The Beatdown
Keith is a dumb brute of a bully in desperate need of a good grade. Allen is a genius academic out for revenge. Only one can escape with his pride intact.
Warning : kinky. A story of abuse and humiliation and heavy musk play.
Allen pretended not to see the bull.
It wasn't hard, really. It'd been a good three years--sophomore year of high school--since they'd seen each other, and physics lab wasn't exactly ideal social time. Six tables dominated by lab computers and lab apparatus took up most of the room; typically, you spent all your time clustered around one of those with your group and almost never spoke to anyone else, and that was fine with Allen.
At least Allen liked his group: it only took an hour or so to develop a friendly camaraderie with them and sink into his usual role as the mathematical workhorse. They finished a full hour before the period ended, and not once did the otter catch Keith even looking over at him. As he threw his lab notebook into his bag and started towards the door, Allen began to wonder if maybe the bull had forgotten him--only to be stopped by a gruff call.
"Yo, Allen. You know how to do this?"
He still recognized Keith's deep voice: a gravelly bass that sent involuntary tingles dancing up his spine. If he had any sense, he would've just kept walking, as if he hadn't heard. Allen turned slowly. "Yeah?"
In Greenwood, there hadn't been much to do with your spare time other than play games, get high, or work out. Keith had chosen the latter. He was tremendous all around, with dense musculature coating his already thick frame. Keith had put on weight since Allen had last seen him, but he wore it well--the roundness in his belly seemed to fit his figure perfectly fine.
Allen felt a bit of blood flow to his groin. Fuck, no. He converted binary to decimal in his head as he closed the distance between them to look at the problem the bull couldn't do.
The rest of Keith's group had already left, and now the bull sat alone. "Number six," the bull said, slouching in his chair and pointing towards the question in his lab manual.
Of course. "Okay, so, um." He reached in his pocket for a pencil. If he didn't look at Keith, he could just spout out the math, rote as it was to him at this point. "So, it wants you to prove that the coefficient of volumetric expansion is three times the coefficient of linear expansion. So to do that..." He spouted off the problem's setup in a dull monotone, not glancing over at the the bull until he finished. "You get it?"
Keith, still slouched in his chair, gave a halfhearted nod. He didn't care at all about how to set up the problem; he just wanted a decent grade, but not badly enough to actually attempt the problem himself. Why the hell did Allen have to be so nice?
"Okay, okay. So, expand the binomial. Multiplication or binomial expansion works. So, now you have..." He explained his steps as he worked his way through the problem, until half a page of work later, he had the final result he wanted.
Keith's eyes looked glazed over, until he realized that a circle around the final line of math meant Okay, you can start copying now. He did exactly that, straightening himself in his chair to crouch over the desk and scribble down the solution to the problem, albeit with an annoyed grumble. "They expect us to know this?"
Allen shrugged. It was a bit of an unfair question, expecting a bunch of engineering students to pull a derivation out of their ass in the last five minutes of a hectic lab. Hell, it'd taken Allen a while to figure out... but the bull didn't have to know that. Allen sneered. "You're in engineering, right? You're gonna have to work way tougher problems that this."
If not for the barely-audible snort, he would've thought the bull hadn't heard him. The next thing Keith said was, "Okay, got it."
No thanks or anything. Just go. "Alright. Is that all?"
During freshman and sophomore years of high school, Keith's muzzle never went without an aloof smirk; for just the briefest fraction of a second, Keith bit his lip, and his eyes darted to the side, as if in hesitation. "Hey, you're in Phys202, right?"
The otter's lips drew together. It was a dumb question--if he was in 202 lab, of course he was taking the course. "Yeah, though, I'm taking a proof-oriented course for majors that's more in-depth."
The words were flat: "Think you could tutor me?"
What? He blinked. "For 202? Well, my class is a little different, and I don't have that much ti--"
"Come on, man." The bull's confident voice made it sound nothing like a plea for help. He shifted forward in his seat a bit, and Allen inhaled the scent of fresh sweat. "My prof can't teach for shit, and he's giving us an exam next week. I gotta pass this class."
Just say no. It would've been easy--he'd gotten several requests before like this that he'd refused outright, but his tongue wouldn't listen. No, he didn't want to give this opportunity up. He wanted to make Keith squirm. "What's in it for me?"
