Chapter 16: The Mankini Date
The stale, sweet smell of old pizza and lube hung in the dorm room air, a comfortable fog Harrison was lazily swimming through. He was sprawled on his bed, wearing nothing but a black lace thong that dug into the creases of his hips and did absolutely nothing to contain the soft swell of his lower belly or the dense thatch of hair curling beneath his navel. He was scrolling on his phone, one hand idly rubbing over his own hip, when the door swung open without a knock.
Harrison glanced up, a casual greeting on his lips, and the words dissolved into nothing.
Chase stood in the doorway, backlit by the hall’s fluorescent glow, and for a second Harrison’s brain simply refused to process the image. Then it hit him, a visceral punch to the gut that made his pussy give a sudden, slick pulse.
It was a mankini. A tiny, screaming-bright yellow mankini of the Borat slingshot variety. Two triangular patches of lycra, connected by strings so thin they looked like dental floss, struggled to contain the reality of Chase’s body. One patch cupped—barely—the overwhelming bulk of his cock and balls, the dark shape of him straining against the vibrant fabric, a heavy outline threatening to spill free. The other was a comically small band over his sternum, from which two strings ran up over his shoulders, leaving everything else devastatingly exposed.
And there was so much to expose.
Chase’s tits were massive, perky globes that sat high on his sculpted chest without the slightest sag, their pale skin flawless save for the dark, prominent nipples that the lycra triangles just barely covered. The rest of him—the carved valleys of his abdomen, the powerful sweep of his thighs, the dense dusting of golden hair on his arms and legs—was all just… there. On display. The yellow fabric was a garish accent, a joke that only made the serious, muscular perfection of him more obscene.
“Holy fucking shit,” Harrison breathed, sitting up slowly, the lace of his thong pulling tight.
Chase grinned, a flash of white teeth, and did a slow spin. The mankini strings dug into the meat of his shoulders and his ass cleft. From behind, the yellow triangle was a precarious flag between the two firm hemispheres of his ass. “You like?” Chase asked, his voice a low rumble of amusement.
“Like?” Harrison choked out. He swung his legs off the bed, his own nearly-nakedness feeling suddenly tame. “Chase, you look… you’re a goddamn vision. A public menace.” He walked closer, circling him, his eyes devouring the details. The way the muscle in Chase’s back flexed under smooth skin. The sheer audacity of the outfit. The primal, top-scent of him, clean sweat and expensive body wash, cutting through the dorm’s musk. “I’ve never seen anything so fucking slutty in my life. It’s genius.”
Chase turned back to face him, his huge hands settling on his narrow hips. “You inspired me, man. Seriously.” His gaze traveled down Harrison’s body, taking in the soft, hairy paunch spilling over the lace waistband, the thick thighs, the vulnerable swell of his pussy barely concealed by the black fabric. “Seeing you strut around campus in your tiny shorts, your tits out, not giving a single fuck… it lit a fire under my ass. I was like, why should bottoms have all the fun showing off? Tops can be sluts too. We should be sluts too. This…” He plucked at the tiny yellow triangle over his nipple. “This is me stepping up my game.”
Harrison felt a warm rush of pride, mixed with a dizzying surge of lust. He placed his hands on Chase’s firm waist, his thumbs stroking the sharp v-lines that led down to the straining yellow fabric. “You stepped it up into the stratosphere. You’re going to cause accidents. People are gonna walk into walls.”
“Good,” Chase said, his own hands coming up to cradle Harrison’s soft, hairy sides. “And look at you. Fuck. That lace on all this…” He squeezed a handful of Harrison’s love handle, making him shiver. “All this soft, sexy fur. It’s like wrapping a present with fucking cobwebs. Drives me insane.” He leaned down, nipping at Harrison’s beard. “I got a date planned for us. Right now.”
“Yeah? Where?” Harrison’s heart was hammering. Being seen with Chase was always a thrill, but this? This was a statement.
“The quad. Prime time. I’ve got a blanket, some snacks.” Chase’s eyes glinted. “Somewhere very, very public. I want an audience for this. I want everyone to see what I get to have.”
The idea sent a jolt of pure electricity straight to Harrison’s core. His pussy went from damp to openly wet, a familiar, slick heat coating his inner thighs. To be paraded beside Chase, both of them dressed in practically nothing, him in his slutty little thong and Chase in that obscene yellow flag of a mankini… to be claimed, openly, in front of everyone…
“Fuck yes,” Harrison hissed, his earlier lethargy burned away. “Let me just get my sandals.”
“No time,” Chase said, slapping his ass playfully. The sound was sharp in the quiet room. “Barefoot is hotter. More primitive. Let’s go.”
They walked out into the hallway, and the effect was immediate. A guy from down the hall carrying a laundry basket froze, his jaw going slack, a pair of boxers slipping from his grip to the floor. Chase just winked, slinging a heavy arm around Harrison’s shoulders, his bare skin hot against Harrison’s. Harrison leaned into him, his own chest puffed out, letting his belly lead the way. The walk across campus was a slow-moving spectacle. Whispers cut through the ambient noise. Heads turned, then whipped back for a second look. A group of bottoms sitting on a bench stared openly, their eyes wide with a mix of shock and envy. Harrison caught one, a chubby guy in a tight tank top, blatantly adjusting himself as he watched Chase’s ass move in the yellow thong.
