Seb was on call with Theo and Kota in the group chat, his phone propped up against a stack of books on his nightstand, the screen lighting up his flushed face as he twirled in front of his full-length mirror. His apartment was small and cluttered, stacks of books on every surface, a half-eaten bowl of instant noodles on the desk, and his tweed blazer thrown carelessly over the back of his desk chair. But right now, none of that mattered. Right now, he was wearing the skimpiest, most scandalous piece of lingerie he had ever seen in his life, and he was absolutely loving it.
"So wait," Theo's voice came through the speaker, bright and teasing, that posh British lilt carrying a warmth that made Seb's stomach flutter. "You're telling me you've never worn makeup? Not even for like... a costume party? Or a themed event? Nothing?"
Seb shook his head, his cheeks already flushing that familiar shade of pink. "I've worn lipstick a few times. Just lipstick, though. Nothing else. I never really had a reason to try anything more. I mean, it's not like I was going out or anything. I was usually just... grading papers. At home. Alone. In the dark."
"Sebastian, darling," Theo said, and Seb could practically hear the fond shake of his head.
"That's tragic. Absolutely tragic. We're going to fix that. Next time you come over, I'm going to do your makeup myself. Properly. The works. Foundation, eyeshadow, maybe some eyeliner if you're feeling brave. You're going to look so pretty you won't recognize yourself."
Seb's blush deepened, spreading down his neck and across his chest. He was currently wearing a cute cat boy costume that Theo had bought for him during their shopping trip, the one with the black ears on a headband that he had yet to put on because he was already too flustered. The costume itself was a tiny black bodysuit with a heart-shaped cutout over his chest, the fabric hugging his slim frame and leaving his pale midriff exposed. The bottom was a tiny skirt that barely covered his hips, and the fishnets that came with it were ripped in strategic places that made him feel both scandalous and exposed. His massive ass, those plush cheeks that he had never really appreciated until Theo and Kota had started paying attention to them, was barely contained by the fishnets, the fabric straining against the generous curves.
Kota's voice joined the call, low and amused from his room across town. "I can hear you blushing through the phone, Seb. You know that, right? It's like a sound. A specific sound. I'm learning to identify it."
"I am not blushing," Seb protested, even as his face burned hotter. "I'm just... warm. The apartment is warm. The heating is on too high. That's all."
"Uh huh," Kota said, and Seb could hear the grin in his voice. "Sure. That's definitely why you're wearing that cat costume and not because you want to show off for us."
Seb's mouth opened and closed several times, his brain struggling to form a coherent response. He had been posing in front of the mirror for the last twenty minutes, trying to find angles that made his ass look good, trying to figure out how to flirt without sounding like a complete idiot. He had been failing spectacularly.
"Come on, Seb," Theo coaxed, his voice dropping into that sweet, encouraging register that always made Seb's knees feel weak. "You look so cute in that outfit. Don't you want to show us? Don't you want to be a good boy for us?"
The praise hit Seb like a physical force. His body responded before his brain could catch up, his hips swaying, his hand reaching down to squeeze one of his own cheeks through the fishnets. He turned around slowly, giving the camera a full view of his ass, the cheeks jiggling with every deliberate movement. The fishnets stretched across the plush curves, the rips revealing flashes of pale skin, the tiny skirt doing absolutely nothing to contain the generous swell of his lower body.
"See," Seb said, his voice coming out breathier than he intended. "I'm—I'm doing the thing. The showing off thing. How am I doing?"
"You're doing great, darling," Theo said, his voice warm with approval. "Now meow for us. Like a good little cat."
Seb froze. His face went nuclear red. "What? No. I can't—I can't meow. That's—that's too embarrassing. I'll die. I'll actually die of embarrassment. They'll find my body and my cause of death will be 'meowed on camera.' I can't—"
"Come on, Seb," Kota said, his voice carrying that teasing edge that always made Seb's stomach flip. "Just one little meow. You owe us. You put on that whole outfit just to show off. The least you can do is commit to the bit."
"I'm not committing to anything," Seb squeaked. "I'm just—I'm just wearing the outfit. That's all. I don't have to meow just because I'm wearing cat ears. That's stereotyping. That's feline discrimination."
"Seb," Theo said, and his voice was so sweet, so coaxing, that Seb felt his resistance crumbling. "Please? For us? Just a tiny little meow? I promise we won't laugh. We'll just tell you how cute you are. Over and over again. Until you believe it."
