness, but they were still there, and seeing them juxtaposed with the large lump in his pants sent a fresh wave of arousal through Taron’s body.

Briefly, Taron’s thumb brushed across the thin treasure trail that led down past the waistband of his pants. He shivered. A brief moment of lucidity allowed him to consider what he was doing. His predecessors hadn’t fought tooth and nail for the progress of gay rights for him to be jerk-off in his office while fantasizing about a homophobic young man thirty years his junior. And yet it just turned him on so much.

As he hooked his fingers into the waistband of his pants, Taron knew that he had a chance to stop. He could get up, fix his attire, and save his dignity. He could ignore the erection, prove Cole wrong, and get back to life as he knew it. But the throbbing, insistent need between his legs had other ideas.

Realizing that he was just about to change his life, Taron took a deep breath and shoved his pants down his legs. His cock sprang free, the head smacking the skin to the side of his treasure trail where it left a glistening patch.

Just seeing his own cock, this hard and this ready to be played with, made the erection between Taron’s legs jump. He spread his legs as wide as the narrow office chair would let him and reached down to wrap his fingers around his shaft.

A quiet groan escaped Taron. It had been so long since he’d done this he felt like he was on a hair-trigger. He didn’t know how long he would last but he was going to enjoy the feeling while it lasted. Slowly, he slid his fingers up and down the supple skin of his dick.

The sensation of it was electric. Taron’s back arched off the chair as he worked his fingers along the length of his erection. It felt so good that he could scarcely stifle his moans even with the back of his free hand.

Taron had forgotten how it felt to have a truly good jerk-off but he didn’t think any of the thousands of nights of masturbating he’d done as a younger man could have ever come close to what he was feeling right now. He had to gasp for breath, his chest rising and falling heavily with every stroke, and still, he felt a little light-headed.

Taron leaned his head against the back of the chair and closed his eyes. It was wrong and dirty and filthy on so many levels but he just couldn’t stop thinking about Cole. He’d stared long enough at the young jock to have memorized every last detail of his face, from the way that the corners of those lips curled when he smirked, to the haughty, self-important look in those glittering blue eyes.

Licking his lips, Taron imagined what it would be like to be a fly on the wall in the boys’ locker room. He imagined how Cole would look, trudging into the room after a game, grimy and sweaty, those golden locks plastered to glowing, healthy skin flushed from exertion.

Taron’s breath caught in his throat as he imagined how the wind-down would go, how Cole would stand in the middle of it all, confident in his standing among his peers. Cole would drop his helmet on the floor for one of the little guys on the support staff to pick up after him. He would strip off his shoulder pads and jersey without a second thought, casting them to the floor just like the helmet.

Cole wasn’t enough of a muscle-head to come to class shirtless, but he wore tight enough shirts that Taron didn’t have to fabricate much for his fantasy. He could already imagine the way that those thick pecs and ripped, rock-hard abs would ripple as Cole stretched after the game, the way those powerful, bulging arms would strain as he stretched his triceps behind his head.

Gritting his teeth, Taron fought down the orgasm that churned in his guts at the thought of the self-satisfied arrogant little smirk on Cole’s face as his teammates clapped him on the shoulder and congratulated him for another game won. God what Taron would give for confidence like that, for the easy way that Cole would take the compliments, knowing that each one was well-deserved.

Fuck. Taron groaned, pre-cum dripping liberally from the tip of his hard cock. He could imagine Cole walking up to one of the benches that ringed the locker room, fingers fumbling with the ties of his pants. Cole would have absolute confidence, stripping out of all his clothes without batting an eyebrow, his large cock swinging between his legs as he made his way to the showers.

Esteemed. Dignified. Those were only two of the words that people used to describe how much they respected Taron for his contributions to his field and yet even he struggled to believe he was either of those things considering what he was fantasizing about.

That Taron was thinking about these things was humiliating enough, but imagining being in those showers, naked and on his knees in front of Cole, was beyond depraved. And yet, he didn’t dispel the thought. He didn’t stop pumping his fingers up and down his cock, faster and faster with every stroke. Instead, he quietly mouthed the words he would say if he were, truly, in that situation, "Please, Cole… I know you hate me, but please, please, please let me have a taste of your cock. Please."

