Yes (Alternate).

You don't want to say it. You really don't even want to THINK about it: you're not gay, after all. But you can't help it; you DO want to touch it, to feel the heat from that throbbing piece of tube steak in your hands ...

On your tongue ...

Christ, where did THAT come from? "I'm not gay," you mutter to yourself, "Not gay ..." But that big cock is sitting there, your professor just waiting for you to ask for it, and you can't resist answering. If you hadn't spent most of the morning up 'til now trying pretty successfully to **** your memories of yesterday out of your mind, you might not have bothered trying. It's a wasted effort, anyway ...

"Yes," you say, trying to look nonchalant with absolutely NO success.

The professor grins. "Well, come on, then."

You walk down to his podium near the classroom whiteboard and reach out for that big, delicious baby-maker, cringing inwardly as you think it. But it IS delicious, and you want nothing more than to reach out and touch ...

He stops you with one outstretched hand, throwing you into a momentary panic. He's not going to stop you when you've gotten so close, is he ...?

But no, he just presses on your shoulders instead. "Why don't you get down where you can get a really good look?"

You drop to your knees, eager to get closer but terrified by your desire. What the hell is happening to you?

"I'm not gay I'm not gay I'm not gay ..."

You reach out for it, running your fingertips along the underside. It twitches and grows, just a little, at your touch.

"So big ..." you finf yourself saying.

He chuckles and ruffles your hair. "That's nothing," he says, "Stroke it a little and you'll see just how big it can get."

You reach out, fascinated, and run your palm up and down its length before wrapping your hand around it and stroking gently. As you do so it does indeed grow, to the point where, though you can still wrap your hand around it, it's a near thing. It seems warmer, somehow, than normal body temperature, and it does throb a little as you stroke and squeeze.

"Oh, that's good," he groans, hands still playing with your hair and really ... kind of interfering with your worsh ... with your enjoying the cock. "Play with my balls a little."

You have no interest in his balls; they aren't the throbbing meat-sword that's still growing in your hand, close enough now that you can smell its musk. But if playing with them will make it keep growing, or even please him enough to let you keep watching and sniffing ... worshipping, you can't deny it any more ... his cock, you'll play along. You reach out with your other hand and cup his balls, stroking them with your thumb.

"Nnnniiiiiice," he groans after a couple of minutes, "You ... you can give it a kiss if you want ..."

"I'm not gay I'm not gay I'm not gay ..."

You may not be gay, but you sure seem to be doing a bang-up job of impersonating a fag. Your much smaller prick, hard already ever since Professor Clark first unveiled the throbbing monster currently overfilling your hand, twitches and jumps excitedly in your jeans, and you can feel the nervous energy of excitement ... SEXUAL excitement ... in your belly and solar plexus. Part of you ... the sane part that doesn't read a word or two on a scrap of paper and develop an instant and all-consuming sexual obsession ... is disgusted and appalled with what you're doing AND with the big, warm, pulsing ... yummy-looking ... rectum wrecker (WHAT?!!? That part of you screams) before you, but that part seems to be shrinking by the minute and is no longer in any way controlling your actions any more. The obsessed piece of you that IS in control ... if the term can even be used any longer ... lowers your lips to his cockhead, once again breathing in that deliciously salty, sweaty musk, and plants a sloppy, half open-lipped kiss on it. Then, in an act of daring that horrifies that tiny, still-sane part of your brain, your tongue darts out between your open lips, its tip lapping up the bitter pre-cum gathered at the tip of Professor Clark's cockhead.

"Ohhhh, YEAH," he groans, panting a bit and squeezing your skull in his hands. He's quiet for a moment, cockhead sliding back and forth between and across your lips. Then he says, "Go ahead and suck it a little, slut. You know you want to."

"I'm not gay I'm not gay I'm not gay ..."