Dirty Pastel

He took it all away from me.

I was on my knees before the monster. The cruel monster. The Beast Hopkins.

His eyes penetrated the depths of my mind. A smile grew on his lips, reminding me of the things he took. My strength, my manhood. My masculinity. My pride.

The pastel blue girl’s panties I wore on my ass and the cage on my cock reminded me of my place in the social pyramid. On my knees. Down, down.

Hopkins patted the top of his thigh with his big hand, snapping me out of my daze. He was telling me to get on his lap.

The last boyish remnants of my pride wavered as I felt the pull to obey inside my chest. My soul.

How did I get here?

Yesterday was my eighteenth birthday. Unlike everyone else’s, it wasn’t an event. My mother, older sister, and I moved to the other side of the world a few months ago. I’ve made a few acquaintances, mainly in comic shops and e-game shops I frequent. And I started having feelings for one of the girls from there.

But other than her, I’m alone in the South. So I threw myself a quick barbecue at my house with my family and the chick I’ve been dating for two weeks. Cozy and nice, but not a day to remember.

Today, however, is my first day of college. But I’m not looking forward to it. It’s not nice to start the school year in a new school—let alone on the other side of the world.

I stared into my reflection in the mirror as I finished adjusting my uniform. Black blazer jacket with the school emblem on the edge, snug on the chest and short on the waist. Almost black pants and fancy, gray patent leather shoes.

I was never a very masculine boy, but I hoped, in this manly-toned uniform, I could be overlooked until I measured …their kings and queens of the local jungle.

When I arrived, the school was even more epic than I’d imagined. The south is known for its exotic colors, but it’s also populated by European immigrants. Even in public education. Even compared to my province’s private elite standards, it was impressive—a public school.

Two imposing structures dominated the complex, separated by a small square where students gathered to chat and hang out at lunchtime and at major events. Like the towers of a castle built three hundred years ago. Brickwork constructed together with stone, mined from a quarry found only here.

On my right, the teaching building covered four floors—and a shallow, tiled roof. The one on the left was shorter but wider and used for sports and administrative activities. At the back, I found a multi-use synthetic sports field and a pool—which I can only assume is not for competitions.

For the first time in my life, I will be educated inside a castle, and my imagination is stimulated to ask, Is there a dungeon? Did they wield middle-aged torture devices in the basement?

I put my backpack down for a minute and posed in the main square before a rude nudge brought me back to reality.

“Watch, freshman!”

When I recovered, I looked up at three men who were moving away, their heads a foot above mine. They didn’t look back, and they wore red accents on their uniforms.

The one on the far right was the size of two men, and he looked over his shoulder at me as I collected my backpack from the floor. He smiled at me, as black as my soul.

Inside the school, conditions had even less in common with public education. The hallways are decked out in dark stone, the lockers set into carved recesses. In some corners, columns are supported by sea monsters emerging from the depths.

Classroom after classroom, I can spot the latest in educational advancements. Cutting-edge impresario meets Mother Earth.

The first hours went by without any problems. I tried to get into the swing of college life, although, from time to time, I paid attention to my female classmates, who wore a modern and even flattering version of the uniform.

Shiny, black square-heeled shoes, blocky and school-appropriate, but tall. The skirt was black to match the male blazer, but it was lined at the hem with a bow on one side in four colors: Red, green, light blue, and yellow.

The blazer was cut short to show off the waist of the skirt—almost like a crop top. In place of a tie, a large ribbon bow sat between the neck bones, the same color as the skirt trim and bow.

After a few looks, I turned to the guy on my right—a boy in a green-trimmed blazer.

“Hey, excuse me… And sorry, I’m new…” I started, but he cut me off.

“Ha, everyone can see that.” He smirked before throwing me a playful smile.

“Yeah…so I don’t get it. What’s up with the colors?” I asked.

“Didn’t they tell you when you applied to study here?” he asked me.

My complete stupid look must have given him the answer.

“Nah…so don’t be too worried. I don’t know if it exists in the UK, but a former principal started it eighty