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Chris Donaldson

By: tazemebro



All characters in this story are over the age of 18. 

*

Chris looked at the door to room 119, wondering if his roommate was already in there. No message board on the door yet, nothing but the retro-looking construction-paper nametags taped up by the RA. Should he knock? No, it was his room too, and he was a sophomore, not a nervous freshman. Ok, he was a little nervous. The profile on Facebook had looked intimidating but exciting: a jock type, shaved head according to the more recent pics, in a fraternity, relationship status single. Chris opened the door carefully.

"Hey man, welcome home," said a solid-looking guy standing on tiptoes, hanging a poster. He turned around and smiled, his expression easy-going, open, and very masculine. "I'm Justin."

"Hey, Justin." Chris walked over and shook hands. Firm grip, he thought, of course. Friendly brown eyes. Handsome roundish jock face, a few days' stubble on his face and scalp, cute nose, really white teeth. Justin was wearing a yellow muscle T with "Hanson's CrossFit" on it. His arms were impressive: very muscular, but with a small layer of baby fat that made the muscles rounded and juicy-looking rather than chiseled. He must be about 5'11", Chris thought, a couple inches taller than me. "I'm Chris."

"Good to meet you, bro. I put some stuff on the walls already, I hope you don't mind." Chris looked around at the posters. Mostly MMA-type stuff, with a few of chicks with enormous tits fawning over the fighters. One was of a blonde bending over in cut-offs, head between her legs, pretending to sip from a beer bottle and winking. Is that how she prevents hiccups, Chris wondered. The first floor of Kroetzger Hall was high-ceilinged, and Justin had covered all but a quarter of the ample wall space. "I left you that part by the closets," he grinned.

"Cool, cool."

"Which bunk do you want? I didn't pick yet."

"I don't mind, man, you got a preference?"

"Well, if it's cool with you, I'll take lower. I'll have some real crazy late nights, it'll be a little easier not to wake you if I'm not climbing up when I'm drunk." Justin flashed Chris his friendly grin again.

"Sure, man, that's fine. That mean I get the desk by the window?"

"Yeah, it's all yours." Justin looked pleased at his own generosity, and started arranging weights in his closet. 

"Cool, cool, I'll start getting my stuff."

Straight as straight can be, Chris thought as he went out to his car. On Facebook, he hadn't been able to tell; there was always room for optimism. After only a few minutes with Justin, he had concluded that there was no gay nut to crack, and started trying to wall off his attraction to his new roommate, sustained over the internet for the two months since the university had assigned them to Kroetzger and each other. Just as well, he thought, it would have been messy if he had been persuadable. His dick started to get hard thinking of Justin's muscle T, his manly arms and chest, and the sexy sides of his torso Chris had seen through the long slits in the shirt. Shit. Better get over this fast. He started unloading suitcases and boxes.

Chris had come out to himself during spring quarter of his freshman year. A six-month relationship with a smart, cute, but mousy girl had been going nowhere; he suspected she might be gay too. She hadn't minded when he broke it off, and they were still friends. He had known he was attracted to men since forever, including guys old enough to be his dad, but thought for a while he could soldier on as straight, or at least bi. But after almost a year of college, grappling with the daily battle of keeping his hungry looks at guys' crotches and asses, chests and arms, legs, hands, even sexy feet unnoticed, he was worn out. No more pretending, not to himself.

He had come out to one other person: Pat. She was the thirty-something co-owner of the rifle range where Chris' dad took him most weekends for target practice. Chris' dad was an ex-marine, and a moody, taciturn, but not unkind man. Chris' lack of interest in sports and hunting had been a disappointment, but Chris did show an aptitude for target shooting, and enjoyed it, although not as much as his father. Chris got to know Pat when he would take breaks from the range while his dad was still going at it. She had been unfazed when he told her he was gay: it had been perfect. No "Oh my God! I'm so glad you figured that out"; no "I would never have guessed in a million years"; just "hm. Sure, I can see that. Don't worry about me, I don't give a damn, and neither will anyone else one you're ready to tell them. Might want to wait a while on your dad. You're gonna tell me if you start dating anyone, right?" 

"Yeah," Chris had blushed, pleased that she was both nonplussed and supportive. She was an independent exurban mom of two, and thoughtful. Chris always valued her advice; she was worldly enough to be a good guide, but not so much that he felt like she was a bad influence.

Chris was a good 19-year-old kid -- a smart young man, very strong academically, and a confident person in many respects. In high school, he had been well-liked enough, certainly not picked on with any regularity, and was just now starting to outgrow his adolescent awkwardness into something other people found attractive. He had light blue eyes which shone when he smiled, something he did frequently. His short hair was dark blond, a little bleached from two weeks at the beach; he had grown a beard over the summer, and his facial hair had quite a bit of red in it. He was secretly proud of how full the beard and mustache were, and of how much hair he had on his chest, legs and pubes. Not enough to repel a guy, he hoped, but enough to prove the existence of a nice dose of testosterone that his small dick seemed to contradict. A virgin, he had never had another person confirm that he had a lot less between his legs than average, but he wasn't dumb -- he had seen guys in locker rooms, as well as porn online, and he knew that at four and a half thin inches, he was definitely small. That thought made his erection subside. 

Oh well, he thought for the thousandth time, maybe I'll try one of those penis enlarger kits some day. He blushed at the thought of Justin discovering that particular secret. Maybe he wasn't done growing yet; he could buy one at the end of the school year, if he still hadn't improved. Chris had been very careful not to check out Justin's package during their three-minute encounter, but suspected from the size and meatiness of his roommate's hands that he didn't have anything to be embarrassed about.

Chris heaved three boxes into his arms easily in the late-afternoon September sun, and carried them in the dorm. He was a pretty strong guy for being unathletic; one of his P.E. teachers had quickly figured out that Chris was never going to flourish on the football field or the basketball court, and so he opened the weight room for Chris during the units he taught, allowing Chris to explore on his own. Chris was not nearly as muscled as Justin, but at 5'8" and 145 pounds, was fit and well-proportioned.

Justin was chatting on his cell phone when Chris walked in again.

"Yup, just settling in, bro, you? . . . Nada, nada . . . yeah, I'm going over to the house to shoot some pool after dinner, see ya over there."

Chris wondered which frat; the Facebook profile, strangely, hadn't said. Another level of the "privacy" they were always touting, no doubt. He scanned Justin's closet. No visible letters. It was the kind of thing he didn't want to ask, that Justin would probably assume he already knew. He put the boxes down and eyed Justin's desk. In the upper left corner of the corkboard above it, there was a small card; it looked like an invitation. Probably to last year's pledge night. Sigma Alpha Epsilon. Oh, shit. They were hardcore on this campus. Chris' glance slid over to Justin, who was finishing his call. Justin smiled again.

"One of the brothers. Most of the time I eat at the house, but I got a date tonight." He winked. "You got a girlfriend?"

Damn, that was fast. We've known each other five minutes at most.

"No, man. Got an ex." Justin gave him a commiserating look, and Chris bent down to unpack the first box. On his way, he took in Justin's package, just to see what would be off-limits for the long year ahead. Mesh workout shorts revealed a pretty significant bulge, at least to Chris' quick glance. He quickly focused on Justin's feet. Fuck, they looked like size 12's or even 13.

"Sorry, bro. Bet you fix that in no time. See ya later."

Justin collected his keys and sauntered out. While the front of the shorts had left at least something to the imagination, the back did not -- Justin's ass was magnificent. Big and firm, the fabric stretched tight around each cheek as he took a step forward. Chris was sorry there were only six gluteal flexes to watch before Justin reached the door.

"Later."

Chris sat down on the lower bunk -- Justin's bunk, he quickly realized -- as soon as the door closed. 

Shit. This is going to be fuckin' rough, he thought. This guy is totally hot, a jock, which I love, probably has an even more awesome body than I can tell right now, and he's even friendly. Or seems like it, anyway, SAE doesn't usually take nice guys . . . they seem to be a pretty aggressive, douchey bunch. Hm. Chris' dick was getting hard again as he thought of Justin's meaty ass. He tugged his little member through his cargo shorts. Definitely no bulge in these, he thought wistfully. He closed his eyes, picturing Justin's big arms, his biceps, the strong forearms . . . he rubbed his cock through the shorts.

Fortunately, Justin was audible in the hall before he reentered the room, on his cell again. Chris had time to get up and get his hands back to unpacking, although not time to smooth out his butt print on the uncovered mattress. 

"Yeah, no problem, you caught me right as I was leaving anyways. I was runnin' outta here so fast I forgot to put on real clothes," Justin was laughing into the phone. "You woulda sent me back." Chris surreptitiously watched another grin cover Justin's handsome face. Damn, he was one cute, likeable, dude. "Sure, we're planning our rush stuff too . . . yeah, call me later. Bye."

"That was fast."

"Yeah, man," Justin laughed, "this girl and I are both running around like crazy with rush crap. I even forgot to change my clothes, look at me."

Yup, I'm sure gonna do that, Chris thought, and gave him what he hoped was a "bro-like" appraisal of his workout gear.

"Heh, I bet she'd like it." Too much? Yeah, too much. FUCK! What did I say that for???

"Naw man, she's all girly, she doesn't like going out unless I have a shirt with a collar on it. She hates being more dressed up than I am."

Chris was relieved that Justin hadn't read anything into his comment; his good nature seemed to be more and more genuine.

"Well, sorry about that. I'm gonna finish unpacking and shit."

"Yeah, good deal. I'm gonna chill here for a while, too."

Justin sat at his desk and flipped open his laptop. Chris went back to his car for more boxes, figuring he get it all loaded in first, and then unpack it. He didn't have that much stuff. After his final trip, Justin pulled a glass and a bottle of Knob Creek from his closet shelf. He poured himself what looked like a double; Chris didn't drink the hard stuff much, only beer and sometimes wine. Bourbon seemed unexpectedly sophisticated for a frat jock, he thought. Interesting.

"Sorry man, shoulda asked. You want one?"

"Uh . . . well, maybe. What is it, 5:30?"

Justin looked at his phone. "Yeah, just about. I like a nice one before dinner. A lot of the brothers do. You drink bourbon, right?"

"I guess I have once," Chris smiled.

Justin raised his eyebrows.

"Well then, we're gonna have to get you schooled, young man." Justin fetched another glass and poured a hefty dose into it. "I'm gonna put an ice cube in mine, it's hot out. You want one?"

Chris sipped the Knob Creek. Shit, he thought, this is strong. He wasn't sure if he liked it. "Yeah, I'll take an ice cube or two, please."

Justin laughed good-naturedly. "Here ya go. Don't mind me, I'm just playing C.O.D." He put headphones on and concentrated on the game and his drink. Chris sipped carefully at his, grateful he wasn't being watched, and his timid consumption commented on. He unpacked quickly -- clothes, books, laptop, other electronics, chargers, bedding, a few personal mementoes. He put the picture of his family on his desk at the right angle so that they wouldn't be able to see him on the top bunk when he jacked off. He had already mentally noted Justin's regular dinner absence as a major bonus. As he was making his bed, and when he was sure Justin couldn't possibly see, he tucked a small plastic jar of Vaseline under his pillow. Old-fashioned, he knew, but he liked long sessions, and that shit lasted. Also, it felt great when he slid a finger slicked up with it in his hole as he stroked.

Even though Chris was drinking slowly, by the time he had the basics done, he was pretty lit. Justin, on the other hand, seemed barely affected.

"Cool man, gonna have another. You want one?"

"I'm not done with this one yet," Chris answered sheepishly. 

Justin chuckled. "You'll learn."

Unsure what to do next, and too buzzed to sort his desk and shelves out more thoroughly, Chris took his laptop up on his bunk, and balanced his glass on one of the bedposts. He idly looked through his email, drinking in Justin's muscled back and shoulders. No hair anywhere, Chris thought. I haven't seen his chest yet, though. I bet he shaves it. His legs are pretty hairy, though. The bourbon hit him harder, and he dozed off.

******************

Chris woke with a start to an empty room. Fuck, that drink was strong, he thought. What time is it? He pulled his phone out of his front shorts pocket. It read 8:18. Jesus, I must have passed out. What was IN that fuckin' glass? Damn.

He sat up, groggy. The bourbon was still active in his system -- he wasn't a practiced drinker, and its effects were long-lasting. He slipped off the bunk and landed, stumbling. What the fuck am I doing? First night with a new roommate, I pass out after half a glass of bourbon. Yeah, I'm gonna have a hard time living that one down. He smiled ruefully. Well, at least we've established from the beginning that we inhabit different worlds. Careful management will mean we don't have to intersect too much, and that way what I'm sure will be my constant boners over him shouldn't be too hard to hide. 

Chris adjusted his shorts; he was springing another one just thinking of his roommate, even thinking of avoiding his roommate. He groaned, steadied himself against the bed, and realized he was starving. The food service was already closed, and although it was a Friday night, and a bunch of nearby restaurants would be open, he didn't feel like eating out if he was alone. There were a few people he could call, but he wasn't very close to them, and they had probably already eaten. He silently cursed himself for resisting making any close friends his freshman year, for fear he might reveal too much to them. He had a couple circles he hung out with, but no confidants; they had all formed those bonds with others, perceiving that he was unreachable once you got past a certain level of social intercourse. As in high school, he was liked well enough, but had no best friend, or anyone approaching it. Usually, he thought himself happier this way. Tonight, it was a bummer. He flipped open the take-out catalog that had been in the room, left by the RA no doubt. He ordered a pizza, and surfed the web while he waited. 

Lulled by the security of Justin's after-dinner pool game at the SAE house, which was half a mile away, Chris opened one of his favorite porn sites. He unzipped his pants, and tugged his bikini briefs below his small nuts. His hardon jumped out eagerly. He clicked on a video of a cute white boy sucking an older white guy's huge cock. The boy was on his knees, expertly deep-throating what must have been eight inches. The man was grunting in obvious pleasure, his handsome face contorted, mouth open, eyes closed. The younger man looked up at him admiringly, and bobbed up and down faster . . . and faster . . . The older guy had a chest full of dark curly hair, and looked Greek; the younger guy was smooth and blond, and was REALLY getting into sucking this big dick. Chris started tugging his little dick. No lube yet, pizza would be here before he wanted to shoot. Just enjoy it . . .

As the man got closer, he put his hands gently on the cocksucker's head, pumping, now thrusting into the younger dude's mouth. The sucker obediently held still while the older dude started to thrust more quickly, shallowly, and then . . .

AUGGHHHHH!!!!!

The top came all over the boy's face. The boy smiled up adoringly as the older man rubbed his head in thanks, a big smile on his face. The video ended. None too soon . . . there was a knock on the door.

"Coming!" Chris zipped up and tabbed to the New York Times website.

He opened the door, and an older Hispanic man asked, "Are you Donaldson?"

"Yeah, come on in." Chris pulled out his wallet and paid, took the pizza, and thanked the deliveryman. Too bad he wasn't young and hot, Chris thought. Or at least hot. Older and hot is nice, too, duh! You're dizzy, drunk and confused, just get something in your stomach.

Chris laughed at himself and started in on the pizza. He tabbed back to the porn site and clicked on another video, still of oral sex, this one featuring two young bearded studs. As always, he imagined himself the sucker. He longed to feel the pressure of a cock on his lips for the first time, to feel his mouth slowly and gently penetrated . . . the top would be patient and considerate, asking him if he was ok, telling him what a good job he was doing, slowly upping the tempo while massaging and stroking Chris' head as he sucked. . . no pressure, only joy. Explosions of creamy goodness. Fuuucccccck.

Chris clicked on video after video, and ate half the pizza. He turned away to put the rest in Justin's fridge. If he doesn't mind sharing his liquor, he thought, he won't mind sharing some fridge space. There were only eight bottles of beer inside . . . good, plenty of room. Chris turned back to the laptop, and hit pause. He considered his options. Just about 9:00. He had no idea what Justin's schedule would be; he guessed that his roommate would be out until at least 11, but you never knew. Better safe than sorry. Chris closed the browser on the laptop, picked up a hand towel from the closet, and got into the top bunk fully clothed, pulling the sheet and comforter up after him. Warm, yes, but better safe than sorry. Should he lock the door? No. Too obvious, and potentially even more embarrassing.

