雌堕之夏：校草们的秘密

The afternoon sun slants through the blinds of our dorm, casting pale gold stripes across my desk. I sit in my chair, knees pressed together, heart hammering. The screen glows with a site I've visited a hundred times, but it still feels like the first time—my fingers tremble as I scroll.

*ThirdSex Heaven* banners flash in pink and purple. Men with smooth chests, soft curves, and pouting lips arch their backs into the camera. They look like women, sound like women, but keep that telltale bulge between their legs. My breath catches. I've seen this before, but it never fails to make my skin flush and my cock twitch.

I glance at the closed blinds, the locked door. The room is quiet except for the hum of the AC and my own shallow breathing. My roommates won't be back for another hour—they're at the library, or so they said. I told them I had a headache. A headache. A convenient lie for what I'm about to do.

I peel off my T-shirt. The air feels cool on my bare skin, but I'm already warm inside. My fingers unbutton my jeans, letting them fall to my ankles. I step out of them and stand in the center of the room, half-dressed, half-exposed. The mirror on the closet door catches my reflection.

I am nineteen. One hundred seventy-two centimeters tall. Fifty-eight kilograms soaking wet. My shoulders are narrow, my collarbones sharp, my waist so slender I can almost encircle it with two hands. My skin is pale and soft, almost translucent in this light. And my face—I've been told it's beautiful. People say I look like a girl, and they don't say it kindly. But I don't mind. I crave it.

I open the bottom drawer of my dresser. Beneath a pile of folded sweaters, there's a black lace bra, matching panties, and a pair of sheer nude thigh-highs. I bought them online three weeks ago, paid with cash at a pickup locker, heart pounding the entire time. Now I slip the thong up my thighs, the lace scraping against my skin. The panties sit snug against my hips, cupping my balls, pressing a soft satin panel between my cheeks.

Next, the bra. It's a push-up, 34B. I clip it behind my back, adjust the straps, and look in the mirror. My flat chest doesn't fill the cups, but the padding gives a gentle curve, a suggestion of breasts where none exist. I bite my lip. The sight of myself—boyish frame in feminine lingerie—makes my stomach flutter with something between shame and hunger.

The stockings come next. I sit on the edge of my bed, roll the sheer nylon up one leg, then the other. The material clings to my calves, my thighs, smoothing over my skin like a second layer. I spread my toes, admiring how the nude color blends with my flesh. My feet look delicate, feminine. Almost pretty.

I reach into the drawer again, retrieving the electric butt plug I ordered from the same site. It's silicone, five inches long, with a bullet-shaped tip and a small remote control. I'd prepped the day before, spent an hour in the bathroom with a douche and lube, anticipating this moment. I squeeze a generous dollop of water-based lubricant onto my fingers and reach behind.

The first touch makes me gasp. I circle my hole, pressing gently, letting the muscle relax. I've been practicing. I can take three fingers now, sometimes four, but the plug's girth is always a challenge. I push its tip against my entrance, feeling the pressure build. My breath hitches. I close my eyes, focus on relaxing, and push.

The head slides in. I gasp again, a low whimper escaping my throat. The stretch is exquisite, a burning fullness that makes my cock twitch inside the lace panties. I push harder, and the entire plug sinks home, settling deep inside me. I whimper, adjusting to the intrusion. My body clenches around it, accepting the foreign object as if it belongs there.

It feels good. It feels *right*.

I stand, walk to the mirror. The panties hide the plug's base, but I can feel it shifting inside me with every step. I pull on a loose button-down shirt and blazer, covering the bra, the stockings, the plug. From the outside, I look like any other art student: fitted jeans, casual top, air of aesthetic nonchalance. But beneath the fabric, I'm dressed like a whore. I'm wearing a girl's underwear, a vibrator in my ass, and I'm about to go to a public lecture.

The thought makes me dizzy with excitement.

I grab my bag and slip out the door, locking it behind me. The hallway is empty. I walk past the RA's office, past the bulletin board with flyers for tutoring and a bake sale, past a freshman who nods at me. I nod back, a casual gesture, as if I'm not getting fucked by a toy every step I take.

The plug shifts with each stride. Its subtle movement against my prostate sends sparks of pleasure through my pelvis. My cock, trapped in the lace panties, is half-hard, dampening the fabric. I feel like I'm glowing with a secret, like everyone must see it on my face.

But no one does.

The lecture hall is half-full when I arrive. I take a seat in the back row, near the aisle. Open my laptop. Pretend to focus on the professor's slide about Renaissance color theory. But my mind is elsewhere—on the plug, on the stockings, on the dream of being taken by a real man, a big one, someone who would find me like this and know exactly what I am.

I've imagined the scenario a thousand times. A dark room. A man's silhouette, tall and broad. Him pushing me onto the bed, pulling down my jeans, discovering my lingerie. His hands on my thighs, sliding up, searching. Him finding the plug, pulling it out, replacing it with something bigger. His cock, thick and hot, sliding into me while he moans in my ear.

The fantasy makes me squeeze my thighs together. I bite my lip, hard.

I glance around the hall. Other students are scattered among the seats: a few boys from the painting program, a girl with blue hair, and, further down the aisle, a group of foreign students. I recognize one of them—a tall black guy, broad shoulders, close-shaved hair. I've seen him around campus, noticed the way his gaze seems to linger on certain people. On the art students, especially. On the slender ones.

I look away. I don't know him.

The professor drones on about chiaroscuro. I try to pay attention, but my skin is buzzing. The plug pulses gently, a constant reminder of my hidden secret. Every time I shift in my seat, its movements tease my insides, building a low, aching need.

I think about the other boys in my dorm. Chen Jie, Xu Mo, Su Yan. We're the beautiful ones, the art school's four beauties. They're all slender like me, fine-boned, soft-featured. I've noticed things about them. The way Chen Jie lingers in front of mirrors. The way Xu Mo's clothes are always just a little too fitted, his trousers hugging his hips. The way Su Yan's voice has a breathy quality, almost feminine.

Each of them, on quiet afternoons, draws their bed curtains tight. I've heard the faint buzz of a toy, the softest whimper, the creak of a mattress. I've pretended I haven't. They've pretended the same. We are four peacocks, but we keep our feathers hidden from each other.

There's a rumor going around. I heard it from Zheng Yi, the class monitor, a boy with the face of a classical painting and a voice like silk. He said some of the boys in our year were meeting with foreigners. Black guys, mostly. Getting taken to their dorms, getting *fucked*. He said it with a smirk, like he was in on a joke.

My stomach fluttered when he said it. Excitement. Fear. Longing.

At times I wonder what that would be like, to be on my knees for a man like that, to feel his hands on my hips, to be bent over and taken like a woman. The thought both terrifies and excites me. I've never been with anyone before, male or female—not really. Just my toys, my fantasies, my shame.

A vibration.

I freeze.

For a moment, I think I imagined it. But then it comes again. A steady, low rumble deep inside me. The plug is going off.

But I didn't turn it on.

My hand slides into my pocket, pats the empty space. I pull out a crumpled receipt, keys, a pen. No remote.

A cold wave of panic washes over me.

I left the remote in the bathroom. On the back of the toilet. When I took that call from my mom—the one that made me rush out of the stall—

Someone found it.

Someone has it.

The vibration grows stronger, a steady buzz that targets my prostate like a homing missile. My hips buck involuntarily. I press my thighs together, trying to stifle the movement, but my body is already reacting. My cock is hardening, tenting the front of my jeans. A bead of moisture leaks from my tip, staining the lace.

I bite down on my lip, so hard I taste copper.

The lecture continues. The professor's voice fades into background noise. I can't focus on anything but the toy inside me, buzzing away, now stronger, now softer, pulsing in rhythms I didn't program. Someone is playing with it. Someone is testing me.

A low moan escapes my throat. I disguise it as a cough.

I look around the hall, searching the backs of heads. Everyone seems normal. The girl with blue hair is typing furiously. A guy in front of me is nodding off. The tall black guy is—

He's looking at me.

Our eyes meet for a split second. His expression is placid, unreadable. Then he turns away, back to his notes, his hand resting casually on the armrest. His fingers tap a rhythm.

The toy matches it.

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz-buzz-buzz.

The world tilts.

My face flames. I look down at my laptop, at the blurry text on the screen. My hands are shaking. I press my thighs together so tight it hurts, but the pleasure is still there, climbing up my spine, coiling in my gut. The buzzing changes pitch, climbs higher, and my vision goes white for a second.

I gasp. My hand flies to my mouth.

A girl two seats down looks at me with concern. "You okay?"

"Fine," I whisper. "Just... headache."

She nods and returns to her notes.

The buzz stops.

I exhale, trembling, my body clenched around the now-quiet toy. I'm hard, painfully hard, the head of my cock poking through the slit of my panties. I can feel moisture soaking through the lace, now damp with pre-cum.

I should get up. Pull the plug. Throw it away. End this.

But I don't.

Instead, I sit there, waiting for the next pulse, my heart racing with excitement I can't name. The stranger has the remote. The stranger controls me. I don't know who he is, what he wants, but a part of me doesn't care. A part of me craves this—the being watched, being controlled, being a toy for someone else's pleasure.

I hate myself for it.

I love it.

The lecture ends at last. I pack my bag slowly, legs trembling as I stand. The plug shifts inside me, a solid, comforting weight. I walk toward the exit, each step sending a small shock of pleasure through my body.

In the hallway, I feel a gaze on my back. I turn, but see nothing out of the ordinary. Students stream past, a river of backpacks and chat. I start walking toward the stairs.

Buzzzz.

The toy roars to life.

I stumble, grabbing the stair rail for support. My knees buckle. I lean against the wall, gasping, my hand on my chest. The vibration is maxed out, relentless, a full-scale assault on my prostate. My eyes roll back. I bite my wrist to stop myself from crying out.

Someone is walking toward me. I can hear footsteps, measured, close. I force my eyes open and see a pair of boots stop before me.

I look up.

The tall black guy stands there, his shadow falling over me. He's holding a phone in one hand—no, not a phone. A small black remote. My remote.

He looks at me with a slow, deliberate smile. "Nice plug," he says. His voice is low, with a slight accent I can't place. "Very nice."

I want to run. I want to scream. I want to grab the remote and hit him with it.

