Can you beat a university education?

Preface: The reason I write here is that you, whoever you are, may find yourself in synch with the characters who live in my fiction. Serious, funny, often in between, theirs are circumstances of fantasy about our humanity’s fascination with, yes, sex. You rate, comment, occasionally e-mail – your means of communicating the reactions which “pay” me and my fellow contributors to this site. Such encouragement begets more stories! Stories we writers all present for your pleasure and adjudication.

Acknowledgment: Gratitude to authoritarian author James Rozo whose attention has helped this effort at entertainment-cum-prose.

Dedication: To the memory of writer-philosopher Tony Duvert who aided the sexual liberation of so many of us.

I.

“Lively and intelligent” after being fucked to a fare-thee-well over two previous semesters by Visiting Professor Jacques Roseaux (his very words quoted), now-sophomore Arthur Knox Goodfellow had viewed inner physicality as necessary to his studies. But his “Jack” had returned to the Sorbonne, leaving Arthur deprived, depleted, dejected.

Sadly, try as he might to sublimate his need by acclimatizing his rectum to being empty between outward expressions of after-breakfast detritus, Arthur could not, despite long hours and hard labors at his books, absorb their content with his previous facility. Chief among his problems was an uncanny phenomenon. The way an amputee thought a missing limb might be there still, he often felt a ghost cock – Jack’s – haunting his lower tract. How he missed the real thing! Arthur’s unhappy longing was reflected by descending grades in his major and other studies. Certain professors grew concerned in lackluster, academic fashion. Little beyond platitudes was said to him by them. One man, standing above the others in professional stature and with particular concern, assumed special interest.

Herr Prof. Dr. (Konrad) Karlheinz Küper summoned young Mr. Goodfellow to a conference. “You hoff been ein Student of die erste Klasse, mein lieber Junge. Was ist los? Vot iss wrong mit you?” With a bone-threatening squeeze of Arthur’s scrawny shoulder, he sat the young man in a straight backed chair having no cushion. And looked him in the face lie a Teutonic hawk.

Lost in confusion at his own feelings, a thoroughly intimidated, jittery Arthur stumbled through, “I don’t really know,” and, gathering his clichéd student vocabulary, “I try very diligently to concentrate, sir,” as well as, “I eat my meals and attempt to sleep regular hours but I can’t stick even to those,” and, “Something’s missing, I think, from my life here at the University.” He wore a face of abject misery.

“Vot about sex? You hoff enough of zat?”

Startled, Arthur blushed like the virgin he wasn’t, “Sir! I am celibate this term!”

Küper refrained from slapping the silly fool. He thundered, “Und ze terms before? Vot zen?”

“I...um…um…I had a mentor.” His voice and ribcage rose together with something akin to pride while his effort to sound scholarly teetered. “He looked after me…you know…um…like helping me to be – what he said – lively and intelligent. Uhhh…and I was.”

“Und your excuse now not to be ‘life-ly’ und ‘intelligent,’ eh? Vere you careless und lost zis mentor?”

A diminished, undergraduate voice admitted, “He went back to Paris, to the Sorbonne.”

“Zat französisch faggot! Vot did he hoff to giff you? Tell me spe-ci-fi-cal-ly. I vill not tolerate anyzing but die Wahrheit, the truth!” Near choleric, he frightened the boy.

Hesitant to be literal, Arthur trembled but managed to croak, “Six inches. He gave me his six inches.” His face flushed.

To the sheepish boy in camouflage-print T-shirt and cargo pants, immaculately dressed Dr. Küper looked as if about to blow a fuse.

“Sechs inches! Für Sex?” Incredulous, the man studied the shrunken student.

Pleasant face, pretty lips – like a girl’s, fluffy hair – looks soft – slender torso – probably easily controlled – nipples poking his incongruous shirt – so much I could do with those. Hips perhaps curvaceous – the way I like?

“Stand up for me. Ja. Yes, now turn und face zat door.”

Dear god, a proud boy-ass ass of which Winckelmann would approve and which von Gloeden would die to photograph!

“Stay. I vill take a measurement.”

With a ruler from his desk, the professor pushed the straight backed chair out of his way and gripped Arthur’s elastic waistband. “Be steady. I ze. From zere to zere. Est ist not…not enough room.”

Disappointment tinged his voice. Or was it regret?

“Sir? May I ask, what are you measuring?” He dared to feel back, reaching first the upright ruler – which was withdrawn from his touch – then something soft and hard, angled but definitely tubular under silky-woolen cloth. Something real beyond his thoughts.

“What…is this?”

“Prussian sausage. Too large to break your fast. My eggs, vay too rich for your skimpy diet. But I let you feel. It ist strong. Du bist – you are – weak.”

Arthur turned. His hand found itself full. His other hand found as much more. Big balls!Arthur’s face burned, his ass just behind, heating up. Ohmigod! I could swoon!

The more his grasp encompassed, the more he believed. His eyes drifted up to the square-jawed, silver-haired, decades-older image of authority concentrating on him with laser-strong gray-blue eyes. Arthur’s knees weakened, threatened to buckle.

Large hands at the end of big arms drew the panting undergraduate into an embrace unlike any in his life – crushing him against the great, yearning product of Hessian-Prussian DNA. “Too bad. You could learn zo much…from me.”

Quickened as not before in the present semester, Arthur’s mind perceived an opening. Icy haughtiness was melting in the glowing warmth of human sorrow. Sophomoric imagination had returned. He would speak! With uncommon boldness.

“Sir, don’t be sad. There, there. If you want to mentor me, we will find a way. Prof. Roseaux’s six inches weren’t easy for me, but he said over and over, ‘Arthur, we must persevere!’ – and we did. I’m all closed up now – that’s why I’m falling short in my classes. Please, if you mentor me with patience, I will learn to accept your guidance (by implication, under his hands) the way I did his.”