He slipped his shorts and underwear down to mid-thigh, and reached up under his head for the Vaseline. He took a little bit out with the index finger of his left hand, put the lid on, and slipped it back into its hiding place. His thin penis was stiff and throbbing. He lubed it up gently and slowly. Ahhhhhhh, that's nice. He stroked it, thinking of Justin's face. No. Think of the dudes you were watching online. There you go. 

Chris settled into a hot first-blowjob fantasy with the hairy Greek porn model he had seen first. Slowing pulling down the Daddy-god's underwear. Sniffing and licking over the whole crotch, nuts and shaft. Smiling shyly up at the swarthy man, who nodded his approval. Then carefully, gently, for the very first time, putting the head of a real man's penis in his actual mouth. Chris rubbed harder. Oh fuuccckk. This is going to be so awesome when I finally do it. Chris fapped harder, still under the covers, and raised his knees up, as if he instinctively knew that someday that would be how he would please a lover. Faster and faster he stroked, picturing . . . 


Chris Donaldson Ch. 02



Room 119/Chris Donaldson 

Chapter 2 

All characters in this story are over the age of 18. Chapter 1 dealt with Chris and his new roommate, Justin, on their first night together. They are both sophomores in college. Chris is out only to an older female friend, and Justin is, to all appearances, straight. Justin has urges, however, and only a few hours after they met, he assaulted his roommate's mouth relentlessly while treating him like a submissive. Chris was humiliated, but also turned on. 

***** 

Chris woke, groggy and with a hardon that felt like it was going to burst. He felt under his pillow for his jar of lube, and ran his hand back and forth over the sheet without finding anything. And then he started to remember . . . his new roommate, Justin, had taken his lube last night, as well as Chris' oral virginity. The memories washed over Chris like the flood of cum escaping from Justin's dick the night before: his attraction to his hot, muscular roommate . . . the drink of bourbon that had nearly incapacitated him . . . the attempt to jack off which had been interrupted by Justin's return. And more memories . . . Justin's friendly smile changing to one of contempt, Justin forcing Chris to suck his dick, the stink of Justin's uncut manhood. And the orders to Chris as he went to bed, with Justin treating him like some kind of slut or servant, who would be called upon in the morning. What was the last thing Justin had said - not to speak unless spoken to? Jesus Christ, who IS this fucking crazy roommate? 

Chris remembered something else, and felt his face with his right hand. Although Justin's slaps had felt like searing brands at the time, there was no pain now. 

I wonder if there's a bruise, Chris thought, panicking. He was alert now, and had to piss like a motherfucker. Justin's regular breathing came up from below. Asleep, Chris thought. Thank God. 

Chris descended from the top bunk carefully and picked up his toiletry bucket and a towel. He grabbed some clean clothes while he was at it. He needed to be alone, to think, to figure out what the hell he was feeling. He added his wallet, keys and cell phone to his bucket, and opened the door as silently as he could. Afraid to look back, he listened for Justin's breathing - no change. Thank God. 

Chris left room 119, shut the door quietly, and nearly ran to the bathroom. He looked at his phone: 7:21. No one else was up yet. Perfect. Time to shower, think this out. Even if Justin came in to take a whizz, Chris would have time to get away if he hurried. As Chris' head cleared, he felt a rush of shame. He couldn't believe he hadn't fought back. Terrified of what he would see, he looked in the mirror. 

"Damn!" Chris was shocked. Not a mark. Not even any redness. He looked exactly like his normal, cute, scruffy, nerdy but fit self. No bruising from the slaps, and no mark of Satan on his forehead reading "Cocksucker", either. 

He put his bucket and clothes on the window sill and used the toilet, relieved. Quick into the shower. No time to waste. He scrubbed his body with an Old Spice body wash (he had been an Axe man in high school to fit in, a habit he quickly dropped at college after his suite mates had made fun of him). He slid a finger up his hole to clean it out, as he did every day . . . why do I do that, he thought. Am I really such a whore that every day I'm trying to be ready for some dick to penetrate me, just in case I meet one? Some big, uncut, veiny dick like Justin's 8-incher? 

STOP. Do NOT think of him. Put his ripe, uncut, incredibly hot penis out of your fucking mind. This is hygiene. And that dick raped your mouth last night, dumbass. 

Chris smiled wryly as he soaped his thin 4.5-inch cock and pubes. He remembered Justin's order not to shoot without permission; he was going to obey this morning, even though he was horny and blue-balled from several vain attempts to cum in the last 24 hours. Not because he wanted to comply, but only because he needed to get out of the damn dorm and get his head together. 

God, this is so fucked up, Chris thought, remembering Justin's sweaty nuts which he had licked so eagerly the night before. This guy is a psychopath, but I'm still turned on by him. 

Enough. Chris shut off the water, dried himself in a few seconds, and dressed. He ran to the sink and brushed his teeth. 

Aha. My jaw aches. What a surprise. 

Still, he was relieved there was no visible evidence of his hard use the night before. Afraid to reenter the room and risk waking Justin, he stashed his toiletry bucket behind a couch in the common area and raced out of the dorm. 

Coffee, he though. Coffee and a bagel sandwich with egg and bacon. 

Half an hour later, his belly full and somewhat calmer, he assessed his situation. Be systematic and objective, he thought. 

Point 1: I'm gay, and I've now had my first sexual experience. 

Point 2: I was forced into it. 

Point 3: Although I was forced, on a lot of levels I really enjoyed it. I discovered I love the scent of my roommate's crotch even when it's sweaty; that the musky taste of what lay under his foreskin was pretty amazing; that I even kissed his ass cheeks with gusto when they were offered; and . . . STOP. Be objective, not fawning. He's hot, but he's bad news. 

Onward. 

Point 4 (and this was the tough one): Did I enjoy being manhandled? Not the face slapping, no. But being forced to my knees? Didn't that give me a boner through my panic and pain? Even though I thought I wanted a gentle introduction to oral sex, didn't I stay hard through getting face fucked? 

Point 5: That was only because you were frustrated, drunk, and horny from having tried to jack off and failed twice. 

Point 6: I wasn't drunk at that point, and doesn't being drunk make it hard to stay hard anyway? 

Point 7: So you want to be a submissive whore? 

Point 8: No! Wait . . . maybe? STFU, I'm trying to make sense of this! 

Impasse. 

He had enjoyed it, and he had not enjoyed it. And somehow, he was going to have to figure that out. Ok, try again. A new tack: he decided to map out pros and cons of staying Justin's roommate, since that was what this was ultimately about. Shit, he hadn't thought to take his backpack with him when he left the room . . . and making notes on his phone wouldn't give him the format he wanted. 

I'm such a dork, he thought. He asked his waiter (handsome, Italian, large feet . . . STOP it, you fucking sex maniac!) for a pen, and drew a line down his napkin. Pluses and minuses to staying in the room. 

Roommate is unbalanced - Minus. He's already indicated he drinks a lot. We've seen where that leads - Minus. He's hot - Plus. He seemed like such a nice guy at first . . . maybe he was just drunk and horny, and he's going to be embarrassed today - Plus? I would like to learn to enjoy bourbon - Plus. He's in a frat, maybe he'll hook me up with one of his brothers - Plus. 

Chris paused. 

He basically told me last night that he wanted to make me his servant. His cock slave. That there were going to be rules. That I would have to address him a certain way. That he would control me in the room - Minus. 

Plus. 

Plus??? 

Are you fucking kidding me? 

And so Chris' mind went back and forth, the caffeine helping him wake up, but not think clearly. He thought of his freshman year. Well-liked, but no true friends. He wanted a bud. He wanted, let's be honest, dick. And last night and this morning he had realized, albeit in awkward circumstances, that it wasn't necessarily just dick he wanted. He had been bowled over by Justin's scent, too, his commanding presence, his ability to take what he wanted. Chris was inexperienced, but had read and seen a fair amount of porn. The BDSM stuff had always seemed frightening, but he had certainly found himself watching a minute or two of a number of rough videos, and then quickly switching to something else. I'm 19, he thought. Time to grow up, yeah? What do I want? What am I afraid of? 

That worked. He knew what he was afraid of - being caught in an abusive situation that he couldn't get out of. He knew what he wanted - Justin's musky dick and nuts, and other parts, but in a nicer way. Having a regular dick to suck in his own room was just as appealing to him as having a cocksucker in the room must have been to Justin . . . but there had to be lines. Rules. And not just Justin's rules. Yes, Chris had submitted, knelt, and begged to jack off, called Justin "Sir". But they were both drunk. Odds are Justin wouldn't remember it all clearly, and even if he did, Chris was not a pushover. As soon as he felt psychologically fortified, he would go back to the room and confront Justin. He was smaller, but he would not let that intimidate him again. In daylight, sober, this would all be different. It had been a bad start to a roommate relationship, but maybe they could salvage it in a way that worked for both of them. Conflict resolution classes had been a requirement during freshman orientation week last year; use those skills! Find a way! You both want there to be some action; Justin also has something to lose since he has a girlfriend, and she won't be impressed with her stud getting sucked by some random guy on the side. Plus, he's certainly not out to anyone in his frat. And SAE is notoriously homophobic, so he won't want that to get out. Yeah, he took those pics of you with his nutt on your face, but you're not unarmed, Chris thought, so just be reasonable and rational, but firm. Forgive and forget; accept Justin's apology; keep your distance, and when the moment arises, assure Justin that you'd be happy to suck his dick again, but when you BOTH want it. And none of this "Sir" bullshit. 

Chris' smallish dick stiffened. 

Are you fucking kidding me? Did calling him Sir make you hard? 

He sprang a full-fledged boner. 

It had. It did. This was not good. 

Thinking of dead cats to try and conceal his erection, Chris got up from the café and headed back to Kroetzger. There's always the RA, he thought. If this conversation goes poorly, make your case to him. 

Are you really going to tell your RA your roommate forced you to suck his dick? Won't he think you're just a wimp? Or making it up? Or just a fag? 

Chris pushed those thoughts aside. One step at a time. Although his emotions were turbulent, he focused on his plan: nip this shit in the bud and don't be a victim. Work it out man to man, and Justin will respect you. That's what his friend Pat would have advised, Chris was sure - she was a tough woman, and would not have let some college roommate walk all over her. Had she even been to college? 

Focus! 

Chris reentered room 119, with as much confidence as he could muster, puffing out his 5'8" 145 lb. body as much as his small frame allowed. 

Justin was not asleep. Justin was standing in the middle of the room, stark naked, scratching his nuts. 

Chris stopped dead. 

"Shut the door." 

Chris shut the door. 

"Justin - " 

"Don't speak unless spoken to, I told you that." 

Chris stammered, "But I need to talk to you, Justin." 

"SIR. It's Sir, you dumb faggot. Now get on your knees, I have a job for you." 

Justin's uncut dick was indeed swelling; half hard, Chris could guess his heartbeat by the way it throbbed rhythmically as it expanded. 

Sweet Jesus, Chris thought, that is one amazing piece of meat. 

"KNEES, BITCH." 

Chris swallowed and remained standing. 

"Listen, Justin, I'm not going to do this." 

Justin approached Chris casually, raising his right arm slowly. Chris flinched visibly, but held his ground. 

"Why are you doing this? You're not a bad guy. We have a whole year together. I can't stay here like this," Chris blurted out. "I'm going to the RA if you keep this up. Just sit down, calm down. I want to talk to you." 

Justin continued to walk slowly towards Chris, a swagger in his step, his arm drawing back slowly. An inch in front of his roommate, Justin stopped, and put his hand lightly on Chris' face, cupping his cheek. Almost gently. A sly smile crept over Justin's face. 

"Didn't you hear what I was saying last night, Chrissy? I've got a plan for you. We're going to have a great time this year, you just need to do what I tell you to. You promised me, remember? I have a commitment." Justin stroked Chris cheek with his thumb. "You wanted it to be easy. I'm not going to hit you, because you told me you'd give it up to me easy. So get on your knees like a good cocksucker, and I'll give you something you'll love." 

Justin's eyes shone with a genuine warmth. 

"I know you loved my dick, Chrissy. Here it is again. Come on, roomie. You know you want it." He stroked Chris' cheek again. His thumb moved over to the shorter guy's lips, and gently traced them back and forth. "Smile, babe. You're getting a present. You should be happy. You probably beat off all summer hoping for a roommate you could suck off. You got one. Don't be a little bitch, go with what you know you want. What you know you deserve. We'll both get what we need." Justin leaned forward until his lips almost touched Chris' eye. He cupped the back of Chris' head, still gentle. 

"Shhh, babe. It's all gonna be ok." 

Chris' dick was hard as a rock. His breathing quickened, his heart skipped two beats. FUCK, FUCK, FUCK, FUCK, NOOOOO. 

Chris tried to pull back, but Justin's hand was insistent. Flailing blindly, Chris pushed him in the chest. Justin stumbled over his desk chair, and Chris grabbed the door handle, every fiber in him tensed and ready. 

"LISTEN to me, Justin." 

Justin recovered his balance, and smiled cockily. His cock swelled again, and was now fully hard. 

"Ok, Chrissy, have your little drama. Tell me what's on your mind, cocksucker." Justin sat in his chair and folded his arms behind his head, his dark, hairy pits now exposed. Chris could smell the rank morning sweat from his place by the door, and his knees buckled. FUCK, FUCK, FUCK, FUCK!! Why do I think this guy is hot?? WHY????? Why am I turned on by his FUCKING body odor?? 

"Listen. Last night was fucked up. I'm not going to be your punching bag for a year. I'm not going to let me treat me like shit. I'm not going to call you Sir. I'm not going to be your slave." 

Slave? Where had that come from? Justin had never said "slave". And Chris was aware that the one thing he *hadn't* just said he wouldn't do was suck his roommate's dick. His enormous, hard-as-a-rock, uncut dick. 

Justin smiled patiently. Go on, he thought. I've heard dudes like you say this for more years than you've known you were gay. They all wind up being my pussyboys in the end. Protest if it makes you feel better, but we both know where you'll wind up. Justin settled into his chair, flexed his arms, and gloried in his power. He was angry and unhappy so much of the time, but not in moments like this. Not when there was new prey to be caught. Not when there was a nice, conventional, put-together guy to subjugate. And this one was his for a year. A whole fucking year, and no one, not in his frat, not in the dorm, not anywhere, ever needed to know how he would get his knob polished at will. And much, much more, after training. This was going to be a very good year. Much better than last year, when his roommate had been an uptight Christian, and not the secretly same-sex-attracted kind. That boy had sure spent a lot of time on his knees, but not in the way Justin wanted. Not in the way he needed. And the constant Christian pop music . . . he had almost died. Thank God for the fraternity, and his buddy the bartender who was lax about carding at the dive way downtown, far off campus. Where he had been last night. 

Chris was still talking. "We need to put that shit last night behind us, and start over." 

Justin cocked his thick eyebrow at the word shit, a move he knew looked sexy and would make Chris slobber again about maligning his bourbon. 

"Ok, poor choice of words," Chris laughed falteringly, "You're not still pissed about what I said last night, are you?" 

Justin didn't move a muscle, knowing he now had his roommate on the defensive. He made his hard dick jump again to remind Chris what this was really about. 

Chris, however, ripped his eyes away from Justin's dick, away from his hairy and powerful legs, and up and over his perfect shaved pecs. To his smoldering brown eyes. Those were dangerous too, so Chris looked slightly over Justin's head. 

"Never mind. We need to move on. I'm willing to write off last night as you being drunk and a mistake. I won't go to the RA this time." 

Justin's faced altered subtly. A corner of his mouth twitched. Chris read it as concern, that he had made an impression. 

"But we can't do that again. Understand? I think you're a great guy," Chris said, trying to positively influence the direction this year-long relationship might take. "But last night was not cool." 