But all I do is stare, my mouth open, my body shaking with pleasure and fear.

He holds the remote tight. "I'm Derek."

The toy stops.

My breath whooshes out.

He tucks the remote into his pocket, pats it once. "We need to talk."

He walks past me, down the stairs, witho

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The hotel room was cold. I could feel it through the thin silk of the stockings I’d put on that morning, the air conditioning humming low and steady somewhere in the ceiling. The faux leather of the bed's headboard pressed against my shoulders as I knelt on the carpet, knees sinking into the plush fibers. I was naked except for the black lace bra that barely contained my nipples—hard from the chill, or from fear, I couldn’t tell anymore—and the matching garter belt that held the stockings taut against my thighs. The electric plug inside me had been silent for the last ten minutes, but I could still feel its weight, a dull, constant reminder of what I had allowed myself to become.

The man—my man, I had started calling him in my head, though I didn't even know his real name—sat on the edge of the bed, legs spread wide, watching me with those dark, unreadable eyes. His skin was like polished obsidian under the warm yellow light of the bedside lamp, every muscle in his torso defined, coiled with a casual strength that made my stomach flip. He was wearing nothing but a pair of gray sweatpants, slung low on his hips, and the outline of his cock was already visible through the thin fabric, thick and heavy, half-hard.

I swallowed, my throat dry.

“You know what to do,” he said. His voice was deep, unhurried, the kind of voice that expected obedience without needing to demand it.

I nodded, my hair—longer now, brushing my jaw—falling forward to hide my burning cheeks. My hands trembled as I reached for the waistband of his sweatpants, my fingers brushing against the coarse fabric, then the hot skin beneath. He lifted his hips just enough for me to pull them down, and his cock sprang free, slapping lightly against his lower stomach.

I had seen it before. I had touched it, kissed it, taken it into my mouth more times than I cared to count over the past weeks. But every time, the sight of it made my breath catch. It was huge, disproportionately so, the shaft thick as my wrist, the head a deep, angry purple, veined and slick with a bead of pre-cum that glistened in the lamplight. It smelled musky, masculine, overwhelming.

I leaned forward, my heart hammering against my ribs, and parted my lips.

The first taste was always the worst. Salty, bitter, foreign. My tongue darted out, tentative, lapping at the tip like a cat testing unfamiliar food. He made no sound, but I could feel his eyes on me, could feel the weight of his expectation pressing down on my shoulders. I opened wider, took the head into my mouth, and the taste flooded my senses.

It was humiliation, pure and simple. I was on my knees, in women’s underwear, worshiping a man’s cock with my mouth. Every nerve in my body screamed at me to stop, to pull away, to remember that I was Lin Fei, the beautiful art student, the campus heartthrob, the boy who could have any girl he wanted. But the shame was tangled with something else, something darker and sweeter, a liquid heat pooling in my lower belly, spreading through my thighs.

My cheeks hollowed as I sucked, my head bobbing slowly, tentatively. My hands came up to grip the base of his shaft, fingers barely meeting around the girth. I took him deeper, gagging slightly as the head hit the back of my throat, my eyes watering. I pulled back, gasped for air, then went down again.

His hand came down on the back of my head, fingers tangling in my hair, not guiding, just resting there. A claim. A reminder that I was his.

“Look at you,” he said, his voice low, almost conversational. “So eager. So willing. You were a virgin when I found you, weren’t you? Never had a cock in your mouth before me.”

I couldn’t answer. My mouth was full. But I made a small, desperate sound, half-moan, half-whimper, and he laughed. It was a soft, cruel sound.

“I know you were. I could tell. The way you trembled the first time. The way you cried afterward. But look at you now. Sucking cock like a professional. Like a slut.”

The words hit me like lashes, each one burning. I should have been angry. I should have pulled away, slapped him, walked out. But instead, I felt my thighs press together, felt the slickness between my legs, the way my own traitorous body responded to his degradation.

His other hand came down, cupping my left breast through the lace of the bra. His thumb found my nipple, rubbed it, pinched it, and I moaned around his cock, the vibration making him hiss through his teeth.

“You like that, don’t you? Having your tits played with while you suck my dick. You’re not a man anymore, Lin Fei. You’re a whore. My whore.”

I should have denied it. I should have protested. But the words lodged in my throat, and instead, I sucked harder, faster, desperate to please him, desperate to hear him praise me, even if the praise came wrapped in insults.

He pulled his hand from my hair, gripped my chin, and forced me to look up at him. My mouth was stretched around his cock, drool running down my chin, mascara—I’d put on mascara before coming here, I realized with a distant shock—smudged under my eyes. I must have looked pathetic. I must have looked exactly like what he said I was.

“You’ve gotten good at this,” he said, his eyes boring into mine. “But I think you need a break. I want to try something else.”

He pulled out of my mouth with a wet pop, and I gasped, air rushing into my lungs. My lips were numb, my jaw aching. I stayed on my knees, waiting, my eyes fixed on the floor.

“Stand up. Turn around. Bend over the bed.”

I obeyed, my legs shaky as I rose, my stockings whispering against the carpet. I turned, placed my hands on the edge of the mattress, and bent forward, presenting myself to him. The bra pushed my small breasts forward, the garter belt pulled tight across my hips, and between my legs, the plug was a constant, insistent presence.

He moved behind me, and I heard him pick up the remote from the nightstand. A second later, the plug began to vibrate, low and deep, sending pulses of pleasure through my insides. I gasped, my fingers clenching the bedspread.

“I think it’s time we take this out,” he said.

His fingers found the base of the plug, and he pulled. Slowly. Torturously. The silicone stretched my sphincter, the ridges of the toy dragging against my sensitive walls, and I whimpered, a high, keening sound that I barely recognized as my own. It came out with a soft, wet noise, and I felt suddenly empty, hollow.

I heard him drop it onto the nightstand, heard the clatter of plastic against wood. Then I felt something else against my ass cheeks. Something hot, heavy, pulsing.

His cock.

He slapped it against my right cheek, the sound loud and wet in the quiet room. I flinched, but I didn’t move. He did it again, harder, and I felt my skin sting, felt the heat spread.

“Look at this ass,” he said, almost admiringly. “So round. So soft. You’ve been working out, haven’t you? Squats? Lunges?”

I nodded, my face buried in the bedspread.

“You wanted to have a nice ass for me, didn’t you?”

“…Yes,” I whispered. The word tasted like ash.

“Say it properly. Say ‘Yes, Sir.’”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Good boy. Or should I say, good girl?”

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. The line between humiliation and arousal had blurred so completely that I no longer knew where one ended and the other began. All I knew was his presence behind me, the heat of his body, the promise of what was coming.

He continued to slap my ass with his cock, alternating cheeks, a steady, rhythmic beat. I felt the pre-cum smearing against my skin, felt the heat building, felt my own hole clenching, aching, empty.

“Do you want me to fuck you?” he asked.

The question was casual, almost bored, as if he were asking if I wanted a glass of water. But there was a threat in it, a promise. If I said no, he would stop. He would leave. And I would be alone with my shame, my need.

“Yes,” I said, my voice barely audible.

“Yes what?”

“Yes, Sir. I want you to fuck me.”

He laughed again, that same cruel, amused sound. “You want me to fuck you? You, a man? You want another man’s cock inside you?”

“Yes,” I said, louder now, my pride crumbling. “I want your cock inside me. Please.”

“Please what?”

“Please, Sir. Fuck me. Fuck my ass. Use me.”

The words left my mouth, and I felt a wave of dizziness wash over me. I was begging for it. Begging to be penetrated, to be filled, to be owned. There was no part of me that was still fighting. I had surrendered completely.

He lined himself up, I could feel the head of his cock pressing against my hole, slick with pre-cum and the lube from the plug. He pushed, just the tip, and the sensation was blinding. White-hot pain shot through my lower body, a tearing, burning pressure that made me cry out, my voice cracking.

“It hurts,” I gasped. “Wait, please, wait—”

“No,” he said, his voice flat. “You wanted this. You begged for it. Now take it.”

He pushed harder, and I screamed.

The sound was raw, animalistic, ripped from somewhere deep in my chest. My vision went white, my fingers clawing at the bedspread, my whole body arching and trembling. It felt like I was being split open, my insides stretching to accommodate something far too large, far too foreign.

“Please,” I sobbed, tears streaming down my face, ruining what was left of my makeup. “Please stop. I can’t. I can’t do this. I changed my mind. I don’t want this. Please, let me go.”

He didn’t stop.

He held my hips in his iron grip, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of my waist, and he pushed forward, inch by agonizing inch. I felt every vein, every ridge, every pulse of his cock as it forced its way into me, stretching me wider than I had ever been stretched before.

“You can take it,” he said, his voice low, almost gentle now, a stark contrast to the violence he was doing to my body. “Your ass was made for this. You’ve been practicing with those toys, haven’t you? You’ve been training yourself to take my cock. So take it.”

“I don’t want to,” I wept, but even as I said it, my body betrayed me. My muscles, instead of clenching in resistance, were slowly relaxing, accepting, yielding to the invasion. My hole was clinging to him, sucking him in, hungry despite my protests.

He laughed again, softer this time. “Liar.”

He pushed all the way in, and I felt his hips press against my ass, felt his thighs against mine, felt the weight of his body as he leaned forward, his chest against my back, his breath hot against my ear.

“You see? All the way in. And you didn’t break. Your little hole swallowed me right up. What were you saying about it being too much?”

I couldn’t answer. I was crying openly now, sobs shaking my shoulders, my body trembling from head to toe. I felt so full, so impossibly full, every inch of me stretched and filled and owned. The pain was still there, a deep, burning ache, but underneath it, buried beneath layers of shame and resistance, there was something else. A spark of pleasure, flickering and weak, but there.

“Look at you,” he whispered, his lips brushing my ear. “You’re so tight. So hot. So perfect. You were made for this, Lin Fei. You were made to be my little bitch.”

I shook my head, a weak, futile gesture. “I’m not… I’m not…”

“You are,” he said, and he began to move.

He pulled out slowly, agonizingly, until only the tip remained, and then he slammed back in, hard enough to knock the breath from my lungs. I cried out again, a sharp, broken sound, but this time the pain was shot through with something else, something that made my toes curl and my fingers grip the sheets.

