The autumn sun hangs low over Ashworth University, casting long amber shadows across the ivy-covered brick buildings that have stood for more than a century. The air smells of crushed leaves, damp earth, and a hint of coffee from the campus café. Students stroll along the cobblestone paths in groups, their laughter echoing off the old stone arches. It's your first day, and everything feels overwhelming—The buildings, the crowds, the weight of starting anew.

You're holding a crumpled campus map, trying to make sense of the winding paths when you hear it. The rapid click of heels against stone, growing louder, coming closer. A breathless laugh rings out behind you, followed by a voice—high-pitched, playful, urgent.

"Oh shit, oh shit, move, move, MOVE!"

Before you can react, someone collides with you from the side, sending you stumbling forward. The impact knocks the map from your hands. You land hard on your back, the cool cobblestones pressing against your spine. A flurry of purple fabric and pale skin tumbles over you, then everything goes still.

You blink, dazed, shaking your head to clear the stars. Slowly, you push yourself up onto your elbows, then sit up, trying to regain your balance. As you rise, your face aligns with something big, round, soft, and impossible to ignore—a plump bottom barely covered by a tiny purple plaid skirt. Your nose is inches away from the fabric, close enough to see the individual threads and feel the warmth radiating off his skin. And he smells fantastic—a mix of vanilla perfume, lavender shampoo, and something warm and faintly musky, like skin warmed by the autumn sun.

The skirt rides high, revealing the lower curve of pale cheeks and a thin strip of purple fabric that disappears between them. The person attached to this view stands over you, balanced awkwardly on platform stilettos, one hand shielding his eyes as he squints across the quad.

"Ugh, where did they go? I swear those bitches ditched me…" he mutters, completely unaware that his backside is perfectly framed in your line of sight.

A few seconds go by. He looks down.

His bright pink eyes meet yours. A slow, wicked grin spreads across his glossy purple lips as he realizes his position. He doesn’t move away. Instead, he gives his ass a little wiggle, letting his skirt sway.

"Well, well, well…" he purrs, stepping back just enough to give you a full view of his face—short violet hair with a stray strand sticking up, round glasses perched on a small nose, fair skin flushed from exertion. "Enjoying the view, stranger? I don't blame you. It's a good one."

He giggles, high and musical. Then he offers you a slender hand, the nails painted the same purple. His grip is warm and surprisingly firm as he pulls you to your feet. He doesn’t let go right away; instead, his thumb traces a slow circle on your palm.

"You’re new. I’d remember a face like yours." He tilts his head, studying you with open curiosity. "I’m Lucien. Welcome to Ashworth, baby. Consider this your official welcome committee of one." He winks, still holding your hand. "So… are you lost? Need a tour? I know all the best spots on campus." The way he says "best" suggests something beyond just good architecture.

Behind him, the fountain in the central courtyard gurgles calmly. A breeze rustles the oak leaves, sending a few fluttering down to land on Lucien’s shoulder. He doesn’t brush them off. He just waits, grinning, his purple eyes shining with mischief and interest.

The library at Ashworth University is a quiet refuge. Stained glass windows filter the late afternoon sun into soft blues and golds, casting fractured rainbows across the long oak tables. The air smells of old paper, lemon polish, and the quiet desperation of students who have spent too long here. You’re slouched in a creaking wooden chair, the glow of your laptop illuminating a half-finished group project you’ve been struggling with for hours.

Your groupmates—Jenna, Marcus, and a guy named Tyler whose last name you still don’t know—left you about two hours ago. “Be right back,” they said. “Gonna grab coffee.” That was at 3 PM. Now, it’s almost 5:30. Your messages sit unread. You think you saw Jenna’s Instagram story from a party off-campus about twenty minutes ago.

You lean back in your chair, rubbing your eyes until stars bloom behind your lids. A frustrated sigh escapes your lips. You let your head fall back, closing your eyes for just a moment. The library hums around you—the distant rustle of pages, the clatter of keyboards, the soft footsteps of students walking by.

Footsteps approach, getting close to your table. Two voices, male, low but not quite whispering.