Justin brought his arms down to his lap, and fondled his massive erection. 

"Ok. So it wasn't cool." Justin smiled, he hoped patiently. "What would have made it better for you?" 

That was not a question Chris had been anticipating. 

"Umm . . . what?" His head spun. Try to buy time! "What do you mean?" 

Justin gestured to his own bed. "Sit down. You want to talk, let's talk." 

Chris didn't budge, his hand still on the door handle. 

"Come on, man." Chris blushed inadvertently at the change of address. "Sit down. You can sit on my bed." Justin smiled, pleased as ever at his own generosity. 

Chris relaxed his hold on the door. Justin skinned his foreskin back and forth over his glans a few times, and gestured to his bed. Chris' hardon would not quit, and he was starting to smell Justin's nuts. 

We need to open a window, he thought. Ok. I'll go sit down. 

Chris moved over to the bed, and sat gingerly on the edge. Justin smiled again, and scooted his chair forward. He put a hand on Chris' knee. 

"Babe." 

Chris flinched again. 

"You're a cocksucker." Justin's smile was sincere, almost sympathetic. 

"Chrissy. You know you want this dick. You loved it last night. Didn't you?" 

Chris didn't move. 

Justin's cock twitched again. He slid his hand up Chris' leg. "You gobbled it like you were a starving refugee. You kissed my ass like you were in heaven. You took my cum load all over your face, and you were boned the whole time. And then you begged me to shoot your load, and told me you would be my cock slave." 

Chris opened his mouth to protest, but Justin laid a thick finger over his lips and slid his other hand over Chris' small endowment. 

"So tell me. What would have made it better for you?" 

Chris was almost in tears with horniness and the dark feelings of submissive love that had consumed him as he fell asleep the night before. 

"Being nice," he whispered. 

"Ok. Like how?" 

Kissing me, Chris thought, but didn't dare say it to a straight man. He had seen enough personal ads to know that. 

"Letting me take my time." 

"Take your time going down on me?" 

Chris froze. After last night, could he trust this guy? Still, this was what he wanted, wasn't it? 

He nodded. 

Justin grinned, the way he had grinned when he first saw Chris yesterday. 

"Atta gi. . . boy." 

Chris flushed and tried to pull away at the insult, but Justin moved his hand to the back of Chris' head and pulled him gently toward him. 

"Don't be so sensitive. You wouldn't last a day in the house." 

Chris was flattered at the implication that he could even be considered to join a frat. And yes, this was what he wanted. Almost. But the romance . . . where was the romance? Well, that might come. 

"So show me how you want to take your time sucking my dick. You wanna make love to it, huh?" 

Chris did. He sure as fuck did. And so he pushed Justin's chair back a foot or two, to give himself room to kneel. Justin's dick jumped. Chris took a good, long, joyful look at his handsome roommate's equipment. Took the time to see how the veins wrapped, how the hair grew a little bit up the shaft, how Justin shaved his nuts, and how even erect, there was enough foreskin to cover most of the head. 




Chris Donaldson Ch. 02



First things first. Chris leaned forward and buried his nose in Justin's pubes. They were rank with yesterday's sweat and jizz, and even riper from sleep. Chris was in heaven. Even more than the day before, he marveled at the effect a man's sweaty crotch odor had on his libido. He kissed the pubes and the smelly joint between the thigh and nuts on each side. Then he licked Justin's balls. All over, including underneath. So much sweat, so fucking delicious. Smooth as a baby until you reached the taint, which got hairier again. And even muskier. Chris allowed his tongue to travel an inch toward dangerous territory, and then focused on the nuts again. Justin moaned. 

Resisting the urge to fuck face, Justin contented himself with thwacking his sausage lightly on Chris forehead as he got his nuts bathed. 

After a few minutes, Chris was ready for the main event. He came up for air, and smiled at Justin, taking his shaft in his left hand. He worked up some saliva, and pulled Justin's foreskin all the way back. He slowly took Justin's head in his tight, wet mouth. It swelled up at the suction, and Chris took a few moments to get used to how it filled him up so much that he needed to relax his jaw. And that was just for the head . . . 

Sensing that he had limited stamina given his soreness from the night before, Chris settled on a long stroke that began with Justin's thick cock going as far down his throat as he could take, and ending with his left hand sliding up and pulling the foreskin up around the head . . . then back and forth, back and forth, nice and slow, but steady and firm. Chris was intoxicated by the frat guy's scent, and his own newfound feeling of power at controlling the pace of Justin's pleasure. Justin enjoyed the sensations, happy that he had his roommate back on his knees for the second time in less than 24 hours, and only minutes after he had protested that he didn't want to submit. 

Chris quickened his pace. It dawned on him that he had a new goal - swallowing a load for the first time. He figured as long as he controlled the situation, he could figure out how to take the spew. And Justin had cum very recently - this load was likely to be manageable. 

Justin grunted and gripped Chris' shoulders, resisting the urge to force his head up and down his cock. He knew he was going to blow soon, and his new cocksucker was learning FAST. He had turned the kid's resistance around in record time. This was going to be a fucking AWESOME year. The fag had a lot to learn, but every virgin does, right? And he had a whole year to teach him. 

Chris' head bobbed faster and faster on Justin's girthy dick. He wasn't sure what happened when a guy came - was he supposed to keep going? Stop? How would he deal with the flow of cum? He was too horny to care. Justin's moans seemed to mean he was nearly there. Chris went up and down as fast as he could while still taking the entire length of Justin's penis at each stroke. He knew it must feel fantastic, and also he wanted to breathe in Justin's funk every time his nose got to the bottom and his roommate's sweaty pubic hair. His jaw was nearly giving out when Justin started to groan louder. 

"Oh shit . . . Oh SHIT . . . FUUUUCCCCCKKKK!!" 

What happened next caught Chris totally off guard. He had been expecting a few spurts that would go easily down his throat. Instead, Justin clamped down on Chris' head with his hands and thighs, and his dick swelled thicker than Chris had thought possible. It pulsed and then Chris felt a flood, a fucking FLOOD of cum hit his throat and start to spill out through his mouth and nose. It was so fast and so MUCH. FUUUCKKKK. Justin stifled a yell, and Chris choked. For an instant, he thought he was going to drown with his mouth and nose both blocked with jizz, but Justin released his grip just in time, and Chris gasped and sputtered. Somehow sensing that pulling all the way off Justin's dick would be wrong, Chris widened his mouth enough to breathe, and then clamped his lips back around the head as it spasmed again and again. Justin continued to cum in buckets, and Chris, nascent cocksucking champ, took almost all of it. A bit spilled down his chin, but he swallowed as often as he could, able to taste the creamy, tangy, bleachy load as it went down. He was in heaven, his own small dick straining his shorts. 

Justin's hips finally stopped bucking, and the cum flow slowed to a dribble. One last bead of juice appeared at the tip of his dickhead, which Chris lovingly licked off. Justin sighed. 

"Aw fuck. I knew you weren't new to this." 

Chris cleared his cum-coated throat. "That's only the second time I've ever sucked dick, man." 

Justin cocked his eyebrow again, wanting to correct his roommate's familiarity, and also in disbelief. 

"Don't lie to me." 

"Seriously, man. Last night I was a virgin, and now I've sucked dick twice. Sure, I always wanted to, and I've watched a lot of porn, but you're my first." Chris blushed and looked anxious. 

Aww, thought Justin, he really isn't shitting me. This is perfect. 

"For real?" 

Chris nodded. 

"Then you're a natural." Justin smiled, and Chris simultaneously felt elated and miserable. A natural cocksucker? Sure, that's what he wanted, in a way, but he also wanted to feel respected. Like an artist who was good at his craft, and known for his skill, but not like some cheap slut or submissive. 

Justin slid down in the chair, shoving his meat back in Chris' face. 

"You get all the cum, boy?" 

Chris was overcome by horniness, and his own backed-up state. 

"Yeah. Was that good?" 

"Yup." A warm, if patronizing smile lit Justin's face. "You did good." 

"So can I jack off now?" Chris asked hopefully, humiliated that he was asking permission from his roommate, but afraid to just whip it out and take care of himself. Fuck, was he playing into Justin's hands? He was too desperate to care. 

Justin laughed. 

"You think you earned that, cocksucker?" Chris nodded, turning bright red. This was so fucking degrading, but his hardon would not go away, and he needed to cum more than he ever had in his life. 

"Ok." 

Chris brightened. 

"But just like you got to suck my cock your way, you have to jack yourself my way." 

Chris' face fell. 

"I know you need your special lube to cum, right?" Justin smirked. 

Chris was mortified. He knew he was probably the only person on the whole fucking campus who used Vaseline to masturbate, but it felt sooooo amazing. 

Justin got up and bent over his filing cabinet, showing Chris his meaty ass and hairy crack. Chris caught a musky whiff of Justin's butt as well. Justin turned around with Chris' jar balanced on his palm. 

"Strip." 

Chris complied immediately, his relief in plain sight. He peeled off his t-shirt and shorts, tossed his flips to the side, and ripped off his bikini briefs, exposing his hairy chest and pubes, with his little four-and-a-half inch thin dick sticking out proudly. 

"Kneel." 

Chris got on his knees, looking up expectantly. 

"That is one small dick, boy." 

Chris' face got even redder. 

"Not like mine, huh bitch? How do you feel, having such a small dick?" 

Chris mumbled something unintelligible. 

"What was that, cocksucker?" 

"I'd rather have yours." Justin's thick eyebrow started to rise on his handsome face. " . . . Sir." 

"That's better, boy. So you like my body, faggot?" 

Chris decided to throw his dignity aside and play along. 

"Yes SIR!" 

"What part do you like best?" 

"All of it, SIR!" 

Justin smirked. "I've got great DNA. What part of my DNA do you like best, fag?" 

Chris looked puzzled. 

"Pick one of the letters, cocksucker. DNA." 

Chris was nonplussed. 

"A?" What was this about, he wondered. 

Justin laughed out loud. 

"A it is, butt muncher." He laughed louder. "This is the deal. You want to rub one out of your pathetic little pee-pee, so I'm gonna let you jerk off because you did a good job with my huge dick. I'll even give you a small amount of your favorite lube." 

Chris smiled eagerly. 

"But there's a catch. Three catches, actually." 

Chris looked uncomfortable. 

"First: you only have 60 seconds to cum." Chris started in disappointment, but rallied; he was so horny, he knew he could do it. "Second: you can only use your thumb and forefinger. That's probably how you jack off anyway, right?" 

Chris lowered his eyes. No, he usually used a thumb and *two* fingers, but an explanation was only going to be more humiliating. 

"Third: you have to sniff the part you just picked while you beat off." 

"Huh?" Chris was confused. 

"What happened to Sir, bitch?" 

"Sorry, SIR. What do you mean, SIR?" 

"I mean you have to put your fucking nose in the part of my DNA you just picked. Dick, Nuts or Ass." Chris' heart sank. "You chose 'A' fuckhead. ASS." Justin's laughter echoed in Chris' head. SHIT, SHIT, SHIT, SHIT, SHIT. 

"You ready, Chrissy?" 

Naked, boned and desperate to cum, Chris knew he had no choice. He had kissed Justin's lower cheeks the night before. Hopefully this wouldn't be too much worse, and he had incentive to cum quickly this way anyway, provided he could stay hard. 

"Yes Sir," he said in a low voice. 

"Can't hear you, asswipe." 

"Yes SIR!" 

Laughing, Justin turned around, knelt on the floor and bent over so that his stomach was on his chair, his firm glutes stretched out in front of Chris' anxious face. "Hang on, let me set a timer." He grabbed his phone. "Ok, you ready?" He stuck a finger in the tub of Vaseline, and reached back to dab it on Chris' hard dick. "You have 60 seconds. GO!" 

Chris looked at the muscular ass he had admired so much the day before. Justin spread his legs, and his furry crack came into view. Dark hair ran rampant up and down its length, and thickened around a tight-looking brown pucker. "50 seconds. Better get started." 

Fuck it. Chris leaned forward and sniffed Justin's crack, his hand smoothing and spreading the thick lube around his thin cock. He jacked his little rod like there was no tomorrow. 

"Sniff it, bitch, or I'm gonna turn around and slap your hand off that dick." 

Chris shoved his face up Justin's butt and inhaled. The odor was intense - sweaty, funky, musky, acrid, very masculine and incredibly hot. Within 5 seconds, Chris was hooked. He had never imagined himself willingly sniffing a guy's ass, but he was enjoying the smell so much as he jerked his tiny dick that he inadvertently stuck his tongue out and licked Justin's crack. 

"Aw shit, you little faggot, I got you now." Justin shoved his ass harder into Chris' face. 

Chris had never felt so used and submissive in his life. He had thought that his emotions when sucking cock couldn't be topped, but they were nothing compared to how degraded, and yet totally hot and horned he felt when sniffing and licking Justin's ass. 

Chris' hand moved like lightning, and his orgasm overpowered him. His four incher shot jet after jet of cum, and he was yelling "Yessir! Yessir!" into his roommate's asshole like a man possessed. His orgasm subsiding, he rested his tired head on Justin's upturned ass, reveling in its scent and his connection to its owner. 

Justin laughed again. "25 seconds left, bitch. That might be a record. My ass got you that turned on, huh? You really are a sub. But you're a champ." 

He turned around and smiled at Chris, who collapsed in a damp stupor. "Time to clean up, boy. Look at the mess you made." Chris' load had made several puddles on the dark green carpet. 

Just let me lie here, Chris thought. Lie here covered in your funky scent, my dick spent, emotionally exhausted, in fleeting hog heaven before the shame sets in. Let me enjoy my humiliation at your hands, and the best orgasm I've ever had, without ever having to move on from this moment and try and reconcile it with my real life. 

"Come on." Justin poked Chris' ribs repeatedly with a big, meaty toe. "You don't want to pay a fine at the end of the year because you ruined the carpet, do you?" Justin smirked, his round face settling back into condescension, his eyes hardening slightly. He never like to let his submissives get too comfortable or rest easy. Time to put this little fag to work a bit, show him that his newfound role applied to more than just sex. "I don't have any carpet cleaner, but I bet you do, little roomie." 

Chris sighed. Yes, he did have carpet cleaner. He got up and went to his closet, pulled out a rag and a spot cleaner. He wiped up his cum, blotted the stains, and applied the spot remover. 

Atta girl, Justin thought. You're gonna be an awesome maid before long. 

"Aight, Imma go shower now. Later." Justin grabbed a towel and his toiletry bucket, and strode to the bathroom without doing much to cover his magnificent jock body. Another suitemate was in the common area. He looked up bemusedly. 

"Hey man," Justin called out as he entered the bathroom. What was that dude's name? George? Rob? 

Chris also needed a shower, although he wasn't sure he could ever totally wash Justin's ass scent from his face. Or if he wanted to. He found a towel, and looked around for his bucket. 

Shit. He remembered he had stashed it behind a couch. He walked furtively to the common area, and turned beet red when he saw a guy sitting there. He was exactly in front of where Chris' toiletries were. Shamefacedly, Chris tightened the blue towel around his waist even further, and walked toward his suitemate. 

"Hey man, I'm Chris. 

"Hey. I'm Paul." 

"'Scuse me a sec." Chris had to bend over the back of Paul's seat to get his bucket, getting uncomfortably close. Painfully aware of what he must smell like, he beat a hasty retreat to bathroom and ran into the second shower stall. Paul stared after him, wondering why he had left his shit in the common area. Whatever. 

Chris stayed under the steaming water until it started to get cold, afraid of stepping out and having to see or talk to Justin in the bathroom. Thankfully, Justin didn't dawdle, and left, calling out, "See ya" while Chris washed his face and beard for the seventeenth time, trying to get the ass sweat out of it. Out of the shower, he overdosed on mouthwash, hoping to erase the taste of Justin's cum from his mouth. Even after four rounds, there was still a hot, bitter tickle at the back of his throat. He was going to remember this morning for a long time.