“You are my bitch,” he said, picking up a rhythm, steady and relentless. “You will always be my bitch. And you know what? You love it.”

“No,” I gasped, but the word was weak, unconvincing, drowned out by the wet, obscene sounds of his thrusts.

“Yes. You love being used. You love being filled. You love knowing that you’re nothing but a hole for me to fuck. Say it.”

“I… I love it…”

I don’t know when the tears had stopped. I don’t know when the pai

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The air in the room was thick with the scent of sweat and sex, a heavy musk that clung to my skin and filled my lungs with every shallow breath. I lay on my stomach across the bed, my face pressed into the rumpled sheets, my body trembling as I felt the weight of him settle behind me. The cool air of the room kissed my exposed skin, raising goosebumps along my arms and thighs, a stark contrast to the heat radiating from the man above me. His hands gripped my hips, calloused and firm, and I felt the head of his cock nudge against my slick opening, the familiar pressure sending a jolt of anticipation through my core.

I felt a deep, burning shame rise up from the pit of my stomach. Here I was, a man—a university student, a supposed equal—sprawled out like a bitch in heat, waiting to be filled. My mind raced with the absurdity of it all. I, Lin Fei, the beautiful boy of the art department, the one who turned heads with his delicate features and slender frame, was now lying here, my hole begging to be fucked. And yet, even as the shame threatened to consume me, my body betrayed me. My muscles relaxed, my back arched slightly, pressing my ass up against his groin in a silent plea.

He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that vibrated through the air and into my bones. “Tsk, tsk, look at you, Lin Fei. You’re already leaning into it. Such a hungry little slut, aren’t you?”

I bit my lip, my fingers clenching the sheets as I tried to hold back a whimper. He was right. I couldn’t deny it. The initial resistance I had felt weeks ago, the first time he had pushed his thick cock into me, was gone. Now, my body craved it. My insides ached for the fullness, the stretch, the feeling of being completely filled and conquered. I felt the wetness of my own arousal, a warm slickness that lubed his path, and I knew—I was ready.

He pushed forward slowly, inch by agonizing inch. I gasped, my eyes squeezing shut as I felt him stretch me open, the burn of the intrusion sharp and exquisite. My breath came in short, ragged pants as I adjusted to his size, my inner walls clenching and fluttering around him. The worst of the pain passed, replaced by a deep, satisfying fullness that spread through my abdomen. I felt so… full. So complete.

A low moan escaped my lips, unbidden. My body responded naturally, my hips beginning to rock back against him, urging him deeper. I couldn’t stop myself. It was as if my body had its own mind, separate from my conscious thoughts, driven by a primal need I could no longer control or deny.

He laughed again, but this time it was laced with mockery. “Oh-ho! So soon? You’re actually moving on your own. My, my, the shy little Lin Fei, the one who used to tremble at the thought of a cock inside him, is now grinding back on mine. Are you… comfortable like this?”

Heat flooded my cheeks, a blush spreading down my neck and across my chest. I could feel the humiliation washing over me, but intertwined with it was a sliver of something else—a dark, thrilling excitement. He had seen right through me. He knew I was enjoying it.

“No… I…” I stammered, my voice muffled by the pillow. “I just…”

“You just what?” he pressed, leaning forward, his chest pressing against my back, his breath hot against my ear. His hand slid down to my hip, holding me still, stopping my involuntary movements. “Tell me, slut. Are you feeling good? Does it feel nice, having a man’s cock deep inside you?”

I couldn’t lie. Not to him. Not about this. Every nerve ending in my body was screaming with pleasure. The fullness was intoxicating, the weight of him pressing down on me, the heat of his skin against mine. I felt my resistance crumble, my shame dissolving into a raw, honest need.

“Yes…” I whispered, the word barely audible, filled with embarrassment and admission.

He shifted his hips, giving a short, sharp thrust. I cried out, a high-pitched whine that I couldn’t stifle. “Yes, what?” he demanded, his voice a low growl.

I buried my face deeper into the pillow, my body quivering. “Yes… it feels good…”

“Good boy,” he purred, his voice dripping with condescension. “Now, beg me to fuck you. Beg me to use your hole.”

The words were like a slap, shocking me back to a sliver of awareness. Beg him? To be fucked? The sheer debasement of it made my stomach clench. But the other part of me, the hungry, submissive part, was already relishing the command. My throat felt dry, but I forced the words out, my voice shaky.

“Please…” I said, my cheeks burning. “Please fuck me… Use my hole…”

He didn’t make me wait. He pulled his hips back slowly, deliberately, teasing me, and then slammed forward with brutal force. I screamed, a guttural sound that was part pain, part ecstasy. He found a punishing rhythm, drilling into me with deep, hard strokes that knocked the air from my lungs. I braced myself against the bed, lowering my upper body until my chest was flat against the mattress, my ass raised high in the air, presenting myself fully to him. I was no longer a man. I was a vessel, a receptacle for his pleasure.

With each thrust, I felt the pleasure building, a coil of heat tightening in my lower belly. My cock, locked securely in its plastic cage, was useless, trapped against my stomach. I could feel the pressure building there, a frustrating, unfulfilled ache. But my back hole was his, and it was alive with sensation.

He angled his hips, and the head of his cock slammed directly into my prostate. A jolt of electricity shot through me, so intense I cried out. It hurt. It burned. But beneath the sharp pain, a wave of deep, shuddering pleasure radiated outwards, making my toes curl. He did it again, and again, each time finding that magical spot. I writhed beneath him, a slave to the sensations he was pulling from my body. My hips rolled, meeting his thrusts, chasing that exquisite agony.

“Oh, look at that,” he panted, his voice strained with exertion and amusement. “You’re a natural. You move just like a little bitch. You love being a fuckhole, don’t you?”

I couldn’t answer. My mind was a blur of pleasure and pain. All I could do was moan, a long, continuous sound of surrender. The words that came out of my mouth were slurred, senseless. “Mmm… ahh… yes… right there…”

He picked up the pace, his hands gripping my hips so hard that I knew they would bruise. The sound of our bodies slapping together filled the room, a wet, vulgar percussion that underscored my moans. He was fucking me with a fervor, a raw, animalistic need that was both terrifying and thrilling. I felt like I was nothing more than a piece of meat for his use, and in that moment, there was no greater ecstasy.

He reached around, his hand snaking under my body to find my bound cock. He didn’t touch it directly, his fingers instead finding my balls, rolling them gently, then pinching them. The added stimulation sent another shockwave through me. Then, his mouth was on the back of my neck, biting, sucking, leaving his mark on my skin. His other hand came up to my chest, pinching my right nipple, first one, then the other.

The triple stimulation was too much. The deep, fucking of my ass, the biting of my neck, the pinching of my nipples—it all overwhelmed me. I began to spasm, my body bucking uncontrollably. A raw, primal scream was torn from my throat as I came. It was a dry, frustrating orgasm, my empty cock twitching uselessly, but a torrent of clear fluid gushed from my tip, soaking the sheets beneath me. Simultaneously, I felt my inner walls convulse, milking his cock, and I came from my ass, my prostate pulsing with a deep, thrumming pleasure that was entirely different from a normal male orgasm.

He didn’t stop. He kept fucking me through my climax, riding out my waves of pleasure, pushing me into a state of overstimulation where pleasure and pain became one. I was a gasping, trembling mess on the bed, my body no longer my own.

Finally, with a final, deep groan, he pulled out. I felt a rush of warm air on my wet, used hole, and I collapsed completely, a boneless heap of sensation. I heard him move, the creak of the bed, and then he was kneeling beside me, his cock, slick with my own fluids, inches from my face.

“Clean it,” he commanded, his voice still heavy with exertion.

My mind was foggy, my body heavy and limp. But the command cut through the haze. Without hesitation, I crawled forward on my trembling arms, my tongue darting out to lick the head of his cock. The taste was bitter and salty, a mixture of his pre-cum and my own lube. I took him into my mouth, my lips closing around his shaft, and began to suckle, cleaning him with slow, deliberate strokes of my tongue. I tasted every inch of him, tasting my own submission.

He watched me, his hand in my hair, not pushing, just holding. When he was satisfied, he pulled away, leaving me with a mouth full of his taste. He sat back on the bed, and after a moment, he reached down. I felt a cool click, and the tight pressure around my cock was gone. The lock, which had been a constant reminder of my captivity, was open.

I looked up at him, surprised.

He looked down at me, his eyes glinting in the dim light. “You did well tonight, you know that?” he said, his voice a low rumble. “You’ve come so far. From the shy boy who could barely admit his desires to a man who begs to be fucked. You’re a natural-born cocksucker, a true piece of art.” He ran a finger along my jawline. “You’re a top-quality slut, Lin Fei. A natural-born treasure. It feels so good to fuck you.”

His words washed over me, a mixture of praise and humiliation. I felt my face flush, but deep down, a part of me, the part that had been awakened during those long sessions of submission and pleasure, accepted it. I *felt* like a treasure. I felt like I was made for this, for his pleasure.

“Thank you,” I whispered, the words tasting strange on my tongue.

He just smirked, and turned to look at the other three boys who were still asleep or passed out on the other beds, before turning back to me. “Now, get some sleep. You’ll need your strength for tomorrow.”

I lay back, my body still humming with the aftershocks of my climax. The spot where he had touched me felt warm. The empty feeling in my ass was a phantom sensation, a ghost of his presence. A deep, inexplicable contentment settled over me, a feeling of belonging, of purpose. I had been conquered, claimed, and used. And for the first time, I felt completely and utterly satisfied. I closed my eyes, the taste of him still on my tongue, and a small, secret smile played on my lips. I was his, and that was all that mattered.

The blindfold is soft against my face, but the leather strap digs into the back of my skull. I kneel on the cold tile floor, my knees pressing into the hard surface. The silence in the room is absolute, broken only by my own shallow breathing. I count the seconds, waiting for his footsteps. They always come, just when I think I cannot bear the anticipation any longer.

The door clicks open, and I hear the familiar sound of his soles against the floor. My heart pounds, a wild animal trapped in my chest. My mouth opens automatically, tongue extended, waiting for him. I feel his presence before he touches me—the heat radiating from his body, the faint scent of soap and sweat. His hand cups the back of my head, fingers threading through my hair.

