Chapter 13: Penetration Demonstration
The Monday morning air was crisp against Harrison’s exposed skin as he crossed campus, a familiar thrill buzzing in his chest. After the weekend of profound, loving chaos with his dads—a swirl of Barry’s pussy on his tongue, Walt’s milk on his lips, and the grounding, total acceptance of his bisexuality—he felt electric. Uncontainable. He’d chosen his outfit not just for comfort, but as a declaration.
The crop top was black and impossibly short, the hem riding just below the swell of his pectorals, leaving the vast, hairy plain of his belly completely bare. Below, he wore nothing but a black, crotchless thong. The thin straps framed his heavy ass cheeks perfectly, but the open front left his caged cock and balls shamelessly on display, the small silver cage a glittering accent against his coarse pubic hair. It was, by any standard lecture hall decorum, skanky. Even for him.He knew it. A few students on the path grinned and nodded appreciatively; one top in sweatpants gave him a playful swat on the rump as they passed. Harrison beamed back.
He settled into a seat near the back of the large, tiered classroom for ‘Human Sexual Physiology 101,’ his belly pressing against the small desk. A low murmur of conversation filled the room, a mix of tops and bottoms in varying states of undress, though most had made some concession to modesty—tank tops over thongs, or at least shorts that covered their asses. Harrison felt dozens of eyes tracing the lines of his body, and he let his knees fall open a little wider, the cool air kissing his exposed flesh. His pussy, responding to the attention, was already slick.
When Professor Rhodes entered, the room’s energy shifted. He was a masterpiece of silver-fox top energy: salt-and-pepper hair swept back, a jawline that could cut glass, and a broad, muscular frame barely contained by a starched white button-down. The shirt was the real spectacle. His tits were enormous—round, pert, and jiggling with each step—straining the fabric so severely that gaps yawned between the buttons, offering glimpses of smooth, muscular chest and dark, leaking nipples. He moved with a confident, almost predatory grace to the lectern.
“Good morning,” he said, his voice a rich baritone that silenced the remaining chatter. His eyes, sharp and analytical, scanned the room. They passed over Harrison, paused, and then slowly tracked back. Harrison felt the gaze like a physical touch. The professor’s expression was unreadable, a mask of academic detachment, but his nostrils flared slightly.
The lecture began, a dry discourse on hormonal cycles in tops. Harrison tried to focus, but the weight of the collective attention, and the professor’s occasional, lingering glance, kept his pussy dripping. He shifted, and the wetness made a soft, sticky sound against the plastic seat. A top in front of him turned and smirked.
About twenty minutes in, Professor Rhodes stopped mid-sentence. He placed his hands flat on the lectern. “A pedagogical observation,” he said, his tone still even. “While our institution rightly celebrates bodily autonomy and expression, we do maintain certain… contextual norms. To facilitate a learning environment.”
His eyes locked onto Harrison. “You. In the black.”
Every other face in the room swiveled to look. Harrison’s heart hammered.
“Your attire,” the professor continued, walking slowly down the center aisle. “A crop top of negligible coverage. A thong, technically, though of a design that exposes the genitalia. While such fashion is commonplace, in a classroom setting, one typically observes a base layer.Shorts, perhaps. Or a skirt.”
He stopped beside Harrison’s row. Up close, the sheer size of him was daunting. The scent of starch, clean sweat, and sweet milk wafted from the gaps in his shirt. “Your presentation is, objectively, attention-seeking.” He tilted his head. “Do you want attention, young man?”
Harrison’s mouth went dry. The question, delivered with such clinical precision, sliced through his bravado. He thought of the weekend—of Barry writhing beneath his mouth, of Walt’s proud gaze. He thought of Chase cheering him on, of Gus’s shy, hungry eyes. He surveyed the sudden, intense focus of sixty people, and the profound, leaking authority of the professor before him.
His pussy clenched, spilling more slick.