Chris Donaldson Ch. 03



All characters in this story are over the age of 18. Chapters 1 and 2 dealt with Chris and Justin, roommates in their sophomore year in college. Justin is seeking to turn Chris into his compliant live-in sub for the year; Chris is very attracted to Justin, but has mixed feelings about sexual submission. Confused and inexperienced, he has tried to set some parameters. This chapter is long, and there is some violence in it.

*****

"I'm going out for a smoke." Justin left his bourbon on the bar. Knob Creek, one ice cube. "Don't let anyone touch my drink, Jayson." He winked at the bartender. It was an obvious joke - there was only one other patron at Ted's that night. A bit slow for a Wednesday, but not unheard of. 

Jayson grunted. Justin was a good regular, never caused trouble. And you certainly didn't see his type here, ever. College boys didn't come into Ted's. Frat boys didn't come into Ted's. Just hard-drinking men with crappy jobs. Justin's connection here was personal, and Jayson always let him in without making a fuss about his age. Money is money, and Jayson knew a little of the guy's history. Live and let live was his motto, as long as they don't pick fights. Plus, any customer was valuable on a weeknight in this out-of-the-way, seedy watering hole. And Justin stopped in as often as three or four nights a week. 

Justin sauntered into the alley behind the dive bar, lit his cigarette, and crossed his arms for warmth. The late October air was chilly, and he hadn't worn a jacket. He had his own special spot to park his conspicuous Audi that was only a block from Ted's, and a nice homeless guy who for $50 would make sure no one vandalized it. Just a two-minute walk from heated car to heated bar . . . not worth the effort to wrap up. He was buzzed from his third drink. The crisp air and the cig made for the perfect sensation, the perfect mood. For the moment, he was protected, isolated from his cares. His thoughts wandered to his roommate, Chris.

Now there was the perfect bitch boy, he smirked. Yeah, it had been an awkward start. Maybe he had come on too strong, but sure as shit the fag knew what his place was after that first night. There may have been protests, there may have been attempts at negotiation, but the upshot was head whenever he wanted it, a hot tongue on his hole whenever he felt like it, and ongoing maid service, as long as he manipulated the boy right. Carrot and stick. Fist and dick.

Justin inhaled, momentarily content. There hadn't been much fist necessary the last six weeks. Unfortunate, in a way . . . Justin had a lot of anger to unleash these days. Ever since . . . don't think about it man. 

He could always be a bully if he had to be. Right now it seemed ok to be more chill. What was it his grandmother had said about honey, vinegar and flies? Whatever. He was now getting most of his sexual needs met at home without having to resort to violence, or having to look anywhere else. Lately, in fact, he had been getting his feet worshipped as well. Justin smiled slyly. That had been funny. He could have planned it, almost. 

Not one to be attentive to his own mess, Justin had left clothes lying around the small dorm room from the get go. Dirty, clean, they were all the same to him. He figured with the right kind of pressure and incentives, Chris would take care of it. And of course the boy did. Cleaning up the carpet after being allowed to shoot his wad on it had become one of Chris' regular duties. That had quickly and readily spread to other cleaning and tidying - and soon, Chris was doing all the laundry. Except Justin's underwear and socks had come in for special treatment.

He had had his suspicions, and figured he would catch the fag one of these days. Sure enough, one afternoon he had walked in after class to find Chris with his pants down, jerking his 4-and-a-half-inch cock, his nose in one of Justin's socks. Justin was not always clear as to what clothes were clean in the dorm room, so he often wound up wearing his underwear and socks multiple times. Chris was taking advantage of a particularly ripe gym sock. 

Justin's round face had lit up at the sight, his dark brown eyes glazing over with lust. This was a fucking sub to keep. 

"What's up, Chrissy?" he had smirked. Chris had turned bright red, of course. He had stammered some reply. Justin didn't usually listen to the bitch when he was talking.

"So you like my foot stink?" he had asked.

It was only a matter of minutes before he had Chris on his knees massaging, then licking his tired feet. Heaven. That became one more activity to add to the mix. Their regular routine began in the morning. Almost every day, Chris would suck Justin off before they both hit the shower, taking care of his roommate's morning wood. It had started with that first morning together, and after only about a week of being asked, Chris would now get up at 6:50, a few minutes before Justin, and climb out of the top bunk to kneel by the side of Justin's bed and wait patiently for Justin to open his eyes or grunt. If Justin lifted the side of his dark blue comforter, Chris would stick his head under it and find Justin's pulsing, uncut, eight-inch dick, lying on top of his musty pubes. Chris moved quickly or took his time, responding to Justin's verbal direction and hands on his head.

Justin took it as his natural due, enjoying a morning blowjob from his sub. He was never mean or insulting in the morning, just sleepy and half amused that his roommate was so into his pre-shower smell, which to be honest was pretty fuckin' ripe. After a few minutes, or as long as half an hour, depending on Justin's mood, Chris would swallow every drop of Justin's hot, creamy spunk. No complaints, just a pleased smile on the sub's face at receiving such a nice gift in the morning.

Right after he swallowed Justin's load, Chris would always beg, very, very softly, to be allowed to jerk himself off; and every morning, Justin patted him on the head and said no.

"Maybe tonight," was always the answer, and so Chris had to wait patiently for another twelve hours or more. His lube had long ago been confiscated, and he was smitten enough by his hot, muscular roommate not to tempt fate (or a slap) by cumming on his own. He was terrified he would get caught - Justin had an uncanny sense of when Chris was horny, and had texted, called, or even worse, walked in, *right* as Chris was pulling his pants down to fap. So many times, in fact, that Chris had simply given up trying. Justin was pleased by his roommate's resignation and obedience, and had subsequently allowed Chris to shoot a few times a week in the evenings. After all, Justin reasoned, he's a horny fucker too, and as long as I'm getting served and serviced, he can have some rewards. 

Evenings were a different routine. Justin was usually at the fraternity or the dive bar until 10 or 11, but when he got home, he had Chris service his feet, ass, nuts, and dick in whatever combination suited him. Chris would swallow his second load of the day, or sometimes just spend an hour licking Justin's crack and tonguing his hole. What a fuckin' champ. Justin smiled. The boy was still squirrely, but he sure had a taste for all of Justin's smelly parts. And Justin was happy to oblige him. Eventually Justin would cum or get bored. Then he would either instruct Chris to get ready for bed, or slowly and teasingly take Chris' jar of lube out of his locked filing cabinet and lift the lid. Like one of Pavlov's dogs, Chris would sit up on his knees, his boner would get even stiffer, and he would start to whine softly like a little puppy. That was hot. 

Justin would let him jack off, but always with some extra obstacle meant to tease, humiliate, or frustrate Chris. Giving him a limited time to stroke and shoot. Making him jerk for ten seconds and a time and then stop, over and over again, until he was ready to explode. Making him repeat out loud what a lowly cumslut he was as he yanked his dick. Making him shove his ass in the air and his face in one of Justin's rank sneakers while he jacked. One thing had changed - sniffing and rimming Justin's hole had become so addictive to Chris that it was a reward now, not a punishment. If Justin was feeling extremely benevolent, even a little tender toward his roommate, he would let Chris lie on his back on his own bed, squat with one meaty thigh on either side of Chris' head, and lower his hot, funky ass gently onto Chris' face, and let him take his own time enjoying it and jerking himself off. 

Justin had done that a few times now, and the look of lust, worship, and gratitude on Chris' face afterwards had been piercing. So much that the dominant jock had had to look away, and fast. Don't go there, man.

Anyway.

So yeah, he was getting his rocks off more than he ever had. It was good. Very good, even. Chris had learned an awful lot in six weeks.

But man, he wanted that little bitch's cherry. That sweet, perky little ass. He had almost taken it by force a number of times, but had held back, perhaps realizing that the fallout from the damage he could cause if it went poorly might be more than even he, with all his animal charm, could manage.

Justin took a last drag on his cigarette. 

Shit. Take away that scruffy beard, shave his chest and his pubes, and he could be . . . 

No. I'm not going to think about . . . Him. Not now, not in this fucking bar.

Justin walked back inside. He slammed the last of his bourbon. Nodded to Jayson, who brought him another.

"That's a lot for a Wednesday, bro."

Justin grinned, and fist-bumped the bartender.

"You know I can handle it."

"Whatever it takes, man." Jayson walked away to play with his phone. Justin wasn't sure if it was a slight. Wasn't sure if after two years, Jayson had come to realize exactly how Justin had impacted his life.

Fuck it, he keeps the booze coming and doesn't card me. Don't mess it up. Justin stared blankly at his feet. His thoughts returned to Chris. His natural sense of entitlement started to take over. That fuckin' cunt owes me his ass, Justin thought. Maybe I should just fuckin' take it. Justin's dick hardened at the thought of Chris' look of pain at being impaled by his huge, juicy, uncut cock. Just what that fuckin' pussy deserves. I'm a fraternity brother in the hottest house on campus, not some queer. Not some un-athletic submissive faggot like Chrissy. Justin's mood, always on the razor's edge, started to flip. Anger and stress began to surface as Justin swallowed another gulp of Knob Creek. His headed started to pound, his eyes became filmy. He pictured Chris' round, firm, almost-smooth butt, with its pinkish pucker. His mouth tightened.

The object of Justin's thoughts was contemplating a similar prospect: getting fucked for the first time. Things with Justin had been going great, considering how they had started. Chris had found himself slipping naturally and willingly into a submissive role with his roommate, and loved the structure it gave to his day. Eager receptacle of Justin's cum every morning; the quick pantomime of wanting to get off and being denied; yearning for the bigger guy's dick, ass, feet, pits, and chest all day; and then the searing uncertainty of the night's activities, wondering what he'd be ordered to do, and if Justin would let him have his own release. Or if Justin would return too late and too tired to demand service, and Chris would go to bed hungry. 

Chris' days and weeks passed in a blur of desire and a blissful dissonance of sexual satisfaction and frustration. There was no room for anything besides his roommate and his classes - and there was barely room for the latter. If Chris had had friends, they would have missed him, but his shyness and self-imposed isolation during his freshman year meant that no one noticed his obsession.

And now his obsession was with getting fucked. First a finger, gently, firmly, probing with skill. Then another finger. Chris leaned back in his desk chair away from the paper he was writing, raised his legs off the floor and ran a finger over his cotton-covered hole. Closing his eyes, he imagined Justin's thick fingers penetrating his ass, his cute, jock face with its shaved head leering over Chris. Then the lube. Then the main event. They'd be lying on Justin's bed, Justin's powerful arms on either side of Chris' head, the rich scent of rank armpits electrifying the room and sending charges to Chris' small cock. Justin would gently push his dickhead against Chris' hole, slowly, carefully thrusting in. Justin would have amazing control, and surprising tenderness . . . slowly, slowly Chris would take Justin's head in his ass and gasp . . . surprised at the feelings of warmth and how quickly the pain subsided . . . and then Justin would slowly keep moving, lowering his body on top of Chris, pushing his dick deep inside Chris, and then . . . Justin's face would get closer to Chris' . . . so close . . . and as Justin started to gently pump his ass, his lips would meet Chris' for the first time, in a passionate kiss that got more intense as the pumping got deeper and faster . . . 

Chris spun out of his fantasy.

There's no way he would ever kiss me, he thought sadly. I've swallowed 100 loads of cum by now, and I've never even been kissed by the guy, not once. Or any other guy, for that matter.

Chris checked his phone - 9:30, no texts. Justin was probably with his girlfriend again. He spent a lot of time with her, as much as he could spare from the frat, Chris guessed. Three or four nights a week, from what Justin had told him. But she wouldn't give head apparently, not to mention all the other oral worship, and that's evidently what Justin really wanted. Chris didn't dwell on it. Her loss was his gain.

He checked his phone again. 9:31. Fuck. This was going to be one of those long, anxious waits for his roommate. He hoped Justin would come home soon, and maybe, just maybe . . . Chris was sure there was some romance in Justin, somewhere.

Give him time, he thought. He's basically straight, you can't expect too much. You should be grateful you've got such an amazingly hot roommate with a perfect athletic bod to worship whenever you want. Last year you could not have dreamed you'd be getting this much sex. So chill out and give him what he needs. He'll realize what he's got soon enough.

And then what? Chris smiled sardonically. He'll marry me?

Yeah. Right. 

Depressed at his last thought, and bored to boot, Chris decide to take a walk. He put on some jeans and running shoes, and threw on a hoodie. It was cold out. He jogged down the hall, and outside through the parking lot. He glanced up at the security camera, waved for fun, and then loped down to the street. Around the corner, over by the park. Up Cedar St. at a brisk walk. Back into the little-used south entrance of Kroetzger, up three steps to the hall that led to his suite. Dumb that there wasn't a camera at the south door. On a whim, he ran up the three flights of stairs to the top floor of the dorm. Good for his legs. Another brisk walk down the hall . . . he didn't know anyone up here except for the Resident Advisor. Well, he didn't really know the RA, whose name was Mason, either. Only by sight. A very handsome, dark blond, tall, fratty guy. Lacrosse player, probably. Out of Chris' league socially, economically, and certainly sexually; the RA had the same dyed-blonde girl on his arm most times Chris had seen him, like Ken and Barbie. Mason was always friendly in a vaguely patronizing way. Like it was his job (which it was), but Chris suspected he must be a decent guy. Otherwise, how could he have become an RA? He was intimidating, but nice. And the intimidation was probably all in Chris' own head. He strode past Mason's door, head down, averting his eyes from the guys hanging out in the suite. He checked his phone; no texts. Down the north stairs to the first floor, back to 119.

Shit, now what do I do? 

Chris locked the door, and opened his laptop. At a loss and antsy, he went to a hookup site he stubbornly refused to bookmark. It wasn't really him, of course. He had created a profile because you had to, to see who else was out there. But all of these Masters and slaves, Doms and subs, people into all kinds of crazy fetishes . . . they weren't him. They weren't really what Chris was after. He was just . . . curious.

The home page showed that he had a few cruises. Well, that was always flattering. He had posted a few pics of his own worked-out, hairy torso, although to his mind, they were not worth noticing. Other people clearly felt differently. UrMaster wanted to tie him up and put him in a closet for a few hours while he went out with friends. Delete. FFabulous FFun & FFrolic wanted to "explore his hole". Uh huh, I bet. Delete. ChiTown85 had only cruised him; no message.

Chris looked at ChiTown's profile - 27, 6'0", 180, great chest pic with lots of dark hair . . . and hot ass and leg pics, too. Oh shit, he has feet pictures? Hot. And the dick pics . . . holy shit. Uncut, it looked even bigger than Justin. Well, longer anyway. Huge bush, no shaving anywhere. Justin's nuts were always shaved, like his chest. Feeling guilty, Chris tabbed over to his paper on the effects of climate fluctuation on 18th-century French politics . . . and then tabbed back to the hookup site. He "cruised" ChiTown85. Why not? Chris was spoken for, but still horny. And soooo eager for someone to take his anal cherry.

Logic and common sense dictated that despite his fantasies, Justin might not be the best cherry-buster. Even if he wanted to fuck Chris (and Chris was fairly sure he did), and even if he didn't do it like a pile driver, there was still a 99% chance Justin would somehow behave like a total asshole. Make it humiliating enough that Chris wouldn't look back on it with fondness, but with shame. And even though Chris had become adept at submitting himself orally to Justin's whims, he still held onto the faint hope that his anal virginity would be taken a little more kindly than his oral virginity had been.

"Hey." It was a message from ChiTown85.

"Hi," Chris typed back. 

"How's your Wednesday? Been humped on hump day, lol?"

"No, lol."

Lol, lol. What the fuck. It's a sex site, I guess it's not surprising he cuts to the chase. But no, lol, I'm not humping right now, lol, that's why I'm online, lol, you dumb fuck, lol.

"2 bad, bro ;P. I'd like humping u."

"Thanks. Got a pic?"

And now came the interminable pause, of course. Would the guy unlock his private pics? If he did, would they even be pics of his face? Or would he demand, "unlock, boy", and then show his own, which would turn out to be only of his penis, or him in sunglasses on a mountaintop 50 yards from the camera? Or, more likely, fall silent, even after Chris showed his scruffy face? Who knew.