Boldly, Arthur grasped the fully erected place of promise and sighed.

Karlheinz’s time to marvel arrived. The voice of a suppliant crying out was what he craved, his id required. In company with a body and soul he could dominate. He considered the means of heightening diminutive Arthur’s desire.

Theses and dissertations produced under the professor’s supervision were displayed, awing naïve eyes. One, a master’s thesis came from a twenty-year-old who, like the twenty-one-year-old whose doctoral dissertation reposed next to it on the crammed shelf between volumes by Krafft-Ebing’s Psychopathia Sexualis and Sacher-Masoch’s Venus im Pels,it was explained to him, had been consigned to the professor by his parents from the age of fourteen, the other similarly from the age of fifteen.

“My methodology brought out zere intellectuality. Zey vass brilliant. Zo grateful zere parents, zey created the special scholarship fund zat honors my professors in Tiergarten, Hirschfeld und Kronfeld, und vitch I control.”

“A scholarship? Can I apply? I have no money for next semester’s tuition,” Arthur hastened to say.

“You must first proof yourself.”

Proof? Oh, he’s saying ‘prove.’The statement, pitched at Arthur’s quickened perception, made his inside sizzle.

“I shall begin your tryout.”

Door secured, its shade pulled down, Arthur at last was permitted to see, jutting from the man’s open fly-front, what might deliver him from the doldrums. Mind racing Ohmigogohmigodomi-god, his jaw fell open.

Küper was impressed at what he thought the boy’s invitation. Wrong!

“Oh sir, my mouth? No sir, it was unable to be trained. We tried. Not even when Jack slapped my face, or squeezed my throat, or spanked my butt.”

“You needed persuading zometimes?”

“Oh yes sir, Jack…” – Arthur choked – “…Jack said my tight rectum had no cartilage to damage, so he concentrated on my penetration there.”

“Severe measures.” Küper said aloud but for himself. He removed his lava-red tie, pure-white pima shirt, crocodile belt (I may have use for this.), highly polished lace-ups, calf-high black silk socks, and blue pinstripe trousers. An imposing sight without clothes, Küper loomed.

Arthur bit his lip and heard himself sigh again. I’m so obvious. His eventual wistful nod at the professor’s ramrod cock scored a hit in the man’s amygdala. “I needed to be conditioned,” rang bells heard distantly.

Big hands lowered the suppliant’s many-pocketed pants and child-size briefs, felt roundness, tested suppleness. The same hands positioned Arthur, knees to middle cushion of the black leather sofa and apart, tensed scrotum prominent under a ruddy, multi-pointed star, both destined to glow. “Zis conditioning, it vass gud?”

“May I tell you?”

“Ja.”

“Take two fingers and pat my special place back there. Ooooh yes, that’s it. Now faster, please. And harder. Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Some spit there and the finger spanking gets better. Ouch! If I cry out like that, you can smack my butt real hard to make me stop, like Jack did.”

WHAP!

“Jack would slick his index finger with spit, point it straight against the hole and, before pushing, he’d hold my balls so I couldn’t pull away. He’d cram it through while increasing pressure with his other hand. That way – then frig me. I’d…”

Arthur squealed shrilly and came.

A pause. Pronounced breathing.

“Und?”

“I had to lick some and swallow it, but he used his finger (or two of them later) to scoop up the rest and smear it over my sphincter muscle. Like you are doing, and run some in me… in me and twist around…just that way. Oh sir, your fingers are thicker! Yeee…Ahhh…Hmmm…it’s so smooth back there now.”

“Zen he fuck you?”

A distinct frown crinkling his brow, Arthur turned, “Why, no. The first time – not to be forgotten, it was so thoughtful – he put in a little plug, made me get up, dress, and took me to the student cafeteria. We sat with other students, me on my plug, a little embarrassed, a little pleased I was doing it for him.”

Rummaging in a desk drawer, Küper located his bevy of plugs – hard rubber, clear pyrex, various plastics – and selected, he announced, “Ze best one for you.”

He’s thinking of me. That’s so like Jack, only different. More lofty. Forceful. Ulp! That’s a stretch!

Arthur sucked air through his teeth, bearing the agony. His forepart secreted, began to rise again. It did not have far to go. A thought distracted him.

He presumed to ask, hoping for an analogous situation to the one he had described faithfully, “Shall I put on my clothes so we can go out to eat?”

“You zhall not!” Instantly over the man’s naked lap, plugged ass up, legs closed on the great staff, Arthur heard the instruction, “You inspired zis initiative, boy, so learn from it. Offer me your miserable butt.”

Canting up his backside, thus drawing his legs along the professorial dick’s uppermost inches, a smart slap to the plug sent the area reflexing down. Up again, the plug’s base was met by rapid smacks which drove it again along its only path. Küper quickened the pace, hand hitting plug faster. And with more determination.

Head swimming at the thought he was a tool to masturbate the wondrous German, Arthur became alarmed. His new-risen, four-inch raging-stiff-hard-on was building uncontrollably toward orgasm. Oh no!

Off like a toy machine gun.

“Sophomore sperm! You dare to mess my thigh mit dat! Haff you learnt nossing?”

Spanks rained down with vicious vigor. The heel of Küper’s hand struck again and again, fist-strong in its impact, forcing Arthur’s plug to compact and dislocate rectal walls, his sphincter to abandon hope of clenching.

During the onslaught, the boy’s mind raced in remembrance: Jack said I was born to be breached. That I was worth his efforts to hurt.

“On die floor mit you!” Küper stood and let Arthur sprawl to the carpet, nose down. He used a heel to mash the plug in – admiring the boy’s silent acceptance and rush of air. “Obey me, boy. Pull out zat plug.”