Seb took a shaky breath. He turned back toward the camera, his cheeks still burning, and opened his mouth. A tiny, reluctant sound escaped his throat. "Meow..."
"Louder," Kota said. "I barely heard that."
"MEOW," Seb said, louder this time, the word coming out in a rush of breath. He shook his ass for emphasis, the cheeks jiggling in the fishnets, the tiny skirt flaring up just enough to reveal the curve of his plush lower cheeks. "There. I meowed. Are you happy? I've lost all my dignity. It's gone. Disappeared. Never coming back."
Theo let out a delighted giggle. "That was adorable, darling. Absolutely adorable. You look so cute like that. All blushing and shy and meowing for us."
Kota hummed in agreement. "Next time you should wear a cat tail butt plug too. That would complete the look."
Seb's brain short-circuited. His mouth opened and closed, his hands flying to his face to hide the nuclear blush that had spread down his neck and across his chest. "A—a cat tail butt plug? I can't—that's—that's too much. That's way too much. I haven't even worn a regular butt plug before. I mean, I've thought about it. Obviously. I've thought about lots of things. But I've never actually—I don't even know how to—"
"I can teach you," Theo offered, his voice carrying that warm, helpful tone that somehow made everything sound like a wonderful idea. "I have lots of experience with plugs. I can show you how to put it in, how to wear it, how to make it feel good. It'll be fun. You'll love it. I promise."
Seb made a strangled sound, his hands still covering his face. "This is—you two are—I can't—"
"I think he broke him," Kota said, his voice carrying a mix of amusement and genuine affection. "Look at him. He's completely short-circuited. I can hear the gears grinding from here."
"I am not short-circuiting," Seb managed, his voice muffled behind his hands. "I'm just processing. There's a lot of information. A lot of new information. My brain needs time to catch up."
Theo laughed softly, the sound warm and fond. "Take all the time you need, darling. We're not going anywhere. And when you're ready, we can talk about the tail plug. Or we can talk about makeup. Or we can just talk about how cute you look in that outfit. Whatever you want."
Seb finally lowered his hands, his face still flushed but a small, tentative smile starting to form. "You really think I look cute?"
"I think you look adorable," Theo said. "And I think you're going to look even more adorable when I get my hands on you. Makeup, plugs, everything. You're going to be the prettiest little cat boy in the entire world."
"Pretty boy," Kota agreed. "We'll make sure of it."
Seb felt something warm bloom in his chest. He had been so nervous, so scared that he would mess this up, that he would say the wrong thing or do the wrong thing and they would realize he wasn't worth the effort. But they kept saying these nice things, kept making him feel wanted and cherished and adored. It was overwhelming. It was wonderful. It was everything he had ever wanted.
"So," Theo said, his voice shifting into something more curious, more probing. "I've been thinking about something. You said you've never done anything sexual before. But that's not entirely true, is it? You mentioned something about a professor. What happened with that?"
Seb's blush returned with a vengeance. His hands flew to his face again, his words tumbling out in a nervous rush. "That—that wasn't—I mean, it was just once. And it didn't even really count. I didn't even know what I was doing. I was just—he was my professor and I really wanted a good grade and I thought maybe if I—it was stupid. It was really stupid. I shouldn't have done it."
Kota's voice cut through, sharp and interested. "Wait, hold on. You gave your professor head? For a grade?"
"It was just a blowjob," Seb said, his voice muffled behind his hands. "And it was really quick. Like, really really quick. I didn't even know what I was doing. I just sort of... put my mouth on it and hoped for the best. He said I sucked at it. Like, literally. He told me I was bad at it."
"That's awful," Theo said, genuine sympathy in his voice. "He shouldn't have said that. He should have been grateful you were even trying. What an absolute prick."
"I mean, he wasn't wrong," Seb admitted, his voice small. "I was really bad at it. I didn't know what I was doing. I just kind of... bobbed around and hoped for the best. He probably thought I was a complete idiot."
"Can I ask you something?" Kota said, his voice carrying that curious, probing edge. "Why did you decide to do that? With your professor? I mean, you said it was for a grade, but was there something else? Were you attracted to him? Did you want to?"