10:22. Is Justin coming back tonight or not? If he comes back after 11:30, it's usually just to crash. We both have to get up early. Him to go to class, me to blow him before he goes. Chris sighed.

"Sure, do you?" Chris swiveled back to his laptop. ChiTown85 wanted a face picture first, it seemed. Chris suddenly felt insecure about his face pics. Sure, most guys liked them enough, but it never led to anything. 

That's because you're devoted to Justin, dumbass.

Yes, but the guys online still disappear sometimes. Was it because he didn't look masculine enough? Or was the scruff the problem? Did they want someone more boyish? Boyish but masculine?

Chris didn't know, but he was desperate to find something to do. He decided to change out his face pics. Shit, I'm even gonna shave first, he thought.

He picked up his toiletry bucket, and a fresh razor as well. Let's do this right. He walked into the bathroom and ran the water in the sink as hot as he could take it. He dipped his washcloth in the steaming stream, and held it to his face. Soaked his short beard. A few quick dabs of shaving cream, and he was on his way. He made quick work of the facial hair he had so carefully grown and trimmed since the end of freshman year. 




Chris Donaldson Ch. 04



Chapters 1, 2 and 3 tell the story of Chris and Justin, roommates in their sophomore year in college. Justin is an athletic frat boy with lots of animal charm, and quickly turns the sexually inexperienced Chris into his live-in submissive. Justin's volatile and violent personality, however, eventually frighten Chris into asking his Resident Advisor for new quarters. Instead of sympathy, Chris receives a severe ass-whipping from his RA. Afraid to return to the room with Justin, Chris manages to find temporary housing with an older female friend; simultaneously, a hookup app leads him to Mark, who provides physical and emotional solace, including Chris' first kiss. 

Halloween was over, but pumpkin cutouts and tattered cotton spider webs still adorned the doors and common areas of Kroetzger. Chris rolled his suitcase down the first-floor hall he hadn't entered for two weeks, a spring in his step. He looked calmer after his sojourn with his friend Pat, but the biggest contributor to his good mood was his date tonight with Mark. They had seen each other four times now. Four times! Each one had been better than the last. It was such a blessing to spend time with someone older. Granted, 27 was not old, but it was a world away from Chris' college-age peers. Mark had a much broader worldview, a more informed perspective. And he was just so damned hot. Muscular pecs with amazing dark hair, solid arms, a hairy belly, and an enormous uncut dick with pubes as dense as a black, hairy rainforest. But the eyes - the eyes would have kept Chris coming back no matter what the rest of him looked like. Warm, ardent, and a brilliant royal blue, shining over a sexy pair of lips, and a manly, trimmed beard. Mmmmm. 

Chris put his key in the door of 119, and opened it confidently, knowing that his jock roommate, Justin, would not be home. They had not seen each other since Justin had punched him repeatedly in the stomach two weeks ago after coming home drunk; they had made up, if you could call it that, by email. Chris had deliberately picked a time to move back in when he knew Justin would be at his frat house - Friday at 6 p.m. That gave him time to unpack the clothes and books he had taken to Pat's house, and get showered and ready for his date with Mark. It had been a pain commuting to school from almost 60 miles away, but necessary. 

Justin had not truly apologized in his emails; far from it. However, he had also not made any references to his head injury, or even to their sexual activities and the Dom/sub dynamic that Justin had forced on Chris from the day they moved in. Well . . . not entirely forced, Chris had to admit. He had been a very willing participant in almost all of it. He was sure that if he didn't have Mark to focus on, he would have been really craving Justin's meaty cock in his mouth, and his delicious musky ass in his face. And his feet. And . . . well, fuck it, Justin was an asshole, but he was still very hot. And Chris had gone from complete sexual inexperience to giving daily blowjobs and all sorts of other twisted shit. If it hadn't been for the violence, it would have been pretty great. Except . . . except he wouldn't have met Mark. Who was sooooo dreamy. 

Chris may have had conflicting urges about submitting to men, but he sure as hell knew he loved to kiss. That was his favorite thing now, and it seemed to be Mark's, too. After their first meeting, they had gotten together for coffee three times, then headed back to Mark's condo for some messing around. Never more than oral yet - at first Chris' ass had been too swollen and bruised for Mark to really feel like he could do more than rub it sympathetically. Even today, if you looked closely, you could still see some fading yellow marks from the RA's razor strop. But also, Chris had carefully managed their time together so he was never there too long before he "had to leave to get back to Pat's" - enough time for some great cocksucking, for sure, but not enough for anything else. He had resisted dinner, too. Tonight would be the first time he'd have a meal with Mark. It was in part a strategy to keep Mark interested, but even more it was shyness, and the small voice deep inside him that didn't believe Mark could be genuinely interested in a short, cute but dorky guy with a small dick and chest stubble. 

Ugh, that stubble. Chris had kept his face clean shaven, but had decided, with Mark's support, that his natural hairy chest was an easier, more comfortable, and all around better choice. It was taking for-fucking-ever to grow in, though. The pubes were coming back too, but Mark had threatened to shave them again once Chris was recovered enough to begin some Dom/sub kinkiness. 

Sounds fun, Chris thought with a smile. He might be a little nervous, but after two weeks he was also incredibly horny to try some of the nasty things he and Mark sexted about, some of which he already knew he liked because he had tried them with Justin. 

And then there was anal sex. Mark was not subtle about reminding Chris how much he wanted to plant his uncut dick in Chris' virgin hole and shove it repeatedly as far in as it could go. 

Chris grimaced involuntarily. Even with someone as nice as Mark, it was going to hurt. A LOT, with a dick that size. And although he wanted it as badly as Mark did, still . . . it was his first time, and he wanted it to be special. Memorable, but in the right way. 

Chris already had his outfit picked out for the dinner date - his one fancy shirt, dark blue with a nice pattern on it, and olive slacks. It looked good with his light brown hair and blue eyes. They were going to an Asian fusion place that Mark loved - not formal, but expensive. Mark's treat, obviously; Chris was a student, and his boyfriend . . . could he call him that? . . . was in advertising. 

Dinner was early, at 7:30 - and in the city, too. Better hurry. There was one piece of extra business to attend to. Chris pulled a small package out of his backpack - a Fleet enema. Just in case. Doing this in a dorm wasn't ideal, which was why it was so important that Justin not be there. He would have to take it up his ass and hold it in his room, and then speed walk to the bathroom. Administering it in the shower, or in the stall, was ill-advised due to the risk of discovery. And he couldn't have done it this morning, because its . . . practical effect . . . would have been over by the time it would have been useful. 

The things we do for the merest hint of possible sex, he thought. Christ, I can't wait until I have my own place. 

Chris accomplished his mission without leaving a trail of spots on the carpet from his room to the toilet. Well done, you, he thought. You're a champ. 

Fuck, that's what Justin had called him, when he had been feeling friendly. 

Well, you're going a great job, kiddo. Chris smiled. That's what Mark called him sometimes. 

Into the Jeep, heat on high against the November cold; drive, park, enter the restaurant. 

And there was Mark, waiting for him. Impeccable in a trendy blue suit that matched his eyes. They kissed hello. 

"You look great, kiddo," Mark smiled. 

"Thanks, you too . . . Sir." Chris whispered the last word, feeling daring. Saying it gave him a hard-on. 

Mark's eyes lit up. This little fucker was so damned cute. And the kinky depths that lay within . . . Mark could only imagine. He sprang his own boner, and walked to the table awkwardly, having a lot more to conceal than Chris. 

Dinner was a dream. Great food, and the waiter benevolently didn't ask Chris for ID before bringing him a Manhattan. Chris had always wanted to try one, and had been trained a bit by shots of Justin's Knob Creek, of which there was always a steady supply in their room. 

"Do you want dessert," Mark asked? 

"I've eaten enough to feed a terracotta army." 

Mark rolled his eyes, but kindly. Chris was a history major, and his attempts at humor were so endearing. He made jokes a man three times his age might have found funny. 

"Me too. Let's take a walk." 

"Ok," Chris agreed, buzzed from the bourbon, and eager to be alone with his older, studly . . . not quite boyfriend. 

Mark paid the bill and they collected their coats. 

"This way." Mark pulled Chris' arm into the crook of his own, and steered them past brownstones and storefronts. 

"Where are we going?" 

"You'll see, boy." 

Chris immediately popped a woody at the magic word. It was interesting how Justin's use of the word "boy" and Mark's differed; they both made Chris hard, but he felt no apprehension when Mark said it, only delighted anticipation. When Justin said it . . . shit, when Justin said anything . . . he always felt an undercurrent of fear. 

You miss that fear, a drunken and wildly inappropriate inner voice said to Chris. 

Fuck you, I don't miss it at ALL! That was some bad shit. 

You thought it was hot most of the time. 

I didn't know any better. Imagine doing the same things with Mark, who actually likes me. 

Well, can't argue with that . . . if it happens. Chris inner doubter retreated for the moment, leaving a charming trail of low-grade anxiety behind him. 

They were passing yet another restaurant Mark loved. He was very into food, although you couldn't tell it by looking at him. He didn't have a 6-pack, but he sure wasn't overweight. Chris didn't find the subject all that interesting, and wondered where they were going. He had GPS'ed his way to the Asian place, and didn't have much context for where they were in the city. Mark continued to steer him . . . straight for many blocks, a turn here and there . . . their arms remained linked, and Chris felt wonderfully at peace with this man. With this man who knew where the fuck he was, and who apparently had some kind of plan that involved walking for nearly 20 minutes now in dress shoes. Our socks are probably really ripe by now, Chris thought idly. 

". . . and this place is a total dive, but they have the best curry in the city. We take clients here all the time." 

"Where are we going," Chris asked again plaintively. 

"We're here." 

Chris looked up quizzically. He laughed. They were in front of Mark's condo. 

"But I left my car back at the restaurant!" 

"You can get it later, boy," Mark growled. "Care to come up?" 

"Yes SIR!" 

"The elevator is broken, I'm sorry, boy." 

Chris practically galloped up the stairs. Mark followed, happy to gaze at Chris' round glutes flexing in his slacks. In fact, the elevator was working just fine, but Mark had wanted a view, and for them both to continue working up a sweat, in case the half-hour walk hadn't been enough. Chris was not the only one who was aware of the potential effect of their exercise on their feet. And other parts. 

Mark paused before the door. 

"Thanks for coming to dinner with me, Chris." 

"Of course, Sir! It was great." Chris was confused. Was this the end of their date? 

"If you come in now, you're going to be following my orders until you leave. Is that understood?" 

FUCK. Chris wanted to cum in his pants right then. Fuck YEAH it was understood. The walk had invigorated and energized him, but not sobered him up; the Manhattans had done their work. Again his mind flashed momentarily to Justin, and was struck by the difference that trust made in this kind of situation. Chris was eager to serve Mark, to do his bidding, to follow his orders, because he knew deep down that Mark would take care of him, like he had the first time they had met. Shit, he was ready for almost anything. If Mark had wanted to fist him in the foyer, he would have seriously considered it. 

"Yes SIR!" 

Mark smiled. "Good boy." 

They walked into Mark's condo. 

Chris was made to strip just inside the door, and he humbly followed his older stud into the living room. Mark turned the gas fireplace on, and sat on the leather couch. He pointed at his feet. 

Taking the cue, Chris knelt in front of him, and carefully removed his expensive shoes. He sniffed the insides of each one deeply. Leather and foot sweat. Fucking heaven. He took turns massaging each foot and sniffing the toes, the balls of the feet, and the heels. Interesting. Justin's hottest sweat smell accumulated between the balls of his feet and his toes. On Mark, the smell that made Chris the hardest was at the heel. He spent extra time running his tongue over that spot, slurping all the juice he could from Mark's socks, and then from his bare feet. 

Mark purred and moaned with pleasure, and eventually raised his naked boy so he was kneeling on the couch. Mark kissed his boy passionately. This was new for Chris - he had never worshipped Mark's feet before, and hadn't expected that Mark would want to kiss him afterward. Justin certainly would never have kissed Chris after he had worshipped any of the jock's stink. 

Well, Justin would never have kissed Chris anyway, so that was hardly a distinction. 

Mark toyed with Chris' small cock. Chris grunted. Then he gasped - Mark had squeezed his balls. Justin did that too, but kissing your Dom at the same time really made a difference. It became so much hotter. 

Mark slid his hands under Chris' armpits and lifted him to his feet. 

"Take my clothes off, boy." 

Chris complied, first removing Mark's jacket, and then his tie. He unbuttoned the expensive dress shirt, and pulled it off. Then the pants. Mark's feet were already bare. Chris removed Mark's t-shirt, taking advantage of his raised arms to put his nose in his armpits. 

"I didn't wear deodorant today, boy. For you." 

Chris humped Mark's leg in gratitude as he buried his face in Mark's hairy pit. Equal attention to both sides, that was key. By the time Chris was done, there was no more sweat left in the dense hair - it had all been licked out. 

Finally Mark's boxer briefs. There was a healthy scent rising from these too, and when Chris released his Dom's equipment, a heady odor of crotch sweat filled the room. 

"Get it nice and wet, boy." Chris happily obeyed, wasting little time on licking the shaft, but moistening his mouth and going down right away. He swallowed the 9-inch dick to the hilt on the fifth try. He had learned to relax his throat with Justin. The training had paid off - he barely gagged on Mark's hard, throbbing cock. Chris pulled the foreskin back and took a few moments to enjoy the taste of the head. Then he went back to deep-throating his Dom's meat. 

Mark groaned. He grabbed Chris' head and pumped a few times, then pulled out. 

"Come with me." He took Chris by the arm and led him to the bedroom. He sat down on the edge of the bed, and pulled Chris to his side. 

"You realize you've been very bad, young man." 

Chris momentarily felt queasy. Mason had called him 'young man' as he whipped him with a belt. He wanted to take anything Mark wanted to dish out, but finally began to be afraid. His introduction to spanking had been harsh, to say the least. 

"Yes Sir." 

Even though they had only met four times, Mark immediately sensed Chris' fear. He made a mental adjustment; his end game was the same, but he could change the route to it. 

"And you know what happens to very bad boys, don't you boy?" 

Chris felt the familiar hand on his jaw. All the guys he had been with had grabbed his face like that. He followed the motion without resisting. But this time, the eyes he was forced to look at were amused and benevolent, as well as horny. 

"They get a finger up their butt." 

Chris' four-and-a-half inch dick sprang up again. Oh man, he had really wanted this. He had even prepped for it. Mark leapt off the bed, grabbed Chris by the waist, lifted him up, and gently tossed him down to the bed so that he was lying on his stomach. Mark reached into the nightstand for lube. 

"You may feel a slight pinch." 

Chris almost giggled with relief. This was going to be fun. 

Mark slapped Chris' knees gently, and the boy opened his legs, obediently arching his back a bit to stick his butt up. 

Admiring the view, Mark grabbed a small bottle of lube from the nightstand, and began massaging Chris' pink, still pretty hairless pucker. He lubed it until it was nice and slippery, and then began teasing the boy with a finger, gently probing, not too far, not even past the sphincter, just around the edge. Soon Chris was moaning and panting like a bitch in a porn video. He began bucking his hips in little thrusts, so horny for a finger besides his own in his ass. Finally, it slid in. It was a wonderful feeling, and Mark's cock started to bounce up and down as he contemplated what was to come. 

Never stopping his motion, Chris impaled himself on Mark's middle finger, so horny he was doing most of the work. Mark smiled in approval. 

"Good boy," he growled. He poured more lube on Chris' hole, and started working a second finger in. 

"Oooooo," Chris groaned. This was definitely more of a challenge. He stopped bucking and relaxed his sphincter, like he'd read about online. Mark took the hint and slowly pushed both fingers all the way in, then stopped. He leaned forward to lie close to Chris, and tousled his head with his free hand; Chris tilted his face to the left, and Mark kissed his urgent lips. Chris put his arm around his new Dom and kneaded his muscles, his eyes closed in lust. Mark started moving his fingers in and out of Chris' hole, in and out. Chris discovered the aching feeling of going from a stretched pussy to an empty one for the first time . . . fuck, he wanted Mark back in him. He pushed back on Mark's hand again, and the older man slipped a third finger in. 