The bull's head recoiled slightly. "Huh?"
The otter's face brightened with a smirk of his own. The Allen Keith had known back in high school wouldn't have responded like that. "I'm busy. I have a lot of crap to do. I understand physics can be hard, but..." He shrugged, realizing that perhaps he was enjoying this a little too much. "My classes are harder, and I already spend a lot of time tutoring my classmates when I could be working on my research."
Keith grunted. "I'll figure something out. Just can't pay ya, 'cause I'm broke as fuck."
After two years of humiliating manipulation in high school, Allen deserved a bit of revenge on the bull. Being star of the shitty football team in high school meant nothing now, after all, and Allen had moved on to bigger and better things. He knew things about the universe the bull couldn't even fathom with that tiny brain... and now, he was in control.
"Fine," Allen said, pointing a finger at the bull. "But I'm not going out of my way for this. Haul your fat ass down to my apartment tomorrow, sometime after seven, and we'll talk." He scribbled his address out on the piece of paper he'd worked the problem on, then passed it to the bull. "Deal?"
The corners of the bull's mouth pinched tightly together. Allen could see it on his face: annoyance at having to trek to Allen's off-campus apartment, slightly offset by amusement at the otter trying to insult him, because all Allen's high-pitched, whiny voice did was get on his nerves. "Fine. Deal."
Allen left with a smirk. Keith wouldn't be so cocky by the time he left his apartment.
Allen didn't doubt that the loud, booming knocks belonged to Keith. He scurried up from his desk chair and headed into the living room of his small studio.
When he unlocked the door and swung it open, Keith stood before him in a white sleeveless and a pair of dark blue gym shorts, with a laptop case strung over his shoulders. It struck Allen again how large the bull was. The white tank top certainly didn't help, hugging the contours of his tubby gut and the thick meat of his pectorals, not to mention showing off the tremendous mass of his arms.
"What's up?" the bull offered. Realizing he'd been staring, Allen frowned and waved the bull in.
The bull made his way for the futon, dropping his laptop bag beside him and slouching down on the cushion. Allen stared at him for a moment longer, only a foot or so away, before finding his voice.
"So, what's on the test?"
"Electric field."
"E-field." Allen shifted his weight to one foot. "Vacuum or dielectric? And by what method? Gaussian surfaces? Laplace's Equation? Method of Images? Multipole expansion?"
"Uh." The bull closed his eyes, as if trying to think. "The first one."
Allen grinned. "That's easy stuff, then. It should take us five minutes. So, remind me again, what's in it for me?"
Allen was willing to bet Keith hadn't counted on the otter actually being serious about getting something from this--even if it was only the satisfaction of getting him all the way out to Allen's apartment and just telling him to hit the road. And from the way Keith rolled his eyes and said nothing, Allen knew he was right.
"If there's nothing in this for me," he said, "you can just go home."
"Fuck you. I didn't come all the way out here for nothing."
"Then you better start thinking."
The bull blew out a breath of hot air. "Okay. Fine. I've got some nice beer back at--"
"I don't drink."
"How about--"
"No drugs, either. And no, I don't want invites to your lame parties."
Now the bull crossed his arms. "Well, I sure as hell ain't gonna suck your dick, if that's what you're getting at, ya little fag."
A terrible, terrible memory entered Allen's head, from far back in the day, back in high school. He remembered the cackles from the guys around him, that one day when he sat near the back of the bus. Couldn't even remember when it was--was that the trip to historic Jamestown? Or the trip to Chicago? Or maybe even the visit to Rutgers? He didn't even remember the conversation that had led up to that point. It hadn't been anything out of the ordinary--just the normal jabs from the normal guys, who were probably just jealous that he showed them up every near when it came time for the academic awards ceremony.
He'd been sitting on the bus beside Keith. The big bull had sprawled out over most of the seat, taking up well over half the space and leaving precious little for the otter, who was, as always, curled up small with his ears canted downwards, trying to ignore the words directed at him. Until that moment, all he'd had to worry about were words.
A rough paw on top of his head made him jump. He remembered being pushed down, towards the bull. His stomach collided with the bull's foot, propped up on the seat, and air left his lungs in a hot rush. So naturally, he sucked in a breath.