Seb was quiet for a long moment, his hands slowly lowering from his face. "I don't know," he admitted. "I think I just... wanted someone to notice me. He was the first person who ever really looked at me, you know? The first person who treated me like I was more than just a nervous, stuttering mess. He made me feel like I mattered. So when he suggested it, I said yes. Even though I knew it was wrong. Even though I knew it wouldn't change anything. I just wanted to be wanted. Even if it was fake."
There was a long silence on the call. Then Theo's voice came through, soft and warm. "Sebastian. Darling. You matter. You matter so much. And we see you. We see all of you. The nervousness, the stuttering, the way you apologize for everything. And we want you anyway. All of it. You don't have to do anything to earn our attention. You already have it."
Seb's throat tightened. His eyes stung with sudden, unexpected tears. "You mean that?" His voice came out small, almost a whisper. "You really mean that?"
"We really mean it," Kota said, his voice carrying that steady, reassuring warmth. "Now stop stalling and tell us the story. I want to hear all the embarrassing details."
Seb laughed, a wet, shaky sound that was half-sob, half-giggle. "Fine. Fine. I'll tell you. But you have to promise not to laugh. And you have to promise not to think less of me."
"Never," Theo said, his voice soft and sincere.
"Cross my heart," Kota added.
Seb took a deep breath, his cheeks still flushed but a small, determined smile on his face. He was trying on the cat ears headband, adjusting them so the perky black triangles sat just right on his messy black hair. "Well... it all started when—"
---
Date: July 30th, 2043, 12:44 AM
Location: Oxford University, Sebastian's Dorm Room
Sebastian stared at his laptop screen with the kind of intense, horrified focus that usually accompanied witnessing a car crash or discovering a cheating partner. The number was there, glowing in harsh black text against the white background of his student portal.
85%. An 85%. He blinked, rubbed his eyes, and looked again.
Still 85%. This wasn't possible. This couldn't be possible.
For the past three years, he had maintained a minimum of 95% in every single class. He was Oxford's golden boy, the student who never stumbled, the academic prodigy who made his professors proud and his peers jealous. And now, in his final year, on what was supposed to be his crowning achievement, he had somehow managed to drop a full ten percent.
His hands were shaking as he clicked on the attached feedback file. The document opened, and Sebastian felt his blood pressure rise with every word. Professor Lanctom's comments were a masterclass in nitpicking, a symphony of petty criticism that seemed designed to find fault where none existed.
"Your argument, while structurally sound, lacks the passionate engagement with the source material that I would expect from a student of your caliber. Your citations are technically correct but feel perfunctory, as if you were checking boxes rather than truly engaging with the scholarly conversation. Your use of semicolons in the third paragraph is inconsistent, and I found your conclusion to be somewhat derivative of your introduction, which suggests a lack of growth in your thinking throughout the essay. Additionally, your bibliography format deviates from the preferred Oxford style guide in three minor but notable ways. While your grammar is generally acceptable, your sentence structure occasionally becomes repetitive, and I would have appreciated more varied vocabulary in your discussion of post-colonial theory. Furthermore, your analysis of the primary text fails to account for the socio-economic context that I specifically emphasized in my lectures, which indicates either a lack of attention in class or a willful disregard for my pedagogical approach. Your overall argument is adequate, but adequate is not what I expect from a student who has the potential to be exceptional. I have attached my detailed line-by-line comments for your review."
Sebastian scrolled down. There were 200 words of this. Two hundred words of absolute, mind-numbing, soul-crushing bullshit. The professor had essentially written a short essay explaining why he didn't like Sebastian's essay. It wasn't about the content. It wasn't about the argument. It was about the semicolons. It was about the bibliography format. It was about some random socio-economic context that Sebastian couldn't even remember the professor mentioning in class.
This is insane. This is actually insane. I spent four weeks on this essay. Four weeks of research, writing, editing, revising. I read thirty-seven sources. I wrote six drafts. I paid for extra editing software. And he's giving me an 85 because my semicolons are inconsistent? He's never liked me. I don't know why, but he's never liked me. Every time I raise my hand in class, he looks at me like I'm a particularly annoying insect. Every time I submit an assignment, he finds something new to criticize. I can't do this. I can't let this stand. I worked too hard for this. I'm going to give him a piece of my mind. I'm going to march into his office and demand an explanation. I'm going to stand up for myself for once in my miserable, pathetic, people-pleasing existence.
