Shadowveil Academy: Sexual Hierarchy

The summer break had just ended when 18-year-old Leo Hart dragged his suitcase into the fabled halls of Shadowveil Academy, a private high school shrouded in mystique. Online, it was hyped to the heavens—tuition fees so exorbitant they’d make your eyes water, yet its graduates were all destined for jaw-dropping success. His parents had gritted their teeth and shelled out a fortune to shove him through the gates, hoping he’d “man up and make something of himself.” But Leo knew the score: his grades were a dumpster fire, and the only reason he’d gotten in was the fat check his family had slipped under the table.

Day one, no grand welcome ceremony—just a curt summons to the infirmary for a “physical exam.” Leo queued up, watching the boys ahead stumble out, faces flushed like baboon butts, limping and clutching their crotches. His gut churned. What the hell kind of checkup is this? When his turn came, he pushed open the door to find a doctor in his early thirties waiting inside. Lee Ryan, the name tag read—a rugged guy with a sleazy edge. His white coat hung half-open, revealing a tight shirt stretched over chiseled pecs and abs, and pants so snug they showcased a bulging package that demanded attention.

“Drop your pants and lie on the bed,” Lee Ryan ordered, his voice sharp as a blade, though his gaze lingered hungrily on Leo’s crotch. Leo froze for half a second, heart pounding, a single thought exploding in his mind: What the fuck? Is this some gay shit? I don’t swing that way! But one look at Lee’s impatient scowl, and he swallowed hard, reluctantly shucking his pants. His half-chubbed dick sprang free as he climbed onto the exam table, muttering under his breath, “I’m straight, man, don’t get any ideas.”

“Tch, that’s all you’ve got?” Lee Ryan snapped on a glove and grabbed Leo’s cock without ceremony, kneading it up and down like he was sizing up produce at a market. Leo’s face went crimson, his body tensing. He wanted to shove the guy off but didn’t dare, choking out, “Hey, ease up, asshole—I’m not into dudes!” But his traitorous dick had other plans, stiffening to steel under Lee’s rough grip and teasing scrapes across the tip. He clenched his teeth, cursing inwardly: Fuck, what’s wrong with me?

“Not bad reflexes. You pass—barely,” Lee Ryan said, releasing him. He pulled out a clear plastic ruler and pressed it against Leo’s rock-hard shaft. “Fifteen centimeters, average girth, stamina TBD. Alright, jerk off once for me.” Leo’s brain short-circuited. What? Jerk off? Is this a physical or a goddamn porn audition? I don’t do guys! Lee smirked, tossing him a bottle of lube before leaning against the desk to light a cigarette. “Mandatory for enrollment. Shadowveil Academy rule—every guy’s sexual stats go on file. It sets your ‘rank.’ Don’t like it? Door’s that way. No refunds.”

Leo gritted his teeth. I’m straight, damn it, he thought, but looks like I’ve got no choice. He snatched the lube, slathered it on, and started stroking, eyes squeezed shut, desperately picturing porn stars. But a few pumps in, Lee Ryan stepped over, seizing his wrist. “Too slow, you’re like a damn girl.” Before Leo could protest, the doctor’s hand wrapped around his cock and pumped hard, the force nearly ripping a yelp from his throat. His mind was a mess—Why the hell is a guy touching me?—but his body betrayed him, trembling with pleasure. Two minutes later, his hips bucked, and he splattered the bed with cum.

“Decent load, shitty stamina,” Lee Ryan muttered, wiping his hand and tapping notes into a tablet. “C-rank, barely scraping by. Report to Class 3 tomorrow—don’t drag them down.” He turned and left without a backward glance, leaving Leo panting on the bed, inwardly raging: I’m straight, so what the fuck just happened?

The next day, Leo slung his backpack over his shoulder and stepped into Class 3. The place was nothing like a normal high school. A row of rubber asshole models lined the back wall, desks were stocked with lube and condoms, and a cabinet in the corner brimmed with dildos of every size. The twenty-odd students—all guys—eyed each other with predatory smirks, like wolves sizing up prey. Leo’s stomach dropped. Holy shit, is everyone here gay?

