FIGHT CUB

Geoffrey Knight

 

 

 

 

 

I wasn’t looking for a fight. And yet there I was, sitting in the physics end-of-year exam with a cut on my chin and a wrist so swollen that my writing hand had to drag my pen across the page like a slave with a ball and chain strapped to his ankle. Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t complaining at all, because every time I stole a glance across the examination hall at Mason my cock stirred and pulsed with such pleasure I refused to stifle it. Heck, I even sat back in my chair, a different person, and let my dick harden with the memories of the night before.

But I’m getting ahead of myself.

 

“Get him!”

This I heard over the rattling pipes of the hot water system in the dilapidated dorm in which I lived. I’m not a member of a fraternity—I’m just not frat material. Sure, I try to look after myself, I have a pair of dumbbells stashed under my bed and when nobody’s looking I do curls and dips and try not to pop a shoulder, and to be honest with myself—which doesn’t happen all that often—my body’s not that bad. Transformation from weedy geek to lean, well-proportioned lad is definitely within my reach. I look okay in the mirror these days—if I take off the glasses and tousle the hair and just relax. But that’s a me the rest of the world simply never sees. Because I can’t do exactly that—I can’t just relax! I’m always on my guard: woolen vests as a shield of armor no matter what the temperature outside; glasses for a helmet; straight, flat hair because I simply wouldn’t dare to do anything attention getting.

“Get him!”

The hot water was spluttering and pissing in bursts over me as the pipes clanged and shuddered. I was the only guy in the showers at the time. I showered late, when everyone else was at a party or having fun at the college bar or fucking someone in their room. It was supposed to be the safe time to take a shower, alone, in private, with nobody to size you up and put you down.

But suddenly I heard the cry of their voices.

I opened my eyes to the sting of soap and saw two buff guys in ALPHA GAMMA FUCKYA T-shirts practically sliding across the moldy tiles toward me at top speed. In their hands they held a pillowcase, like park rangers about to bag a snake. Only my snake didn’t lash and hiss and spit. It simply recoiled in terror, stunned into shrinkage, before an elbow connected with my chin (the now gashed chin). Suddenly the white tiles all around turned into a star-filled night sky, then swirled into complete darkness.

 

Physics is different from quantum physics.

Physics deals with the things we can see: an aircraft made out of heavy metals and packed with human souls flying through the sky; two cars bouncing off each other when they collide while their occupants sail through the windscreen still full of momentum; an apple falling on Isaac Newton’s head while he sits under a tree reading Shakespeare.

Quantum physics, on the other hand, deals with the things we can’t see: what are atoms and protons and electrons and molecules and particles truly capable of? Metamorphosis? The folding of space? Time travel? What happens when you sleep? What happens when you’re elbowed in the chin by a quarterback with a buzz cut and arms bigger than my thighs? Where do we really go—what alternate universes do we traverse—as minutes and hours slip by, lose their meaning, and before you know it, you’re opening your eyes and your thumping head registers the fine cotton weave of the inside of a pillowcase? And the smell of manly sweat. And the sound of jocks laughing at you.

Then suddenly—

—the pillow case is whisked off your head and your flat, wet, honey hair flips and flops in the air, wanting to free itself and simply relax. But your chin is bleeding and your head is throbbing and your sight is blurred and all you can see are twenty ALPHA GAMMA FUCKYA T-shirts in front of you, all covering thick, muscled college torsos, all begging to be torn to shreds and flung to the ground.

Yes, those T-shirts would be much better off, off!

But then again, my chin was very sore!

“You’re the money!” I heard someone say and looked up to see the gorilla-jawed, buzz-cut quarterback who had elbowed me.

I then looked down to see that I was still completely naked, my lean body glistening, having been snatched from the dorm showers. My hands were tied behind my back. I was in a rickety, broken chair in what looked like a derelict, rat-infested basement.

“Welcome to the attic,” Buzz Cut screamed in my face.

Now I saw the window with its curtains drawn and the vaulted ceiling. Nobody has secret meetings in basements anymore, duh! This must have been—

“—the attic of Alpha Gamma Fuckya!” I was shouted at. “You’ve been chosen by the fraternity as tonight’s prize!”