"Oh fucckkk." 

Again Mark stopped when he was in all the way, and waited patiently for Chris to catch up. When the urgency returned to his kisses, he moved his fingers back and forth, in and out, stretching Chris' virgin hole to be able to accommodate what was truly an enormous dick for anyone; for a first fuck, it was pretty intimidating. 

Plop. Mark vacated Chris hole and wiped his hands on a towel. 

"Awww," Chris pouted. "I liked that." 

"You're going to like this even better, boy." Mark rolled Chris over onto his back, raised his legs, and put a towel under his hot, round ass, and now very pink hole. This one is going to want eye contact, he guessed. And I do too, he added as an afterthought. 

He poured a generous amount of lube on his rock-hard, 9-inch, uncut dick, and jacked it a few times. 

Chris' eyes widened. This was it. The moment. They had been sexting so frequently that they had already had plenty of conversations about whether to fuck protected or not; they both felt very comfortable that they didn't need to be using a condom. Chris held his breath in anticipation. 

Mark leaned over him and kissed his mouth again, gently, sweetly. He whispered in Chris' ear. 

"I'm going to fuck you now, boy. I'm going to fuck you like you've been wanting to get fucked for months. I'm going to stick my big dick in your hole and own it, and you're gonna fuckin' love it, boy." 

Chris was so turned on he was afraid he would explode without touching himself. 

"Yes, SIR!" he moaned. 

Mark put his dick firmly on Chris' hole and kissed him again, hard and passionately. Chris raised his legs above his head, so eager to have his man inside him. This was the pinnacle, the event he'd been fantasizing about. He felt Mark's stiff cockhead move forward a centimeter. He willed his hole to stretch, and he concentrated on relaxing. Again a small poke; again relaxing. 

Mark's brow furrowed as he exercised maximum control. Bit by bit, he slid his head into Chris, never pulling back, but moving excruciatingly slowly, working with his boy, feeling him respond. Chris screwed his face up in pain at the thickest part of Mark's dickhead, and Mark pushed gently forward until the flare was past the boy's sphincter. 




Chris Donaldson Ch. 04



"UGGGHHH!" Chris yelled. "FUCK!" 

"Shhhh. It's ok, boy. You're doing great. That's the head." 

"Aw fuck, I thought it was at least half." 

Mark chuckled. "No boy. Just relax. We'll stay here for a minute." He kissed Chris again. 

Chris breathed deeply a few times, adjusting. It started to feel good. Very good. He smiled shyly. 

Mark smiled back and started pushing in again, slowly, slowly. He knew from experience that the swell up to the middle of his 9-incher was the hardest part. The rest would be cake. 

Chris felt his asshole slowly expanding, farther and farther. There were several points at which he thought he wasn't going to make it, but Mark always stopped, kissed him, murmured encouragingly in his ear. They got to the thickest part of Mark's shaft, and when Chris begged him to stop, Mark ignored him and pushed just a little further, so that Chris' ass muscles could start to contract a little bit once he was over what Mark called his "speed hump". 

Chris' relief that his ass ring wasn't being stretched any further was tested by a new sensation - a big uncut dick poking at the top of his rectum. Oooh. Ouch. Mark was moving a little faster now that the worst part was over. Chris was no anatomy expert, but he had the feeling his Dom's dick was entering his colon, rounding the corner . . . except the enormous sausage wasn't bending, but rather straightening out Chris' insides. It was an intense and very strange feeling, but also very sexy and hot. Chris grabbed his thighs and pulled them back, making sure Mark had the most complete access possible. Mark responded by pushing his last inch in with a grunt. 

"Finally." 

"Is it all in?" 

"Every inch, boy." Mark exhaled triumphantly. He had been salivating about this 19-year-old ass for weeks. Now, at last, he was in it. All in. The first man ever to penetrate this boy. He looked down at Chris' cute face, and moaned with lust. 

"Keep relaxing, boy. Now's the fun part." Especially for me. 

Slowly, firmly, inexorably, Mark started to pull out. Just a bit at first, then back in. Get him used to movement before you start really fucking him. Sweat dripped off his chest and arms onto Chris, who loved it. 

"Fuck me, Sir! I love your dick, Sir!" 

You got it, boy. Mark gradually increased the tempo and the length of his thrusts. Soon he was drawing back past the thick part of his manmeat, Chris bravely trying to keep up. A couple minutes of that and Mark felt the boy's heels start to dig into his back and butt, pulling him in. 

"Atta boy. You're a fucking stud boy." 

"Kiss me, Sir." 

Mark obliged, thrusting harder and harder. They both wanted it to last forever, and thanks to Mark's incredible control, they got damned close to their wish. Mark allowed himself to gloat a bit. If you put in the time on the front end, the back end keeps on giving, as it were. Now they were really going at it. Mark gripped Chris tight in his arms, and fucked him in quick, short thrusts. Then he propped himself up on his arms again, and pulled all the way out until just his head was in his boy. Chris gasped, then cried out in ecstasy as it all got pushed back in. 

Mark long-dicked his sub as long as he could. This was fucking incredible. He had planned on introducing Chris tonight to every position he knew, but he couldn't hold out much longer. The steady, long thrusts were taking him to the very brink. 

"Play with your dick, boy." 

Chris' little member was already hard, and he knew it wouldn't take long. 

"Yes Sir!" He spat on his hand and started to rub. He was so hot and horny he didn't even miss the thick, sticky caress of his favorite Vaseline. "Aw, fuck, FUCKKK! I'm close, Sir!" 

"Don't you dare shoot before me, boy," Mark growled. 

Chris took his hand off his dick. 

"Rub your dick, boy, I didn't tell you to stop." Mark kept thrusting, the look of confusion, desperation, and panic on the poor boy's face pushing him to the point of no return. 

"AAAAGGGHHHHH!!" 

Mark slammed in to the hilt and shot burst after burst of hot, creamy juice deep into Chris. Chris cried out at the pain of the final thrust, but also in relief at hearing his Dom's orgasm, because his hand brought him over the edge immediately after. 

"UNNGGHH!! UNNGGHH!! UNNGGHHHH!!" 

Mark had three or four more shots left. It had been a long time since he had produced that kind of load. Wiped out, he collapsed on top of Chris, who was covered in his own jizz and letting his legs down, suddenly aware they had been starting to cramp. 

"Oh my God." Chris had fantasized about this moment for what seemed like his whole life. He clutched Mark's short, dark, wavy hair, and held the man's head to his chest. Tonight had met and exceeded all of Chris' expectations and hopes. Thank God he had waited. This was perfect. So fucking perfect. He felt Mark's lips nuzzle his neck. Damn. So hot. 

Mark looked down at Chris' chest. 

"Shit, that was an impressive load, boy." 

"Thanks." 

Mark picked his head up and looked at Chris sternly. 

"Thanks?" 

Chris blushed. "Thank you, Sir." All of a sudden he felt divinely submissive. Submission after orgasm didn't always come naturally, but with Mark it felt so right. It all just felt so right. 

"Better, boy. Ok, try and stay relaxed. This is going to hurt a little." 

Mark pulled out steadily; to Chris, it felt like a train exiting his ass. "Ow!" 

"Shhh. Almost out." Mark's big dick, only slightly softened, plopped out of Chris' hole. After a few seconds, white creamy goo started to spill out. 

"I hope I made you pregnant, boy," Mark smiled. 

Chris laughed. "That would be an honor, Sir." 

"Stay there." Mark made quick work of cleaning up. He brought a hot wet washcloth from the bathroom and wiped up Chris' hole and chest, as well as his own dick. Chris lay on the bed, transcended. He felt so lucky. Mark lay down next to him and spooned him up in his arms. 

"How are you feeling, boy?" 

"Amazing, Sir." 

"Good." Mark squeezed him, and congratulated himself on providing the young guy with a great first time. "You were a rock star, boy. You took all of it, your first time. That's no small feat." 

"Aww. You made it easy, Sir." Chris yawned. Mark laughed. "Bored already?" 

"No, no Sir! Just sleepy." 

And now came the real moment of truth, in Mark's mind. Was he going to let Chris sleep over? Assuming the boy wanted to, of course. 

Emotions flood in after a man cums. There were many voices in Mark's head right now, and they gave him different advice. He looked at Chris' sweet, innocent face. 

Aw, let him stay. 

"If you're sleepy, we better get you in your jammies, boy." 

"Oh?" Chris had always wanted to sleep over with a man, and he had been hoping beyond hope that he wouldn't have to leave the bed on which he had left his virginity before he was ready. "Should I stay?" 

"If you want to, boy. I don't want you driving when you're falling asleep." 

Chris' face fell slightly, and Mark felt bad. 

"And I'd like you to stay, if you want to." 

The pleasure on Chris' face was almost humbling. 

"I'll get you something to sleep in. Unless you usually sleep in the buff?" 

Chris blushed again. "No, I get cold. Boxers and a t-shirt would be perfect. And some socks." 

"Socks?" Mark laughed. 

"My feet get cold!" 

"Ok, grandpa." Mark grabbed some clothes from his dresser that would suit. 

"Aw, thanks, Sir." 

"Good. Now get to the bathroom and brush your teeth and do whatever else you need to do." Like release my enormous cum load from your ass, Mark thought wryly. 

A few minutes later, Mark tucked Chris into his bed. 

"Where are you going?" 

"Just out to the living room. I'll be back in a little while. You just go to sleep, I'll be there when you wake up in the morning." He kissed Chris on the forehead. 

In the living room, he picked out a cigar from his humidor and walked out onto his balcony. It was cold, but he wanted to enjoy a private moment. He had his own post-orgasm euphoria to savor. Funny how it always wound up being about the sub. Wrapped in a bathrobe, he puffed contentedly. 

Fuckin' hot - that was foremost in his mind. He's a sweet kid - that came a close second, followed by the less comfortable recognition that 19 was very young. Very, very young. There's a long way between 27 and 19, bud. 

Aw, fuck it. How often do you get to take a 19-year-old's cherry? And a fucking amazing cherry it was. Just enjoy it. Don't worry about tomorrow. 

Chris woke up early, around 6. He panicked initially, not knowing where he was, and then recalled that the even, steady breathing next to him was of his new Dom. His new, incredible Dom, who had fucked him last night for the first time. And yes, he could still feel it. His ass ached dully, but it didn't dismay him. Instead he considered it a trophy. The soreness in his hole had meaning. It meant he was owned, that he had become fully a man. That seemed contradictory, but for a wonderful moment, it made sense to Chris. A submissive man. That's who he was. And he loved it, resting next to his sleeping stud. He put his arm gently over Mark's chest, enjoying his warmth. Mark stirred and snorted, and rolled over. Chris withdrew his arm. 

Maybe it's too early for a wakeup blowjob. 

Hmm. What would the ideal submissive do right now? Feeling bold, Chris slipped out of bed and into the kitchen. An early breakfast. Perfect. Humming quietly to himself, he checked out the fridge and cupboards. Nice, this guy clearly likes to cook as well as eat. Well, so do I. 

Trying to balance what items in the kitchen Mark might want to eat now versus what he might have planned to eat later, Chris assembled a very competent frittata which was on its way to culinary glory by 7. Chris was just brewing coffee in Mark's Keurig when his host poked his head into the kitchen, bleary-eyed. 

"Wow." Mark was both impressed and non-plussed at Chris' work. 

"Ta-da. Sir." Chris smiled hopefully. 

Aw, he's such a fuckin' cutie, Mark thought. I was hoping to sleep in, and I have no idea what the fuck possessed him, but what the hell. 

"Well, look at you, kiddo. What's all this?" 

Chris laid breakfast on the bar, along with utensils, napkins, and coffee. 

"Orange juice, Sir?" 

"Sure." Mark was amused to be served in his own kitchen. Shit, he already knows where everything is. Is he moving in? 

"C'mere, kid." Mark kissed Chris. "You are so sweet. I can't believe you did this." 

They sat down and ate. 

"No problem, Sir." Chris was trying to gauge the other man's mood. He wanted to be the best sub possible, and this was his first "morning after". He was on his best behavior without knowing what was required. Was he passing? 

"This is really good, Chris." Mark smiled. 

Chris glowed momentarily, and then worried about the form of address. He would have preferred "boy". Fuck, fuck, fuck, am I doing this right? 

"I had no idea you could cook. I should keep you barefoot in the kitchen." 

Chris enjoyed the teasing. They bantered throughout breakfast. 

"What are your plans today, Sir?" 

"Bunch of stuff around the condo. Might need to go into work, too. Couple of big projects on deadline." 

"Ah, cool. Maybe I could be your houseboy," Chris laughed. 

"You're sweet, kiddo. You're the best. Thanks for making breakfast for me." Mark kissed Chris on the cheek. "You got me up so early, I could get into work now and get a lot done. I owe you one." Mark winked. 

"Oh yeah, sure. Of course, it was my pleasure. Least I could do after last night." 

"Fuck yeah, boy, that was hot." Mark rose and put his arms around Chris. "Lots of fun." 

"Yes Sir! I can clean up." Chris got up too, and went to gather their plates. 

Mark stopped him. "That's ok, kiddo, the housekeeper is coming in a couple hours." 

"Oh, cool." 

There was an awkward pause. 

"Let me drive you back to your car." Mark headed to the bedroom to find some clothes. Chris looked for his - they were scattered around the living room. He dressed quickly, but without taking off the clothes he had slept in; instead, he put on his own clothes over Mark's borrowed underwear. He tucked his own briefs and socks from yesterday into his pocket as Mark reappeared. 

"All set?" 

Chris nodded. 

"Cool." Mark walked over, took Chris' face in his hands and kissed him deeply. "Thank you for an amazing night, kiddo." 

Chris flung his arms around Mark and kissed back hard. 

"Thank YOU." 

Mark took his arm and led him out the door to the elevator and the basement. 

"I thought the elevator was broken?" 

"Looks like they fixed it," Mark said with a small grin, avoiding eye contact. 

Their ride to Chris' Jeep passed in silence. When they got there, Chris leaned over, hugged Mark, and kissed him quickly. 

"Thanks." He jumped out of the car and into his own, and waved. Mark's car didn't move; he was waiting to make sure Chris would be ok. Chris waved again and drove off. 

Where was he going now? He had half-hoped he would be spending the day with Mark, but that was ok. Back to campus, then. Would Justin be in the room? Fuck it, I have to stop worrying about him. I can deal with him now. I've been made a man. Chris smiled to himself. 

Justin was not in the room. Chris stripped down, carefully removing Mark's stolen sleep clothes and hiding them in his dresser under his own underwear. He took his own used underwear and socks out of his pocket . . . and another pair of socks, which were bigger and longer. They were Mark's dress socks from the night before. The ones he had worshipped. He sniffed them again. They still smelled like Mark's feet. He tucked them away in his hiding place, too. For later. 

Chris's Saturday was uneventful and grew tense as the hours passed. Should he text Mark, or not? Call? No - he said he had work to do. 

Eventually, Chris broke down. 

"How's it going, Sir?" He waited four hours for a response. 

"Good. Busy. Went into work today again, too. How's your ass, kiddo?" 

"Haha. Doing good." 

"Still sore?" 

"No, not really Sir." 

"Send me a pic." 

Chris blushed. He was in the fine arts library, his favorite place to work or study on campus. 

"Hang on." He got up, assessing his options. The nearest men's room was on another floor. He decided to be daring, and went into the stacks, to the very back. He lowered his pants, bent over, grabbed one butt cheek with his left hand and snapped a pic with his right. He pulled his pants up and looked at the pic. His hole was in the pic, and it looked normal, he guessed. He sent it. 

"Lol, where are you, kiddo?" 

"Library, Sir." 

"You perv." 

"You asked me!" 

"Lol." 