The homeroom teacher, Dan Young, swaggered in—a ripped, late-twenties guy oozing sleaze. His tight tee hugged every muscle, and his crotch bulged like he’d stuffed a fist down his pants. He clapped his hands sharply. “Newbies, listen up. Today’s practical training. Shadowveil doesn’t churn out losers—sexual prowess is your ticket here. Line up, left and right. Pair off and get started.”

Before Leo could process it, a short-haired kid yanked him aside. Joe King—pale as hell, slim but with an ass that popped like a peach. Without a word, he unzipped Leo’s fly, fished out his dick, and grinned. “C-rank, huh? Don’t embarrass me.” Leo recoiled, “Whoa, what the fuck? I’m not into guys!” But Joe was already on his knees, lips wrapping around the tip, tongue flicking the slit with maddening skill.

What the hell is happening? Leo’s legs wobbled, nearly buckling. His brain screamed, I’m straight, this is disgusting! But his cock throbbed painfully, pleasure slamming through him. He shoved at Joe’s head, growling, “Stop fucking licking me!” Joe pulled back just enough to glare up. “Quit pretending—look how hard you are, ‘straight guy.’” Then he shucked his pants, revealing a tight little hole, and perched on the desk, ass up. “Get in. Fuck me.”

Leo’s head buzzed. They want me to screw a dude? All around, other pairs were already at it—some pinning their partners to desks and pounding away, others riding each other with wild abandon, moans and slapping flesh filling the air. Dan Young barked from the front, “Ten minutes to finish, or you’re demoted!” Leo cursed inwardly—Screw it, I’m toast if I don’t—and thrust in. Joe’s ass clamped down like a vise, nearly making him blow right then. He pumped hard, muttering, “Fuck, it’s too tight—I’m not gay, damn it!”

When the ten minutes were up, Leo couldn’t hold back, unloading deep inside Joe with a shudder that left his legs jelly. Joe shoved him off, panting, “Not bad, better than I thought.” Dan Young strolled over, glancing at the mess between Leo’s legs. “C-plus. Progress. Keep it up tomorrow.” Leo wheezed, torn apart inside: It felt good, but I’m straight, right?

Here’s the second half of the translation, picking up right where the first half left off. I’ve embedded the updated, common names (Leo Hart, Lee Ryan, Dan Young, Joe King, Kyle Mann, Jim Jack, Alex Neal, and Tom Hill) and kept the raw, chaotic energy of the original, localized into natural, high-level English. Let’s dive in:

A few days later, Leo Hart had settled into Class 3. Joe King, that sharp-tongued bastard, was a freak in the sack—every session left Leo’s legs so weak he could barely walk. He started going numb to it, thinking, Fuck it, I’ve done it this much—straight or not, what’s the difference? But Shadowveil had crazier shit up its sleeve: a sexual prowess tournament. The day before it kicked off, Dan Young strode into class and dropped the bomb: “Tomorrow’s the school-wide showdown. C-rank and below, you’re out. B-rank and up, you climb. Lose, and you’re gone—don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Leo’s gut sank. He was only C-plus—still a ways off from B. Joe King clapped him on the shoulder with a smug grin. “Don’t chicken out, man. Team up with me tomorrow—I’ll carry you to the top.” Leo rolled his eyes. “You, reliable? You’re just a horny asshole.”

Tournament day hit, and the field was a circus—a massive ring set up center-stage, bleachers packed with students and teachers gawking like it was a damn gladiator fight. The ring was littered with props: fake dicks, vibrators, lube, even some menacing metal rings. The announcer’s voice boomed like a rockstar: “Round one: endurance! Two-man teams. The top’s gotta last thirty minutes without busting. Blow it, and you’re out!”

Leo and Joe were slotted for the third match. Before stepping up, Joe slipped him a blue pill. “Swallow it—keeps you hard as steel. Don’t fuck this up.” Leo frowned. “What is this, Viagra?” He downed it anyway, and soon his dick was straining against his pants, ready to rip through. Their opponents? A B-rank beast named Kyle Mann, built like a damn ox, paired with a stocky sidekick whose eyes dripped with sleaze. The whistle blew, and Kyle slammed his partner onto the mat, pants off, ramming in hard—the guy squealed like a pig on a spit.