“Prize?” My lip cracked and started bleeding again.

“You heard me, bitch! You’re here to be won.”

“Won by who?” I should have said by whom, but I was bleeding and dizzy.

“By whom, bitch!” shouted Buzz Cut, surprisingly astonished by my mistake. “Jesus, it’s a good thing we don’t need you for your grammar skills! We need you for the end-of-year physics exam! You and your nerdy brain will be the prize for the winner of tonight’s fight, and I for one intend to win. You’re gonna help me pass tomorrow’s test, or else!”

“Or else what?” I asked fearfully.

Buzz Cut didn’t actually have an answer prepared and simply spat one out in straight rage. “Or else we’ll make you wash every one of our jockstraps…with your tongue!”

He glared at me, his eyes and nostrils flaring like those of a demon from hell, but as I looked at the wall of muscled shirts in front of me all I could see were angels from heaven—in tight, torso-hugging T-shirts, with lats for wings.

I hid my increasing desire. At least that was the plan. Unfortunately my cock was less subtle. It made its way down my thigh like a plane on a runway until it took off, ascending straight up, defying both gravity and my brave intentions not to make a bad situation worse.

Buzz Cut stared at it in horror and rage, as did everyone else, including myself. “Are you listening to me, pervert! Or are you too busy having some sort of faggot fantasy!”

I gulped nervously and stammered, feeling the heat of my erection against my belly. “N-n-neither! B-b-both! Yes! No! Shit!”

My rantings just made him madder. He was pushing the already high, tight sleeves of his T-shirt farther up his bulging biceps, true comic-strip style, and bunching up a fist, ready to beat the pleasure and desire out of me, when suddenly a piercing whistle cut the air.

It was a whistle of confidence, the sexy kind I could never make, the one that hot New York bankers in designer suits conjure up when they need a cab, with two moist fingers probing their mouths and manipulating their tongues as they blow.

Everyone ducked and covered his ears as though a missile had just passed too close overhead. Slowly the crowd of Fuckya frat boys turned then parted to reveal the one man in the room I hadn’t noticed before, probably because of the wall of testosterone blocking my view.

This man—the one with the sexy whistle—was sitting at a bench press that I also hadn’t noticed. He was unforgivably handsome, with a strong jaw and a flash of freckles across his perfect nose, the last sign of something innocent and sweet on his manly face. He looked to be around my age—perhaps twenty, maybe twenty-one—but his body was that of a man who’d been working out since he was a young boy. The sweat stains around his armpits and down the middle of his pecs suggested he’d just finished lifting, and now his bouldered shoulders and heaving chest looked as though they could rip their own way out of his fraternity T-shirt. Then there was the matter of his gym shorts, tight and also bulging.

Quickly I blinked away the lure of his crotch and looked once more at his face, his iceberg blue eyes, the generous locks of his raven black hair. Instantly I wanted to run my fingers through those locks, but as though reading my mind he indulged in that privilege himself, using one large hand, fingers splayed, to push bountiful strands away from his beaded forehead, raising his arm high. I could almost smell the scent of his armpit, sweet and dangerous, irresistible.

My cock thumped eagerly against my stomach, an unruly dog pawing at the door. Luckily for me nobody noticed; they were all watching the muscle-bound god, obviously their alpha male. All but one had a look of adoration on his face—Buzz Cut.

His eyes turned to hateful slits as he glared at the man on the bench press, like a tribesman who had been number two for too long. “If you think you can beat me, Mason, then bring it! I need that pass in physics and I’m ready for you!”

Mason, the god, stood. “I need to pass too, Bobby.” Oh, Jesus, his voice was so calm, so confident. “And if it means getting physical over physics, I’m ready too.”

Despite being slightly larger (and certainly uglier) than Mason, buzz-cut Bobby’s throat clacked at the response, nervous and mad. But he stood his ground nonetheless. At least he tried. It was a difficult thing to do when Mason threw down the gauntlet by peeling off his shirt. Actually, let me do this scene justice…by replaying it in slow motion…and please forgive me if I embellish a little… but Mason didn’t just peel off his shirt—he teased it off over every last inch of his torso.