He inhaled musk, thick and strong, the strength which made his breath catch in his throat and reverse direction in a harsh gag. A rather thick, semi-hard tube, no doubt the source of the scent, pressed up against the side of his muzzle. Looking up, he peered over Keith's belly and saw the bull looking down at the nerd pinned between his legs with an amused smirk.
Allen could feel countless eyes on him. Squirm as he might, he couldn't get away from Keith's hard grip on his head, forcing him down into the bull's groin. He made the mistake of looking upwards to see Sean, a lion friend of Keith's, training his phone on the scene, no doubt recording video. Keith's rough hand applied pressure, adjusting his head until Allen's lips were pressed right up against the bulge of the bull's rather thick shaft.
"Go ahead," Keith droned. "Give it a kiss, ya little fag."
Somehow, Allen knew that if he didn't do what they told him, they'd just make it worse.
Under the unforgiving eyes of the camera, he locked his lips around the thick, tube-shaped bulge in the bull's jeans. He could barely fit his mouth around it, and once he did, he gave it a gentle suck. A fiery hunger awakened itself in him, and he overstayed his welcome. A rough shove of Keith's burly hands pushed him away, hard, out of the seat and down onto the despicably dirty floor, face-first. Behind him, he could hear Keith laughing. "Sick little fucker."
And fuck, thinking about that day made Allen hard. Rock-hard, so much that he dare not stand or shift his posture. This wasn't fair. His old classmate shouldn't be doing this to him, especially when the memory was so despicable. He tried to convince himself that that night, he hadn't gone home, locked himself in his room, and jerked off a good two or three times thinking of Keith forcing him to suck his dick right there on the bus. It was just a dumb adolescent fantasy, anyway, one that he'd never actually want to come true.
He realized that far too long had passed since the bull had spoken, and the big male was looking at him strangely, almost bemusedly. Allen shook his head. "Why the hell would I want you sucking my dick?" He combed his mind for something to say, something that would make a dumb jock mad. "I think I'd rather fuck your girlfriend while you watch."
And the bull broke into hearty laughter. "Oh, really? Pretty sure all you'd do is put her to sleep. How big's your cock? Five inches?"
Allen's ears burned. "No, it's--it's, uh."
The bull leaned closer; his strong scent invaded the otter's nostrils. "It's what? You got something to hide?"
Precum seeped into Allen's boxers. "It's... fiveandahalf." The words came out high-pitched, all at once; he couldn't look at the bull.
And the bull laughed. Hard. The sound echoed off the walls for what seemed like hours, making the otter grit his teeth in torment. "She wouldn't even feel that after having me."
Allen clenched his fists. Don't ask it. "And, uh. And how big are you?"
It was an innocent question, right? The otter was just curious, after all. But the bull folded his arms across his chest and smirked. "You want to know? Take my exam for me."
Allen tried to form words, but his tongue slid around uselessly in his mouth, only forming garbled nonsense. "T-that's not even fair."
"Yeah?" The bull snorted. "So, don't accept it then."
Every shred of intelligence in the otter was urging him to stop. But he couldn't stop himself. "Come on. Tell me. It's not that big of a deal."
"It is to you, apparently." The bull grunted. He leaned close, and his voice dropped low. "I made you a deal. You gonna take it?"
"W-what--"
"Get over here."
His mind screamed in protest, but for some unfathomable reason his body obeyed. His feet carried him, unwittingly, to stand in front of the seated bull. A heavy mitt clapped down on his shoulders and shoved him down on his knees, and before he had time to even take in his position, a rough hand forced his muzzle up to meet eyes with the bull's own, mere inches away. The brute snarled, flinging spittle at Allen's muzzle. "Wherever the fuck you've been these last three years... you think it makes you so goddam special, but it doesn't mean shit. You're still a wimpy little bitch.
"I--"
He wasn't even sure what he was going to say--some kind of desperate, primal plea for mercy no doubt--but the bull cut it off with a rough shove to his chest that almost sent him sprawling backwards. "Say it."
He had eyes only for the floor. His ears were glued to his skull, and every time he heard the bull's low, commanding voice, his cock throbbed, and he hated himself for it. "S-say what?"
"Say, I'm a useless, little faggy bitch who thinks he's hot stuff."
"I..." He swallowed, horrified and disgusted at himself. "I'm a useless, little..." Swallow. "Little..."
"Little what?"