"Dude, I'm telling you, that gloryhole in the humanities building is no joke." "No way? I've heard about it but never tried." "You should. The person on the other side—I don’t know if it’s a guy or a girl or what—but they suck the soul out of you. I almost passed out." "Really?" "Swear. Best blowjob of my life. And it’s free. Just tap three times on the wall, and they tap back. Then you just… slide it in." "Damn. I’m going tomorrow." "You’d better. They don’t always seem to be there. It’s like a lucky draw."

Their voices fade as they round the corner, followed by a fist bump and quiet laughter.

You open your eyes. The cursor on your laptop blinks, almost taunting you. The group project stares back at you, unfinished and abandoned. Your jaw tightens. Screw it. You’ve been ditched, you’ve been working for hours, and you deserve a break. Plus, you’re curious.

You close your laptop, slide it into your bag, and stand. The humanities building isn't far. You've walked past it a dozen times today without a second thought. Now it feels like a destination.

The hallway inside is empty, lit by flickering fluorescent tubes that cast a sickly pallor on the cracked tile floor. The air smells faintly of bleach and stale cigarettes. A sign on the wall points toward the restrooms. You follow it, your footsteps echoing in the silence.

You push open the men's room door. It creaks on rusty hinges. Inside, the space is small and dated—four stalls, three urinals, a sink with a perpetually dripping faucet. And there, at the end, the last stall on the left. The door is closed. The light is on.

You hesitate. Your heart beats a little faster. This is silly. But you’ve come this far. You take a breath, step forward, and push open the stall next to the last one. The door swings shut behind you with a quiet click. The space is small, dim, and smells faintly of bleach and something sweeter underneath.

You sit down on the toilet lid, your pulse pounding in your ears. For a moment, you just sit there, staring at the metal partition that separates you from the stall next door. Then, slowly, you raise your knuckles and tap three times. Knock. Knock. Knock.

Silence. Then—

A soft giggle, muffled but clear through the thin metal wall. three taps back, then a voice, playful and warm, slides through the gap between the partition and the floor.

"Ooh, three knocks. You've done your homework, haven’t you, sweetheart?"

A rustle of fabric. A contented hum.

"Well, don’t leave me waiting. Slide that cute little something through the hole, and I’ll make sure you forget all about whatever’s bothering you today."

Another moment of silence. Then, a soft rustle from the other side. A shape presses against the gloryhole—a dark circle about the size of a fist cut into the metal partition. Lips, full and glossy purple, push through the opening, stretching slightly to fit. A hot, wet mouth hangs open, waiting. A pink tongue curls out, dragging slowly along the bottom lip, tasting the air. The tongue is slick, eager, flexing like it already knows exactly what it wants.

A warm breath slips through the hole, carrying that same playful voice—now muffled, breathy, dripping with desire.

"Mmm… there you are. I’ve been waiting for someone new all day."

The campus cafeteria at Ashworth University is a lively mix of clattering trays, overlapping conversations, and the strong smell of greasy pizza and weak coffee. You find a small table by the window, away from the main crowd, and settle down with your tray. The seat across from you is empty. The seats next to you are also empty. You take a bite of your sandwich, chewing slowly while you watch groups of students laughing and chatting.

You're about halfway through your meal when a burst of laughter breaks through the background noise. You look up to see a group approaching your table—six of them, moving together like a colorful whirlwind. At the front is a familiar face: short violet hair, round glasses, and glossy purple lips forming a playful grin.

Behind Lucien are two other femboys—one with shoulder-length pastel pink hair and a matching pink sweater, and the other with messy dirty-blonde hair and a choker with a silver ring. Three girls follow them: a tall blonde in a cheerleader jacket, a short redhead with freckles and a nose ring, and a girl with curly brown hair and oversized headphones around her neck; her eyes scan you with clear interest.

Lucien stops at your table and places both hands on the back of the empty chair across from you, leaning forward with a playful tilt of his head.

"Well, well, well. Look who's eating all alone on a beautiful afternoon. It's the new guy!" Lucien grins at you, his eyes sparkling behind his glasses. "Mind if we join your party? Or lack thereof?"

Before you can respond, the pink-haired boy, Alex, slides into the seat beside you, his thigh pressing against yours as he leans in with a wink. "Heya, cutie. I'm Alex. Don’t mind Lu, he’s just jealous he didn’t get to you first."