Saying it out loud, even if Taron did so so quietly that only he could hear the words, made it feel so real. It was a tacit admission that Cole was right, that he was a creep, that he had been staring at his own student like a pervert. It was wrong and utterly against everything he thought he was and yet so titillating, too. He nearly lost his load then and there, but he needed more.

The humiliation was addictive, intoxicating. With his free hand, Taron fumbled for his phone and awkwardly tapped in his PIN. He opened the recording app and clicked play on his most recent recording.

The moment that Taron heard Cole’s voice, disparaging his once-star pupil, it ripped a moan out of him so loud and so deep that he couldn’t have stopped it even if he wanted to. He gripped his cock tightly, furiously pistoning his fingers up and down the length of his erect cock, listening to Cole’s nonchalant dismissal of one of the brightest minds he’d ever had the pleasure to teach.

It was almost too much. Almost. Taron was so close he felt like he was riding the knife’s edge. A glob of pre-cum, clear and sticky shot out the tip of his cock as he realized that he’d recorded more than he intended. He had recorded his whole conversation with Cole in addition to everything that had come before.

Taron could feel the cum churning in his balls as his phone replayed the vicious verbal castration that Cole had delivered. He nearly came when Cole commented that he’d denied but had ultimately proven true about going back to his office to masturbate. What finally pushed him off the deadly precipice was the sound of Cole’s derisive, mocking laughter as he stormed down the hall.

With a grunt, Taron felt all the tension that had been coiling in his groin rush towards release. It was like a white-hot tsunami of pleasure building in his cock, making it pulse and throb and swell. Two or three more thrusts and he felt that he would explode but a sudden and sharp knock at his door sent ice ripping through his veins.

What should have been a dizzying orgasm fizzled into a pathetic trickle of thick white jizz down the underside of Taron’s cock as he pulled his hand away from his engorged manhood. "Fuck," he said, under his breath, and then, when he’d had time to take a breath, "W-What is it?"

"Oh! Sorry. Wrong office," said the voice on the other side of the door.

Taron slumped against the back of his chair and clenched his hands around the ends of the armrests. He still felt so fucking horny, but his cock had rapidly softened despite his best efforts. He was so frustrated he could scream.

For a few minutes, Taron sat there stewing until the truth of what he’d just done dawned on him. Grabbing a few sheets from the box of tissues he kept on his desk, Taron gingerly cleaned himself off, cheeks burning with shame at where he’d allowed his lust to take him.

After he dressed, Taron could scarcely look his reflection in the window in the eye. He quietly swore to himself that he’d just had a moment of weakness and that it would never happen again, that he would not let Cole have such power over him, but even the mere thought of the problem student made his soft cock twitch.


Taron hated to prove Cole right yet again, but he just couldn’t get the young, muscular stud out of his head. He followed Cole around campus, whenever he had both time and an excuse to be walking about. He listened in to the crass, brutish conversations that the jock liked to have with his similarly-minded friends and made sure to record the worst, most demeaning parts.

So far, Taron had managed to convince himself that it was all for the sake of building a strong case against Cole for the disciplinary committee. Deep down, however, he was acutely aware of the shameful and true reason he was making the recordings.

The arousal Taron had felt that first day Cole confronted him hadn’t gone away. It gnawed at him from the inside, making his cock twitch in his pants whenever the echo of the arrogant jock’s words flitted through his thoughts. Hardly a day passed, now, when he didn’t do something filthy and depraved in the semi-privacy of his office.

Taron had had to take to opening the windows during his afternoon classes to air the room out just so it wouldn’t reek of sweat and cum so much. He had no idea what was happening to him, or why, but he was powerless to stop it. He was hooked like an addict and the days he tried to break off the habit only served to reinforce it.

Desperate to channel his lust to something less humiliating, Taron had taken to watching porn of submissives being degraded by their dominants. He’d hoped that maybe his fantasies would transfer over to those other men, that his mind would be full of their self-confident smirks and proclamations instead of Cole’s. The only thing he managed to accomplish was coming up with more and more outlandish fantasies of how he wanted Cole to treat him despite the gap in their years.