“Good boy,” he says, his voice rough. The sound of his zipper fills the room, and then the head of his cock presses against my lips. It is smooth and hot, the skin stretched taut. I close my lips around him, and he pushes forward, filling my mouth. I taste the salt of his skin, a hint of precome.

He does not rush. He holds my head down, making me take him deep into my throat. My eyes water behind the blindfold, and I gag, but I force myself to relax. I breathe through my nose, the way he taught me. He grunts in approval, and that sound sends a thrill through my body.

When he pulls out, saliva strings from my lips to his cock. He wipes it on my cheek, then strokes my hair. “You have become so good at this, Lin Fei.”

“Thank you, Master,” I whisper, my voice hoarse.

He chuckles. “Tonight, we will have some fun. You are going into the bathroom with your friends.”

I do not question. I simply obey.

---

Three days ago, I lay on my bed, listening to the sounds of the dorm. I remember the night Chen Jie cried out, a sharp, pained sob that cut through the silence. The memory still haunts me.

It was late. The room was dark, except for a sliver of moonlight slicing through the curtains. I could not sleep. I heard the door open, a heavy footstep, and then a muffled cry. I thought about checking, but something held me back. The next morning, Chen Jie walked with a strange, careful gait. He smiled when he caught me looking, but there was something in his eyes.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

“Never better,” he said, and there was a dreamy, distant look in them. “He took me, Lin Fei. He finally took me.”

I felt my stomach drop. “What do you mean?”

Chen Jie sat on the edge of my bed, his hand touching my knee. “He put his cock in me,” he said, so matter-of-factly that I flinched. “It hurt at first, God, it hurt. But then... it felt good. He is so big, Lin Fei. He split me open, but after the pain, I felt so full.”

I swallowed hard, my throat dry. “You are not scared?”

“Why would I be scared?” Chen Jie laughed, a bright, almost joyous sound. “This is what I was born for. To be taken. To be used.”

He leaned closer, his breath warm against my ear. “He will take you too, Lin Fei. And when he does, you will understand.”

The next day, it was Xu Mo. I heard him in the bathroom, the water running. When he came out, his face was flushed, his eyes glassy. He walked with the same careful gait. He threw himself onto his bed, burying his face in the pillow.

“It hurts,” he said, his voice muffled. “But I love it.”

Su Yan was the last of them. He had come back from a meeting the previous night, a wide, dazed smile on his face. When the door clicked shut, I asked them, “Was he gentle?”

Su Yan laughed. “No. But I did not want him to be.”

I imagined them, each of them, being taken. I saw Chen Jie bending over, saw Xu Mo’s back as he moaned, saw Su Yan’s legs trembling. And I felt a strange, morbid curiosity. I wanted to know what it felt like. I wanted to be broken open.

And now, I know.

---

The blindfold stays on as I am led down the hall. I remember the first time he took me to the bathroom. I was trembling, my palms sweating. He sat me on the toilet lid, placed my hands on my knees, and told me not to move.

The bathroom light hummed overhead. I heard him adjust something, and then the buzz of a vibrator. “You need to be relaxed,” he said. I felt his fingers, slick with lube, press against my hole. I gasped, my body tensing.

“Relax,” he repeated. He worked a finger inside me, crooking it, finding that spot that made my toes curl. I bit my lip to keep from crying out.

“You have been training,” he said. “Your cunt is soft and ready.”

He removed his finger, and then I felt the tip of his cock nudge at my entrance. He pushed in slowly. The head stretched me, burning, tearing. I cried out, gripping the edge of the toilet seat.

“Shhh,” he whispered. “You are taking it so well.”

He pushed deeper, filling me inch by inch. It felt like I was being split apart. I could not breathe. The pain was a white-hot lance piercing through me.

“It hurts,” I whimpered.

“It will pass,” he said. “Just a little more.”

He bottomed out, his balls pressed against my ass. He stilled, letting me adjust. The pain ebbed, and in its place, a strange, foreign fullness. I was so full.

He began to move, slow and steady. The drag of his cock against my walls sent shivers up my spine. The pain faded, replaced by something else—a building pressure, a coiling heat in my core. I started to moan, a low, guttural sound that came from deep within.

“That is it,” he said. “Let it out. Let me hear you.”

He thrust harder, faster, the sounds of our bodies slapping together echoing off the tiled walls. I lost myself in the rhythm, in the feeling of being so completely owned.

When I came, it was a shock. I felt the hot rope of my own come splash against my stomach. He followed moments later, grunting, his cock pulsing inside me.

“You are mine now,” he whispered against my ear. “My little bitch.”

I nodded, my head spinning. “Yes, Master.”

---

Now, I kneel again, my face pressed into the leather seat of a chair. The bathroom is different tonight—colder, the air heavy with steam. I hear the door open, and the footsteps of others.

Chen Jie is pushed in first, his blindfold secure. He kneels beside me, his shoulder brushing mine. Then Xu Mo, then Su Yan. We are all here, four blindfolded figures in the dim light.

“I have a gift for you,” the man says. He places a vibrating device in my mouth. It is a ball gag, the silicone tasteless and smooth. He fastens the strap behind my head, locking it in place. I can only hum.

He does the same to the others. Their muffled sounds fill the room.

“You will take me,” he says, “one by one. When you complete the cycle, you may go.”

He settles me first, bending me over the cold, damp edge of the sink. The ceramic is hard against my hips. He spreads my cheeks, and I feel the familiar nudge of his cock. He does not take it slow this time. He slams into me, and I groan into the gag.

The pain is there, but it is a dull, familiar ache now. My hole stretches, accommodating his girth. My body remembers being filled. The rhythm is punishing, relentless. He grips my hips, his fingers digging into my skin.

I feel a hand brush my thigh. Chen Jie kneels beside me, his head bowed. He is waiting his turn. I hear his ragged breathing, the soft hum of his gag.

I am lost in the sensation: the thrusts, the slap of his balls against my ass, the damp heat in the room. My mouth is open around the gag, drool pooling on my chin. I feel so debased, so owned.

He pulls out and pushes me aside. I collapse onto my knees, gasping. Chen Jie takes my place. I hear his muffled cry as he is entered.

“Good boy,” the man says to him. “Your cunt is just as tight.”

Xu Mo and Su Yan wait with me, our shoulders touching. We do not speak. We listen. To the wet sounds, the grunts, the muffled sobs of pleasure.

Su Yan is last. When the man finishes inside him, he pulls out, and a warm trickle of come runs down Su Yan’s thigh. The man pats his ass.

“All of you have done well.”

He leaves the room, and we are alone in the dim bathroom, four boys kneeling, four cunts aching and filled with his seed.

---

During the day, I go to class. I wear a soft cotton shirt and loose jeans. Underneath, I am sheathed in a black lace thong, my legs encased in stockings that whisper against my skin. The vibrator inside me hums at the lowest setting, a constant reminder of my place. The butt plug stretches my hole, holding me open.

I cannot concentrate on the lecture. My mind drifts to him, to his cock, to the way he fills me. I stare at the professor’s lips moving, but I hear only the echo of the man’s grunts.

I shift in my seat, and the vibrator buzzes, sending a jolt through my clit. I bite my lip to keep from moaning. Chen Jie sits beside me, his face calm, his hands folded on the desk. I know he feels it too—the same hum, the same plug inside him.

Xu Mo is ahead, doodling in his notebook. He looks bored, but I see the way his knuckles are white as he grips his pencil. Su Yan is in the back, leaning back in his chair, a dreamy expression on his face.

We are all playthings, controlled by a remote in his pocket.

At the end of class, the vibrator suddenly surges. I gasp, gripping the desk. The climax builds, hot and urgent. I cannot stop it. It rolls over me in waves, and I bite my tongue to keep quiet. I feel the come leak into my panties.

Chen Jie catches my eye. He smiles, a knowing, conspiratorial thing.

“He is watching,” he whispers. “He always watches.”

That is when I realize I do not know who he is. The man who owns us. The man who has broken us open and filled us. I have never seen his face. I have only felt his hands, his voice, his cock.

I want to know. I dream of taking off the blindfold, of looking into his eyes. But I am too scared. I am scared of seeing his face, because that would make him real, which would make everything we do even more shameful.

Better to keep the blindfold on. Better to be a nameless cunt to a nameless master.

---

He leaves a keycard on my desk one afternoon. It is white, unmarked, the number 1428 written in sharpie. I know what that means. I pick it up and slip it into my pocket, my heart beating fast.

Tonight, I have a room.

When I open the door, the room is warm and dark. The curtains are drawn, soft music playing from the bedside table. He is there, sitting in a chair by the window. The blindfold is on before I can even register his face.

“Kneel,” he says.

I kneel.

He walks around me, his footsteps deliberate. I feel his hands on my shoulders, unbuttoning my shirt. He pulls it off, exposing my lace bra. He runs his fingers over the fabric, over my nipples.

“You dress so pretty for me,” he says.

“I dress for you, Master,” I say.

He takes off my bra, my pants. I am naked, shivering in the air-conditioned room. He leads me to the bed and pushes me onto it, spreading my legs.

He fucks me there, slow and deep, while the music plays. The blindfold is tight, and I see nothing, but I feel everything. The soft sheets, the heat of his body, the friction of his cock. I arch my back, pushing my ass into his hips.

“You are so tight,” he grunts. “No matter how much I fuck you, your cunt stays tight. It clings to me like a virgin’s.”

“Thank you, Master,” I moan. “Your cock is perfect.”

“Your cunt is made for this,” he says. “For being fucked. For taking come.”

He slams into me, hitting that spot that makes my vision white. I come, screaming into the pillow, my body convulsing. He follows, his seed hot inside me.

I lie spent, my legs trembling. He pulls out, and I feel the warm trickle on my thigh.

“Stay like that,” he says.

I stay. I lie on my stomach, my ass in the air, letting his come drip out of me. I feel so used, so owned. And I love it.

---

The next morning, we walk to class together, Chen Jie, Xu Mo, Su Yan, and I. The plugs are inside us, the vibrators buzzing. We stride through the hallway, four pretty boys with secret cunts.

“I had the most amazing dream last night,” Chen Jie says, his voice light.

“Tell me,” I say.