And that was all Chris heard from Mark that day. Strangely, he also spent the night alone in his room. Weird. Where the fuck was Justin? 

The answer became apparent when Chris logged on to Facebook on Sunday; Saturday had been Justin's 20th birthday. He was probably with his girlfriend, passed out. And probably desperate for head, given that all fall, whenever he had come home after being with her, he had needed a blowjob. 

For the first time since Mark had fucked him, Chris considered what he would do if Justin returned to the room demanding oral sex. Two days ago, he had felt confident in rebuffing his roommate. Now he wasn't as sure. At 11, Chris went to bed. Justin had still not returned. 

Monday morning came. Chris woke up at 6:45, as if being in his old room on a weekday was its own alarm. He reached for his phone to check his texts. Nothing. From below, a familiar sound: Justin's light snoring. Huh. He's back. Well, shit. This is the time I'd usually be dismounting to take care of his morning wood. 

Not today. Chris rolled over and shut his eyes. He didn't need to get up until 9:30, and fuck if he wasn't going to try and sleep that long. He couldn't really get back to sleep, though; as he dozed, he heard Justin get up and go to the bathroom, return and get dressed. Without a word, he was out of the room in an hour. 

Wow. Was it really this easy? Do I just ignore him now, and he'll just go his own way? 

Chris couldn't deny that he felt two pangs this morning. A sharp one that he hadn't received any more communication from Mark, and a milder, but somehow longer-lasting one, that Justin hadn't demanded head. 

I've gone from daily sex with my roommate, to having a dominant sort-of-boyfriend, to losing my virginity to . . . nothing. 

Nothing. 

I don't even get to suck Justin's cock any more. He didn't even talk to me. 

Chris dropped disconsolately out of the top bunk. Well shit. Now what do I do? 

The week progressed in the same vein. The most Chris could raise out of Mark via text was a "lol" or "hey kiddo", and he only got that three times the whole week. Justin spent each night in the room, but arrived right before bed and left early. He was clearly spending most of his time at the frat house or at his girlfriend's place. Left to his own devices, Chris . . . studied. Maybe this was for the best? He had prayed, that day in Mason's punishment closet, to get back to the life he had had before moving in with Justin. Well . . . here it was. Life as before. 

Lonely and sexless. 

It was Thanksgiving, and Chris was not looking forward to the holiday. His dad was going to roast a small turkey for just the two of them, like every year since Mom died. And then they would sit in freighted and awkward silence, first for the evening, and then for the whole weekend. Technically, Chris could return to the dorm at any time, since it wasn't closed, but that wasn't a very appealing option either. He didn't know what Justin's plans were; they hadn't said more than a gruff "hi" since Chris had moved back in. Shit, he had actually been secretly hoping since Halloween to bring Mark back to his Dad's house today; he had planned to come out, reveal his new boyfriend, and share a family meal with someone he loved all in one fell swoop. 

It was not to be. Mark had stopped responding to Chris about a week after that exchange in the library, just ten days after he had taken the boy's virginity. In a last desperate attempt, Chris had texted "Happy Thanksgiving" to him earlier today. He had gotten a response a few hours later: "Thanks, Chris. I hope you have a wonderful Thanksgiving too, and a really great holiday season this year." If that wasn't a kiss-off . . . 

It was a kiss-off. A dismissal. And after all that. After saving his fucking cherry for someone who cared, only to be thrown away a few days later. 

That night Chris did something he hadn't done since his mom died. He cried into his pillow. Life was so fucking unfair. Worst of all, he had no one to talk to. Obviously, he couldn't tell his dad anything. Pat . . . well, she was a staunch ally, but he didn't feel comfortable talking about dating or sex with her. Or with any woman, let's be honest. Men were pigs, of course, as he had found out. Apparently, they treated each other as poorly as they treated women. But Chris wanted to talk to another man about it, not Pat. And someone closer to his own age, too. 

So there was no one. 

The Friday after Thanksgiving was more painful than the day before. Chris' dad seemed to be following him around the house as if he had something to say, but never properly engaged when Chris addressed him. The shooting range Pat owned was closed until Saturday. There was nothing to do in the small town Chris grew up in. He could drive into the city . . . and do what? Park outside Mark's condo and pine? 

This was bullshit. He was going back to the dorm. He needed some space, and surely Justin was with his own family; the place would be nearly empty, and he could have two and a half days to sort himself out before the rest of the student body returned. Telling his dad he needed to study, he retreated. He was back on campus in an hour - no traffic today - and in room 119. Pale sunshine came through the blinds. He looked around. God, this had been a fucking sex den just a month ago. Did he miss all that? Chris didn't know what the fuck he thought. He looked around the small room. On a whim, he walked over to Justin's closet. Sure enough, there were socks, underwear and t-shirts littering the floor. He knelt down. One by one, he sniffed each garment that his roommate had worn. There wasn't much to savor. The pits of the t-shirts didn't carry any of Justin's scent; the boxer briefs didn't really either. One pair was promising, but Chris sniffed up all the funk on the first inhale. Same with the socks - the couple that seemed like they retained Justin's foot odor faded like . . . like Mark's interest in me, Chris thought. That reminded him. 




Chris Donaldson Ch. 04



He got up and went to his own dresser, and felt underneath his briefs for his secret stash. He pulled out the boxers, t-shirt and socks he had slept in that night, almost three weeks ago now. No scent there, of course. He found the socks he had worshipped that incredible night. Whatever there had been of Mark had long since faded away. 

Chris had nothing. 

He sat down, leaning against Justin's bed, head in his arms. How had this happened? He had been the happiest guy on the planet. But he had put his confidence in the wrong guy. Mark evidently wasn't so nice after all. 

I'm not going to fucking cry. 

Exercise might be a balm. The campus gym was closed, but he could always take a run. He changed into sweatpants, sweatshirt and a ball cap. Just run, boy. Run until you drop or find an answer. 

Chris left the room, and locked the door. He jogged down the hall, and ran smack into . . . Mason. 

Jesus, fuckballs. Mason! 

Chris froze. 

"Hey, how's it going?" He attempted to jog past, but Mason leaned against the wall, blocking his immediate path. 

"I'm fine, Chris, how are you? I didn't know you would be here this weekend. You didn't sign up saying you'd be staying in the dorm." 

Oh fuck, did I do something wrong again? 

"Yeah, I know. Sorry. I didn't expect to be back until Sunday night." 

"Oh. Everything ok, Chris?" 

"Yeah, everything's fine, thank you." Chris was jogging in place, desperate to get to the door and outside. 

"Ok. Well, let me know if you ever need anything." 

Chris looked up. Was he serious? 

Mason's expression was sincere, even . . . kind? No, it couldn't be. 

"Thanks," Chris said. He felt a hand squeeze his shoulder. 

"If there's ever anything you want to talk about . . . You know where I am." 

Chris stopped jogging. Yes, Mason looked totally serious - not ironic, not severe. 

"Ok. Well . . . thank you." Sir. Chris thought it but didn't dare say it. 

Stop it, you dumbass. You need to take Mason's offer in the spirit it was meant, not in some perverted twisted way. "I'm sorry, I really need to go for a run while it's still light out. I've got a lot on my mind, and this is the only thing that helps." 

Chris sprinted out of the dorm and ran through the park and deeper into campus. 

What the fuck had he said that for?? His RA had offered counseling, he had refused it, and then told him he actually needed it, but got it through running. 

You, boy, are completely messed up. You don't know what you want; you think you know it, but you don't. 

Sure I do, Chris retorted to himself. Remember back in September? Remember how you made a list of what you wanted and needed? Well, didn't that work out for a while? 

As he jogged, Chris worked on that list. 

90 minutes later, after an epic run, he returned to his room. He ordered a pizza and turned in after eating it, still unsettled. 

Saturday morning; Chris rose with the sun. 

I know what I want. I want sex again. I want to be sexually submissive. I want to be sexually submissive to someone who cares about me. 

Ok - but what do you do until you find that person? 

Find experience where it comes. Put myself out there online. Mr. Right is around the corner, I just need to find him. Mr. Dominant Right, that is. I need to help take the lead. Assertive in finding out who the right man is, but submissive when I'm with him. I will not be afraid to make the first move, but I will bow to his will once he responds. 

And so Chris' inner monologue proceeded all day. He went to the fine arts library for the limited hours it was open and made a stab at studying for exams, although he mostly thought about men. He opened his kink hookup app for the first time in over a week. No messages. A couple "cruises" but not from anyone close enough to meet in person. He looked at the people who had viewed his profile. ChiTown85 was one. Just today. Aww. Fuck. What is that all about? He clicked on ChiTown's profile to send him a message. 

"This profile is not available." 

What? He clicked again. 

"This profile is not available." Chris knew the fine print. Either Mark had deleted his profile, or he had blocked Chris. Wow. Just, wow. 

He sank into despair that night in his room, even going so far as to open the cabinet where Justin kept his bourbon. There was the bottle of Knob Creek, three quarters full. Chris poured a shot. He won't miss it. Any more than I miss him. 

Except I do miss him, Chris thought after he had downed the liquor. Where the fuck is he? 

Chris tumbled into bed, tipsy and depressed. 

In the morning, he had a plan of action. It was an inchoate idea that took shape before lunch. Desperate, maybe, but perhaps his only hope under the circumstances. 

At 2:00 p.m. sharp, he knocked on Mason's door. Firmly, this time. 

Mercifully, it opened. 

"Hey, Mason." 

"Hi Chris. What can I do for you?" 

"Can I talk to you? Privately?" 

Mason ushered him in, a knowing smirk on his face. 

Chris kept his eyes down and entered. He didn't sit at the table, but remained standing. 

"So . . . I do need . . . something." 

"Yes?" 

"I . . ." Chris looked up at Mason for help, but the RA let the boy flounder. He thought he knew what this was about. 

"I . . . need . . ." 

"What do you need, Chris?" 

"I've . . . I've been bad." 

"Oh?" Mason's dick stiffened. Yes, he had been right. But let the boy explain. 

"I've . . . fucked up." 

"MESSED up," Mason gently chided. "And that's 50 for swearing." He spoke in the calmest, most reasonable voice imaginable. "What did you do, Chris?" 

What do I say, Chris thought. I blew my only chance at happiness by making breakfast. I threw away a great thing by shoving my roommates' head into a desk. EVERYTHING. I've fucked up EVERYTHING. 

"Everything, Sir. I've messed up everything." 

As if in a dream, Chris began taking off his clothes, unbidden. He walked voluntarily past a bemused Mason into the closet and through the shirts. He bent willingly over the bench. 

"Just whip me, Sir, please. Anything you can imagine I've done wrong, I've done it." 

Mason was momentarily at a loss. He was used to making boys confess. He had known many willing subs, but none who had simply offered their asses up for his chastisement with no real reason. 

"Have you lied, young man?" 

"No." 

Hmm. 

"Have you been a brat, then?" 

"Yes." 

"How so?" 

"I've been presumptuous, Sir. I've tried to exceed my place, Sir. I'm just a slut, a submissive, Sir. I dared to think I was more than that, Sir." 

Ah. Now Mason was on familiar ground. 

"That's a very serious matter, young man. You do realize you won't be able to sit at all after this? There will be 50 strokes of the razor strop for swearing, and an undetermined number of additional strokes until I'm sure you know your place. And after that, when you're truly penitent, a dozen strokes with the cane for being a male whore. I don't even want to ask the details, the fact that you've been promiscuous merits the most severe punishment imaginable." 

He talks like a book, Chris, thought, but he's going to give me what I need. What I deserve. 

And Mason gave it. Stroke after stroke, smack after smack. Mason gave it slowly and steadily, making Chris keep count. The 50 for swearing passed in sheer agony, and after a break which was too short, Mason began again, eager to make sure Chris knew what he was. He was forced to say, "I am a submissive faggot" after each blow of the strop. Mason didn't stint; Chris said the words 100 times. His hands never left the handles on the bench. 

Mason was impressed. This fucker can take a lot. And he seems to want it. Hmm. 

"All that's left is the cane, young man." 

"Yes, Sir," Chris said in a small voice, knowing that this time, Mark was not waiting on the other end of a hookup app to console him. No, he was here to get his ass blistered, and he would see it through. Maybe this session would scare him straight, and teach him not to waste time on sex and unreliable men, but concentrate on his degree. 

Chris' ass was already purple and stiff to the touch when Mason brought out the cane. He was too turned on to have any sympathy. 

"You're going to get twelve. They will hurt more than anything you've ever experienced. Count them out, boy." 

I've been slapped in the face, gut-punched, and fucked by a 9-inch dick. Bring it on, Chris thought. 

YEOWWWW!! 

"One, Sir!" Chris was immediately penitent. Yes, this was worse than anything he had yet experienced. 

YEOWWWWWW!! 

"Two, Sir!" And so it went, through twelve. 

YEOOWWWWW!! 

Mason had added a dozen fearsome welts to Chris' already bruised and swollen ass. When it was done, Mason didn't make the boy stand with his nose to the wall. Because he had asked for his punishment, Mason helped him up off the bench. Chris looked surprised. Instinctively, he knelt in front of his tormentor. 

Mason smiled. 

"Do you want to suck my dick, Chris? Is that it?" 

Chris stammered an incoherent reply. 

"I just whipped you for being a whore. Is this how you learn your lesson?" 

"Sorry, Sir, kneeling just seemed appropriate. I didn't mean to suggest . . ." 

"Of course you did, sub. But that's ok, I forgive you." Mason raised Chris to his feet. 

"You don't get to suck me off now. You shouldn't need to do that, if the punishment was effective." 

"Oh yes, Sir, it was! Yes Sir!" Chris was lying, he did need dick. Now more than ever. But he knew he couldn't take another beating. Even worse than last time, he thought his ass was going to explode and/or fall off. 

"Dress, boy. I appreciate your respect. We'll leave it at that." For now. 

Chris put his clothes on and left Mason's room, after another awkward sideways hug like the first time. 

Chris was determined to stay in his sub space, and descended the stairs to the first floor and his own hall, eyes down and thoroughly punished. Back in his room, he took his pants down to examine the damage in the mirror. Holy shit, it was even worse than last time. But he deserved it. All of it. He poked at his rock-hard butt, wincing. He bent over to see if Mason had managed to redden his crack, too. He had. 

Suddenly, he heard the fumbling of a key in the lock. Oh fuck. Justin. Already? It's not even 4:00 yet. His roommate stumbled in the room before he had completely pulled his pants up. 

Justin grunted. "Hey, roomie." 

"Hi." Chris buckled his belt and went to fetch his laptop from his desk. The library would be open regular hours tonight, and it was safer there. He could contemplate his sins while sitting on a hard wooden chair. 

"Where're you off to?" 

"Study." 

"Cool. What's your first exam?" 

Chris stood awkwardly with his backpack on and no jacket, unwilling to shoulder past his roommate, but not feeling like chatting with him. 

"History of Buddhism." 

"Cool." Justin paused, but he didn't move to let Chris pass. 

"So what happened to your ass, roomie?" 

Shit. He had seen it. "Nothing. Listen, I gotta go. I've barely studied for this one, and exams start in a week." He flinched as a once-familiar hand lightly gripped his jaw. 

"Look at me, Chris," Justin said quietly. "What happened to your ass?" He lifted Chris' bag off his shoulder and put it on the floor, his prominent biceps flexing under the weight. "Let me see." 

Chris looked into Justin's eyes reluctantly. "Nothing happened to my ass, Justin, I don't know what you're talking about. Where'd I put my jacket?" 

Justin's thick fingers undid Chris belt. When Chris grabbed his wrists to stop him, Justin firmly put the smaller boy's arms back at his sides. Chris stared at the wall as his roommate lowered his jeans and underwear. Firm hands turned him around, and he felt Justin bending down to look at his purple, welted butt. 

"Wow. That must hurt like a bitch." 

Chris nodded. "Yep. Are we done?" He tried to raise his clothes, but Justin grabbed his wrists and gently made him put his hands flat on his desk. 

"Step back. Spread your legs a little." There was a flash. 