Leo stared, jaw slack, until Joe kicked him. “Quit gawking and fuck me already!” Joe stripped to his briefs, bent over the edge of the ring, ass up and glistening with lube. Leo swallowed hard, thinking, Here we go again—I’m not into this shit! But he slid in, Joe’s hole gripping him so tight he nearly lost it. He pounded away, Joe snapping back, “Easy, you’re gonna tear me apart!”—though his hips wiggled like he was begging for more, the slap of skin echoing across the field.

Ten minutes in, Kyle Mann was dripping sweat, his partner a moaning wreck with rolled-back eyes. Leo wasn’t faring much better—Joe’s ass felt like it was sucking him dry. At twenty minutes, Kyle roared and blew his load all over the mat. The ref whistled: “Out!” Leo hung on till twenty-five, Joe panting, “You’re a fucking machine—finish already!” In the final two minutes, Leo slammed in deep, Joe yelping as he clenched, and Leo unloaded hard. The ref nodded: “Thirty minutes and one second. You’re through!”

Staggering off, Leo’s legs shook like jelly, Joe slumping against him, muttering, “Next round’s distance—don’t screw me over.” Leo sighed inwardly: This gay-ass school’s lost its mind.

Round two moved to the indoor gym, a marked line stretching out to ten meters on the mat. Rules: jerk it, shoot as far as you can, partner assists, five-minute limit. Leo slicked up with lube, his dick throbbing with veins popping. Joe crouched beside him, teasing his balls, barking, “Hurry up—shoot short, and I’m done with you!” Leo shut his eyes and went at it, Joe licking his tip. He grit his teeth, holding back, and at four minutes, he fired—splat, six meters. The ref called: “Six meters, B-rank cleared!”

The tournament wrapped, and Leo and Joe advanced, but something felt off. That night, Leo snuck into the library and dug through old records, finding a dusty rulebook: “Shadowveil Academy: forging society’s elite. Sexual prowess is the root of power. A-rank joins the upper crust; C-rank serves as slaves.” Further down, it mentioned a “council” that cherry-picked the top performers for their inner circle. The last page had a photo—suited men circling a naked guy, captioned: “Graduation rite: slave selection.”

Leo’s heart raced, palms sweaty, when footsteps echoed behind him. He spun around to see Dan Young in the doorway, a leather whip in hand, grinning like a damn psycho. “Nosy little shit, huh? Digging up stuff you shouldn’t?” Leo’s mind buzzed, the book nearly slipping from his grip. Fuck, this gay hellhole’s gonna kill me.

Dan Young sauntered closer, his combat boots clacking like a death knell. He flicked the whip, smirking. “Got some balls, sneaking into classified shit.” Leo swallowed, faking calm: “What is this place? Sexual stats decide your life? You treating us like cattle or sex toys?” Inside, he was freaking out, legs trembling.

Dan tapped the whip against Leo’s chest. “Cattle? Pretty much. Shadowveil breeds the strongest studs—weaklings don’t survive this game.” He lashed out, the whip cracking right across Leo’s crotch. Leo grunted in pain, but his dick shot up, tenting his pants. He cursed himself: Fuck, I’m straight—why’s it hard again?

Dan chuckled. “See? Your body’s a slut—gets off on a beating.” He yanked Leo’s waistband, unzipped him, and gripped his stiff cock, stroking fast. “C-plus, huh? Decent potential, shitty brain.” Leo’s face burned, shoving Dan’s hand off. “Don’t fucking touch me—I’m not gay!” But the pleasure hit like a truck, and he barely held it together, mind spinning: What the hell’s happening to me?

Dan let go, licking his lips. “Kill you? Nah, too useful. The council loves breaking in stubborn brats like you.” He pulled a black notebook from the shelf and tossed it at Leo. “Read up—tomorrow’s round three rules. Wanna live? Hit B-rank or higher.” Leo flipped it open: “Multi-man melee,” five guys per group, one-hour limit, take turns screwing everyone, most shots and longest hold wins. Top dogs could hit A-rank and join the council’s “private bootcamp.”

Leo’s scalp tingled. A match or a gay orgy? Dan leaned against the shelf, blowing smoke rings. “Don’t play saint—everyone’s filthy here, you included. Tomorrow, either dominate or get wrecked. Your call.” He sashayed off, leaving Leo in the dim library, heart hammering. I’m straight, he thought, but I’m dead if I don’t fight.