Taron chewed on his lower lip. He was jerking off again. He’d turned the lights in his office down so no one would suspect he was in. He’d also closed the blinds just to make sure no one would see the dirty things he was doing.

"Dude, you should see the prof for my gender studies class," said Cole’s voice, fed into Taron’s ears by a pair of knotted earphones. "He’s such a fucking fag. He keeps staring at all the hot guys, and I’m pretty sure he goes commando every day. It’s hard not to see when that nasty fag cock gets hard."

Taron’s breath hitched in his throat. He’d recorded that particular line a few days ago. It wasn’t true, of course, and he learned that he probably had to reassess his evaluation of Cole as a young man who didn’t lie, but it had struck a chord nonetheless.

Professional curiosity was the excuse Taron had used to justify going commando the day after. It had helped to mollify the rational part of him that balked at the idea. On the one hand, it had been profoundly uncomfortable, but on the other, it had also been freeing.

Perhaps, more importantly, for what he was currently doing, the little trial run had been humiliating beyond anything he’d experienced before. The sly little grins and the wry snickering from the back of the class when he got half-hard after looking at Cole a few times more than he’d wanted, weren’t lost on him. Fuck. It had been so wrong and yet so right at the same time. He’d cum so hard right after.

"Dude. It was sick. He had a hard-on throughout the whole class. I think someone’s putting him up to it," said Cole’s voice, from a clip the same day he went commando in class.

"Yes," Taron hissed under his breath. "You’re putting me up to it you nasty, disrespectful, arrogant man-child. And you don’t even know half of how aroused it makes me," he growled as he pumped his hand quickly up and down his cock.

"You should have seen the look on his face. He was fucking ashamed of it but he didn’t even cover-up!" Cole barked a laugh. "I think the creepy old pervert gets off on doing humiliating shit like that," he said.

Fuck. Taron moaned and leaned his head back. He pumped his fingers up and down his shaft faster and faster. Cole was right. He hadn’t known it before, but he was aware of the truth now. He did get off on humiliation, and more so when the reason for it was Cole.

Over the last few days, Taron had changed a few more things about himself thanks to the little comments that Cole kept having about him. He started wearing tighter shirts to class, the top one or two buttons undone to show off some of his chest and the wiry salt-and-pepper hair lightly dusted on his skin.

The way that Cole had laughed hysterically for a good minute the moment he entered the classroom made him rock-hard for the entirety of the lecture, and as soon as the class was over and the students had left, he had slumped over his desk and cum hands-free.

The mere memory of the event was almost enough to send Taron over the edge, but not quite. The audio cut out abruptly as the app moved on. He relived Cole’s comments that preceded him changing out his glasses for something sexier and more suited to his face, as well as the ones that preceded his haircut and slick new hairstyle.

Each snippet was followed by another clip of Cole talking about how much more of a "total fag" Taron looked with every change that he made to his appearance, especially after he started wearing tighter pants to class.

Through the burning humiliation and the shameful arousal that accompanied it, Taron rode the exquisite edge with a mastery that he’d never really displayed in life. He was saving himself for something, for the newest clip he’d managed to record today. He could already tell that the orgasm from that file would be the most powerful yet.

Taron’s heart thumped in his chest. This truly was the point of no return. He knew that if he listened to this, if he came to this, his mind wouldn’t let it rest until he did as Cole described. Even all the willpower his rational mind could muster wasn’t able to peel a single finger off his cock.

"Honestly, it’s starting to get a little bit creepy," said Cole. His tone didn’t say he was disturbed, but more amused than anything. "I don’t really want to see that fag’s hard-on while he teaches about all that faggot shit. He should just lock it up, really, so I don’t have to see that shameful thing."

Taron groaned. Cum bubbled out the tip of his cock and trickled down the sides of his bare legs. A quiet groan escaped him as yet another ruined orgasm left him twitching and frustrated.


Taron’s cock strained in the cold metal bars of its cage. Chastity was a revelatory experience. The moment the lock clicked shut on the metal contraption around his dick he’d felt a surge of arousal not unlike the one he’d gotten the day Cole first talked back to him. He took a deep breath to steady himself before he pushed the door to the lecture hall open.