Arthur reached and tugged. Although overextended, his sphincter fought to retain what had been embedded there so forcefully. Arthur won, eyes blinking tears. He summoned the will to murmur a meaningful, “Sir.”

A large deposit of saliva to his throbbing cock, Küper knelt between the student’s legs, inclined forward, found his target gaping and, with his might, rampaged through to sound deep beyond Arthur’s six-inch shallows.

The impact was so volatile that the boy’s inmost world convulsed in agonized fury. Had the great cock prodded his navel or stomach, the pain could not have been more intense. From the widening and deepening impact, circles radiated through weak muscles to interstices of ligaments and bones. Every follicle on his head seized the roots of its hairs with electric effect. Pores closed as if chilled, then opened to sweat. Initially unable to activate any form of speech, Arthur’s larynx relaxed for something resembling a coo to escape his vocal chords.

Hell had become heaven. His ass and he himself yielded to the monster. The marvel of a monster distended his being’s core, allowing it to retract before reaming it anew. With every push and pull, Arthur’s spirit soared. Loose all over but moored securely and browsed inside with demanding regularity, Arthur bobbed along the carpet’s weft like the ebb and flow of a tide.

“You know zat I am directing you to zink clearly,” was said in one unhearing ear. “You feel zis Rhythmus. Is ancient wisdom. Primordial. In und out. You feel it, Liebschen?”

He rammed the channel.

I feel that formed in the student’s mind, so strongly that he could not speak. His coos were regular responses to tutorial thrusts.

The music of Beethoven’s Pastorale Symphony to the German, natural song after an awe-striking cloudburst. He will give thanks when I am done.

But Küper was far from done with Arthur.

Frantic that he was being abandoned without being fertilized the way Jack always did, Arthur keened – a sound of loss. He needn’t. Spun around, back now to the carpet, legs boldly being lifted apart, Arthur opened his eyes to the sight of his rescuer preparing to mount from the front.

His on-the-spot evaluation: I must be worthy!

“Take me in, Arthur, mit your baby hands.”

In the ultimate act of trust of his young life so far, Arthur succumbed to the command’s lure. Pinioned again, this time intimately, his was no choice but to see every moving facet on his would-be rider’s handsome face as he jockeyed securely into the welcoming place. Arthur’s head lolled in ecstasy at being brim-filled so lovingly this time.

Rhythm smoothly drumming his chosen one, Küper began to speak a list of conditions for the future – beyond the student’s far-fetched hopes. His tone, serious but no longer ominous, resonated in every chamber of quivering Arthur Knox Goodfellow.

Until further notice, Arthur Knox Goodfellow was to present himself at the Küper house near campus at 1700 sharp (five o’clock in the afternoon) for an hour’s tutorial drilling, thence to return to his rented room for homework. His wasted life would be steered into achievement at school and outside it. His clothes, like his rent, would be provided. Morning and evening, nutritionally-exact meals were to be picked up from the rear door of the campus food service and eaten in private. Knock, tell them Prof. Kuper sent you. No scheduled class was to be missed for any reason unless previously approved. Punishment would be meted out upon receipt of any report he lacked preparation for participation in his subjects. In this professor’s course, Arthur was to show no special acquaintance. No discussion with anyone about the favoritism being shown him could take place, lest he lose everything.

By adherence to these conditions and other guidelines as might be set for him, Arthur was guaranteed to thrive academically and personally. He was to realize how special he was by the fact that Dr. Küper had other tutees that he met with during office hours, each but twice weekly and sometimes on weekends as called for. Arthur uniquely was to be honored by daily tutorials in the sanctum of the professor’s two-story, Federal-style brick house. (Boasting a black-enameled door, black shutters, and black roof, it was a presence across the street from the campus’s main entrance.) If he obeyed scrupulously every condition, he would be admitted to the dwelling’s basement for special treatments.

The immense cock plowing him implacably while strong hands secured his shoulders –immobilized Arthur. Facts stated were punctuated by kisses, simple in the beginning.

Küper slowed their fuck’s cadence when extending his tongue for Arthur to suck. An open mouth was demanded for accelerations. When his lungs found the wind to affirm with a “Yes sir” or merely to plead, “Sir,” Arthur wrought smiles in return.

Emotions began to rise at the prospect of being flooded by Küper’s power. Might he actually have a future with this great teacher?

Sudden cessation broke the elevating mood. Shock hit when Küper extricated himself, stood abruptly, spoke something in German into his intercom, and began putting on his clothes. “Stay,” was all he said, the commanding voice back in all its cold depth.

Arthur noticed first – and shivered at the realization – that the sensation of a ghost-cock was haunting him inside – the professor’s. Thoughts of futility, of failure, of not meeting a standard jumbled with awareness of the void inside Arthur, of disappointment that the crux of their union was denied him.

Did he not mean those promises? I agreed to every rule, I promised him my life. He possessed my body and mind. Was I a pawn to be played with and sacrificed?

Desperate, edging toward paranoia, Arthur wanted calm, reassurance that his rightful place was to be the center of Küper’s orbit.

Fully clothed, Küper used fingers to brush back his silvery hair. He looked down at naked Arthur and, eyes twinkling, a smile on his face, said, “I notice that you are deep in thought. A sign, your sign. Your mind already ist o-pen-ing.”

A soft rap at the door. “Ah, my azzistant.” Küper released the latch to admit a tall young man of athletic build, impressive in appearance the way handsome Germans are, his blue-eyed countenance one of confidence.

They exchanged a few words in German.

“Ansgar Toth, I giff you Arthur Goodfellow. Arthur, what you need, Ansgar vill giff you.” Immediately holding forward a palm – “Halt!” he said – Küper prevented the boy from asking the question on his lips.