He slammed his laptop shut, the sound echoing through the tiny dorm room. He grabbed his jacket, yanked it on with trembling hands, and stormed out of the room with purpose. He was going to do it. He was actually going to confront Professor Lanctom and demand a real explanation for this travesty of a grade.
The walk to the professor's office was short, just a few minutes across the quad, but by the time Sebastian reached the door, his righteous anger had begun to flicker. He raised his hand to knock, but his confidence was already wavering. What if the professor had a good reason? What if there was something actually wrong with his essay that he had missed? What if he was wrong to be angry?
No. No, I'm not wrong. I have to do this. I have to stand up for myself. I can't let people walk all over me forever.
He knocked.
The door swung open, and Sebastian's big tough anger evaporated in an instant. Professor Lanctom was seated at his desk, looking up from a stack of papers with that same stern, unimpressed expression that had haunted Sebastian's nightmares for three years. The professor was thirty-five, but he still had the kind of sharp, angular features that made him look perpetually annoyed with the world. His dark hair was pulled back into a severe bun, so tight it looked like it might be painful, and his wire-rimmed glasses perched on his nose like they were judging everyone in the room. His suit was a crisp, professional gray, the jacket tailored to fit his broad shoulders, and his pants were tight enough to show at the shape of his thighs and the wide curve of his hips. He was objectively attractive in that cold, intimidating way that made Sebastian's mouth go dry and his palms start to sweat.
The professor didn't look up from his grading. He just kept writing, his pen scratching across the paper in steady, rhythmic strokes. "What do you want, Mr. Rupert?"
Sebastian's carefully prepared speech evaporated from his brain. His mouth opened, but only a stutter came out. "I—I—I—Professor Lanctom, I—I—I just—"
"Spit it out, Mr. Rupert. I don't have all night."
Sebastian took a shaky breath, forced himself to calm down, and tried again. "I—I got my grade back. For the final essay. And I—I don't understand why it's so low. I worked really hard on it. I followed all the guidelines. I don't understand the feedback. It seems like you're criticizing things that don't matter, like my semicolons and my bibliography format. Those aren't substantive issues. Those are formatting issues. They shouldn't affect my grade this much."
Professor Lanctom finally looked up from his papers. His cold, dark eyes swept over Sebastian with the same dismissive disinterest he always showed. "All grades are final, Mr. Rupert. My feedback was clear. If you had paid closer attention to my instructions, you would have received a better grade. Now, if you don't have anything else, I have work to do."
Sebastian's heart was pounding. His mouth was dry. His brain was screaming at him to leave, to apologize, to just accept the grade and move on. But something else was screaming louder. The desperation. The frustration. The need to be seen, to matter, to be more than just a nervous, stuttering mess.
"I—I—I'll suck your dick if you increase my grade."
The words came out in a rush, tumbling over each other like they were trying to escape his mouth before he could stop them. Sebastian's face went nuclear red. His hands flew to his mouth. He wanted to die. He wanted to sink into the floor and never be seen again.
Professor Lanctom's pen stopped moving. He looked up from his papers, his expression unreadable. For a long, terrible moment, there was silence. Then he sighed, the sound long and weary, and set his pen down.
"Make it quick, Mr. Rupert. I have other assignments to grade."
Sebastian's brain short-circuited. His mouth opened, but no sound came out. Wait what? He said yes? He actually said yes? I was just—I didn't actually expect—I thought he would yell at me or something. I thought he would tell me to leave and never come back. But he said yes. He actually said yes. What do I do? What do I do now? I've never done this before. I've never even seen a real cock up close. I've watched porn, obviously, everyone has watched porn, but that's different. That's not real. This is real. This is actually happening right now. I need to—I need to—oh god, I'm going to be sick. No, no, I can't be sick. I have to do this. I have to do this or he'll think I'm a liar and he'll give me an even lower grade. I have to—
Professor Lanctom was unbuttoning his fly, his movements efficient and impatient. Sebastian's eyes dropped to the professor's crotch, and his brain short-circuited again. Beneath the crisp gray suit pants, the professor was wearing a pair of skimpy black lace panties. The delicate fabric was stretched across his hips, the edges peeking out from the open fly, and Sebastian could see the faint outline of a small bulge nestled inside. His mouth went dry. His hands started to shake.