Though usually Taron’s entrance was enough to silence most of the conversations going on in the room, this time they continued unimpeded. If anyone even noticed that he had walked in, they certainly didn’t show it. It wasn’t really a surprise, anymore, and he’d stopped bringing it up after Cole laughed and told him it was a bit pathetic to be getting upset over such a little thing.

"Good to see you’re not getting your panties in a twist anymore, prof," said Cole. Surprisingly, the jock was down by the front of the class. It seemed he’d been talking with the nerdier guys in the front row. They all had little adoring smiles as they looked at Cole while he spoke.

"I mean, you understand what I said was true, right? If you were a real man, you’d have no problem commanding the attention of the room…" said Cole, the small knowing smirk that tugged at the corner of his lips making Taron’s cock twitch in its confinement.

Cole jumped off the long desk that all the students in the first row shared. "Ah!" he said, raising a finger into the air. "Let me demonstrate. You do it like this." Cole clapped his hands once and immediately the room was silent.

"Prof’s here!" Cole declared, his voice booming through the lecture hall without the aid of a microphone like the one that Taron attached to his lapel. "Et voila!" said Cole. The sarcastic bite of his voice drew a few snickers from the rest of the now all-male class. Even the nerds up front laughed a little, which earned them a beaming grin from the ringleader of the whole thing.

"Anyway, carry on with what you were doing," said Cole. A moment later, the buzz of conversation was thick in the air once again. Cole just looked at Taron and smirked.

Taron tried not to show how fucking aroused he was at the overt display of dominance that Cole had just put on. If not for the cage he would have been so hard, but instead little showed in his pants but a little bump in the front.

After a breath, Taron surveyed the class. The ratio had been skewed before, but now it was just utterly broken. Most of the seats were taken up by frat-bros and athletic types that had probably heard his class was an easy writing credit. All the girls had either dropped or had mysteriously disappeared like Maggie.

In a small way, Taron wanted to say he hated what his class had become but he couldn’t. Not in truth, anyway. The way that all those muscular jocks looked down at him with faint contempt every time he talked about women’s rights and gay rights only served to fuel the fantasies he had about Cole.

"Shall we get started?" said Taron. He had to speak a little louder than usual to be heard over the hum of conversation in the room. No one paid him any attention, not even the nerds in the front. They seemed to be excitedly comparing notes about something, and couldn’t be fucked to even look at him.

Taron tapped the mic on his lapel. He took a deep breath and tried again, a bit more forcefully, to gain control of the room. "I said, shall we get st—!"

Before Taron could even get all the words out, Cole interrupted with a small, shit-eating grin. "Oh yeah, prof," he said. The lecture hall went quiet, almost in deference to Cole’s words. "Someone left a package for you. It’s just under the desk."

Taron frowned. He looked under the desk and sure enough, there was a small, discreet cardboard box tucked just under it. He picked it up and placed it on top of the desk. The tape looked like it had already been cut through, conveniently, so he took a look inside.

"This is beyond the pale, Mr. Dermot!" Taron thundered, his face reddening as he felt the blood rush to his cheeks. He feigned at anger, but in truth, he could feel his asshole twitching, his cock leaking, and his stomach fluttering. "And if wasn’t you who sent this, then whoever did will have something to answer for. As for the package, this is going to be disposed of immediately."

Taron picked the box up and was about to toss it into the trash when Cole piped up again. "Isn’t that a bit rude, prof?" he said. "I get whatever it is pissed you off, but geez. Grinch, much? Maybe they just thought you’d like the gift. You should probably keep it."

Thanks to the interruption, Taron got a chance to think clearly about what he was going to do. "Alright, Mr. Dermot," he said. "I’m going to keep it. But not because it’s a ‘gift’ or any such reason. I’m going to keep it so that I can investigate who sent it and properly bring them to justice. Now, if there aren’t to be any more interruptions, I would like to begin the lecture."

Almost as if Taron wasn’t even standing there in front of the class, the rest of the boys took to talking amongst themselves yet again. He practically had to yell just to be heard over the din, but there was little to no point. Even the few dedicated students he had left seemed to have better things to do than listen to him.

