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Coach narrowed his eyes and let his dominating side take over. Even though his heart was pounding against his ribs, Coach stood his ground and showed Kevin he meant business. Coach grabbed his cock and shook it, the head of it rubbing against Kevin’s hip.

“I’m deadly serious, punk. Suck my cock or you’re off my team.” He considered pushing Kevin to his knees and forcing his cock in the jock’s mouth, but this domination would be all the more sweeter if Kevin would willingly submit.

But Kevin’s cheeks blazed red with anger and his eyes continued to glare threateningly. His lips, though, trembled. And Coach felt something brush against his thigh — he looked down and saw Kevin’s cock swell and rise and grow thick and hard. This turns him on, Coach realized.

Coach held his ground and crossed his arms over his thick chest. He clenched his jaw, growing angry at this reluctant submissive’s disobedience. “I said,” Coach repeated, “suck my cock.”

Then Kevin fell to his knees. Coach watched him, stunned, even though he somehow knew Kevin would comply. I won... Coach realized, but then all thoughts fled from his mind as soon as the jock’s hot, wet, tight mouth closed down over Coach’s cock.

The punk’s lips slid up and down his shaft, not quite reaching the base, and his tongue massaged every square inch of skin. Kevin grabbed the base of Coach’s shaft to stroke the parts he couldn’t fit in his mouth. He bobbed his head back and forth with exuberance — with far more enthusiasm than someone who didn’t want this.

He’s a fag, Coach realized. He’s gay like me and he’s enjoying this. And suddenly everything fell into place — the antagonism from Kevin, the infuriating confrontations, it now had a recognizable pattern. Kevin was horny for Coach — had been right from the start — and the disobedience was his way of dealing with it. More to the point — it wasn’t me that forced him to suck me off — he forced me into this confrontation. Not only was his career safe, but his conscience was also clear.

Kevin moaned as he sucked, the vibrations thrumming through Coach’s cock and up into his pelvis. Coach shuddered and his knees buckled, but he put his hand against the wall and stopped himself from falling on top of Kevin. He was now fully under the spray of the showerhead. The hot, steamy water massaged his skin and cascaded down him, sending pleasure through all his nerve endings, only adding to the eroticism that consumed his body.

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“ID,” the cop said, his low voice rumbling through me again.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out my wallet, then slipped my drivers license out of its holder. I passed it to him and his fingers brushed against mine — was that intentional? It felt intentional.

Calm down! I’m not gay, I told myself again. What the fuck was going on in my head and in my pants?

“Craig James,” he said, reading my name aloud. Hearing him say my name like that sent a new shiver through me. He looked at me, as if comparing my ID photo to the real deal, then he put my ID in his pocket and opened the flap of a leather holder on his belt. The gleam of the streetlight glancing off metal handcuffs shone brightly.

Fuck, fuck, fuck — this wasn’t happening! I couldn’t get arrested!

“Please, sir, please, can I explain?” I begged.

“Hands against the wall,” he said. He was no-nonsense, all business.

“Sir, please, let me just explain. I wasn’t—”

“Hands against the fucking wall, kid!” A vein stood out on his forehead and his face immediately got red.

Chastised, I put my hands against the wall and prayed to God that I would get out of this. I couldn’t call my parents to get me out of jail — they’d freak. And I certainly couldn’t call my girlfriend — she was so uptight that she’d dump me over the phone for getting arrested and then probably inform the college about it and the reason why. That left maybe my roommate. But he couldn’t keep his fucking mouth shut and this would spread like wildfire through campus, eventually reaching my girlfriend and the dean.

The cop came up behind me and kicked my feet so that I spread my legs. He put his strong, broad hands on me, patting me down from head to toe along the outside of my body. When he reached my feet, he stood up again and patted my back and ass; I flinched from his hands on my ass, for some reason reacting to him touching there. Then he reached around me and — oh, fuck — I felt his hard cock press against my ass as he patted my chest, and I was nowhere near as disgusted as I should have been with his dick on my butt. I forced that thought out of my mind, choosing not to think on it. His hands continued roaming down, searching for weapons or drugs. Eventually, his hands landed on my hard cock, sending a weird jolt of pleasure through me. He seemed to grope me a bit, feeling around and making sure it was all me and not a gun or something, then he moved down, patting the front of my legs and between them, coming back up to my crotch and feeling my sack.

Fuck, why did this feel so good?

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Matty grabbed his backpack and shoved his papers into it, then stacked up the books he still needed to go through. He looked up at the other table again and found it empty. Scott’s stuff was still there, but the man was not. Matty gasped and frantically looked around—was the beat-down coming?