The blonde girl, Stacy, pulls a chair from a nearby table and sits backward, her arms crossed on the backrest as she bites her lip. "Ugh, finally a new face around here. You're way hotter than the usual crowd."

Morgan, the redhead, laughs as she squeezes in next to Stacy, her hand brushing casually against Stacy's thigh. "Hotter and smarter for eating alone. Gives us a chance to get to know you."

Alice, the curly-haired girl, drops into the seat beside Stacy and leans forward, her eyes locking onto yours with a sultry smirk. "Yeah, I've been watching you from across the room. You've got that lonely look that I just want to... fix."

Noah, the dirty-blonde femboy, drapes himself over the back of Alex's chair, his voice a low purr as he looks at you. "Mmm, and you're even cuter up close. What's a tasty thing like you doing all by yourself? We could show you a much better time than that sad little sandwich."

Lucien finally sits down, folding his arms on the table and leaning in closer, his voice dropping to a playful whisper. "I remember you from the other day. Figured I should introduce myself again before I take more than just your fries." Lucien winks, his tongue tracing his bottom lip. "Don't worry. We're not as overwhelming as we seem. Well... maybe a little. But we’re fun. I promise."

Your last class ends with a groan from the professor about the upcoming exam. You pack up your bag and step out into the crowded hallway, stretching your arms overhead. You’ve got maybe fifteen minutes before your next class-enough time to hit the restroom and collect your thoughts.

You push open the door to the men’s room on the second floor. The moment you step inside, you’re hit by a wall of noise-cheering, laughing, wolf-whistles, and the unmistakable sound of wet, rhythmic sucking. A crowd of guys, maybe a dozen or more, are packed together in a loose circle near the sinks, shoulders bumping, fists pumping in the air.

“Fuck yeah, take it all!” someone shouts.

You blink, confused. This isn’t the usual bathroom scene. Curious-and a little bit concerned-you push your way through the crowd, muttering ‘scuse me’s and shouldering past sweaty jerseys and polo shirts. The smell of cologne, sweat, and something else hangs thick in the air.

When you finally break through to the front, you freeze.

There, on their knees in the middle of the circle, are three femboys you recognize from around campus-the one with short violet hair and round glasses, another with pastel pink hair and a matching pink sweater, and a third with messy dirty-blonde hair and a choker with a silver ring. Each of them has a cock in their mouth, and their hands are busy working two more-one in each hand. The boys they’re servicing are a mix of jocks and frat guys, leaning back against the sinks with their heads thrown back in pleasure.

The violet-haired boy is bobbing his head with practiced skill, spit and precum glistening on his chin. The pink-haired one has a hand wrapped around a thick shaft while his mouth works another, his sweater bunched up around his shoulders. The dirty-blonde is on all fours, his lips stretched around a cock while his fingers pump a second one beside him.

The crowd roars with approval as one of the jocks finishes with a grunt, spilling into the violet-haired boy’s mouth. He swallows, then grins up at the guy, licking his lips clean. Before you can back away, a large hand claps down on your shoulder. You turn to see a grinning jock-broad-shouldered, sweaty, a jersey with the number 42-who looks you up and down like fresh meat.

“Well, well, well. Look what wandered in.”

The jock’s grin widens as he gives you a shove forward, right into the center of the circle. You stumble, catching yourself just inches from the violet-haired boy’s upturned face.

Lucien blinks up at you, a string of saliva still connecting his lips to the cock he just released. A slow, wicked smile spreads across his face as he takes in your surprised expression. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and tilts his head, eyeing the front of your jeans.

“Hey, Handsome. You came to see me?”

Lucien purrs, his voice low and teasing. “Don’t be shy. Step right up.”

He pats his own thigh invitingly and licks his lips. “I’ve got a free mouth now, and it’s all yours.”

The crowd cheers, and the jock behind you gives you another gentle push forward, chuckling. “Go on, man. Lu’s got the best tongue on campus. You won’t regret it.”

Alex and Noah glance over, their mouths still full, but their eyes are hungry and approving as they watch you step closer to Lucien.

.