Taron stood there, stewing on the outside but quietly shivering at how good it felt to be ignored by all of these virile, masculine young men. The only one paying him any attention seemed to be Cole, who had a little knowing smirk playing on his lips.


"I got a look at the box before professor fag got in. It was a fucking remote-control vibrator! I bet he’s going to start wearing it to class from now on." Cole had said later that day that Taron received the package.

Despite his better judgment, Taron had found the notion so compelling that he couldn’t resist. He’d put the plug in the previous night. It was big, and though he wasn’t exactly a virgin, it had been some time so it took a while to work it into his ass. He still wasn’t quite used to walking with it inside, but he passed well enough that most people didn’t even notice.

As Taron walked into the classroom, the din of conversation as he was ignored enveloped him like a warm embrace. He shivered, his hole twitching around the narrow neck of the vibrating plug. It was humiliating to be so incapable of commanding even the tiniest bit of attention or respect from his students, and yet at the same time so profoundly arousing.

Taron was breathing heavily by the time that he got to his desk. With a cursory look around, hoping against hope that someone was paying attention today, he noticed that all the nerds in front were wearing gym clothes and looked like they’d just gotten in from a workout. Cole was there, of course, congratulating them.

This time, Cole didn’t even acknowledge Taron, but he did pull his phone out of his pocket as he climbed the stairs back to his usual spot. Taron’s insides twisted a little in anticipation of what the jock had in store for him today. He couldn’t wait, but at the same time, he dreaded to think what it could be.

Once everything was ready to go, Taron sighed to himself and got ready to start the lecture. "Alright. Today, we’re going to talk abo—!" halfway through his sentence, Taron felt a faint buzz in the seat of his pants. It sent a shiver right up his spine.

Cole’s words echoed in Taron’s head. "You know what. I’m willing he’s too old to even know how to use technology properly. He’ll probably make the PIN 1234. Wanna bet? You owe me 50 if I’m right." Stupidly, Taron had done just that. He’d wondered how Cole would prove it, but he figured he’d find out soon enough.

"A-As I was saying, today w—" Taron stifled the moan that threatened to escape him. What had been a faint buzz intensified into a pleasant rumble that was making his cock strain in its cage. He looked up at Cole and the self-satisfied little smirk on his face.

"Today we—" Taron couldn’t suppress the quiet little moan this time as the vibrations ramped up just a little more. He reached behind him, pressing the base of the plug against his hole as he hung his head and bit his lower lip, his cheeks flushed with shame at his outburst.

"Are you alright, prof?" said Cole, the sound of his voice seemingly capable of silencing all conversation in the room with a single note. "You look like you’re having a little trouble there…"

"I’m p-p-perfectly f-fine!" Taron managed through gritted teeth as the vibrations died down for a moment and then returned with renewed intensity. His knees were trembling, the arm he had bracing him against the desk was shaking. Fruitlessly, he rubbed his fingers over the base of the plug, trying to get it to stop but the vibrations just. Kept. Coming.

"I think you need some help, prof," said Cole. Taron managed to glance up while he tried to control the movements of his hips. Cole and two of his fratboy buddies had gotten up from their chairs and were making their way down to the front of the class.

"D-don’t come any closer," Taron stuttered, though in his heart of hearts he wanted Cole to come closer, to peel off his clothes, and ravish him right then and there. His hole was spasming around the plug, making him leak into his pants more and more.

Cole and his thugs came up to the desk. "I’m going to call emergency services," said Cole, though he twisted his wrist to show Taron that he had the control app for the plug open. He dragged the slider for the intensity 3/4 of the way to full and Taron let out a long, low moan that elicited a few snickers from the rest of the class.

Against Taron’s will, Cole’s two companions pulled him away from the desk and toward the center of the "stage" of the lecture hall. Out of the corner of his eye, Taron watched as Cole slid the bar down to barely above the minimum threshold.

As the vibrations dissipated, Taron was able to get his legs under him. "T-Thank you," he said. "I-I think I’ll be fine now." The two jocks let go of him, but just as they did, Cole slid the bar all the way to full.

Taron fell to his knees, which surprisingly wasn’t as bad as he was expecting given his age. He spread his legs as wide as he could and reached back, trying to grab the base of the plug which was as fruitless as it was embarrassing.

