5
His ass clamped down on my cock so hard I saw stars, and then his small dick erupted between us—untouched—shooting thick ropes of cum across my chest and stomach in violent, pulsing jets that kept coming and coming, painting my skin in warm,
white streaks while Tommy shook and sobbed against my neck.
The clenching of his orgasm around my cock was almost inhuman; rhythmic, crushing, milking me with a force that no hand or mouth or pussy had ever produced.
I grabbed his ass with both hands—full handfuls of smooth, firm flesh—and fucked upward.
Hard. Fast. Slamming him down onto my cock while driving up into him, the wet slap of skin on skin filling the room like applause, and the smell—ugh, the smell—hit me from every direction: sweat, cum, musk, lube, the raw animal scent of our two bodies doing exactly what they were designed to do.
"Cum inside me," Tommy begged, his voice wrecked, his orgasm still rolling through him. "Please—I want to feel it—fill me up —"
The words shattered the last wall inside me.
The orgasm swelled from the base of my spine—a white-hot implosion that traveled through my cock and erupted deep inside Tommy's body with a force that made me roar.
Not groan. Not moan. Roar—a sound that rattled the window and echoed off the cinder blocks and was, without question, audible through every wall in McDonnell Hall.
“FUCK!” I blasted out of my throat.
I came harder than I'd ever cum in my life.
Each pulse was a full-body convulsion—thick, powerful, flooding Tommy's insides with a heat I could feel radiating back against my shaft.
My balls clenched and emptied and clenched again, and Tommy rode each wave, grinding down, milking me, his wrecked tight body and his asshole working my cock with an expertise that made my vision blur.
"I can feel you," Tommy whispered into my ear, his voice trembling. "I can feel every shot. You're filling me up. Cum for me. Give me every drop."
I groaned into his neck, my hips still pumping, still emptying, still buried inside the tightest, hottest, most devastating thing I'd ever fucked.
The cum was leaking out around my shaft now—I could feel it, warm and slick, running down my balls—and the room smelled like sex. Raw, unmistakable, undeniable sex between two guys—one of whom had spent far too long pretending he’d never end up here.
But Tommy had known better.
We came down together; slow and trembling and with Tommy's arms still around my neck. My hands still on his ass. My cock still inside him, still throbbing with aftershocks that made us both flinch and exhale.
Tommy pulled back and looked at me.
His cheeks were flushed. His eyes were bright. And the smile that spread across his pretty, pouty face was the smuggest, most satisfied expression I'd ever seen.
"So," he said. "Same time tomorrow? I've got your physics homework to finish, after all."
I stared at him. This five-three, hundred-and-twenty-pound freshman genius who had just drained my balls, destroyed my sexuality, and was now casually scheduling our next session like he was booking a study room.
I laughed. It came out shaky and breathless and thoroughly defeated.
"Yeah," I said. "Same time tomorrow."
“Or we could keep studying all night, tonight,” Tommy winked and smiled, as if reading my mind. I was ready to go over and over again.
Tommy kissed me once—quick, light, victorious—and climbed off my lap.
My cock slid out of him with a wet sound, followed by a warm, thick trickle of cum that I watched run down the inside of his thigh as he padded to the bathroom.
I lay on my bed, naked, covered in his cum and mine, staring at the ceiling of McDonnell Hall—the dorm I wasn't supposed to be in, the room I'd treated like a prison, the twelve-by-fourteen box that had just become the most important place on campus.
Coach Palmer had sent me here to get my shit together.
I was starting to think it had worked—just not the way either of us had planned.
Tommy was going to do my homework. Tommy was going to help me pass.
And Tommy was going to ride my cock every night until December, and possibly for the rest of my college career, and I was going to let him, because the best tight end on the football field had finally met his match: the best tight end off the football field.
The plan was simple: study hard. Fuck harder.
Suddenly, academic probation didn’t sound like such a bad deal after all…