Allen's head jerked up to look at the bull's face, but when his eyes were up there, what they found far more interesting was the camera trained down on him, the bright red LED lit up. Allen whined.
"I said, little what?"
Allen shuddered. "L-little faggy bitch."
As soon as those words were out, he realized exactly what was going on. Fuck Keith. Almost certainly, if he didn't take that exam for Keith, everyone on campus would see this video.
You can't do this, was his first thought. It's rape. You'll be arrested if you show it to anyone.
But Allen was so horny he was panting. His dick was throbbing harder than he thought possible, and the front of his shorts was a mess of precum. Still, it didn't matter. All he had to do was say "no" on video, and it would be rape. But could he form the words? He opened his mouth to speak.
Keith leaned in closer, and pointed a finger at the otter. It dangled right in front of his lips. Saying "no" became the last thing his lips wanted to do. He dove for the bull's finger, but it pulled away, and even to his own ears, the frustrated whine that came out of Allen's mouth sounded like it belonged to a heated bitch desperate for a breeding.
"I may be dumb, but I can smell a fag a mile away, Allen. Take off your pants."
Allen froze, staring up at the bull. "W-wha--"
"Off!"
His shaking paws frantically grabbed for his shorts. Still on his knees, he heaved them and his soaked underwear down until they were at his knees, exposing his dick for Allen and his invisible audience's viewing pleasure. Each throbbing pulse of his shaft seemed to carry another dribble of precum with it.
The bull let out a bark of laughter. "Hah. Five and a half? More like four a half, if you're generous."
"Please..." Allen whined.
"Yeah? Please what? Speak up, ya little fag."
"Please... let me see yours."
"Fat chance. I ain't gay like you."
"PLEASE!"
Dear Lord, he couldn't believe himself. The bull laughed again, loudly. He was telling the truth. A long, thick tube of meat visibly bulged the bull's gym shorts, but it was half-hard at best. And even though he knew he had zero chance of succeeding, he had to go on, because he was desperate to taste the bull's dick.
Nothing about this was fair.
"Please... do me like you did on the bus that time."
"Please. I got a girl if I want my dick sucked. Nah, I want something only a filthy little slut like you would ever get off on."
Allen bit his lip. The bull's big mitts closed on the bottom of the off-white wifebeater, stretched tight around his enormous pectorals and hefty belly, and lifted.
"Oh, god." Allen's mouth watered. "Oh, fuck." Keith had biceps the size of softballs and triceps in absolutely perfect proportion, and he knew it, lifting up an arm to flex, drawing out the rounded peak of the muscle. His pecs were firm and beefy, thick slabs of meat that the otter just wanted to lean in and bury his face into. He could climax like that, he was pretty sure. Or with his lips pressed up against those biceps. Or, fuck, just about anywhere. For a second, he thought he was going to cum just watching the shirtless, sweaty bull flex.
A groan caught in the back of Allen's throat, and morphed into a whine that didn't quit until the last of his breath left him. Somehow, after all these years, after all the awards and scholarships the otter had accumulated, all the way he'd moved so far ahead of the bull on so many fronts, Keith still had total and complete control over him.
The bull leaned back, a smug grin painted on his thick lips. "Been a long, hot day, and I just got done with a long, hard workout. Got me all sweaty, and now I could use a cleanup." The otter's eyes widened. "Get that tongue of yours to work."
The bull's words spurred him to action. He pathetically leapt at the larger male, straddling the bull's lap. The only issue Allen had with this arrangement was that he didn't have enough hands and tongues to touch all the places he wanted. His fingers traced over the shape of the bull's pecs, feeling them contract and tighten against his touch. He squeezed the mounds of muscle adorning the bull's arms, not able to even wrap his hand around half the circumference of the bull's upper arm.
It hit him that he was jealous--so, so jealous of everything the bull had. Jealous of his smoothness with the ladies. Jealous of his enormous muscles. Jealous of his deep, masculine voice and his overwhelmingly strong masculine scent. Jealous of that big, fat cock he had, hung while flaccid and Jesus, he didn't even know what size erect.
He quickly replaced the hand on the bull's bicep with his mouth. He ran his tongue over the surface of the bull's muscle, tasting Keith's hot, heady musk. His hand roamed down over the bull's pecs, exploring the surface of the bull's firm, round gut. A sheen of sweat had settled over the ebon fur spanning its surface, no doubt due to its confinement in that tight sleeveless.