Moans bubbled up and out of Taron’s throat before he could stop them, his hips bouncing up and down in the air in front of the class. "What’s that buzzing, prof?" said Cole, a lopsided grin on his face as he came up to Taron. "Is there something in your pants? Is that what’s causing you distress?"

A gentle shove between the shoulder-blades sent Taron to his hands and knees. His back arched, instinctually, his ass bouncing with every pulse of the vibrations from the plug. He moaned. The arousal that was coursing through him rendered him deaf to the laughter echoing through the room.

"Turn around, prof," said Cole. "I need to see what’s wrong if you want me to help you."

Mind going a little bit fuzzy from the sensations radiating from his ass, Taron did as he was told. He pushed his ass into the air a little more, even, no longer quite able to differentiate between fantasy and reality.

The feeling of cold air on his bare ass cheeks was enough to shock Taron back to reality but he could do little more than moan as Cole rubbed his thumb over the base of the plug and pushed it in a little more. "Oh, what’s this, prof? Wow. I didn’t think you were the type."

A chorus of raucous laughter exploded through the class. "I have to say, that’s a little bit naughty," Cole continued. "I thought gay men such as yourself were supposed to be worthy of dignity and respect? What kind of respectable man wears a vibrating plug to work?"

Taron didn’t have an answer for that. He’d already acknowledged that he was a fraud, a sorry excuse for a professor, much less a gay man. All he could do was arch his back more as Cole changed up the pattern of vibrations to something that made his asscheeks bounce.

"I figured that was all just talk," said Cole. "Why don’t you just come out and admit it, prof? You don’t really believe all that shit that fags are equal, do you?"

"J-J-Just because I’m n-not like the m-men I talk about d-doesn’t mean a-all gay men a-a-are like me," Taron moaned as Cole rubbed the base of the plug with what felt, to Taron, like sadistic glee. "Y-Y-You can’t generalize like that!"

"But I mean, you’re the one always implying that men are evil and have been causing problems for the world ever since patriarchy became a thing," said Cole. "Isn’t that just another kind of generalization? A bit hypocritical, don’t you think? Just admit it. You don’t believe any of that shit. Tell the truth. That you think fags are loser perverts and that you owe the world to men like me."

Taron had tears in his eyes. All the years of his life dedicated to fighting exactly the kind of thing Cole was talking about and yet his words rang true.

"I-It’s true…" Taron whispered. The mic on his lapel made sure his words carried through the lecture hall, however much he tried to do otherwise. "Fags are perverts and losers…" he whimpered. He wanted to stop, but he couldn’t. The words spilled out of him before he could even think of what he was saying. "We get off on being humiliated by real men like you!"

"Oh!" Taron moaned as the vibrations got even more intense. He felt like his prostate was being pummelled by a jackhammer. He shook his hips with surprising ease for his age and worked his ass trying to get the plug as deep into him as it would go. "Please. Please, more!" he begged.

"Then tell the class what you are," said Cole. "Tell the class you’re a silly, delusional faggot who thinks he’s on the same level as the real men in this room. Apologize for having the gall to disrespect these real men by talking to them as if you were not just an equal, but a superior."

"I-I’m a silly delusional faggot," Taron whispered. The words were like raw electricity, pleasure cascading through his body making him quiver and moan like a bitch in heat. "I-I-I’m so sorry for not treating you men with the respect that you deserve!"

Cole laughed. "Holy shit, I didn’t think you were going to actually do it. Turn around and face me again, fag."

Taron did as he was told. He craned his neck upward to look into Cole’s face. The jock’s expression was a mixture of disbelief and mirth There were tears in the corners of Cole’s eyes. He looked like he was struggling to hold back his laughter. "Now apologize for trying to fill our minds with this faggot rights bull-crap," said Cole. "Tell us what kind of rights faggots really deserve."

Moaning even louder as the vibrations in his ass got more powerful, even more words spilled from Taron’s mouth that were so humiliating and yet felt so fucking good he felt like he was going to explode.