“I dreamed that

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The morning sunlight filtered through the thin dormitory curtains, casting pale golden stripes across the floor. I sat up slowly in my bed, the silk of my pajama top sliding against my skin. The fabric caught on my nipples, and I winced slightly—they were still sensitive from last night’s session. I could feel the faint throb between my legs, the phantom pressure of the plug that had been inside me for hours before the man finally allowed me to remove it.

I swung my legs over the edge of the mattress and stood. My body felt different now. Lighter. Softer. Every morning I noticed it more—the way my hips had rounded just a little, the subtle curve of my waist where it dipped inward before flaring out again. I caught my reflection in the small mirror tacked to the closet door. My face was more delicate than it had been a month ago, the bone structure somehow softer, my cheekbones less prominent, my jawline almost feminine. My skin had taken on a dewy quality, as if I’d been drinking from some fountain of youth instead of just swallowing the vitamins and supplements he made me take.

Chen Jie was already awake, sitting cross-legged on his bed in nothing but a sheer black camisole and matching panties. His legs were smooth, hairless, and he had them bent at the knees, his feet tucked under his thighs. He was scrolling through his phone, and when he looked up at me, his eyes were heavy-lidded, almost sleepy.

“You look different this morning,” he said.

“So do you.”

He smiled, slow and knowing. “He came to me last night. After you were done.”

My stomach tightened. I didn’t know why that bothered me—jealousy, maybe. Or just the reminder that I wasn’t the only one. That I was part of a set. A collection.

“Did he...” I started, but I didn’t finish.

Chen Jie’s smile widened, and he tilted his head, letting the strap of his camisole slip down one shoulder. “He did everything. I couldn’t walk straight afterward. I had to crawl to the bathroom.”

I felt myself flush. I knew that feeling. The deep, hollow ache that lingered for hours, the way your legs shook when you tried to stand, the sticky evidence of your own submission trickling down your thighs. I had been there. I would be there again soon.

Xu Mo stirred in his bed, pushing the blanket aside. He was wearing a pink lace bralette, the cups barely containing the soft swell of his chest. His ni were hard, visible through the delicate fabric. He yawned and stretched, arching his back like a cat, and I noticed the way his waist cinched in, the gentle flare of his hips. He looked like a girl waking up after a long night.

“He texted me,” Xu Mo said, his voice still rough with sleep. “Said he wants us all ready by noon.”

“Ready for what?” Su Yan asked, emerging from the bathroom wrapped in a towel. His hair was damp, and his skin glistened with moisture. He was already wearing a light coat of foundation—just enough to even out his complexion, make him look flawless.

Xu Mo shrugged. “Didn’t say. But he used the word ‘public.’”

I felt my blood run cold. Public. He had never taken us out before. Always the hotel, always the private room with the locked door and the soundproofed walls. The idea of being seen, of being watched, of having my shame exposed to the world—it sent a shiver through me that was equal parts terror and excitement.

By eleven thirty, we were dressed. He had given us instructions through the app on our phones, a private chat group where he sent voice messages and images that made my face burn. Today’s dress code: casual but feminine. Fitted jeans that hugged our hips and thighs. Soft, flowy tops in pastel colors. Light makeup—no heavy eyeliner or bold lips, just enough to enhance. And underneath, the accessories.

I stood in front of my closet, holding the black lace thong he had selected for me. It was so small, so delicate, that I could ball it up in my fist. The straps would sit high on my hips, the fabric barely covering my mound. I slipped it on, feeling the way it nestled against my skin, the sensation so familiar now that it no longer felt foreign. Then came the bra—an underwired push-up that lifted my B-cups, pressing them together to create a soft, feminine cleavage. I filled it better now than I had a month ago. The development had plateaued, but the shape was there, the weight of my own flesh something I could cup in my palm.

The plug was next. I lubricated it carefully, the gel cool against my fingers, and then I bent over, pressing it against my entrance. I had become an expert at this—inserting it myself, adjusting the angle, feeling the stretch as it slid inside. I gasped when it seated fully, the base pressing against my hole, the bulb nestled deep inside me. I had inserted a second one earlier, a smaller vibrating bullet that he had told me to wear internally, and I could feel both of them now, resting inside me, a constant reminder of who owned my body.

The jeans were tight. They compressed my hips, emphasized the curve of my ass. I could feel the outline of the plug’s base when I moved, a subtle pressure that made my breath catch. The top was a soft lavender, V-necked, and it showed just a hint of my cleavage. I looked in the mirror and saw someone I barely recognized—a pretty, feminine figure with long hair and delicate features.

Chen Jie came up behind me, his hand resting on my hip. “You look good,” he said. “He’s going to like this.”

“I’m scared,” I admitted.

“Don’t be. It’s just another test.”

I nodded, but my heart was racing. Every test felt harder than the last. Every time he pushed us further, I thought I would break. But I didn’t. I just bent further, gave more, became more.

We met him at a café near the university. It was a busy place, filled with students and locals, the clatter of cups and the murmur of conversation creating a warm, lively atmosphere. He was sitting at a table in the back, a cup of black coffee in front of him. He wore a simple black shirt that stretched across his broad shoulders, his skin a deep, rich brown that gleamed under the café lights. He looked up when we entered, and his lips curled into a slow, knowing smile.

“Sit,” he said, gesturing to the chairs around him.

We obeyed. Xu Mo slid into the seat next to him, close enough that their shoulders touched. Su Yan sat across, his legs crossed at the knee, his posture perfect. Chen Jie flanked him on the other side, and I took the seat directly opposite, my hands folded in my lap.

He watched us for a long moment, his eyes traveling over each of us in turn. His gaze lingered on my chest, on the curve of my breasts under the lace of the bra. Then his eyes dropped lower, to my lap, where my jeans were snug against my crotch.

“You’re all wearing them?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

“Good.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small device, about the size of a car key fob. I recognized it immediately. My breath caught in my throat.

“Let’s see how well you can behave in public,” he said.

Before I could react, he pressed a button.

The buzz was immediate and overwhelming. The plug inside me roared to life, vibrating at a frequency that made my entire body clench. I gasped, my hands flying to the edge of the table, my knuckles white. Beside me, Chen Jie let out a sharp, high-pitched cry, his back arching as the toy inside him activated. Xu Mo slammed his thighs together, a muffled moan escaping his lips. Su Yan bit down on his lower lip, his eyes going wide, his chest heaving.

The café continued around us. No one noticed. A barista called out an order. A group of students laughed at a table near the window. The world was normal, but inside us, everything was chaos.

He pressed the button again, and the vibration increased. I felt my eyes water, the pleasure so intense it bordered on pain. My thighs were trembling, my hips rocking against the seat, my body desperate for friction. I pressed my legs together, trying to contain the sensation, but it only made it worse.

“Don’t move,” he said, his voice calm and quiet. “Stay still. Breathe.”

I tried. I really tried. But my body had a mind of its own. My hips began to grind against the chair, the vibration pushing me closer and closer to the edge. I could feel my cock hardening in the confines of my jeans, the pressure of the plug milking me from inside. I was going to cum. I was going to cum in public, surrounded by strangers, with my friends beside me.

“Please,” I whispered, the word slipping out without my permission.

He looked at me, his eyes hard. “Please what?”

“Please... stop...”

“No.”

He pressed the button again. The vibration reached maximum. My mouth opened in a silent scream. I felt the orgasm building, a tidal wave of pleasure that crashed over me and swept me under. I came, hard, my semen soaking into the fabric of my underwear, my thighs shaking, my entire body convulsing in my seat. I bit down on my lip to keep from crying out, tasting blood.

Around me, the others were falling apart too. Chen Jie had his head on the table, his shoulders trembling, his breathing ragged. Su Yan had his hands clamped over his mouth, tears streaming down his cheeks. Xu Mo was rocking back and forth, his hips bucking, his face a mask of desperate pleasure.

He watched us with a smirk.

“Pathetic,” he said. “Three seconds of vibration and you’re all done. What a bunch of sluts.”

A waitress approached our table, her smile bright and professional. “Can I get you anything?”

He ordered for us—four lattes, no sugar, no flavoring—and she left without a second glance. She had no idea what had just happened. No idea that we were sitting there, our laps wet, our bodies trembling, our sanity hanging by a thread.

After he dismissed us, I stumbled home, my legs shaking, my underwear soaked and sticky. I collapsed onto my bed and lay there, staring at the ceiling, my heart pounding in my chest.

I should have been humiliated. I should have felt degraded. And I did, in a way. But underneath all of that, underneath the shame and the fear, there was something else. A dark, hungry part of me that wanted more.

I reached into my bedside drawer and pulled out the body lotion he had given me. It was expensive, imported, and it smelled like honey and vanilla. I rubbed it into my skin, feeling the way it absorbed, the way it made my arms and legs feel silky and smooth. I had started using it daily, and I had noticed the changes. My skin was softer now, more supple. My waist had narrowed, my hips had widened. Even my feet seemed smaller, more delicate.

I had started sharing it with the other guys in my art class. At first, they had been skeptical. But after a few days of use, their skin began to change too. They came to me asking for more, and I gave it freely. I saw them applying it in the dorm, in the studio, even in the bathroom before class. Their complexions cleared. Their bodies softened. Their clothes started to fit differently.

I watched them in the studio one afternoon, painting and sketching under the warm afternoon light. They moved differently now—with more grace, more fluidity. Their hips swayed when they walked. Their shoulders were relaxed, open. Their voices had softened.

Tiber, our class’s sport rep, was standing by the window, a paintbrush in his hand. He had always been athletic, with a broad back and strong legs. But now he looked... different. Softer. His shoulders were narrower, his waist more defined, his ass rounder under his jeans. He caught me looking and smiled.

“This lotion is amazing,” he said, gesturing to his skin. “I’ve never felt so... smooth.”

“It’s good stuff,” I said, my voice neutral.

He laughed. “You’re hoarding it, aren’t you? Don’t worry, I’ve been buying my own now. I’m addicted.”

I felt a strange sense of satisfaction. He was becoming like us. They all were. I didn’t know why, exactly, but it felt right. It felt like what was supposed to happen.

That night, I lay in bed, my phone glowing in

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I started noticing the changes around campus about two weeks ago.

It was subtle at first, the kind of thing you might dismiss if you weren't already looking for it. But I was looking. I couldn't help it. Not after everything that had happened to me, to us.