The bull's hand clapped down on the back of his head, pushing him down, mashing his lips up against the rounded peak of his bicep, which contracted and flexed up against his lips. Allen whined in self-betraying bliss, his lips kissing the bull's bicep almost frantically, while his free hand continued squeezing and groping the bull's belly, occasionally roaming up to feel those enormous pectorals. He was dimly aware that he was humping his hips into the air.
Warmth seared Allen's insides. His eyes opened wide in surprise and a long, heavy moan left his mouth. Wet warmth squirted from his shaft, painting all over the cushion of his expensive futon. His ears should have flattened to his skull in embarrassment, because the force of his climax was far, far too hard considering the treatment he'd been given and the camera captured every drip of it, but no, he was proud: proud to be getting off being this magnificent bull's subservient bitch.
"I didn't tell you to stop," the bull barked.
"F-fuck fuck fuck," Allen said around harsh breaths, his high-pitched squeaks sounding so very feminine in comparison to the bull's low words. "O-okay..." His tongue snaked out again, curling over the bull's slick flesh. Now he tended to the male's triceps, working his slick flesh over the underside of the bull's arm. He shied clear of the bull's sweaty armpit and made his way to the stud's chest, aching to get his tongue tracing over the bull's pecs and belly.
Instead, the bull rudely grabbed his head and shoved the otter's face under his armpit. He squirmed, trying to worm his way away--this was going too far--but there was no escape. The otter sucked in a breath in surprise once the bull mashed him roughly under his arm, and the strength of the bull's masculine stench made him sputter and left him feeling dizzy. The bull's scent was so thick it was tangible. He could feel sweat soaking the fur of his muzzle. Keith held him there smothered into his pit, not allowed the otter a clean breath.
"Did I say you could skip that?"
He opened his mouth to say "No," but in the process, got a taste of the bull's steamy pit. A desperate moan left his mouth. He felt absolutely disgusting, and yet so horny he was throbbing again already. He didn't care that the camera would see it: his greedy tongue slurped under the bull's arm, even as his whole body quivered. Others might describe the scent and taste as putrid and revolting. Allen found it both, yet it wormed its way into him and overpowered his senses with the very essence of Keith in a way that could only be described as addictive.
At some point, he realized that Keith was no longer holding his head down, forcing it under his arm. He was smothering his face with the bull's pit of his own, needy accord. As his tongue scraped away and swallowed down most of the bull's flavor, the otter didn't even give it thought: he laid himself over the bull's lap and jammed his face under the bull's other arm. He could hear Keith's hearty, derisive laughter above him, but he was too lose in his pathetic lust to care. His arms groped wildly at whatever muscles he could reach, touching, teasing, and admiring.
He didn't think it were possible to climax twice that rapidly in succession. His cock surged and he was blowing again, staining his futon with yet more ropes of his seed. He whined, unbelieving, pulling his face out from under the bull's arm and unwittingly giving the camera a glimpse of the orgasmic contortions of his wet face.
Jesus. He'd only just started and he'd already came twice. He hadn't even gotten to the bull's chest yet. His heart pounded, and he wondered if the bull would let him bathe his balls, or under his tail. His tongue snaked out again, but before he could give the bull's flesh another taste, a harsh shove sent him sprawling down onto the mess of cum he'd made on his futun. He could feel his own fluids soaking into his face and staining his shirt.
When he looked up again, the bull was standing, about to pull on his shirt. The otter sat up, his own cum dripping down his face, and whimpered in protest. "W-what are you doing? I'm not done yet. I still--"
"I don't think you realize I don't give a fuck what you want, kid. I've had my fun, and now it's time to go show this video to my girl." He gave Allen the cocky, aloof smirk that was so very Keith. "Get me a perfect score on the exam, and I'll be back for more."
The bull swung his laptop bag over his shoulder, and just like that he was gone, at least in the physical sense: his scent would probably linger for a week.
With the bull gone, Allen punched his futon, hard. There was nothing in the world he hated more than Keith. He was a sick, cruel, disgusting freak, and yet those parting words did nothing but get the otter hard .
It seemed that some things never changed.
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Leave what you think should happen when Keith returns in the comments!