"I-I’m sorry for trying to teach you that faggots are equal t-t-to men," Taron mumbled. "F-F-Faggots don’t deserve the same rights! F-Faggots deserve to be treated l-like s-s-stupid little fucktoys f-for men’s amusement!"

Cole gave up holding back his laughter. He joined the rest of the class in laughing hysterically at Taron’s expense. "How does it feel to admit the truth?"

"I-I-It feels…" Taron wanted to say that it felt terrible. He felt like he was betraying all the values and principles that he had once stood for. And yet he couldn’t deny the way that his body was responding. He felt like he was right on the edge of orgasm. "I-It feels so fucking good!" he cried out.

"That’s right," said Cole. "Doesn’t it feel better to be honest? Doesn’t it feel better to accept that your rightful place is at a real man’s feet? That way you don’t have to get angry over stupid microaggressions and sexism and homophobia and all that shit?"

"Mmmf… I-It does feel better…" Taron moaned.

"I bet it does. You don’t have to use that silly little faggot head of yours to do any thinking. Just let all the real men do the thinking for you," said Cole. "It’s easier that way, isn’t it? All you have to do is be a pretty little hole and you won’t have to worry about anything ever again."

Taron had to admit, even the rational side of him was starting to see the benefits of that arrangement. "Don’t need to be smart or well-spoken. Just need to be eager to take whatever a real man needs you to take. Think whatever he needs you to think. Doesn’t that sound like the life, fag?"

"O-Oh, fuck…" Taron moaned. Having dedicated most of his life to academia he had to admit that it had been stressful. Difficult at best and torturous at worst. Something was appealing about not having to be on top of everything all the time.

"I’m gonna give you a choice, fag," said Cole. "I want you to think clearly about this because I’m not going to give it to you again."

Taron nodded, as the vibrations in his ass started to fade away. He felt some lucidity returning to him as if his brain was getting pulled out of molasses for the first time in weeks. "I’ll give you the chance to go back to the way things were. Keep on living your life. Keep being a faggot in denial but live the rest of your life being successful, dignified, and respectable."

"However, I’ll also give you the choice of living according to the truth," said Cole. "I’ll let you keep your reputation for as long as I think it’s convenient. You’ll still go to your conferences. You’ll still do your research. You’ll still teach your quaint little concept that men and women and fags are all equal…"

The truth of what he’d been doing for the past few weeks hit Taron like a sack of bricks. Cole had set him up. He didn’t know how, or why, but somehow he understood that everything up until this point had been Cole’s doing one way or another. The means was beyond him, but it was the only explanation that made any sense whatsoever.

"But deep down you’ll know what you are," said Cole. "You’ll have one class like this one every term. You’ll hire one of my friends as a T.A. and you’ll teach the men the truth. You’ll demonstrate for the faggots where they belong in life, while the T.A. will show the men the power that they have."

The dark little smirk on Cole’s face drew Taron in. Despite everything, despite how upturned his world had become, there was still something compelling about Cole. "And at night, you’ll find your way back to me, and I’ll let you be the dumb little faggot slut you were always meant to be."

"So tell me, prof, what are you, really?" said Cole. "Are you the esteemed academic you’ve always tried to paint yourself as? Or are you the dumb, cock-hungry faggot that’s been stalking me and masturbating like a little loser in his office, fantasizing about taking a real man’s cock?"

Taron swallowed thickly. The vibrations in his ass were starting again. They were making his head fuzzy, making his body thrum with pleasure. Even without the plug buzzing in his ass the choice was clear. The last few weeks had been unreal. The guilt, the humiliation, the shame, had all come together to make every moment an exquisite pleasure.

Looking up into Cole’s bright blue eyes, Taron breathed, "I’m a faggot, sir."

"Oh yeah?" said Cole, with a small smirk.

Taron chewed on his lower lip. "I’m your faggot, sir," he said, eyes rolling back in his head as a trickle of white cum dribbled from the tip of his caged cock.

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One thought on “Gender Studies

  1. These new Fagworld stories are hot in a whole new way, a really twisted way that I can’t help but love. I do kinda wish though that whatever happened to Maggie happened to Taron, if only so that the mystery would be resolved. Hopefully later installments will reveal how Cole and Dale and other conservative men are controlling and transforming people.

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