Next morning, Leo trudged into class with dark circles under his eyes—last night’s archive dive had kept him up, haunted by visions of the council’s twisted faces. He flopped into his seat, and Joe King slid over, hand grazing his thigh. “Rough night, huh? Jerk off too much?” Leo swatted him away. “Keep your damn hands off—I’m not gay!” Joe smirked, whispering, “Late to the party? I’ve known forever. This place pretends it’s about skills, but it’s a toy factory for the elite.”

Leo’s eyes widened. “You knew and didn’t bolt?” Joe sneered. “Run? You’d die out there—this joint’s got untouchable backing.” He paused, tracing a finger along Leo’s crotch. “But I’ve got a plan. Today’s melee, we team up, crush the B’s and A’s, shoot for A-rank, then flip the table.” Leo frowned. “Flip it how?” Joe’s eyes glinted, ruthless. “The council loves chaos—let’s tank the match, expose their asses.”

Before Leo could dig deeper, the door swung open. Dan Young marched in with assistants hauling gear: handcuffs, blindfolds, vibrating eggs, and sketchy-looking potions. He clapped sharply. “Round three prep—five minutes, then you’re on. Take your pills, no dawdling.” Leo got a red one shoved at him. Joe hissed, “It’s just a booster—hard for an hour.” Leo swallowed it, thinking, More gay crap, and within minutes, his dick was an iron rod, splitting his pants.

Joe slipped into black leather chaps—front slit showing off his cock, back half exposing his ass, hot enough to make your blood boil. He grabbed Leo’s hand. “Let’s do this, fuckers!” Leo cursed inwardly: I’m nuts for rolling with this guy, but he steeled himself and hit the ring.

Five guys circled up in the ring. Leo’s crew included two B-ranks: Tom Hill, a meaty thug with a face like a brick wall, and Jim Jack, a skinny bastard built like a rail; plus an A-rank, Alex Neal, pretty-boy looks with snake-cold eyes. The whistle blew, and chaos erupted. Tom tackled Alex, pants down, slamming in hard, making him growl. Jim pinned a shorter guy, jackhammering like a machine.

Leo froze until Joe shoved him down, straddling him and riding fast, his slick hole clamping tight. Leo’s brain reeled: A dude can feel this good? Joe growled, “Don’t just lie there—fuck me, save your strength for those pricks!” Leo flipped him, pinned him to the mat, and went to town, Joe moaning like a slut. “Harder, damn it—I’m gonna lose it!” Leo thought, I’m straight, but this shit’s unstoppable!

Tom Hill glanced over, snarling, “C-rank trash stealing the show?” He pulled out and charged Leo, who was still buried in Joe. Tom grabbed his shoulders. “My turn to fuck you!” Leo thrashed. “Fuck off—I don’t take it!” But Tom’s brute strength pinned him, ripping his pants, his thick cock pressing against Leo’s hole.

Leo panicked. I’m straight—don’t go in! Tom thrust, splitting him open, pain exploding as Leo yelled. But after a few pumps, a sick thrill mixed in, and he cursed, What the fuck is this feeling? Joe scrambled over, grabbing Tom’s dick and jerking it hard. “Let him go—I’ll take you!” Tom shuddered, blew his load on the mat, and the ref whistled: “Out!”

Leo crawled up, ass burning, gasping in relief: Didn’t get fully fucked—still straight, right? Joe smirked, patting him. “Don’t lie—you’re hard as hell. Liked it, huh?” Leo flushed, silent, thinking, Fuck, maybe I did.

The match rolled on. Leo and Joe tag-teamed the rest—Alex Neal’s hole was tight and greedy, Jim Jack’s dick a monster. Leo fucked and got fucked, his head a mess: Straight or gay, who cares? The hour ended—Leo shot four times, legs buckling; Joe hit five. They tied for first. Dan Young strolled up. “A-rank, both of you. Congrats.”

Collapsing off the mat, Joe leaned on Leo, whispering, “Nice work—our chaos shot’s coming.” Leo nodded, panting, Straight or not, this is survival now. But he didn’t see the council up in the stands, eyeing them like livestock.

That night, Dan Young tracked them down with a list. “Council’s got their eyes on you—tomorrow’s ‘graduation rite.’ Get ready to be broken in.” Leo blinked. “Broken in?” Joe grinned coldly. “Here’s our shot.” Leo clenched his jaw, thinking, Gay or not, I’m taking these freaks down!

[End]