First his hands crossed each other in front of his belly before hooking the hem of his body-hugging tee. His fists lifted it just a little at first, hoisting it up three inches to reveal a navel buried deep in muscle and surrounded by a trim forest of stomach hair—so much hair for a man that young, yet so under control, so beautifully clipped, so admirably well-maintained. He lifted the T-shirt higher to reveal a four-pack, then a six-pack, then a glorious eight-pack, because let’s face it, nature smiles on some guys—as was I.

Each pack was blanketed in that neatly manicured young male’s mane, a little matted in areas from sweat, twisting into inky trails here and there. He pulled the shirt higher to reveal nipples. They were small and milky brown, waiting for someone to drink them, begging for someone to suck on the trim fur around them before clenching those hard buds between his teeth.

I swallowed hard and glanced down, noticing the glimmer of precum in the eye of my tortured cock. It was a good thing that nobody was looking my way. Mason still had everyone’s undivided attention…

…as he pulled the T-shirt up to fully reveal his bulking chest…

…as he tugged the shirt over his head, messing up his bouncing black locks…

…as he threw the sweaty tee on the floor and flexed his pecs.

First the left.

Then the right.

He was like a young male lion about to take charge of the pride, giving off so much intensity and testosterone I thought I was about to cum right then, right there, even with my hands tied behind my back and my legs crossed trying in vain to stifle my stiffy.

Not to be defeated before the fight even began, buzz-cut Bobby suddenly ripped—yes, literally ripped; apparently hot men really do that—the shirt off his wide, muscle-carved back. I’m sure I heard a telling sigh escape one of the other spectators, but everyone ignored it, much too focused now on the two subjects who began to step out a circle, turning the attic into an arena in which to fight.

The others formed a ring and included me in it so that my rickety chair became the best seat in the house, so close to the action I could smell the perspiration as Mason stepped in front of me. For a moment he stood with his back to me, sizing up the opponent opposite him. I could make out his perfectly muscled ass beneath his gym shorts, and again my cock flinched. Then suddenly he turned around, and for a heart-melting moment he smiled at me. “Don’t worry, Ethan,” he said, winking. “You’re mine.”

I gasped, completely taken aback. Instantly I wanted to know how this stranger, this god, knew my name. But all that came out of my mouth was, “Look out!”

While Mason was busy winking at me, buzz-cut Bobby charged him.

Before Mason could so much as turn, Bobby brought his fist down onto Mason’s right shoulder like a sledgehammer.

A bloodthirsty cheer rose from the encircling crowd as the mighty Mason twisted and buckled under the blow, every meaty muscle in his body jolting heavily as he came down on one knee.

Swiftly Bobby followed the first blow with a left hook to Mason’s jaw, striking while his opponent was still down.

Blood flew from Mason’s lips as a smile spread across Bobby’s.

“You sure you don’t wanna quit now before I mop the floor with your pretty face?”

Mason wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and shook his head. “Fuck you.”

Bobby laughed and shrugged. “You wish.” This time it wasn’t his fist he used; with Mason still down on one knee, buzz-cut Bobby threw a foot up into Mason’s jaw as though he were kicking a football.

Mason’s head flew back and his entire body contorted before folding to the floor in front of me.

As the crowd continued to chant and cheer, I stared down at the gorgeous, fallen god at my feet. Blood trickled down his chin. It had splashed onto his heaving chest and matted the hair there. Suddenly my heart ached for this battered beauty, until soon I heard myself say—beneath the noise of the frat boys but loud enough for Mason to hear—“Get up!”

Groggily Mason looked at me, strained, confused. “What did you say?”

“I said, get up! The physics lesson starts now! Newton’s first law of motion states that a body is either at rest or moving in a straight line at constant velocity, otherwise known as the law of inertia.”

“So?” Mason checked to see that his jaw wasn’t broken.

“So get up, then get out of the way.”

“What?”

“Just do it!”

My voice must have been more forceful than I realized because despite his obvious pain Mason obeyed my command without any further question or hesitation. One moment he was on his feet and back in the ring. The next, disgruntled by Mason’s failure to accept defeat, buzz-cut Bobby charged at him like a bull.

Mason glanced at me, then back at Bobby. He held his ground, then a split second before impact, instead of fighting, Mason sidestepped.