The first sign was郑毅.

I'd always known our班长 had something feminine about him. He had those soft features, that delicate bone structure, the way his hips swayed when he walked. But lately, there was something different. Something more.

I saw him coming out of the international students' dormitory one evening, just as the sun was setting and casting long shadows across the quad. He was walking with that particular gait I'd come to recognize, the one that spoke of soreness between the legs, of muscles that had been worked and stretched. His face was flushed, his lips slightly swollen, and there was a sheen of sweat on his forehead despite the cool evening air.

He saw me watching and froze for just a moment. Then a slow, knowing smile spread across his face. It wasn't embarrassed. It was proud.

"林非," he said, his voice carrying a new huskiness. "Out for a walk?"

"Just heading back to the dorm," I replied, my own voice sounding strange to my ears.

He walked past me, and I caught the faint scent of sex and something else, something musky and foreign. The scent I'd come to associate with德瑞克.

The next day, I saw郑毅 in the cafeteria. He was wearing a slightly tighter shirt than usual, and I noticed the way the fabric pulled across his chest. His nipples were visible through the thin cotton, hard and prominent. He caught me staring and gave me that same knowing smile, running his hand through his hair in a gesture that was almost theatrical.

"You know," he said, sliding into the seat beside me, "it's really not so bad."

"What's not so bad?"

"Being owned." He said it so casually, like he was discussing the weather. "Having someone who knows exactly what you need, who takes control. It's... liberating, actually."

I felt my face grow hot. "I don't know what you're talking about."

郑毅 laughed, a light, tinkling sound that seemed to come from somewhere deeper than his throat. "Oh, I think you do. I've seen the way you walk lately,林非. The way you cross your legs when you sit. You're one of us now."

"Us?"

"The boys who know what they really are." He leaned closer, and I could see the dilation of his pupils, the flush that never quite left his cheeks. "I've been with Markus and his friends for about a month now. They're... thorough. They know exactly how to break you down and build you back up the way you were meant to be."

I wanted to leave, to get up and walk away, but my legs wouldn't move. "You're saying you're... with them?"

"I'm saying I belong to them." He smiled, and in that smile I saw something that made my breath catch. It was the same look I saw in the mirror sometimes, the look of someone who had finally accepted what they were. "And I've never been happier. You should try it. Let them take you fully."

I shook my head, but even as I did, I felt the familiar ache in my lower body, the constant presence of the plug inside me that I hadn't removed in two days. "I already have someone."

"Do you?" His eyes sparkled with amusement. "Or does someone have you?"

He stood up, smoothing down his shirt in a way that drew attention to his narrow waist and the curve of his hips. "I'll see you around,林非. And if you ever want to talk, really talk, you know where to find me."

I watched him walk away, noticing the way his ass moved beneath his pants. He was wearing something underneath, I could tell. The outline was unmistakable to someone who knew what to look for.

Over the next few days, I started seeing it everywhere.

It was许默 who brought it up first, late one night when we were both unable to sleep. He was lying in his bed, staring at the ceiling, his hands behind his head.

"Have you noticed how many of the guys in our class are... changing?" he asked.

I turned on my side to face him. "What do you mean?"

"Look around during lectures. Really look." He sat up, his movements fluid and graceful in a way they hadn't been before the summer. "郑毅's not the only one. There's白兵, for one. And唐霖. And at least five or six others I've spotted."

I thought about it, and once he mentioned it, I couldn't unsee it. The next day during our art history lecture, I looked around the room with new eyes.

白兵 was sitting in the front row, his hair longer than it had been at the start of the semester, falling past his shoulders in soft waves. He was wearing a thin sweater that clung to his body, and I could see the outline of his nipples through the fabric. He crossed his legs at the knee, his foot dangling in a way that was almost flirtatious.

Two rows behind him,唐霖 was doodling in his notebook, his head tilted to one side. His jawline seemed softer than I remembered, his skin clearer and brighter. He caught me looking and smiled, a slow, lazy expression that made my stomach flip.

In the corner, three other guys from our class were huddled together, whispering and laughing. One of them, a quiet boy named李雷 who had always been somewhat nondescript, was wearing makeup. Nothing obvious, just a slight shimmer on his eyelids and a hint of gloss on his lips. But it was there.

After the lecture, I caught up with白兵 in the hallway.

"Your hair looks different," I said, reaching out to touch a strand of it.

He smiled, his eyes lighting up. "You noticed? I've been growing it out. I'm thinking of keeping it long."

"That's a big change."

"It feels right." He tossed his head, and the hair swirled around his shoulders. "My... friend suggested it. Said it would suit me. And he was right."

"Your friend?"

白兵's smile widened, and I saw the same knowing look that郑毅 had worn. "You know who I mean. He has a way of knowing what's best for you."

"He's not your first, is he?"

白兵 laughed, a musical sound. "My first what? Owner? Lover? Master?" He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "He's the first one who made me feel like I was meant to be what I am. Before him, I was just a boy who didn't know what he wanted. Now I'm his pretty little bitch, and I wouldn't have it any other way."

I felt a shiver run down my spine, part revulsion, part something else entirely. "And you're happy with that?"

"More than I've ever been." He reached out and touched my cheek, his fingers cool against my flushed skin. "You should try letting go completely,林非. Stop fighting it. It's so much easier when you just accept that you were born to be on your knees."

He walked away, his hips swaying in a way that was entirely deliberate. I stood there for a long moment, my heart pounding, my body aching with a desire I couldn't name.

That weekend, I was taking a shortcut through the park behind the university when I heard it. The sound of moaning, muffled but unmistakable.

I crept closer, hiding behind a cluster of bushes. Through the leaves, I could see a bench, and on that bench was白兵.

He was naked from the waist down, his pale thighs spread wide, his shirt rucked up around his chest. A black man I didn't recognize was between his legs, his body blocking most of the view, but I could see everything I needed to see.

"Oh god, yes, fuck me,"白兵 was moaning, his head thrown back, his fingers digging into the man's shoulders. "Fuck your little bitch, use me, use me!"

The man grunted, his hips pounding against白兵's ass with a rhythm that was both brutal and practiced. He reached down and grabbed白兵's hair, yanking his head back.

"You like that, don't you, you little slut?" the man growled. "You like being fucked like the whore you are."

"Yes, yes, I love it!"白兵 cried, his voice high and breathless. "I was born for this, I was born to be your bitch!"

I watched for what felt like an eternity, frozen in place. The sight was both horrifying and arousing, and I could feel my own body responding, the plug inside me pressing against my prostate, the familiar ache building.

When they finished,白兵 lay sprawled on the bench, his chest heaving, his legs still spread. The man stood up, tucking himself back into his pants, and said something I couldn't hear. Then he walked away, leaving白兵 alone.

I waited a few minutes, then stepped out from behind the bushes.白兵 saw me and didn't even seem surprised. He smiled, lazy and satisfied, and stretched like a cat.

"Enjoy the show?" he asked.

I swallowed hard. "I didn't mean to spy."

"Of course you did." He sat up, not bothering to cover himself. His ass was red and swollen, and I could see the evidence of what had just happened glistening on his thighs. "But that's okay. I like being watched. It makes me feel... appreciated."

"Is that what you want? To be watched?"

"It's what I want." He looked at me with those knowing eyes. "It's what all of us want, once we stop pretending otherwise. We're not men,林非. Not really. We're something else. Something softer and more beautiful and more meant to be used. And once you accept that, everything becomes so much simpler."

I left him there, sitting on the bench in the twilight, looking like some ancient deity of pleasure and submission. But his words stayed with me.

The next week, during our class meeting,白兵 stood up and made an announcement.

"I have a proposal," he said, his voice carrying through the room with surprising authority. "I think we should all grow our hair out."

There was a murmur of surprise, but no one objected. In fact, several of the boys nodded in agreement.

"It's practical for our art,"白兵 continued. "We're studying aesthetics, after all. And having long hair will help us understand the feminine form better. It'll help our figure drawing, our portraiture. And it'll unite us as a class."

I looked around the room and saw郑毅 nodding enthusiastically,唐霖 stroking his chin thoughtfully. Even许默 and陈杰, sitting across from me, were nodding along.

郑毅 stood up to second the motion. "I think this is an excellent idea. We're art students. We should embrace beauty in all its forms. And long hair on men, well, it's a statement. It says we're not afraid to explore our softer sides."

The vote was called, and it passed unanimously. Every single person in the room raised their hand.

I looked at白兵, who was smiling at me from across the room. He ran his hand through his hair, and I noticed that it seemed longer than it had been just a few days ago. Or maybe I was imagining things.

That night, I called陈杰 over to my desk. "Did you know about this? About the hair thing?"

He shrugged, his movements fluid and graceful. "白兵's been talking about it for a while. His... friend suggested it. The same friend who suggested it to郑毅, and to唐霖, and to half the guys in our class."

"His friend," I said slowly. "The same person."

陈杰 looked at me with those knowing eyes. "We're all connected now,林非. All of us who've been opened up, who've let ourselves be remade. It's like a network, spreading through the class. More and more of us are realizing what we really are."

"And what's that?"

He smiled, and in his smile I saw the same acceptance I'd seen in郑毅 and白兵. "Sluts. Whores. Bitches. Whatever word you want to use. We're beautiful, feminine creatures who were meant to be used by real men. And the sooner you accept that, the happier you'll be."

I went to bed that night feeling unsettled, but also strangely excited. The changes were happening all around me, and I was being pulled along whether I wanted to or not.

The next day during figure drawing class, our model was late. The professor, an older man who had been teaching for decades, sighed and said we could practice on each other.

"It'll be good for you," he said. "Drawing from life is always better than drawing from photographs. Pair up and take turns posing."

I ended up with郑毅. We set up our easels facing each other, and he began to undress without hesitation. I tried not to stare, but I couldn't help it.

His body had changed since the beginning o

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The darkness was absolute, pressing against my skin like a warm weight. The silk blindfold clung to my face, soaked through with tears I hadn't realized I'd been crying. My wrists were bound loosely above my head, the rope biting into my flesh just enough to remind me of my place. I could hear them—the others. Chen Jie's ragged breathing to my left, Xu Mo's soft whimpers from somewhere near the foot of the bed, Su Yan's heavy, expectant silence.