He nodded approval to Ansgar, already removing his shoes, and looked again to the floor. “Ansgar vill inseminate you. Not I. Only when you are ready vill I. You are not now strong enough for what I one day haff for you. Ansgar is my product. His semen is vat you will receive today and in ze days ahead.”

Clothes on the back of the straight backed chair, muscular body unashamedly stripped for display, Ansgar bade the professor goodbye, and turned to worried Arthur.

Without explanation, Ansgar issued an order, “Raise your legs. Show me your hole.” He studied how already bruised the opening seemed. “You are so lucky. There must be something to you, though, that I don’t see. I will seek to discover what that is.”

He busied himself with his cell phone while kneeling before Arthur’s spread cheeks. “Look,” he held the screen so that its short sequence of videos could be seen. The University’s prize-winning diver and marathon swimmer – from a high board perfectly into the water. The name Greg Louganopolos was whispered. A blur. The basketball team’s highest scorer – white, if you can believe it, and Italian-American – shooting a basket from across the court – crown screaming. Anthony Curbelo, also whispered. Blur. A mixed-race tennis star, his serves and footwork lightning fast. Marc-Antonio Phan, Arthur was informed.

“All brilliantly accomplished, academically sound, and sexual as trained,” Ansgar said. “I tutor them. Each derives his excellence from my inseminations of them before matches, important practices, and tests. The method drilled generously into me when I was a student of the professor has been applied to them. And now and then to be touched up. Freed from all clutter, their athlete minds have been and today are more supple and faster than those of their opponents and challengers.”

“Please, Ansgar, I’m suffering.” Arthur raised his hole higher.

“Empty-butt syndrome, I know. Every boy worth his salt gets it. You look barely moist in there. But of course, you’ve selfishly absorbed the professor’s sputum, haven’t you?” The tutor tut-tutted an admonitory finger to Arthur’s rim. “Henceforth, when I come to service you, you will have the duty to wet me copiously with your mouth and throat or suffer the consequences. For now, I will not require your mouth.”

The man’s cock had risen into confused Arthur’s view. Very large, although not as broad nor quite the length of the professor’s. Ansgar spat as the professor had, and smeared the drool over his large and bulbous cockhead. “You were told how to breathe, I know. Do it now,” he directed, his voice a mixture of calm and conviction.

Arthur was queasy at the prospect of being skewered by this good looking tutor but anxious for a conclusion to this most extraordinary afternoon. He held his breath until touched by Ansgar’s tip then let it go in a rush that matched the immediacy of his penetration. Wiggling his bottom to assist, he gloried in being possessed so thoroughly. No pain marred the moment nor those following as Ansgar, celebratory light in his eyes, drove back and forth, faster and faster, strewing pre-cum over abraded tissues, minutes later bathing them throughout with potent emissions.

Final jabs sent the boy’s rectum and anus into spasms. His anus enthusiastically responded to the cockhead’s teasing of it before being withdrawn and wiped dry with Arthur’s camouflage-print T-shirt.

“Close tightly. Get up. Dress yourself. Do not lose a drop of my essence. Go to your place and study any subject you have. I will be there in about one hour. If you must, squeeze the whole time. I will inspect you when I arrive bringing food and other things from the professor.”

Arthur felt important, the load inside, speculation, and Ansgar’s words making him tingle excitedly. He scrambled to dress and silently departed.

I can do this.

On the way, he noticed himself walking tall and humming on the pitch of his coos when under attack by Prof. Dr. Küper. I feel different. Better. I remember everything. Everything.

An hour later, assistant Ansgar showed up. He put down his packages, swept Arthur up from his place at the card table he used for study, kissed him solidly while running a hand down his spine and fingering the briefs for any suspicious loss. “A good sign,” he said. “You heard me. You obeyed.”

A packaged meal from the food service, still hot, was indicated. “Eat this the moment I have gone. All of it, and drink the beverage completely. This meal being first in the rehabilitation of your un-nurtured body.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you have any commercial lube?”

The head shook in the negative.

“Good. For now, only your mouth will provide the lubrication for all insertions.” Ansgar held up a black object that gave Arthur’s heart pause. Shaped like a thick frankfurter, similarly curved, with a narrow stem before a wide, circular base.

“Your customized dildo-plug. Take it into your mouth now, as far as possible. Tilt back. Move it in and out. Familiarize your mouth with it, for it is of vital importance. It must go far enough that you can close your teeth on the narrow part. If it makes you gag a little, that is good. Get used to it. There will be another one in your future. All right, hold it there and strip yourself naked.”

Good boy that he wanted to show himself to be, Arthur stripped, constantly fighting back bile from the thing provoking his throat’s entry point. Standing uncomfortably with shriveled privates, he waited.

“Your obedience, another sign I’m glad to see. Take the plug from your face and push it quickly into your bottom. Quickly, I said. Push! Excellent. Never hesitate when you are given an order. You have secured my donation for tonight. In the morning, remove and wash the plug with soap and water. Attend your classes and be alert. Insert the plug – use spit only – for your appearance at the professor’s tomorrow at five. Understand?”

“Yes, sir.” He drew air through clenched teeth.

“This bag contains new clothes that you are to wear. Instructions are included. Other articles to be worn will be provided.”

Ansgar proprietarily enclosed the boy’s sex in one hand and, with the other, pulled his head for a breathtaking kiss. A memory of Jacques’ grasp flickered, but this was now. And thrilling.

II.

“On ze dot, I zee,” Karlheinz Küper admitted Arthur Knox Goodfellow to his front hall. Clueless, the way I like.“Komm herein!”