Buzz-cut Bobby’s momentum carried him straight into the crowd of onlookers, and with several loud grunts and groans Bobby sent himself and a group of stunned frat boys crashing to the floor.

Mason shot me a somewhat surprised and appreciative grin, licking the blood off his perfect teeth. I couldn’t help but notice him steal a glance at my still stiff cock. I saw that his own crotch was beginning to bulge beneath his tight gym shorts, leaving little to my already overworked imagination. “Thanks,” he said. And there was that wink again.

Across the room, an enraged buzz-cut Bobby had pulled himself to his feet.

“Any more lessons?” Mason asked me.

“How much do you weigh?” I thought quickly.

“A hundred and ninety pounds.”

“How much does he weigh?”

Mason shrugged. “Two-ten. Maybe more.”

“Charge him,” I said. “Don’t worry, he won’t use your sidestep tactic. He’s too stupid and far too mad.”

“Are you sure?”

I nodded. “Newton’s third law. To every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. The forces of two bodies on each other will direct them in the opposite direction.”

“Translation?”

“Slam into the motherfucker as hard as you can and brace yourself. He’s heavier. He’ll fall harder.”

Mason took a deep breath, took a step back, then with all the speed he could muster within the enclosed space he charged at Bobby.

Bobby grinned and accepted the challenge, running as fast as he could at Mason.

Both men dropped their shoulders low, like knights in a joust, ready for the collision. Mason held his breath as the two hulking combatants plowed headlong into each other before ricocheting apart and flying backward through the air.

Having braced for impact, Mason thudded against the floor, rolled, then seemed to bounce straight back onto his feet. Buzz-cut Bobby, on the other hand, slammed against the floor so hard that every last breath of air was knocked out of his lungs. Eyes wide, veins in his neck bulging, he wheezed and gasped desperately for oxygen.

Mason was already storming over to his flattened foe. He seized Bobby by his thick forearm and jerked him to his feet. While Bobby stood spluttering, Mason threw a punch that landed square in the middle of Bobby’s face.

Buzz-cut staggered backward as the blow popped his nose open and a starburst of blood covered his face, but it also seemed to knock the air back into his lungs.

Mason quickly dealt a second blow, this time to Bobby’s cheekbone. But buzz-cut seemed to absorb the strike before responding swiftly with a powerful uppercut to Mason’s chin.

Stumbling unsteadily, Mason teetered backward before turning and losing his balance altogether, falling to his knees in front of me, his face landing right in my lap.

I shuddered, mortified—stunned—thrilled.

Mason simply lifted his giddy, wobbling head, his cheek brushing against my erect cock on the way up, his manly stubble rough against my silky stem. An electric shock of pure delight shot through my entire being.

“Any ideas what to do next?” was all Mason could slur, blinking back the dizziness, his mouth so close to the engorged head of my cock it were as though he was talking into a microphone. I could feel the heat of his breath—and yet Mason did not remove himself or even seem to mind at all.

“Ideas on what comes next?” I gulped. I had a pretty good guess at what the answer would be if his beautiful face stayed in my lap much longer, but Mason needed a more scientific response if he was going to win this fight. Or more accurately, win me!

“Force,” I mumbled.

“What?”

“Newton’s second law. Force equals mass times acceleration.” I looked down at Mason’s mighty hands and considered what those generous fists were capable of. “You have the mass, but you’re pulling back on your acceleration which is in turn affecting your force index.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re pulling your punches. You’re aiming short. Don’t aim for his face. Aim for a point beyond his face. Follow through. Keep up your acceleration.”

At that moment, buzz-cut Bobby grabbed himself a handful of Mason’s hair and yanked his head out of my lap. He spun Mason on his feet, but before Bobby could so much as curl his fist, Mason delivered a right hook like a damn freight train.

Bobby’s head swiveled with the blow and a tooth rattled across the floor.

Before the buzz-cut bully could so much as register what just hit him a second fist flew at him. This time it was a hook from the left that sailed across Bobby’s face, opening a gash above the eye then following through, not stopping till it was at least a foot beyond its target.

Bobby lurched backward, tried to hold himself up but tottered precariously on his quivering legs.