The room smelled of sweat and anticipation, a cloying sweetness mixed with the metallic tang of fear. Or maybe that was my own blood, drawn from where I'd bitten my lip raw. I couldn't tell anymore.

Footsteps. Heavy, deliberate. The floorboards groaned under a weight that wasn't mine, wasn't any of ours. My heart hammered against my ribs, and I felt that familiar mixture of dread and longing pool in my gut.

"Still blindfolded, I see. Good." The voice was low, accented, smooth as polished obsidian. It sent a shiver down my spine that settled in my aching cock, trapped beneath the lace of my panties.

Chen Jie let out a breathy moan, his body arching toward the sound. "Please... please touch me."

"Patience, little bitch." The footsteps circled us, slow and predatory. I felt a hand brush against my cheek, calloused fingers trailing down my neck, along my collarbone. I shuddered, my nipples tightening beneath the thin fabric of my shirt.

"You've been waiting for me, haven't you?" The voice was closer now, directly in front of me. I could feel the heat radiating off his body, smell the musk of his skin. "Tell me, Lin Fei. Tell me what you want."

My throat constricted. The words were there, burning on my tongue, but they wouldn't come. I'd practiced them a thousand times in the dark of my dorm room, whispered them into my pillow as I fingered myself to climax. But now, with him here, with the others listening...

The hand slipped lower, fingers tracing the outline of my nipple through the fabric. I gasped, my hips bucking involuntarily.

"Nothing to say?" A low chuckle. "Maybe I should leave you here. Let you stew in your own need."

"No!" The word burst out of me before I could stop it. "Please... please don't leave."

"Please what?" The pressure on my nipple increased, rolling it between thumb and forefinger until I whimpered.

"Please... touch me. Use me. I've been so good. I wore them. I wore everything you told me to."

"Have you?" The hand withdrew, and I heard the rustle of fabric. "Let me see."

Fingers found the hem of my shirt, pulling it up over my head. The cold air hit my bare chest, and I felt exposed, vulnerable in a way that made my cock throb. I'd worn the black lace bra, just as he'd instructed. The cups were padded, pushing up what little chest I had into something resembling breasts.

A sharp intake of breath from beside me. Chen Jie had been stripped too, I realized. I heard the soft groan of the mattress as he was pushed back.

"Beautiful." The voice was almost reverent. "You're all so fucking beautiful. Perfect little whores."

Su Yan whimpered, a sound that was equal parts shame and desire. "We did it for you. We did everything you said."

"Did you?" A pause. "Let me check."

I felt hands on my waist, undoing my jeans. I lifted my hips instinctively, letting him pull them down. The black garter belt caught the dim light from somewhere, and I knew he could see the thigh-high stockings, the way they hugged my legs. The lace panties were wet with my own precum, a damp spot spreading obscenely.

"Spread your legs."

I obeyed, my cheeks burning. The fabric of the panties was pulled aside, and a finger pressed against my hole. I was slick with lube, still loose from the plug I'd worn all day.

"How eager," he murmured, sliding the finger in to the first knuckle. "You've been preparing yourself. Good boy."

The praise washed over me like warm honey. I moaned, pressing back against his hand.

"A little more," he said, and I felt a second finger join the first. "You want my cock, don't you? You want to feel it stretch you open."

"Y-yes," I gasped.

"But first, you're going to taste it."

The fingers withdrew, and I heard the sound of a zipper. My mouth went dry, anticipation coiling in my stomach. I felt him move closer, felt the weight of his presence.

"Open."

I parted my lips, and he guided himself inside. The taste was overwhelming—salt and musk and something uniquely him. I gagged as he hit the back of my throat, but I didn't pull away. I'd been trained too well for that.

"Look at you," he said, his voice strained. "Taking it like a natural-born cocksucker."

I heard the others being positioned, heard their wet, slurping sounds as they too were fed. The room filled with the obscene symphony of four men being used.

I lost track of time. There was only the weight in my mouth, the pressure of his hand on the back of my head, guiding my rhythm. I breathed through my nose, focusing on the feeling. The stretch of my jaw. The way his public hair scratched against my cheeks. The sounds he made—grunts and curses that told me I was doing well.

But then something changed. The blindfold was loosened, pulled up just enough for light to stab into my eyes. I blinked, disoriented, and found myself staring at a pair of dark legs. Thick, muscular, covered in coarse hair.

My heart stopped.

I pulled back, the cock slipping from my mouth with a wet sound. The blindfold fell away completely, and I looked up.

He was Black.

The man standing over me was tall, broad-shouldered, with skin like polished mahogany. His features were sharp, his eyes dark and amused. He was beautiful in a brutal, masculine way that made my stomach clench.

"No," I whispered.

He raised an eyebrow, a slow smile spreading across his face. "Surprise."

My world tilted. The man who had been fucking me, who had been controlling me, who had made me feel things I'd never felt before—he was Black. A part of me had always assumed he was white. Everyone else was. The professors, the students, everyone in our insular little world. I'd never considered...

"You like it?" He stepped closer, his cock still hard and glistening with my saliva. "Or do you not like it?"

"I... I didn't know." My voice sounded strange, distant. "I never thought..."

"That I'd be Black?" He laughed, a deep, rumbling sound. "Disappointed?"

I shook my head, then nodded, then shook it again. I didn't know what I was feeling. Shame. Fear. A strange, twisted excitement that I couldn't name.

"Look at you," he said, reaching out to cup my chin. His grip was firm, forcing me to meet his eyes. "So pretty. So confused. You've been fantasizing about this for so long, haven't you? And now you finally see me."

"I don't... I can't..."

"Can't what?" He tilted his head, studying me. "Can't accept that you've been a good little bitch for a Black man? That it's a Black man who's been owning this tight little hole?"

The words hit me like a slap. I flinched, but I didn't pull away from his grip.

"It's different," I said, the words barely audible.

"Is it?" He released my chin and stepped back, crossing his arms. "Tell me how."

"It just... is."

"Because of what people would think?" His voice was soft now, almost gentle. "Because of what *you* think?"

I looked away. Chen Jie was watching me, his face flushed with shame and arousal. Su Yan was averting his eyes. Xu Mo looked like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole.

"You're all the same," the man said, shaking his head. "So afraid of what everyone else will think. But in here?" He tapped his chest. "You know what you are."

"I'm not..."

"You're not?" He laughed again. "Then why are you wearing a bra? Why are you wearing panties? Why did you let me finger your ass and suck my cock?"

I had no answer.

"Let me tell you something," he said, stepping closer again. "I don't care what you think of me. I don't care what anyone thinks. I see what you are, Lin Fei. I've seen it from the beginning. A pretty little thing who needs someone to tell him what to do. Someone to take control. And I'm happy to be that someone."

"It's not that simple."

"It's exactly that simple." He grabbed my wrist, pulling me to my feet. "You like being controlled. You like being used. You like the way I make you feel. And none of that changes just because of my skin color."

I stood there, trembling, caught between shame and desire. Every word he said was true. I'd known it, deep down, for months. But hearing it out loud, having it laid bare...

"Look at me," he said.

I raised my eyes.

"You can walk away. Right now. Take off the clothes, go back to your room, pretend this never happened." He paused. "But you won't. Because you *need* this."

My breath hitched. The tears I'd been holding back spilled over.

"Yes," I whispered. "I need it."

"Then say it. Say what you are."

I swallowed. The words were like glass in my throat.

"I'm your... your bitch."

"Louder."

"I'm your bitch!"

"Good." He smiled, pulling me against his chest. I could feel his heart beating against mine. "And what else?"

"I'm your... your bitch. I'm your bitch." The words came faster now, tumbling out of me. "I belong to you. I'll do whatever you want."

"Whatever I want?"

"Yes. Anything."

"Then get on your knees."

I dropped. The carpet was rough against my bare knees, but I didn't care. I looked up at him, at this man who had seen through all my walls, who had broken me down and rebuilt me.

"You're going to suck my cock again," he said. "And this time, you're going to look me in the eyes while you do it."

I nodded, reaching for him. He was hard again, his cock thick and dark against my pale hand. I leaned forward, taking him in my mouth, keeping my eyes locked on his.

"That's it," he said, his hand finding the back of my head. "Look at me. See who's fucking your throat."

I moaned around him, the vibrations making him groan. I could feel the others watching, could feel their shame and arousal mixing with mine. We were all here, all four of us, on our knees for the same man.

After what felt like hours, he pulled back, his cock sliding from my lips with a wet pop. "You've all been good," he said. "But I think it's time for the real fun to begin."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small black box. My heart raced as he opened it, revealing four metal rings. Cock rings, I realized. But these were different. They were locked.

"You're going to wear these," he said. "From now on, you don't come without my permission."

I should have been horrified. Instead, I felt a wave of relief. No more decisions. No more guilt. Just obedience.

"Yes," I heard myself say. "Yes, please."

He knelt in front of me, taking my softening cock in his hands. I was still wearing the panties, and he pulled them aside, positioning the ring around the base. The click of the lock was the most final sound I'd ever heard.

"There." He stood, stepping back. "Now you're mine. Completely."

I looked down at the metal ring, cold against my skin. It was real. This was real.

"On the bed," he said. "All of you. Face down, ass up."

We scrambled to obey, positioning ourselves on the mattress. I could feel the others beside me, their bodies warm and close. The man took his time, walking around us, his hand tracing over our backs, our asses, our thighs.

"Beautiful," he murmured. "You're all so fucking beautiful."

I felt his fingers at my entrance again, slick with lube. He circled once, twice, then pushed in. I gasped, my hands fisting in the sheets.

"You're so tight," he said. "But you'll take it. You'll take all of it."

He lined himself up, and I felt the head of his cock pressing against me. I braced myself, my heart pounding in my ears.

And then he was inside me.

The feeling was overwhelming—pleasure and pain and submission all tangled together. I cried out as he filled me, his hips pressing against mine, his balls slapping against my wet hole.

"Fuck," he groaned. "You feel so good. Like you were made for this."

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The morning light filters through the blinds, casting pale stripes across the dorm room floor. I wake to the familiar hum of the vibrator nestled deep inside me, the silicone egg pulsing against my prostate in gentle waves. It’s set on the lowest program, the one that teases rather than satisfies, leaving me hovering on the edge of release for hours at a time. I’ve grown used to the constant pressure, the way it makes my thighs clench together involuntarily when I stand, the way it keeps me perpetually aware of my own emptiness.