Clad in a commodious, long sleeve white shirt worn flowingly over the garment that had almost defeated him, Arthur’s look beseeched more than he got from his host. Girlishly bare legs protruding from below the blousy shirt’s hem had drawn curious stares from on-campus students during the sophomore’s steady, if slightly stilted, walk to his professor’s house. Apprehension tinged Arthur’s wait for an instruction. Rather than further words being spoken, a hand guided him toward an open door at the hall’s end.

It was the largest, most unusual bathroom Arthur had ever seen. White tiles covered its floor, black ones its walls. There was a lavatory, a toilet, a walk-in shower, a black-padded, section-adjustable table, two tall cabinets in white, and two stools on wheels. Striking Ansgar, nude, arms folded, sat on one.

“Lift your shirt.”

“Ah, zo!” With that expression, the host saw his toy’s upper thighs, bounteous backside, and wasp-thin waist tightly encased in its black one-piece, short-legged spandex unitard. He slid a hand over the smooth fabric where Arthur’s very special dildo-plug’s round base bulged in bas-relief. “Gut.”

Ansgar helped to remove the shirt by pulling it over and off Arthur’s head. He beamed at the sight of the two white silicone rings sewn precisely into openings which set off the boy’s aureolas and called attention to their nipples. Pulls and pinches darted the wisely unmoving boy’s chest. “Soon, you will be taught that these matter,” Ansgar said, rubbing his thumbs over the nubs.

“Up there, reach.”

Obedient in hope of pleasing these men who had taken interest in him, Arthur accepted that he must hold on to the shower curtain’s rod. To do so meant that he had to stand on his toes. Two pairs of hands tested his back from shoulder blades to upper legs.

“We confine our strokes to this area, right?”

The professor’s voice answered, “Yess. My Arthur vill be a fine subject. Tell him.”

“Arthur, this will be a test designed to determine your skin’s sensitivity. It will smart, but the spandex will alleviate your pain and prevent anything but some stripes after.”

“Yes, sir.” What are they going to do?

Thin rattan canes whistled before striking Arthur. Each whistle – left or right – hurt his back but struck him on the bottom with different effect. Those which smacked against his plug’s base woke his prick from its slumber to struggle against tight confines in front. After quite a few, the cooing sound unique to him caught Küper’s musical ear.

“Stand down. I must haff you.”

Ansgar carried the muscularly tired, libidinally excited boy into the nearby guest room. He supported Arthur while his clinging unitard was slid down and off. Out came the plug.

“Vot?” rent the air. A dire pronouncement came, “Is not clean.”

“Arthur,” Ansgar shook the boy, “you presented yourself here without flushing?”

“Oh sir, my classes…you see, I had…I mean, to be here by five, I had no time…I hoped I was all right inside.”

“Smell zis und tell me it ist all right.”

Arthur recoiled.

“Zis happens again, you vill wash it mit your mouth!”

“I’ll take him back to the bathroom.”

“Make him valk. He learn lesson better. Correct?”

“Sir, I’m sorry.”

In his naked state, face to the bathroom’s table, Arthur received an air-rending slash to his bare buttocks by each of the rattan wielders. In his awkward position, he was made to wait, stinging, while warm water was drawn to fill Küper’s German-style enema gun with plunger.

“Beautiful hatching, Arthur,” Ansgar said as his fingers traced red lines. “Wish you could see it.”

“Crank ze middle section und arrange him over it.”

Arthur’s ankles and feet hung off the end. His bottom was raised, “Zo no spillage.” Arthur’s glimpse of the device included its blood-red nozzle, sized as a large penis – and shaped like one.

I can take that, no problem.

Despite his senses being heighted by recent events, insertion and injection came so abruptly as to register as one jolting event.

“Re-plug zis boy!”

The plug dammed the first part of his progressive enema.

Water ran and was being sucked up as Arthur’s contents began to flow through his inner sphincter and into his colon. To be expected: another swift shove-through-squirt-in – perhaps enough.

This time, the water’s temperature exceeded that of his body. Arthur’s anus knew it. And he was plugged again.

“Zis vill take your mind off vot happens in your tummy.”

More rattan strokes. Crossing, sometimes overlapping previous stripes, they burned! Arthur’s soft upper legs suffered such as to cause tears, yet stopped in favor of insanely stimulating twists of the dildo-plug’s curve.

I’m so hard again!

Neither man relented in attending to the boy’s eros-raising discomfort. That is, until he cried out about his stomach pain.

“Up mit you! Und over die toilette!”

Distress marked Arthur’s brow as he squatted.

“Remoof zat plug und empty yourself,” was leveled at him. They watched, to Arthur’s embarrassment, as he held the plug in one hand, afraid punishment might ensue if he dropped it.

The evacuation was so explosive that its pressure on Arthur’s prostate sent him into orgasm.

Neither man had witnessed that before.

The tempest abated. Arthur was ordered into the shower where Ansgar joined him, cock in hand, and turned on the hot water. “Face up into the spray and hold onto the cross-shape handles. I must make sure you are absolutely clean.”

At last, I’m being fucked.

He was, rather soothingly. Something else was happening, he felt himself being filled beyond the head of Ansgar’s cock.

“Urine is sterile, you know.”

“I didn’t.”

“When I withdraw, void it. I must see how clear it is.

Simple. Even fun, it was so easy. Arthur laughed. They fucked in the streaming water, played with the soap and the dildo-plug, tickled each other, scrubbed clean, and sought towels. Ansgar wiped Arthur’s hair and front and dabbed dry his hypersensitive stripes.

“Feel how I take care of you?”

Meek as ever, Arthur nodded, his head intoxicated by these pleasures.

III.

Once sobered, Arthur was posed on his knees, wrists at his ankles, and left to the professor’s ministrations. Cuffs secured the boy in position. Salve was smoothed over his back and upper legs – all wordlessly. Paired knuckles worked an oily balm onto his anal surround and tenderly inside his spotless rectum.