“Dude,” Scott said from behind him.

Matty whipped around, the table and chair clattering loudly in the funereal library. He glanced around, hoping the sudden noise had caught the attention of another student, or maybe Jennifer, but no one was there. It was just Matty and Scott, surrounded by books, on the attic-like third floor of the library.

Matty looked up at Scott, taking in his incredible body, framed by slim jeans and a tight shirt, until he finally met the man’s eyes.

“Yeah?” Matty said, voice quivering.

Scott still had an intense look on his face, but it didn’t seem to be all rage and hatred anymore. Matty couldn’t figure it out, but it still terrified him.

Oh God, oh God, oh God, is he going to kill me?

Scott leaned forward and Matty leaned back—so far that the edge of the table jabbed into his back and he still kept folding himself back as far as he could go. Scott still moved closer. Matty could smell the man—a heady mix of his deodorant and personal musk. And a strong whiff of that made him lightheaded, but only for a moment. Finally, Matty couldn’t lean back any further, yet Scott still pressed on.

Soon, their bodies were touching, Scott’s thick chest pressed against Matty’s lean, twink body. And then Scott’s lips brushed Matty’s ear. Like a live wire, Matty felt a jolt, a shock from the touch. His body jumped, bumping harder against Scott’s solid form.

And then Scott stopped leaning forward. He whispered, “Why the fuck do you have to do this to me, you little shit?”

That felt like the precursor to a beating. Matty squirmed, trying to get away, but he was caged in by Scott’s chest and his massive arms, bracing the table on either side of Matty. He panicked, his heart racing and his mind going just as fast, but pushing through that was his erotic imagination—he was entrapped by this hunk, this bad-ass bully. What if...what if Scott were to kiss him?

Matty shook his head, trying to knock that absurd thought out. Not only did Scott hate Matty with every fibre of his being, but the man was also straight. Matty almost never saw him without a girl under his arm.

“What are you shaking your head for?” Scott said, still whispering in Matty’s ear. His breath was hot, making Matty’s ear moist. “Are you saying you don’t want this?”

“Wh—what? Want what?” Am I being asked if I want a beating?

“Don’t you fags want any cock you can get?”

Matty turned his head, almost bashing his nose against Scott’s. “What?”

Scott stared at him, his gaze travelling down Matty’s face until it rested on his lips. Now he knew what that other intense emotion was—he could see it now. Lust. Scott was fucking lusting for him.

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“Fucking hell!” a deep, masculine voice from down on the first floor shouted.

Adrenaline coursed through my veins — I had to get out of there, and quick! But if the guy was downstairs, I was stuck here on the second floor. I bolted from the bedroom; it wasn’t the greatest place to hide. There were only two other doors in the hallway. The open one was obviously the bathroom, so I went through the other door. I carefully closed it behind me and tiptoed through the darkness. I couldn’t turn on the light — it would be visible in the crack under the door. I realized I still had the dildo in my hand, so I quickly shoved it in my backpack.

I bumped into something and a noise like jostling chains punched through the silence. I grabbed whatever it was — and it felt like pieces of leather suspended by chains — and stilled it. I continued across the room until I reached the window on the other side.

I heard footsteps stomp up the staircase. I had no more than a few seconds to open the window and escape. I threw the blind aside, unlocked the window, and struggled to lift it. It was stuck — it was fucking stuck. The footsteps had reached this floor and they receded for a moment as they went into the bedroom.

I still struggled with the window and — finally! — the pane slid upward an inch. I repositioned my arms and shoved upward, hoping to get it higher, but it wasn’t moving.

The door behind me opened.

“Who the fuck are you?” that voice, so masculine and deep that it stirred something in my loins, shouted. The light flicked on in the room.

I spun around and found a tall, muscular man in his thirties with the angriest expression on his face. I searched the room for anything to use as for self-defence — and it was right then and there that I realized what kind of room I’d run into. A leather sling hung on chains from the ceiling, various locks and chains and benches were organized around the room, and a series of floggers, paddles, and whips hung in an orderly fashion on one wall. I’d run into some sort of BDSM playroom. My gaze jumped frantically from item to item, imagining the pain they would inflict — and what it might mean for what happened next. And I tried to ignore the fact that my cock had suddenly grown stiff again.

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The guy went back to reading his magazine, ignoring me. He flipped the page and I glanced out the corner of my eye to find a new provocative shot of the muscular model — now the guy was in the changing room at the gym, putting on his socks, bending over so that his ass was sticking up straight at the reader.