I roll onto my side and glance at the clock. Seven thirty. My hand moves instinctively to my groin, and my fingers brush against the cold metal of the chastity cage. The device is snug around my cock, the silicone ring pressing against my balls, the lock cool against my skin. I’ve been wearing it for three weeks now, and I’ve almost forgotten what it feels like to touch myself freely. The key hangs around Derrick’s neck on a silver chain, a constant reminder that my pleasure belongs to him.

The dorm room is quiet except for the soft hum of the space heater in the corner. Chen Jie’s bed is empty, the sheets rumpled and tossed aside. I hear the shower running in the bathroom, and through the thin walls, I catch fragments of a melodic humming. He’s always been the one to wake earliest, his energy infectious even at this hour.

Xu Mo is still asleep, curled on his side with one hand tucked under the pillow. His lips are slightly parted, and his breathing is deep and even. The thin blanket has slipped down to his waist, revealing the lace edge of a black bralette hugging his narrow chest. The straps cut into his shoulders, and the fabric is sheer enough to show the outline of his nipples. He’s taken to wearing them to bed now, claiming they’re more comfortable than going bare. I know the truth, though. We all do.

Su Yan’s bunk is across from mine, and I can see his silhouette beneath the covers. His arm moves in a slow, rhythmic motion, and I catch the quiet whimper escaping his lips. He’s playing with himself, the way he does every morning, the vibrator inside him already bringing him to the edge of the first orgasm of the day. He doesn’t bother to hide it anymore, not from us. We’ve all become too familiar with each other’s sounds, each other’s rhythms, each other’s desperate, broken moans.

The shower shuts off, and a moment later, Chen Jie emerges wrapped in a towel. His hair is wet and dark against his forehead, and water glistens on his shoulders. The towel is short, barely covering his hips, and I see the red marks around his thighs where the stockings he wore yesterday cut into his skin. He catches my gaze and smiles, a slow, knowing smile that curves his pink lips.

“Morning, Lin Fei,” he says, his voice still husky from sleep. “You sleep well?”

I nod, pushing myself up to sit against the headboard. The vibrator shifts inside me, and I bite my lip to keep from gasping. “Fine. You?”

“Better now.” He lets the towel drop to the floor, not bothering to cover himself. His body is narrow and graceful, the lines of his hips curving softly, the skin smooth and flawless. The chastity cage hugs his groin, the pink silicone straps contrasting against his pale skin. The matching ring pierces his nipple, and I watch the tiny chain sway as he moves. “Derrick texted me. He wants us in the common room by eight thirty.”

My stomach tightens. “All of us?”

“All of us.” He looks at Xu Mo, who’s beginning to stir, and then at Su Yan, whose movements under the covers have grown faster, more urgent. “And he said to come ready.”

I know what that means. We’re to be prepared, our bodies open and waiting, our minds empty and receptive. The days of hesitation are long behind us. Now, we simply obey.

The next thirty minutes pass in a blur. I shower quickly, the hot water washing away the sleep from my skin. I dress carefully, as I’ve learned to do: a pair of black lace panties that hug my hips and lift my caged cock, the front-cut design allowing access to the plug already resting deep inside me. Over that, a pair of nude thigh-high stockings that reach my upper thighs, held in place by a garter belt that cinches my waist. Then a sheer black bralette that doesn’t hide my nipples, but rather draws attention to them, the tiny rings glinting through the fabric. Finally, a white button-down shirt and a pair of gray slacks, loose enough to hide the shape beneath.

The others dress in similar fashion. Xu Mo chooses a pale pink bralette and matching panties, the fabric almost transparent over his narrow chest. Su Yan goes for a deep burgundy set, the corset-style bralette pushing his small breasts together, creating the illusion of cleavage. Chen Jie wears black lace, the pattern intricate, the straps thin and delicate against his waist. We look like secretaries from some erotic magazine, our professional clothes hiding the decadence beneath.

The common room is on the first floor of the dormitory, a large space with couches, a television, and a long table where we sometimes eat together. When we arrive, the room is already half-full. Zheng Yi sits on the far couch, his legs crossed gracefully at the knee, his posture perfect. He’s wearing a lavender dress, the kind a young woman might wear to brunch, the hem falling just above his knees. The fabric clings to his waist, and I see the outline of the chastity cage beneath. His hands are folded in his lap, and his gaze is fixed on the door.

Next to him, Bai Bing lounges on a pile of cushions, his hair loose and falling to his shoulders. He’s grown it out over the past month, the dark strands now brushing his collarbone. He’s wearing a fitted pink sweater that shows the curve of his small breasts, and a short plaid skirt that barely covers his thighs. His legs are bare, and I catch the glint of a thin pink strap—the kind used to hold a vibrator in place—wrapping around his inner thigh.

Tang Lin stands by the window, his back to us. He’s dressed in a white blouse and a blue pencil skirt that hugs his hips and flair out just below his knees. The fabric is tight enough to show the outline of the plug inside him, a low ridge that moves as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other. As I watch, his hand drifts down to smooth the skirt over his rear, the gesture feminine and practiced.

The other boys from our class, Wei Jun, Dong Hao, Yang Ming, Li Bo, fill the remaining space. They’re all dressed in various stages of femininity: some in skirts and blouses, some in dresses, some in jeans so tight they look more like leggings, a few in tops that are clearly from the women’s section. The air is thick with the scent of perfume and powder and clean fabric, and I realize with a start that we’ve all started wearing deodorant, antiperspirant, the same brands that the girls on campus use.

Derrick enters from the far door, and the room falls silent. He’s tall and broad-shouldered, his dark skin smooth against the collar of his white shirt. His jeans are loose, his boots heavy, and as he walks, I see the outline of his cock, thick and clearly prominent, pressing against the denim. My mouth goes dry at the sight, and I feel the plug inside me clench involuntarily.

He stops in the center of the room, his gaze sweeping over us. When his eyes land on me, I feel a shiver run down my spine, a mix of fear and anticipation that makes my knees weak.

“Good morning, my beauties,” he says, his voice deep and smooth, like dark honey poured over gravel. “I see you’re all dressed up. That’s good. Very good.”

He walks to the couch where Zheng Yi sits and stands behind him, resting his hands on Zheng Yi’s shoulders. Zheng Yi’s body goes still, but I see his throat bob as he swallows. Derrick leans down and presses his lips to Zheng Yi’s ear, whispering something I can’t hear. Zheng Yi’s face flushes, and he nods, his body relaxing into the touch.

“I’ve gathered you here for a reason,” Derrick continues, straightening up. “We’ve come a long way together, haven’t we? From a few secret desires, to this.” He gestures around the room, taking in the gathered boys, all dressed and primed and waiting. “To a class of beautiful little bitches, all ready and willing to serve.”

He walks slowly around the room, his steps measured, his gaze wandering. When he reaches Tang Lin, he stops, his eyes running over the young man’s body. Tang Lin’s face is a mask of perfect composure, but I see the slight tremor in his fingers, the way they twitch against his thigh.

Derrick reaches out and touches Tang Lin’s chin, tilting his face upward. “You’ve been a good student, haven’t you? Doing your exercises, staying open, keeping yourself ready.”

“Yes, Derrick,” Tang Lin whispers, his voice barely audible.

“Good.” Derrick’s hand drifts down to rest on Tang Lin’s hip, squeezing the flesh just above the skirt. “Because I have special plans for you today.”

The words hang in the air, and I feel the tension in the room ratchet up several notches. Around me, the other boys shift, their bodies pressing together, their breaths quickening. This is what we’ve become: a collection of nervous, wanting creatures, all waiting for his next command.

“But first,” Derrick says, releasing Tang Lin and stepping back, “I want to see what you’ve been practicing. Chen Jie, Xu Mo, Su Yan, Lin Fei. The four of you, here. Now.”

We exchange glances, but there’s no hesitation, no secret language between us. Only the shared knowledge of what we’re about to do. We move to the center of the room, our steps synchronizing, our bodies falling into the familiar pattern we’ve rehearsed so many times now.

I go to my knees first, the carpet soft beneath my stockings. The others follow, forming a half-circle around him. Chen Jie kneels to my right, Xu Mo to my left, Su Yan just behind me. The vibrator inside me buzzes at the new angle, pressing against my prostate, and I feel a trickle of moisture escape from behind the plug. I try to steady my breathing, to focus on the moment.

Derrick watches us with a half-smile, his arms crossed over his chest. “Look at you. A perfect little harem. So pretty, so obedient. But let’s see if you’ve really learned your lesson.”

He undoes his belt with practiced ease, the buckle clicking as it falls open. He kicks off his boots, then pulls his jeans down around his thighs. His boxers follow, and I see his cock, thick and dark, already half-hard, emerging from the dark hair at his groin. The sight of it makes my mouth water, my lips parting automatically.

The others seem to feel the same way. Chen Jie leans forward, his tongue flickering out to wet his lips. Xu Mo’s eyes are fixed on the shaft, and I hear the soft, breathy sound that escapes his throat. Su Yan’s hands are pressed to the floor, his body trembling slightly, his gaze hungry and desperate.

Derrick steps closer, his cock bobbing at eye level. “Open up, beauties. Show me your worth.”

We don’t hesitate. We lunge forward, our mouths searching, our tongues seeking. The taste of him is sharp and salty, and I feel a rush of pleasure that goes straight to my groin. I take the head into my mouth, my lips stretching to accommodate his girth, my tongue pressing against the underside of his shaft. Around me, the others do the same, our mouths and tongues working in a rhythm that has become second nature to us.

Chen Jie takes the shaft from below, his lips sliding up to meet mine, our mouths sharing the same space. Su Yan and Xu Mo take the sides, their tongues tracing the veins, their hands bracing against our shoulders. We move together, our bodies pressed close, our breaths mingling. The sounds we make, the wet, obscene noises of our mouths on his skin, fill the room.

“That’s it,” Derrick groans, his hips beginning to thrust. “Use those mouths. Worship my cock like the sluts you are.”

His hand moves down to cradle the back of my head, guiding my pace. I feel his fingers dig into my scalp, pulling me deeper, p

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