“Zere, you are ready for my play, huh, Arthur?”

“Sir?”

“Zese,” Küper murmured, the boy’s testicles in his hand. “I vill not now squeeze zem. I vill isolate dem.”

Tugged back not overly so, they were fastened together in their tightened pouch by an inch-wide leather strap, black as might be expected. “Ah, zo. Perfect fit.” Kuper rubbed some ointment over them and patted them from underneath.”

“Not much heft to those, eh professor?”

Arthur had no idea that Ansgar had remained in the room. Ansgar sees how good I am. He is watching over me.

“Not like yours, Ansgar. Remember how you crawled for me zat first time?”

Ansgar went through this? I remember, I think, two years ago, he said. He sees me where he was.

“I do, fondly. You had blistered my bottom for some infraction with that meanest of paddles – the one with the holes in it. You dressed my ballsac in your two-inch strap and flicked my perineum, my anus, and my scrotum with your tiny whip. I crawled the basement floor until I collapsed. And when I came to, your new rotating dildo was agitating my prostate.”

“Gut. You grew wiser from zat. Und today, you hoff good verk helping ozzers.”

A sensation of heat, he thought, crept over Arthur’s captured scrotum. Its stealthy increase contributed to the psychology of its application. Thin skin and many sweat glands were means to achieve the results the product was intended to produce – itching, as from mosquito bites over the surface. The subject, bound in some way and unable to satisfy the escalading urge to scratch, could only writhe and beg for relief. Agony confounded victims’ sense of the rational, forcing them to rely on their captors. Applied to the perineum as well and capitulation took the form of dependency

Küper’s ointment, developed in Germany for wartime interrogation purposes, was a key facilitator in rendering even recalcitrant young men into needy submissives. It assured his taking control of Arthur’s scrotal contents.

The boy soon found out what the professor’s nails could do for him as they gently scratched one ball, the other, and his very touch-aware raphe. Brief pauses for the itching to return and Arthur’s “Sir?” and extended “Please!” brought back scratches, and nips of skin between nails, pinches with one hand and two, coaxing pats, small slaps, a palm rubbing the whole sac, flicks of this finger and that unpredictably apart.

Uncontrollable twitches reflected the boy’s agony.

Crowning moment to this exercise came when vestiges of the stinging ointment found their way to the head of Arthur’s erect penis and took effect. Küper held the penis in one hand – already pointed down – and began spanking the boy’s scrotum.

With an unintended screech, Arthur sprinkled where he knelt. His ejaculate ran thinly, some gathered by Ansgar’s quickly responsive fingers and held before the boy’s mouth. “Lick, and you will be freed,” he said.

Squeamish Arthur licked. There was nothing about his or anyone else’s ejaculations that he liked – except, he reflected, when being fucked for a second time with the additional lubrication inside from the first. There was no fight in him as his balls were released from their confining strap and bathed clean of the irritant. Cuffed wrists and ankles were released. He was taken up and made to stand before assailant and assistant.

Each in turn curled fingers around his tender genitals and squeezed enough to demonstrate their right to do so. Arthur lifted his chin and did not resist.

“He’s learning, Professor.”

To Arthur, Ansgar said, “You now are confident that your weaknesses benefit from the attention they receive here, I think. No need to reply. I see it in your stance, in the way you breathe, in your eyes. There was no luster in them before. Now…”

IV.

“Tony Curbelo, please. Ansgar Toth calling.”

“Ansgar, what’s up?” For someone who stood six-feet, six inches, the basketball star’s voice lay oddly high in pitch. “Guess you heard I scored forty-nine points in my last game”…he added, lowering his voice…“thanks to you.” The memory of Ansgar’s tremendous fuck of his craving ass the might before that game made him hot.

“I did. Want to celebrate?”

“You mean…I can have a girl?”

“Not in your cards, my lad. We’re sticking to our agreement about that.”

“Yeah, like with Marc-Antonio and Greg. I know. But, man, we get so horny.”

“Trust me. Any chance you are free after supper?”

“By seven-thirty.”

“Here’s the address. Just walk in.”

V.

What’s this dump? The lanky athlete wrinkled his nose but opened the rented room’s door. Ansgar sat in the gloam of early evening on the only bed, next to a naked figure who might have been a girl. Tony focused.

“Damn, a chick with a dick!”

“Chubbing up? Springing one, are you already?”

“Man! I’m so hot. Is she for me? I mean…” Not shy about stripping, he was, in a flash, naked.

“See that,” Ansgar tilted his head across the room. “Eight tumid inches to plant you well, Arthur. Aren’t you lucky?”

Arthur simply looked at Tony and lifted his hair-shorn, lotion-gleaming legs.

“Sure looks like a girl – real pretty and all.”

In an effort to make him seem femininely fuckable, Arthur’s eyes had been accented lightly with mascara, his lips touched by a shade stronger that his own. In case the straight boy needed that illusion.

“Then try her kisses and fuck her hard.”

“You’re in the way.”

Ansgar leaned on one elbow. Obviously, going no place.

Tony saw red. I don’t need a coach, goddammit. He fell toward the headboard, caught himself there on long, strong arms, let Ansgar’s familiar hand guide him in, and skewered the girly boy to the hilt. Her mouth flew open. He’d have kissed her if he could. Impossible. He could not bend down that far, but fuck her could. And did.

Internally on fire, Arthur’s inner tract went into paroxysm by itself as he screamed into Ansgar’s palm. “Quiet, bitch,” he heard. “You’re getting fucked one of the ways you need to be. Take it.”

Tony’s cock, caught by the maelstrom of Arthur’s constrictions and wild gyrations, let go its load furiously. With intuitive might, the basketball player jammed himself to exhaustion – and pulled out. He looked down into the most intense eyes he had ever seen. Would she say something? he wondered.