Mason stepped up to his opponent, pulled his right arm back, then launched it with all the power he had left in him.

Buzz-cut Bobby was unconscious before his bulky frame shook the floorboards. The entire attic went silent, I suppose wondering as I was if Buzz Cut was even still alive after that last killer blow. An unconscious snort and splutter that soon turned into a low snore assured us he was.

Twisting unsteadily on his feet, Mason turned to me then. “As I was saying,” he muttered as his tongue tried to wash the blood from his bottom lip. “You’re mine.”

 

The stack of physics textbooks looked well worn, flipped through a thousand times. I assumed Mason had bought them secondhand from another student. Perhaps he came from a poor family. Perhaps he’d gotten those muscles as a teenager working at the local gas station during summer vacation in some tiny Midwest town, topless as he pumped gas into old Chevys, his manly hair only just beginning to sprout across his chest as it grew broader by the day. Or perhaps he worked weekends on a building site, lugging bricks to pay his way through college, his large hands lifting, stacking, pulling, jacking. The fact was, I knew nothing about him, had never set eyes on this beautiful buff creature before.

And yet he knew my name.

“Are you comfortable, Ethan?” He seemed nervous now that it was just the two of us. He had washed the blood from his face. Bruises were already forming.

“How did you know my name?” I was sitting uncomfortably on the edge of the bed in his small room, like a nervous child in the house of a strange spider-haired aunt. Only Mason was no spider-haired aunt. Here in his domain, with his bruises and his cuts, he seemed sexier than ever. Yet there I was, meek and utterly intimidated, rubbing my wrists, which had become chafed and swollen from the ropes. I was no longer naked, at least not quite. Mason had generously put a towel around me. He himself was still dressed only in his gym shorts, which seemed to bulge more than ever now that we were alone.

“You’re hurt,” he said, noticing me rubbing my wrists. He successfully avoided my question by sitting on the bed beside me. “May I?” His voice was soft and caring as he took my forearm tenderly in his hands. His own knuckles were red and grazed, yet all his concern was focused on my wrist. He placed my forearm in his lap and I could distinctly feel his dick hardening against my skin. He began massaging my wrist, pressing it slightly into his groin.

I gulped and felt my guard shoot up—where was my woolen vest, my glasses, a book to put my head in? “We should study.” I glanced at the red digits of his old clock radio on the bedside table. It was almost two in the morning. “We’re running out of time. I’m supposed to help you study, remember? You didn’t get the living hell beaten out of you for no reason.”

“No, I didn’t,” he said, and I felt his cock swell even more against my forearm.

I tried to get up, although I didn’t really want to. It was just a polite gesture, a nervous reaction. I pretended to make for the pile of textbooks, but Mason easily pulled me back on the bed.

“You liked watching me fight,” he remarked. He was looking at the pole beneath my towel extending higher and higher. “It turned you on?” he asked, as if not wanting to make the assumption. Humility in the handsome is a rare treat and the ultimate turn-on in my opinion. My shaft shot to its full height beneath the towel.

I managed to conceal the tremor in my voice. “Yes.”

Mason began to blush. “I like watching you, too.”

I was confused. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve seen you around campus. You’re so…cute. You probably never noticed, but I sit behind you in lectures. One row back and three to the left. Sometimes I follow you after class, at least until you get to the turnoff to your dorm. You’ve always got your head in a book, even when you’re walking, do you know that?”

I nodded, not sure what to say. I was embarrassed, more nervous than ever. Nobody had ever admitted to watching me before. I didn’t think anyone had a reason to. “Why would you watch me?”

Mason shrugged coyly. “I don’t know. Because you’re not like the other guys I hang around with. You’re not like me.”

“Opposites attract.” The words came out of my mouth before I even realized it.

Mason smiled and I could see his heart skip a beat beneath his massive, trimmed chest. “Is that another one of the laws of physics?”

“No, that’s one of the laws of love.” Ouch! I grimaced at my painfully corny one-liner, but Mason just smiled at me adoringly for having said it. Suddenly I suspected somewhere beneath Mason’s hunky, fist-hurling façade was a fan-flapping, eyelid-fluttering, heart-swooning Jane Austen fan.

