The corridor was empty except for the echo of my sneakers and the soft, rhythmic tap-tap of your ballet slippers ahead of me. You’d just finished practice—again—and that stupid little skirt of yours was riding up with every step, teasing me. I knew what was under it. Everyone did. The teachers, the students, the fucking janitor. You were a walking invitation, Austin, and today, I was accepting.
Then you tripped.
Not gracefully, not like some delicate swan—no, you went down hard, palms slapping the linoleum, ass in the air. And what an ass. Plump, jiggling slightly from the impact, the fabric of your skirt hiked up to your waist like it was begging for this. No underwear. Of course not. Why would you wear any when you spent half your week getting railed in the dance studio or bent over a professor’s desk? Your hole was still flushed pink, glistening with dried cum from whoever had last used you. It twitched, like it knew I was looking.
My cock throbbed so hard it ached. I bet you’d never taken one like mine.
You started to push yourself up, but I didn’t let you. My hand cracked against your ass so hard the sound bounced off the walls. You yelped, then moaned, your body sagging back down like you’d been waiting for it. “Fuck—!”
“Quiet,” I growled, dropping to my knees behind you. My thumbs spread your cheeks wider, exposing that pretty, used-up hole. It pulsed, desperate, like it was *hungry*. “You’re such a slut, Austin. Let everyone fuck you, huh? Bet you’ve never had a real cock, though.”
You whimpered, trying to turn your head, but I spanked you again—harder this time—and you gasped, your nipples hardening against the floor. They were obscene, those puffy little things, straining against the thin fabric of your top like they were begging to be sucked. I’d get to them later.
My track pants hit the floor. My cock sprang free, already leaking, the head so thick it looked like it’d split you in half. You saw it in the reflection of the trophy case beside us and froze. “Y-you’re so big! I can’t take that! It’ll never—”
I didn’t let you finish. I grabbed your hips, yanked you back, and shoved.
The scream you let out was half pain, half ecstasy, your body convulsing as my cock forced its way inside you. You came instantly, your dick spurting against the floor, your hole clenching around me like it was trying to milk me dry already. But I wasn’t done. Not even close.
“Fuck, you’re tight,” I groaned, grinding deeper. Your ass was stretched obscenely around me, your rim burning red as I bottomed out. I could see the outline of my cock through your stomach, the bulge grotesque, inhuman. You were sobbing, drooling, your fingers scratching at the floor like you couldn’t decide if you wanted to escape or beg for more. “That’s it, take it. You’re gonna take every fucking inch.”
I started moving.
It wasn’t fucking—it was ruining. My cock was so thick it had nowhere to go, each thrust tearing you open further, your hole gaping around me like it was made for this. You came again, your body jerking, your nipples leaking through your top. I reached around and pinched one, hard, and you screamed, your ass clenching so tight I saw stars.
“Lucas—please—it’s too much—!”
“Shut up and take it,” I snarled, slamming into you so hard your teeth rattled. The classroom door was just ahead, but I didn’t stop. I dragged you inside by your hair, your legs useless, your hole dripping around my cock. The professor didn’t even look up from his laptop. Of course he didn’t. This was normal for you.
I bent you over his desk, your cheek pressed against the wood, your ass in the air. Your ballet skirt was a joke now, just a scrap of fabric barely covering your thighs. I spat on your hole and drove back in, my balls slapping against you with every thrust. You were a mess—crying, leaking, your cock still hard despite the abuse, your nipples so sensitive even the air made you whine.
“You love this, don’t you?” I taunted, slamming into you so deep you choked. “Love being a little cumdump for anyone who wants you. Bet you’d let the whole class fuck you if I asked.”
You moaned, your hole fluttering around me. Yes. That’s what you wanted. To be used, filled, left dripping and sore.
I gave it to you.
I fucked you through the entire lecture, your moans blending with the professor’s droning voice. You came four more times, your cock painting the desk, your ass taking every brutal inch like it was made for me. When I finally groaned, my cock swelling inside you, you begged for it.
“Fill me—please—I want it—”
I came so hard my vision blurred, my cum pumping into you in thick, endless ropes. You sobbed, your body trembling, your hole leaking around me as I kept fucking, kept breeding you. The professor cleared his throat when I finally pulled out, your gaping hole dripping my cum onto the floor.
“Mr. Emily,” he said dryly, “you’re a distraction. Again.”
You whimpered, your thighs slick with cum, your nipples still hard enough to cut glass. I smirked, tucking my cock back into my pants. It was still half-hard. You noticed.