A hand weighed his balls.

“Ansgar! What the fuck?”

“Bet you’ve got some more in here. Or are you not the athlete you pretend to be, Tony?”

Ansgar shifted his hand to Arthur’s yearning mouth. “Wet ‘em good.”

Three fingers dripped from their laving.

He’s not going to…

Fingers unceremoniously pierced Anthony Curbelo’s ass and drove him – as he was ordered – “back in the saddle.”

No response left in him, Arthur took the whole eight inches in totally passive luxury.

Inside again minus Ansgar’s fingers now withdrawn, Tony romped with pleasure in his own slipperiness until the precise moment when Ansgar rammed back and into his prostate. That act emptied his glands.

Limply, he fitted his body over Arthur.

“There, you’ve succored a fellow student and earned my approval. When’s your next game?”

“Next weekend.”

“Call the night before you may need me.”

“I’ll need you, Ansgar.”

“Have you anything for Tony, Arthur?”

Slender arms around his peer’s neck brought mouths together for the sweetest of kisses. “Thank you, Tony.”

“You’ve infused him for the night,” Ansgar said.

While the tall boy dressed himself, he observed Ansgar removing a substantial black object – Damn! – from the bedside drawer and handed it to the boy – She’s not a chick.– who plunged it in his mouth before inserting it where Tony had been. I gotta get outta here.

An hour had passed. Arthur roused himself. “Gosh, Ansgar, I feel wonderful. All charged up to study.”

“Then, get to it. I’ll be by in the morning to check on you.”

VI.

With a furtive hug for attentive Ansgar, who had walked him to the now-familiar black front door, Arthur, fully spit-plugged under his skin-tight unitard, suction cups newly tugging at his nipples, knocked five short times as he had been instructed. The gesture marked the hour.

Professor Dr. Karlheinz Küper had never been so undressed to receive a student at home. Arthur, however, was no ordinary undergraduate. Head down in respect, he noticed black bedroom slippers on the man’s feet, black socks to mid-calf, the hem of a black terrycloth wraparound and, as his eyes traveled up, the hirsute musculature of his professor’s obviously well-exercised chest, his firmly set jaw, creeping smile, narrowed eyes, and uncombed gray hair.

“You looking better than before,” the professor said, standing aside, reaching to test his plug in the boy. “Vot’s zo gut? Hoff you been sown mit zeeds derived from me today?

“Permission to answer…sir?”

“In my den, on my lap.”

Situated, his suction cups off for “ze tit tweaking,” Arthur spoke with unaccustomed loquacity

“Ansgar fucked me hard not forty minutes ago because he couldn’t this morning. And that’s because he showed up at seven with the amazing swimmer, Greg Louganopolos. Good looking, an amazing body. I drooled just watching him get naked. When I took my position, he sprang a hard. Not a long one, but uncircumcized and as thick as yours. Wow. But Greg’s straight, even though he’s from a Greek family and gets it deep from Ansgar every time he has a meet to compete in – which is why he wins his medals.”

“Zo?”

“Sir, my back’s all healed but my balls – I mean, my testes – are sore from last time. If you could just swat our plug, it’ll stimulate me. Then I can tell what happened.”

His lids closed dreamily as Küper pushed the insert’s base beneath its spandex sheathing. A sharp pinch on one of Arthur’s nipples brought him back to reality.

“Yessir! As I was about to say, Greg pleaded with Ansgar to make me suck his juice because he’d never had a blowjob – I mean, oral sex – and he was real horny for that. Very restricted upbringing. Ansgar snapped at him, ‘Arthur’s not here to digest sperm, he’s here to receive it where you do from me so he can absorb its power.’ That’s when he threatened not to give Greg his usual power deposit before the intercollegiate swimathon. Greg sweated over that. Then spat on himself and crammed me. What he couldn’t do deep, he did just inside and to my P spot, with like rapid fire. God, I couldn’t help myself. I kissed him till he was crazy and sucked his tongue like it was a dick. When he came, Ansgard was tickling him from behind with a wet finger, so it was like an earthquake hit him or something. He soused me with his good stuff, and I was able to keep it in through my breakfast and first class meeting all by myself.”

“Dot is vy you feel gut?”

“Yes sir, and that I’m here to learn more from you – in any way you want to teach me.”

Impressed that Arthur Goodfellow was the genuine article – a perfect submissive – The one I’ve wanted for so many years – Küper spread his legs to let his raging cock out.

Arthur’s young heart surged. Maybe he thinks I’m ready for him now! Ohmigodohmigod…

“Ven you are ready, Arthur, zis vill enlighten you. But now…”

The professor’s hand where it belonged, Arthur was propelled to the basement stairs.

To his wondering eyes appeared a single circle of light on the red linoleum floor and, in the light, a padded bench and a stool the same height. Seeing nothing more of the room, he waited. His unitard was lowered. At a prod, he stepped from it. The widest leather collar yet – almost a choker – was buckled around his neck, his ankles and wrists cuffed similarly, and his wrists were locked together behind him.

Küper positioned him on the bench face up with a caution not to fall off. Arthur tested the newness of having his forearms as support for his pelvis. A single, rope-like chain linked first one ankle, then the other by running through a metal loop in the center of his collar. It was pulled until his ankles were lifted well into the air, then secured. In the short time it took for a spreader to be attached to his ankles, Arthur realized his hands projected from below his backside – and that he was helplessly immobilized.

Something was placed in his hands.

“Hold zis flogger. I vill take it if you do not perform to my expectations und beat you until you do.”

Perform? I can’t move.

Küper moistened the suction cups in Arthur’s willing mouth and replaced them snugly to his nipples. A deliberate twist disencumbered Arthur of his accustomed plug.

A pained sound escaped.