Harrison had never felt more powerful. This was different from the hungry, secretive communion with Gus. This was theater. This was validation written in the stunned expressions of every passerby. Chase was a trophy, and he was wearing Harrison on his arm.
Chase had chosen a spot right in the heart of the quad, under the dappled shade of two massive oaks. A thick, red-checkered blanket was spread out, with a bottle of spiced cider and a small wicker basket waiting. The cobblestones were warm and smooth under Harrison’s bare feet. As they settled on the blanket, Harrison was acutely aware of dozens of eyes from the surrounding benches and pathways, watching but trying not to be obvious.
“This is perfect,” Harrison murmured, accepting a cup of cider from Chase. Their fingers brushed, and Chase let his hand linger, tracing the back of Harrison’s knuckles.
“Only the best for my favorite bottom,” Chase said, his voice loud enough to carry. He pulled out grapes, chunks of cheese, and began to feed them to Harrison, his movements deliberate and slow. Harrison took each morsel, making a show of licking Chase’s fingers clean, moaning softly at the taste of the salty cheese. He could feel the audience’s attention tightening like a screw.
After a few minutes of this tender, performative feeding, Chase’s eyes darkened. “On your hands and knees, baby,” he said, his voice dropping, but not enough. “I want a taste before the main course.”
A thrill shot through Harrison. He obeyed, turning his back to the scattered students, presenting himself on the blanket. The black lace thong was a flimsy barrier, stretched tight between his asscheeks. He heard a distant, shocked gasp. Then Chase’s hands were on him, pulling the lace aside entirely, exposing his pink, slick pussy to the warm afternoon air and, he knew, to countless staring eyes.
Chase didn’t hesitate. He buried his face between Harrison’s cheeks with a groan that was pure hunger. His tongue was broad and flat at first, laving broad stripes through the wetness, then it pointed and speared deep inside him. Harrison cried out, his arms buckling, his face pressing into the wool of the blanket. The sensation was incredible—the rough drag of Chase’s tongue, the wet, open-mouthed kisses on his most sensitive flesh—but part of his mind was detached, narrating the scene for the invisible crowd. Look at him, look at how he needs it, look at how he takes it.
Chase ate him with a single-minded intensity, one hand reaching around to jerk Harrison’s caged cock slowly, the other spreading his ass wide for better access. Harrison was dripping, making a mess of the blanket and Chase’s chin, his moans rising in pitch and volume. He didn’t try to quiet them. Let them hear. Let them see the strings of slick connecting Chase’s mouth to his hole when Chase pulled back to breathe.
“Ready for me?” Chase growled, his voice thick. He didn’t wait for an answer. In one smooth, powerful motion, he flipped Harrison onto his back. The world spun—blue sky, green leaves, the blurred faces of onlookers around the edges. Chase loomed over him, his huge tits swinging freely as he positioned himself, the yellow mankini now pushed aside, his enormous, thick cock springing free, already dripping with precum. He shoved Harrison’s thighs back towards his chest, folding him almost in half, exposing his wet, gaping pussy completely—the mating press.
This was it. The most vulnerable, most exposed position. Harrison’s soft, hairy belly was flattened, his body offered up. Chase’s tits hung down, brushing against Harrison’s chest hair with every slight movement, their weight and heat a constant, overwhelming sensation.
Chase pushed inside with one brutal, perfect thrust. Harrison screamed, a raw, unfiltered sound that echoed off the stone buildings. Chase set a relentless, deep pace, each slam knocking a grunt from Harrison’s lungs. His tits swayed and jiggled hypnotically with the force of his thrusts, and Harrison, delirious, reached up to grab them, squeezing the soft, heavy flesh, thumbing over the hard nipples.
“Yeah, play with my tits, you hungry pig,” Chase panted, pounding into him. “You love these, don’t you?”
“Fuck, yes, yes!” Harrison chanted, his body alight, the public shame transmuting into pure, addictive fuel. The crowd was a distant murmur, a vibration at the edge of his consciousness. All that existed was the stretch and burn, the slap of skin, the musky scent of their sweat, the magnificent bounce of Chase’s tits in his face.
Chase’s rhythm began to stutter. “Gonna breed that dirty pussy,” he groaned, his voice breaking. “Gonna fill you up right here where everyone can see.”
Harrison was right on the edge, his own climax coiling tight. As Chase slammed into him one final time, shuddering, his release hot and deep inside, Harrison’s eyes squeezed shut. The pleasure ripped through him, blinding and total.
But in that exact, shattering moment, behind his closed eyelids, it wasn’t Chase’s face he saw.
It was Gus’s. Gus’s shy smile. Gus’s eyes dark with shared hunger over a mess of chili cheese fries. The memory of Gus’s voice, raw with confession: “I licked his sticky, hairy stomach clean.”
The orgasm was explosive, wracking his body with uncontrollable spasms, his own release adding to the mess between them. He cried out, the sound ripped from him.
As the waves subsided, leaving him boneless and gasping beneath Chase’s sweaty weight, a cold, clear clarity seeped into the aftermath. The whoops and scattered applause from the edges of the quad felt tinny and far away. Chase’s satisfied kisses on his neck felt like stamps on a document.
He had never felt more seen by so many people.
He had never felt more alone.