He was looking into my eyes now, occasionally glancing down just to watch my lips move. “I wish we could sit an exam for those laws.” His face was closer now, moving closer still.

“It’s supposed to be the other way around.” I was whispering now, he was so near to me. “You seem so popular and…and perfect. I’m supposed to be the one watching you. You’re not supposed to know I even exist. Are you just doing this to pass the exam?”

Mason shook his head.

“I don’t get it,” I breathed. “Science is the pursuit of knowledge through experimentation and reason. I need a reason for this. Why do you like me?”

“I can’t give you one. Not everything is science.”

With that he placed his sore, swollen lips on mine and gently kissed me.

Instantly I wanted more. My tongue parted his lips, opening the passage for both our tongues to explore each other’s mouths. He took my jaw in one hand and unwrapped my towel as best he could with the other. I instinctively went for his tightly packed gym shorts, rubbing at the bulge trapped inside. He gasped through our kiss and pulled his mouth away from mine to say, “I’ve wanted this for so long.”

Suddenly I found my courage. I grabbed the back of his head, keeping my adoring alpha male close and said, “Shut up. You sound like a line from my little sister’s diary. Just shut up and fuck me.”

Suddenly Mason’s bruised and battered body rose off the bed, large and looming, and he seized me around the waist. He pulled me to my feet and my erection stabbed him in the stomach. He stole a kiss, then spun me about and dropped to his knees behind me.

I felt instantly vulnerable, blind, unable to see what was happening, uncertain of what I was doing here and yet somehow…safe.

The next thing I felt were his hands parting the round cheeks of my ass to make way for his hot, moist tongue.

My eyelids fluttered, I couldn’t stop them.

Air slithered from my lungs and I didn’t want it to return. I held my breath as that tongue slid up and down my sweaty, hungry crack, pushing against the ring of my anus, flickering inside me briefly, tauntingly, before pulling out again.

I heard him stand.

I gave a long overdue inhale and began breathing again, my head light and spinning.

Mason’s hands slid away from my asscheeks and gripped me by my hips then swiveled me around to face him. He pressed his lips against mine, pushed his tongue inside my mouth and I could taste the sweet yearning of my own ass. My cock was pressed against his hard stomach, and the bulge inside his gym shorts was nudging my balls. I could sense he was in pain, aching to be set free yet waiting for me to have the pleasure of unlocking that cage.

Desire overcame my fears, and I was the one to drop to my knees this time.

My happily quivering fingers hooked the elastic waist of his gym shorts and pulled them down, gradually.

It was like unraveling a treasure map, following the hirsute trail to a beautifully manicured island of dark pubic hair. I could smell the sweet scent of his manly sweat mingling with the aroma of cum, near and inevitable. The plump stem of his shaft appeared, and suddenly my desire to see this cub in all his glory was simply too much to bear.

I stripped the gym shorts down the length of his strapping, hairy thighs and his dick flung itself through the air, missing my face by an inch to slap against his trimmed abs.

If Mason was my muscleman, then this was truly his muscle-cock .

It was massive, thick and sculpted, bursting with veins and heaving with confidence.

It moved up and down in front of my face, as though waiting for my lips to give it guidance, to hold it still and take it in my mouth. I opened my lips, my tongue reaching out, desperate to taste its sweetness. But before I could satiate myself, Mason took my head in his large hands and pulled me to my feet once more.

The bed was behind me and I could feel him backing me ever closer to it. I decided to taunt him in return; I didn’t want to give him that much control, at least not yet. As he tried to maneuver me backward I quickly twisted the two of us around, taking Mason by sweet surprise and forcing him onto the bed.

Mason landed flat on his back on the mattress and courageously I tried to straddle him.

That’s when he turned the tables once more, rolling quickly onto his side, flipping me onto the mattress. Side by side we continued kissing, elbows and knees and cocks digging into the bed and each other.

In a willing tussle he turned me flat on my back. My stiff cock smacked flat against my stomach and Mason smiled and licked his lips. I took his jaw gently in my hand and kissed his chin. At the same time, he took hold of my cock, low at the shaft, then pulled away from my lips and moved down my body. He crouched over me and pointed my pulsating dick toward his wet open mouth. Then, without another moment’s hesitation, he devoured me whole.