What the—he's wearing lace panties. My stern, intimidating, always-professional professor is wearing lace panties. I don't know what I expected, but it wasn't that. Oh god, what if this is a trap? What if he's secretly recording this? What if he's trying to get me expelled? No, no, he wouldn't do that. He said yes. He made the first move. He's clearly done this before. Oh god, he's done this before. How many students has he done this with? How many times has he made this exact bargain? I'm just another desperate student to him. I'm nothing special. I'm just another mouth on his cock.
He dropped to his knees. The floor was hard and cold, but he barely noticed. His hands were shaking so badly he could barely grip the waistband of the lace panties. He pulled them down, revealing Professor Lanctom's small, soft cocklet. It was completely hairless, smooth and pale, nestled against his thigh. Sebastian stared at it, his brain struggling to process the reality of what was happening. He reached out, his fingers trembling, and wrapped his hand around the small length. It was warm and soft, not even slightly hard, and Sebastian felt a fresh wave of panic wash over him.
He leaned in and pressed his lips to the tip of the professor's cocklet. The taste was neutral, not unpleasant, but not exactly exciting either. He started to move his head up and down in what he assumed was the right rhythm, his tongue pressed flat against the underside, his lips sealed tight around the soft length. He sucked. He licked. He tried to do all the things he had seen in the videos.
Nothing happened. The professor's cocklet stayed completely soft in his mouth, limp and unresponsive, like a small, sleeping creature that had no interest in waking up. Sebastian sucked harder. He bobbed faster. He tried to take more into his mouth, his jaw aching from the strain. But it didn't matter. It wasn't working. The professor wasn't responding.
He glanced up, his cheeks flushed, his eyes desperate. Professor Lanctom had returned to his grading. He was making notes on another student's essay, his pen scratching across the paper with steady, unconcerned rhythm. He wasn't even looking at Sebastian. He wasn't even pretending to be interested.
He's not paying attention. He's just letting me do this while he works. I'm literally on my knees in front of him, sucking on his soft, limp cock, and he's grading papers. This is humiliating. This is the most humiliating thing that has ever happened to me. And it's not even working. He's not even hard. What am I doing wrong? Am I doing it wrong? I must be doing it wrong. I'm doing everything wrong. I always do everything wrong.
Eight minutes passed. Eight agonizing minutes of sucking and licking and desperate, increasingly panicked bobbing. Then, finally, the professor let out a small grunt. A weak, barely-there spurt of cum leaked onto Sebastian's tongue. It was thin and watery, barely enough to taste, and the professor's cocklet was still completely soft. He pulled his panties back up, zipped his fly, and returned to his grading without even acknowledging what had just happened.
"You may leave now, Mr. Rupert. Your skills are subpar, much like your essay. But I suppose a bargain is a bargain. I will increase your grade to a 95."
Sebastian scrambled to his feet, his face burning, his mouth still tasting the weak remnants of the professor's release. He mumbled something that might have been "thank you" and fled the office, not stopping until he was safely back in his dorm room with the door locked behind him.
---
Back in the present, Theo giggled from the speaker of Seb's phone, his voice bright and amused. "Oh my god, Sebastian. That's the most tragic blowjob story I've ever heard. Eight minutes on a soft cock while he graded papers?"
"Don't make fun of me," Seb pouted, his face still flushed from the memory. "It was really embarrassing. I felt so pathetic. I couldn't even make him hard. I was literally doing everything I could think of and nothing worked."
Kota laughed, the sound warm and genuine. "Okay, okay, we won't make fun of you. But seriously, Seb, that guy was a complete waste of your time. You deserved better than that. You deserve someone who actually appreciates you."
Seb's cheeks flushed even deeper. "You really think so?"
"I know so," Kota said. "And next time you come over, I'm going to teach you how to service a real cock properly. No more soft, unresponsive professors. I'm going to show you how it's done."
Seb's mouth opened and closed several times, his brain short-circuiting. "I—I—I—"
Seb sputtered, his face burning. "I don't know what you're implying."
"Sure, darling," Theo said, his voice dripping with knowing amusement. "Of course you don't."
Seb excused himself and hurried to the bathroom, the door clicking shut behind him. The call went quiet for a moment, just the faint sound of breathing on both ends. Then Kota spoke up, his voice carrying that amused, knowing edge.
"He definitely went to the bathroom to jerk off, didn't he?"
"Absolutely," Theo agreed, giggling softly. "Poor thing. He's so hopeless and adorable."