“Yes,” Harrison breathed, the word barely audible.
“Elucidate,” Rhodes commanded.
“I… I want attention,” Harrison said, louder, his voice gaining strength. “I want you to look.”
A low, approving rumble came from the tops in the room. A few bottoms bit their lips, watching raptly.
Professor Rhodes nodded, as if a hypothesis had been confirmed. “Very well. Since the core curriculum today concerns arousal and coital response, we shall pivot to a practical demonstration. A living exemplar is preferable to any diagram. Come.”
He gestured to the front of the room. Harrison, legs slightly weak, stood and followed the imposing figure, feeling the stare of the entire class on his jiggling ass. He stood beside the lectern, under the bright lights.
“Observe the classical bottom morphology,” Rhodes began, his voice returning to its lecturing cadence. He didn’t ask permission; his large, warm hands settled on Harrison’s shoulders and turned him to face the class. “Note the generous adipose distribution, a sign of excellent health and lubrication production.” He slid his palms down Harrison’s sides, coming to rest on the swell of his love handles. He gave a firm, jiggling squeeze. “The abdomen is soft, pliable, and aesthetically pleasing in its amplitude.”
His hands moved lower, gripping the full moons of Harrison’s ass. “The gluteal region is pronounced and well-formed, providing both a visual focal point and a stable platform for intercourse.” He kneaded the flesh, pulling the cheeks apart slightly before letting them settle. Harrison moaned, his head falling back.
“He’s so fucking hot,” a top with a buzz-cut whispered loudly from the front row.
“Prime,” agreed another, his hand already palming the bulge in his shorts.
“The subject is clearly in a state of high receptivity,” Rhodes noted, his fingers tracing the strap of the thong where it bisected Harrison’s cleft. “Lubrication is evident.” He hooked a finger under the strap and pulled it aside, fully exposing Harrison’s pussy to the room. A collective, hungry sigh went up. Harrison’s hole, pink and glistening, winked under the lights.
“Now, the pre-coital act of cunnilingus,” the professor stated. He dropped to his knees with a surprising fluidity. “Effective technique requires enthusiasm, not just technique. The goal is to overwhelm the nerve cluster.”
He didn’t wait. He buried his face between Harrison’s cheeks.
It wasn’t tender. It was ravenous. Professor Rhodes ate his pussy like a starving man at a feast, with loud, wet slurps and deep, gnawing sucks. His tongue was thick and relentless, spearing inside before flattening to lap broad, messy strokes over Harrison’s twitching hole. Harrison cried out, his hands flying to the lectern for support. “Oh fuck! Oh god, yes, right there!” The dirty talk spilled from him, unfiltered and desperate. “Eat it, eat my fucking pussy, it’s so wet for you, sir, please!”
The professor came up for air, his chin slick. “Note the vocal feedback,” he said to the class, his voice slightly muffled against Harrison’s flesh. “Encouragement is a positive indicator of effective stimulus.” Then he dove back in with a guttural groan, his hands clawing at Harrison’s ass cheeks, spreading them wider as he devoured him. The sounds were obscene, echoing in the lecture hall: sloppy kisses, filthy sucks, Harrison’s broken, begging praises.
When Harrison’s legs began to tremble violently, his pleas dissolving into sobs of overstimulation, Rhodes stood. His button-down was now spotted with milk from his own agitated tits. His slacks were tented obscenely.
“For the act of penetration,” he announced, hoisting Harrison by the hips and laying him back on the large, polished desk. Harrison’s head dangled off one side, his belly a vast, trembling dome. “Positioning is key. Supine, with visual access to the partner’s face, allows for monitoring of emotional and physical response.”
Rhodes unzipped his slacks, freeing a thick, veined cock that curved upwards, already weeping pre-cum. He positioned himself between Harrison’s splayed legs. “Lubrication appears sufficient.” He pressed the broad head against Harrison’s sloppy, loosened entrance. “Initiate penetration with steady, controlled pressure.”