As a set of graduated anal beads from withdrawn from the boy’s mouth, a spiral-form dildo was inserted to Arthur’s gag point. While the progressive-sized beads were being pushed singly into his exposed bottom, Küper said, “Kep zat sere until I want it.”

The bead-play over, that dildo was screwed into him, his mouth stuffed with a wider, ribbed one.

“I compliment you,” Küper wanted Arthur to hear. “Zis part is gut. Ab-zorbing better.” His right arm moved the dildo piston-smooth. All in, almost out – flying fast.

The flared-base dildo in Arthur’s mouth looked rather like a horn, which amused the man. “You cannot play a tune on zat but, mit it, I can make you zing.” Not right away. Küper liked the look of his Chosen One’s sphincter going with his arm movements’ flow. He took his time.

Using the ribbed dildo, he pushed with maddening slowness then virtually ripped it back – a torment when repeated that raised Arthur’s awareness. Nothing being in his mouth, he felt compelled to make a request.

“Ply me, sir.”

Küper stopped. Did the unthinkable: He sucked Arthur’s free-hanging ballsac into his mouth and employed his teeth barely a half-inch apart to hold them secure while tonguing them as if he were one clench away from biting them off. Arthur prickled in fear, his breaths short and panicky. His blood rushed.

He gritted his teeth but kept his counsel, made not a move and, threatened by the danger, began to erect – whereupon his ass received this session’s first slaps of approval.

Advantages of the unforgiving chain connecting his ankles and high collar were obvious. It kept his head up sufficiently for him to see his professor eyes as they focused on the devices being driven into him. Mobile, expressive – matches to facial tics, florid colorations of cheeks and ears, occasions for a tensed brow, curls of satisfaction to his lips. Arthur doted on being his master’s obsession and plied by variously shaped and sized dildos.

Ones with soft, gill-like protrusions, others with sea anemone-style short tendrils, especially the new, battery-driven one which twirled its bump-covered end in Arthur’s anus – imparted thrills.

“For you, I haff zomezing special. A gift I made myself.” His smile wicked, he clarified, “From fresh ginger root.”

Taken dripping from a glass of water, it was not more than five inches in length, white, and shaped as a small plug. Arthur’s brow creased.

It slipped in with hardly any notice.

“Contract, Arthur, tightly. Zat’s my boy. Go home now und retain zis until your bedtime. Toss zen in ze vaste basket und zleep mit your black plug.”

Thus commenced the next phase of Arthur Goodfellow’s life as ever brighter college student and his favorite professor’s rearboy. That walk back to his apartment proved spritely as the coat of water was absorbed and the ginger’s pepperiness took effect. Wintergreen, cinnamon, menthol, and peppermint added spring to his step on subsequent walks until, countless infusions by trusty Ansgar and his dependencies – Anthony, Greg, and Marc-Antonio – built Arthur’s strength of absorption and until his special diet plan cleansed most impurities from his body. For then, there was no stopping Prof. Karlheinz Küper.

Beneficiary of nutritional research and development, Prof. Küper, known earlier for unusual sexual potency, exceeded predictions of his output potential. In any seven-day period of strong-arm discipline and thorough fucking, he availed himself of the bodies of three undergraduate counselees two to three times and ravished (ravaged, Ansgar sometimes thought) Arthur enthusiastically morning and night throughout. Never better in his long decades, his lectures improved in tandem with Arthur’s subtle guidance of his English.

Once in residence at the Federal-style brick house, Arthur completed his Bachelor’s degree with a three-point-seven grade-point average and, progressing, his Master’s degree with a three-point-nine. His senior honors thesis, “Three Case Studies Relating Undergraduate Athletic Superiority and Radical Sexual Practices,” boasted a foreword by the dean of Athletic Studies. Two years later, the university press published his thesis, “Authoritatively-Inculcated Sexual Practices as Producers of Academic Success in Higher Education.”

The latter, widely cited among academics, gave rise to diluted versions of its findings in articles which influenced revisions to theories of motivation for private high school success and, later, for private middle school success in preparing select students to blossom as they advance in learning. Military academies quickly adapted their own versions of what became known as the “Küpernican Principles” to their cadet training programs (These included parade ground drills, execution of the manual of arms, and other close-order exercises carried out fully plugged).

The officially authorized line of graded instructional manuals for practitioners at every level, supple switches (varying lengths), firm paddles (padded and unpadded), flexible floggers (of several materials and textures), diverse dildos (twenty-seven types), plentiful plugs (Küper’s becoming a “classic”), other anal-toning devices (multi-sized), enema guns (improved design), rigorous restraints (leather, metal, rope), and lubricious lubricants (spiced for heated effects) all marketed under the Goodfellow brand made Arthur wealthy.

Arthur inherited from Küper and lived in the house. The loss to his overall condition psychologically and bodily (anally in particular) paralleled his original situation which followed Visiting Professor Jacques Roseaux’ defection to the Sorbonne. Arthur’s closest, most trusted friend, Ansgar Toth, did his best to revive Arthur – but to little avail. That is, until…

…NATO headquarters, Brussels, requested the assignment of an officer of the German Navy to investigate potentials for “Küpernican Principles” to be adapted to submariners among allies. Both the Dutch and Danish navies were interested in trials. Contact was made, an officer (who valiantly had volunteered) was dispatched.

At six-feet-four inches, Fregattenkapitän Konrad Karlheinz Küper II bore an amazing likeness to his father. Stern-countenanced, astoundingly well-hung, he radiated masculine power. When he shook Ansgar’s hand, knuckles crunched.

“Is Arthur..Knox..Goodfellow,” the imposingly uniformed officer read the name carefully from a file in his other hand, “ready to receive me?”

Showing him in, Ansgar replied with a sigh of relief, “Sir, he most definitely is.”

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