His mouth was wide and hot, the most slippery, sublime haven my cock had ever known. His tongue navigated me around inside him, manipulating me, teasing me, sucking and releasing.

I took his bountiful black locks in both hands to steer the thrust and lunge of his hungry quest. I heard myself moan and in a reflex move Mason picked up the pace, his head bobbing faster and faster up and down my cock.

I could feel the tension welling inside me. The muscles in my hips and buttocks trembled—partly from lack of use, partly from anticipation—as they rose up to meet Mason’s plunging lips. He knew as well as I did that at this pace, I wasn’t going to last long.

My balls began to surge up into my body, but Mason denied them their retreat, grabbing them and pulling them down hard.

A bolt of pain, of sheer ecstasy, rocked my body. I cried out and lurched forward, my balls caught in Mason’s fist, my cock still ramming in and out of his mouth.

Suddenly the muscles in my back clenched tight and arched and with Mason’s head held firmly in my hands the fire, the rush, the explosion filled his mouth, my hot currents coursing into the warm wet tunnel of his throat, swirling around the head of my cock, turning his mouth into a well of cum.

Mason swallowed hard and fast, gulping down one, two, three spasmodic jets of my sweet cum.

I panted and groaned as Mason released my cock from his mouth before he choked. I watched my dick exit his mouth glistening with saliva and cum, even stiffer and thicker and bigger than when it went in. I watched Mason’s mouth gasping for air, my cum overflowing from his lips and oozing onto his strong, stubble-shaded chin.

There I lay panting and moaning and spent for a moment longer until Mason stopped my groans by shoving his thumb and index finger into my mouth. I sucked on them like a starving child ravaging a nipple, unrestrained and impossible to satisfy. I sucked ravenously, as though drawing new energy from them. Then Mason pulled his mauled fingers from my mouth and replaced them with his tongue.

We lay together, him on top of me, his rigid, furry stomach pressed against mine. His bulging, bulbous cock nudged against my drained balls and he thrust it sharply into my tender sac—perhaps a little too sharply—for I flinched hard. In a reflex response I shoved my hefty hunk right off the top of me and over the edge of the bed.

Mason rolled and hit the floor beside the bed with a loud thud…before laughing hysterically, achingly.

I leaned over quickly and looked down, embarrassed and concerned. All I could think to say was, “Fuck! Sorry!”

Mason wheezed and chuckled. “I guess that’s the law of gravity.”

“What goes up must come down,” I said, shrugging.

“Not yet it doesn’t.” Mason reached up, grabbed hold of my forearm and yanked me down on the floor with him.

I landed on top of him awkwardly, forcing a pained grunt and more laughter out of him. We kissed again, more fiercely than before, our playful antics now turning passionately rough.

Without taking his lips off mine, Mason’s hand felt its way up to the bedside table, opened the drawer, rummaged inside and pulled out a condom. Only then did he tear his mouth away from mine so he could bite open the wrapper, but before he could do anything with it I took the condom from him, then bravely ran my tongue all the way down his body. My lips were tickled by the hair on his chest, then his stomach. When my tongue reached the stem of his throbbing cock, I took the condom and slid it onto Mason’s shaft with my fist.

Mason had already found the lube in the drawer and was passing it to me.

I squeezed a glob into my palm.

Lying flat on his back, Mason simply watched from the floor, his large stiff penis growing even harder at the sight of me massaging it with a lubed fist.

I squeezed more lubricant onto the tips of my fingers then circled the rim of my anus, gliding my index finger deep inside myself to wet my passage, relaxing the muscles. It felt good, but I was ready for something better—and bigger.

I took Mason’s cock in my hand and straddled him, positioning myself over his shaft before nuzzling the head against my crack. The bulbous head pushed my asscheeks apart, eager to make its entry. It gave rise to my own cock, now suddenly rejuvenated and once more seeking attention. It grew in length and girth quickly, hardening fast and enthusiastically slapping against my stomach once more, sprinkling a few dewdrops of precum against my tensed stomach muscles…or were they leftover beads from the last orgasm? It was hard to tell. All I knew was, Mason could wait no longer. He moaned impatiently.

Taking a deep breath, I sank myself down onto his cock.