He pushed in. Harrison shrieked, a sound of pure, stretched bliss. The professor sheathed himself to the hilt in one smooth, powerful thrust, making Harrison’s entire body jolt. His belly shivered.
“Observe the cephalocaudal ripple effect on the abdominal fat deposit,” Rhodes grunted, beginning a slow, deep rhythm. Each inward drive made Harrison’s belly quake. “This is a hallmark of a quality bottom—the visible propagation of kinetic energy. It’s profoundly aesthetic.”
He leaned over, bracing his hands on the desk by Harrison’s head, their faces inches apart. His rhythm increased. “Now, maintain eye contact. Assess. Is he in pain?” He drilled deeper, and Harrison’s eyes rolled back before fluttering open, meeting his gaze with dazed, wanton need. “No. He is in ecstasy. You can see the precise moment your cockhead brushes his prostate. Here.” He angled his hips and thrust sharply.
Harrison howled, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes. “Y-yes! There, fuck, right there!”
Around them, the class had devolved into a chorus of grunts and soft moans. At least a dozen tops had their cocks out, stroking in time with the professor’s punishing pace. Bottoms were fingering themselves or grinding against their seats, eyes glued to the spectacle.
“You are an exemplary specimen,” Rhodes hissed, his academic facade cracking, raw lust bleeding into his words. “Such a fat, filthy, perfect cunt. Taking this instructional fuck so beautifully. Dripping all over my desk. Look at you. Look at me claiming you.”
Harrison could only babble, overspilling with sensation. The professor’s cock was a piston of fire, his own slick was everywhere, the audience’s rapt, jerking attention was a blanket of heat. He was a demonstration, a lesson, a worshipped slut, all at once.
Rhodes’s thrusts became erratic, animalistic. His massive tits heaved, milk now freely leaking through his shirt, dripping onto Harrison’s heaving chest. “The… the culmination,” he gasped, his voice ragged. “Note the… involuntary clamping of the internal sphincter… preceding… ah… fuck!”
He slammed home and held, a guttural roar tearing from his throat as he pumped his load deep into Harrison’s clutching pussy. Harrison came untouched, his own assgasm a silent, shuddering seizure that made his hole milk the professor’s cock in frantic pulses.
For a long moment, the only sounds were harsh breathing and the soft, steady stroking of the watching tops finishing themselves off. Professor Rhodes slowly pulled out, his spend and Harrison’s slick making a mess on the desk. He straightened his ruined shirt, his expression gradually recomposing into one of scholarly satisfaction.
“Adequate demonstration,” he said, his voice regaining its steadiness. He handed Harrison a box of tissues from the lectern. “You may return to your seat. The assignment for Wednesday will be on the learning portal.”
Harrison, weak-kneed and dripping, somehow gathered himself. He pulled his thong back into place, the fabric soaked and clinging. As he walked back to his seat on trembling legs, he was met with smiles, thumbs-ups, and a few murmured, “Nice work, man.”
He sat, the cool plastic a shock against his heated skin. The professor, leaking milk and smelling of sex, continued the lecture on hormonal cycles as if nothing had happened.
When class was dismissed, Harrison floated out into the hallway. The adrenaline was fading, leaving a deep, satiated hum in its wake. He wasn’t ashamed. He wasn’t embarrassed. He felt… studied. Appreciated. Understood. His phone buzzed in his bag. A text from Chase: Heard you killed it in Physiology. Knew you would. Can’t wait to hear details. A follow-up from Gus: You okay? That sounded… intense.
Harrison smiled, a real, joyful smile. He was more than okay. He was a fat, hairy, bisexual bottom who had just been fucked as an academic lesson, and he had never felt more perfectly, blatantly himself. He walked back to his dorm, the evidence of the professor’s lesson drying on his thighs, ready to tell his lovers all about it.
All characters are over the age of 18.