I wondered if this guy’s ass looked as amazing as the model’s. Fuck, I had to stop thinking like that. I needed to get my mind off of this guy and back onto more wholesome things. I could have dirty thoughts as soon as I got off the plane and away from him. I could jack off in my hotel room for the whole vacation if I wanted, but right now I had to get my mind out of the gutter.

I forced myself to think, instead, of the Sydney Opera House and of the Harbour Bridge — the two tourist trap sites I was most looking forward to. And, of course, Bondi Beach. I had plans of laying in the sun for hours, soaking up the rays in my brand new Speedo. I bought some new sunglasses to help me hide the fact that I’d be checking out the asses of all the guys that walked past me in their own skimpy swimwear.

And then my mind turned to the guy next to me, as I wondered how he’d look on the beach. I bet his bulge would really fill out his skimpy spandex shorts and his ass would have a nice curve to it. I’d lower my sunglasses seductively and catch his eye and then look toward a stand of bushes we could romp around behind. He’d grab his bulge and—

Holy fuck, I was horny. I needed to stop this. I looked down at my crotch and found two distressing things — first, my bulge had grown incredibly noticeable, standing almost perpendicular to my body, and second, while imagining my seatmate on the beach, I’d absentmindedly been stroking my crotch.

I felt my cheeks burn with embarrassment, even though it seemed the hot guy next to me hadn’t noticed. I crossed my arms, trying to keep them away from my crotch. But then I realized that just allowed my bulge to stand out prominently. I quickly folded my hands and lay them in my lap, doing my best to cover the mountain between my legs.

The guy next to me still hadn’t seem to have noticed — thank God — but this was getting increasingly uncomfortable, almost to the point where I wanted to call an attendant and ask to switch seats. I didn’t think I’d be able to last several more hours in this seat. I needed to either move away from him or just jack off in the washroom — but I was still too terrified to do something like that.

A sudden movement from my neighbor caught my eye and I heard the rustle of his magazine. I watched him out of the corner of my eyes — he still seemed to be enraptured by the article in front of him. The pic of the guy bending over while putting on his socks was still in front of him. I bit my lip and held back a moan — I was so fucking horny right now.

And then I heard his magazine rustle again, but he hadn’t flipped the pages or anything. I turned to look at him, to get a better look — his right hand was holding the magazine, but his left hand had disappeared between the magazine and the wall of the plane. Was he ... was he jacking off?

I lifted my gaze to look at his eyes and found that he was looking at me, not his magazine, and that look of disgust was gone. Instead, there was a look of desire. My heart raced in my chest, thumping against my ribs. I felt my mouth go dry as I opened it, trying to form some words, something to say to him. His eyes never left me and it felt impossible to come up with a coherent sentence as long as he looked at me with such heat.

He folded his magazine and tucked it into the seat pocket in front of him. His fly was open and his cock, long and hard, stood upright and his balls dangled against his jeans. His dick was wide and had a thick ring of foreskin bunched around the purplish head. A bead of precum formed at the slit and I licked my lips, imagining the sweet taste of it.

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Randall. I shuddered as the powerful masculinity of his voice — no longer hushed to keep quiet from bar patrons — washed over me. I turned around to find him standing there, taller than me, giving me a stern glare.

“I see you’ve changed your mind,” I said, stepping closer to him. I smiled.

He grabbed a fistful of my shirt. “Not quite,” he said, his voice suddenly going cold.

For the first time, I felt fear. Had I so horribly misread him and earned myself a beating? People get killed for this. I tried to struggle to get away from him, but he just pulled me closer. I could smell the alcohol on his breath as he brought me within an inch of his face.

“You want my cock in your dirty fag-hole?”

I blinked several times, trying to determine if I misheard that. No ... he said exactly what I thought he’d said ... and though it was said with anger, I’m sure I heard some lust in there, too. “Uh...” I said, completely at a loss for words, my jaw hanging open.

“That’s right, open your mouth wide, cocksucker. You’re gonna need to get wider than that.”

My ability to think continued to diminish as all my energy flowed to my cock, aching and throbbing. He grabbed my hand and put it on his crotch — oh, fuck, he was huge. I think he saw the excitement in my eyes because he hauled me toward the alleyway beside the bar.

“My apartment is that way,” I finally managed to say, pointing in the opposite direction. I tripped over some trash as he pulled me along, but his grip on my shirt kept me upright.

“I don’t care,” he grunted. In the alley, he dragged me along to the back, where it crossed with another alley and he hauled me around the corner. From here, we couldn’t see any of the surrounding streets — making me wonder if he’d hauled other guys here before. “On your knees, bitch,” he ordered, shoving me to the ground.

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