Mason rolled his head back against the floorboards, eyes shut, mouth open wide to let a loud groan of absolute pleasure escape.

At the same time I began to slide up and down his pole, slowly at first, the muscles of my warm wet ass gradually loosening, enjoying themselves, sweeping up and down with the motion of fucking, like seaweed moving with the ebb and flow of the tide.

But I wanted the tide to move faster.

I began sliding up and down Mason’s cock harder, heavier. No, not sliding; grinding.

Mason began to reciprocate, thrusting his pelvis up off the floor as I came down to meet him, then pulling back as I lifted away. The movement transformed us into a well-lubed machine.

The air from my lungs came accompanied with a noise now—a soft, low moan with each breath. “Ahhh…ohhh… ahhh…”

My stiff, bobbing cock seemed to be floating free, out on its own, unattended. Occasionally it snapped upward and smacked my stomach. Other times it bounced so hard with the rhythm that it slapped against Mason’s fur-lined abs, making muffled drumbeats. Mason reined it in by seizing the shaft in one hand. He began stroking it. His palm was dry but my meat was still moist with his saliva. As the pace of penetration grew more and more intense, his fist squeezed harder and pounded my cock faster.

My groans grew louder.

“Ahhh…I…I’m…cu…”

Mason pushed himself deeper and faster into me.

I rode him harder. Harder still.

He grunted, teeth clenched, as though he was back in the fight, determined to win.

I panted and groaned, words still trying to push their way out of my heaving lungs.

“I’m cu…I’m cum…”

Before I could spit it out, the head of my cock bloomed large and purple and its slit beaded up with another gleaming ball of precum, ready to do some spitting of its own.

My second orgasm in only a few minutes was even bigger and more powerful than the first. As my eyes closed and my mouth fell open and my head rolled back, I fired a blast of cum that soared over Mason’s ribbed stomach and landed on the muscle of his chest, catching in the web of hair coating his meaty pecs.

As soon as the sizzling jism made contact, Mason’s balls opened their own floodgates. He arched his back high, pushing himself as far into me as he could. Still groaning and rocking with ecstasy, I pressed my asscheeks down hard against his pelvis, eating up the entire length of his cock.

I felt Mason’s head high inside me.

I felt the temperature skyrocket as the head of his condom bulged with an immense load of boiling hot cum.

Mason’s body jolted once, twice, and again and again, each time shooting another pulse of cum from his shaft.

It triggered a second load of cum from my own cock, this time with less trajectory and more spent pain, the white spool landing in a shining loop across Mason’s tight, hairy belly.

I gasped then, spasming with more sharp pain as Mason tried to gently, slowly, massage the last of the juice from my swollen cock. Gradually he lowered his hips to the floor as the last of his own cum spilled into the condom inside me.

For a moment we both stayed that way, speechless and exhausted. Then Mason sat up, his cock still in me, and wrapped his beefy arms around my torso. My tender shaft was pressed between our stomachs, the smooth skin of my heaving belly and chest prickled by his muscular, manicured torso. My cum smeared us both.

He kissed me then, a long, deep, passionate kiss. And when it was done, I looked into his eyes and whispered, “So much for studying. I’m sorry, but I think you’re going to fail that physics exam.”

Mason simply smiled. Like someone who knew better.

 

I failed the physics exam.

I spent so much time enjoying my hard-on and glancing across the examination hall at Mason that my distractions resulted in my first-ever F. I was proud of it. After all, Mason was right—not everything is science. And science isn’t everything.

I wore my failed grade like a badge of honor, for it came with memories of the best fuck of my life.

Mason passed the exam with flying colors.

At first I was completely bewildered. I thought he must have cheated, or been extremely lucky, or perhaps even slept with our professor. But as I got to know him—sitting next to each other in lectures, walking back to my dorm together after class, spending nights studying and kissing and fucking and waking up in each other’s arms—I realized Mason was not a cheat. He didn’t rely on luck, nor did he sleep with anyone to make the grade. Mason was in fact a straight-A student and had been all along.

That night in the attic, he didn’t need to win me to pass the exam.

He didn’t need me at all.

He simply wanted me, right from the beginning.

Just as I wanted him, his muscle and his mind, in the end.

My end.