"Oh, Jesus, Justin, what the fuck . . ." 

Justin pushed him back to the desk. 

"Somebody got you real good, Chrissy." He ran a hand over the welted, swollen ass before him. "Looks pretty hot, though." 

Was that a laugh? Chris stood up and turned around, looking like he wanted to kill his roommate, but Justin was smiling good-naturedly. 

"What the fuck did you take a picture for?" 

"Always best to document evidence of assault," Justin smirked. Chris scowled. "Aw, don't be so pissy, Chrissy. It's a hot pic. I'll send it to you later. Your ass looks amazing. Glad I'm not you," Justin laughed, "but it's fuckin' awesome. Who did it to you?" 

"I don't want to talk about it. I need to study." 

"Aw, man, don't be so harsh. I'm curious." In this playful mood, Justin was much harder to resist. There was always an element of roughness, of rawness to him, but this was the guy Chris had met and been attracted to in September. Jesus, that seemed like a year ago now. 

"Seriously, Justin, I'm not interested in telling you about it." Chris tried to pull up his pants again, but Justin prevented it, reaching around to grip his roommate's ass firmly. 

"AAHHH," Chris gasped. 

"It's still hot, bud. You must have just gotten it." 

Chris avoided his gaze. 

"Am I right?" 

Chris nodded. 

"So it was someone here? In the dorm?" Justin was grinning like a randy jock in the locker room, comparing conquests and battle scars. "Come on, dude, you never talk to me anymore. I want to know." 

Oh, for Christ's sake, Chris thought, there's a fucking good reason I don't talk to you, you asshole. And now, the very first conversation we're having in a month, you're already humiliating me again. Why does it always have to be this way? 

Why DID it always have to be this way? 

As he had been evaluating his needs and wants the day before, Chris had glossed over one important one - he wanted a friend. A buddy, a fun dude he could talk to about kink and sex. And maybe mess around with. Truthfully, he had always craved that kind of relationship with Justin, but after their first day had assumed that would never be possible. Well, why not? Why can't I have anything at least partially on my own terms? 

"Ok, I'll tell you." 

Justin looked pleased. 

"But I need to lie down." 

Justin chuckled. "Sure, roomie. Here, take your shirt off, too. You can lie on my bed for a while and tell me all about it." He walked over and locked the door, and kicked off his shoes. Chris lay down, naked and shy, on Justin's bed. He turned on his stomach, to save his ass, and also so he could look at the floor instead of his roommate. The sheets smelled faintly of jock sweat, and Chris started to get hard. He heard the clink of a belt buckle. Justin was taking off his jeans, too. 

"Scoot over." Chris obliged, and Justin sat next to him, a bottle of body lotion in his hand - from Chris' closet, of course. In fairness, Justin probably didn't own any lotion. 

"Sorry if this hurts." 

Sorry? Chris didn't think he'd ever heard Justin say the word before. He winced at the rough hand rubbing his swollen butt cheeks, but the lotion did feel good. 

"You don't have to do that." 

"I want to. So tell me who did it. What kinky fucker is in this dorm I didn't know about? Is he in our suite?" 

"No." 

"On our floor?" 

"No." 

"Wait, it was a he, wasn't it??" 

"Yeah. It was, um . . ." What the hell. "Mason." 

Justin let out a whoop that could have been heard in the next county, slapped Chris's ass in glee ("Oops, sorry roomie!") and guffawed for a solid minute. 

"It's not THAT funny." 

"Oh yes it is - that fucker is one mean son of a bitch!" Justin kept laughing. "There are rumors at the house that he enjoys paddling the pledges an awful lot, but I had NO IDEA he would beat anyone else, and he's never whupped a pledge as hard as he got you. Aw man, that is too, too funny." 

"What? Wait, what? The house?" Chris was stunned. 

"Yeah man, he's in the fraternity. SAE." 

"Oh shit." 

Justin laughed even harder. "You mean you didn't know? Oh man, this gets even better!" 

Chris buried his head under Justin's pillow. I had no idea. No wonder he kept smirking when I was talking to him about Justin. I was complaining to him about a guy in his own frat. Fuck, fuck, FUCK! They both have me over a barrel now. They probably think I'm the house slut, especially after what I told Mason today. 

Justin started to calm down and rubbed Chris' ass again. "So tell me how it happened. I gotta hear this." 

Chris tried to get up. "Under the circumstances . . . listen, I'm incredibly embarrassed now, and I don't want to tell you any more. Please forget this. Please," Chris begged. 

Justin's dick bounced a little through his boxers at seeing his freshly-spanked roommate beg, but his face softened when he looked at Chris' desperate eyes. There was that look again. That look that made him feel . . . bad? Good? Mean? Horny? Tender? Justin looked away, and back at Chris' butt. The poor kid truly wasn't going to be able to sit comfortably for at least a week, maybe longer. He recognized the stripes that meant Mason had used a cane, too; this had been hard core. Poor fucker was going to have to sit through his exams like that. 

Justin shoved Chris back onto his bed, but not roughly. Hesitating, he put his hand on Chris' back. He squeezed his roommate's shoulder. "Hey." 

Justin moved Chris' light body closer to the wall, and lay down beside him, putting his big arm around him and squeezing the smaller boy against his muscular chest. "I'm not going to tell anyone else, Chris, I promise. I'm just your horny roommate. You can't blame a guy for being curious." He squeezed Chris again, who slowly relaxed into the chest he'd worshipped many times but had never been this intimate with. 

"Just tell me. Why did he do it? Why did he give it to you so bad? Did you do something to piss him off?" 

"Not exactly." 

Chris reluctantly explained. He had asked for it; it was actually not the first time. He felt Justin tense slightly as he told him about the previous whipping, for lying. 

"That fucker. But why did you go back? Why did you ask for it this time?" 

Chris closed his eyes and told his roommate about asking to be beaten for being a slut. 

"You mean you told him about us?" 

"No!" Chris responded quickly. "Just in general." 

"Good. Good boy. So you went asking for spanking because you felt like a whore. I bet you feel even more like one now, huh? That is so fucking hot," Justin said with grudging admiration. Chris felt the large, thick, uncut dick he had spent so much time sucking harden against his stiff ass. "You really are a champ, Chrissy." 

"It's your fucking fault. If you hadn't gone to him first, he would never have spanked me in the first place." 

Justin just laughed. "I knew you might talk to him, so I had to get my side in first. Don't forget, you gave me a huge fucking bump on my head, roomie." 

Chris shook with rage and tried vainly to pry out of Justin's steel embrace. "You tripped over the fucking chair because you were drunk off your ass, and don't YOU forget you were beating me up for no FUCKING reason!" 

"Shhh, shhh, shhh, calm down. Calm down." Justin slipped his other arm under Chris' neck and held him tight in both arms. "I didn't mean to do that." 

"Whatever Justin, just let go of me. I have to study." Chris's outrage was real, but so was his hard-on. The contact with his athletic roommate and erstwhile Dom was having an effect on him that his anger couldn't diminish. 

"Shhh." Justin put his lips against Chris' neck, his nose behind Chris' ear. "Shhh. It's gonna be ok. You can study later." Then, after a pause - "I didn't mean to hurt you, Chrissy. I'm sorry I did that to you. I really am." He nuzzled the back of Chris' head with his face. "I promise I won't do that again. And I won't tell anyone about what we do in here." 




Chris Donaldson Ch. 05



This story is about Chris and Justin, roommates and sophomores in college. Chris, only recently out to himself, began the new school year very eager for his first sexual experience. Justin, a dominant frat jock, was happy to provide that first experience, and quickly turned Chris into his live-in sub. Justin has a violent streak, however, which drove Chris briefly into the arms of a nicer guy in his late 20s, Mark, who took Chris' anal virginity, but broke off contact a week later. Chris returned to Justin, and they recommenced their exploration of D/s sex. The shadow of one more man hangs over them - Mason, a senior. He is their RA, and also in the same fraternity as Justin. He has discovered Chris' submissive desires, and has administered two very severe punishments to Chris' bare ass, with hand, strop, and most recently, a cane. This chapter contains some corporal punishment. All characters in this story are over 18.

*****

The bar door banged shut. A tall man in his late 20s with short, dark hair and a neatly trimmed beard walked in, shaking the drops from his umbrella. A sudden March storm had caught him outside and on foot; rather than braving it for another six blocks to the subway, he had decided to take refuge in the nearest doorway. Which happened to be this dive bar - Ted's. He had moved to the big city after graduating from college five years ago, and had spent a lot of time exploring it, but he had never wandered in here before. It looked like you could pick up an STD from sitting on one of the stools. Oh well. At least the place was open and dry. And empty, too. No, not quite. There was one other guy at the bar, who honestly looked too young to be there. He was handsome, though - shaved head, the confident look of an athlete. College, most likely. He looked like he probably came from money. What was he doing in this shithole? Interesting.

Mark took off his raincoat and draped it over a barstool. He sat down next to it, and made eye contact with the bartender, who was about his own age, stocky, and bear-like, with a withdrawn look.

Probably on something, Mark thought. 

Not confident in how a mixed drink might turn out here, he ordered a Laphroaig. Neat. 

"Ten year?" asked Jayson.

"Ten is fine."

Mark glanced at the musclehead down the bar while he waited for his drink. The dude was playing with his phone. Too young for you, he thought. You already made that mistake once, a few months ago. Don't do it again.

He turned to his own phone, and idly opened his favorite hookup app. Who was nearby? He wasn't usually in this neighborhood at this time; there might be someone new and interesting.

Nope. No one hot close by. Who were you hoping to find, the stud over there? Mark chuckled to himself. 

There was his scotch. He sipped, happy to be warming up out of the rain. 

He swiped over to "messages" on the app. None of the guys he had recently chatted with currently piqued his interest either. Viewers. Cruises. Nothing worth his time. Settings. His thumb paused over "blocks". He put the phone down, and took another sip of his scotch. You know you're dying to see his pics again, he thought. But I have to unblock him to see them. So? You've been thinking of him since Valentine's day when he texted your cell. It's ok to look. Mark looked at his list of blocked profiles, then tapped on "newsub2012". Unblock. And there he was. His private pictures were still open. That fucking adorable face with the pretty eyes, topped by short, dark-blond hair; that hot round ass, pale and inviting; and what looked to be a recent pic of the nicely worked out, trim chest, all hairy again . . . Damn. He was indeed too young, but he was one hot sub. 

And I took his cherry. Mark grinned, remembering. Should I text him? Why? Don't do it unless you really want to see him again. He took hefty swallow of the Laphroaig. 

At the other end of the bar, Justin nursed his third Knob Creek. The ice cube was just a sliver now. He was looking at a text from Chris on his phone. He wasn't sure what to type. He scrolled back up the thread to reread it:

"Hey, Sir."

"Hey, fag."

"Where are you?"

"With my girlfriend, faggot."

"Are you at her place?"

"What do you want?"

"I need to talk to you."

"What's the problem? I'll be home later. You'll get what you need, don't worry. No action here tonight, you'll get all of it from these blue balls."

"What's her name?"

"What do you need, boy?"

"You've never told me her name."

"Tell me what you want or fuck off, faggot."

"I need to talk to you in person."

"Fine, I'll be home later."

"I need to talk to you now."

"WHAT IS YOUR FUCKING PROBLEM?"

"I got this invitation in the mail. It's to an event at your fraternity."

"What the fuck?"

"Yeah. So - we can talk about it when you get back."

"Who's it from?"

"Mason. We can talk about it later. So you didn't know about it?"

"No, I didn't fucking know about it. What event is it?"

"Some get-together on the 10th. It looks official."

Justin continued to stare at the screen. The 10th was a Meet and Greet at SAE for spring rush. What the fuck was that about? Why had Mason invited Chris? Was he asking Chris to rush? There was no way Chris would ever make it in. Mason must know that, he's a fucking officer. What's his deal? Why is he doing this?

"So should I go?" was Chris' last text.

"Don't answer yet."

Justin hammered back the last of his bourbon and considered. I can't figure this out. What was Mason thinking? Did he really want Chris to join? Why? So he can get his jollies paddling him? But he's already done that twice in his own dorm room.

But not recently. Justin's handsome jock face pulled into a smirk. Chrissy gets his spankings from me now. So Mason wants more of Chris' ass? Justin tried to picture his roommate as a brother. 

Well . . . it might actually be hot. Don't write it off yet. Let's think about this some more.

"Hey, Jayson." The bartender sauntered over; Mark looked up at the other end of the bar. "One more, bro."

Jayson gave Justin a mildly reproving look, but dutifully went to pour another bourbon. Justin took a gulp, and rubbed his temples. This was all getting very complicated. He poked absently at his phone, thumbing over to his photo album. 

A photo of Chris asleep in his bed was first. The boy didn't know Justin had snapped that pic just a few days ago. He's so cute when he's sleeping, Justin thought.

Then a pic of Chris with his mouth full of Justin's dick, always a winning shot . . . pics from his Christmas ski vacation . . . selfies with one of the brothers . . . Chris with a purple, striped ass - yeah, he remembered that day alright . . . more pics of Justin with his bros . . . Chris with cum all over his face. Justin smiled. That had been their first night together. He scrolled further back.

More pics of his freshman year friends, his pledge class, his parents as they dropped him off at college. Further back . . . he hadn't gone back this far in a long time. And he wouldn't be doing it now if he hadn't had too much to drink. Justin braced himself.

Next were some shots of his summer before college, spent in Europe with his dad. Nothing of graduation, he had been too distraught. Further back . . . spring of his senior year. And there . . . he . . . was. Smiling, so cute. But the eyes? Now Justin was sure he saw pain in those eyes, pain he had missed at the time.

"I miss him too, man." Justin looked up, startled. Jayson had walked back over with the drink, and had seen the picture on his phone. 

"I know you do. I know you do, man." Justin took a swig of his Knob Creek. "He was a good bud."

"Yup." Jayson looked like he was going to say something else, but Justin pulled out his credit card. 

"I ought to get back to the dorm, man. I should study." Fat chance, but it effectively cut off the conversation.

Jayson took his card and gave him the printout. Justin looked at the total, wrote the same number on the tip line, and added them up.

"Have a good night, bro." He offered his fist to Jayson, who grazed it, preoccupied. Justin left the bar. 

Mark looked up and ordered another scotch. It was still raining. Should I text him? He started typing.

********************

Chris sat shirtless at his desk in room 119, turning the card over and over in his hands. The card that had surprised him so much, and which had evidently taken his roommate unawares, too. It was signed Mason Evans, and had arrived slipped under his door. Really, Chris thought for the hundredth time, this has to be a joke. It can't just be a mistake, my name is on it in his handwriting, and he signed it. But this is definitely some kind of cruel joke. 

His phoned buzzed. Justin must have decided what to do. 

The text wasn't from Justin, it was from his hookup app for kinky guys. Chris hadn't been on it in a while. It was probably some old guy who sent unsolicited messages, who wanted him to move to rural Alabama for 24/7 servitude (no fakes!), and who would get all huffy when Chris declined. He opened the message.

Chris' heart skipped a beat. Three beats. It was from Mark. Holy fuck. FINALLY. Chris had despaired of ever again hearing from the only man who whose dick had ever penetrated his anus. He had spent a lot of time pining over Mark, and even though his libidinous mind was once again focused on his jock stud of a roommate, he still felt a pang when looking at the picture of Mark's muscular, hairy chest. Man, he had been so incredibly perfect. I left that condo wanting to marry the guy, Chris remembered. 

The message was mundane: "How's it going?"

Chris ran his hands through his hair. Why? Why was Mark resurfacing now, in this particular moment? He thought about waiting a day or two to reply (it would serve the bastard right), but his thumbs typed out, "I'm good" before his brain could stop them. Send.

"Long time."

"Yeah."

And then a pause. Your ball, Chris thought. I'm not doing all the heavy lifting on this one. I tried. And I've moved on, he thought. It was partly true. 

"We should get coffee sometime."

You're fucking kidding me. Coffee? You wooed me, fucked my ass, took my virginity, kissed me like you wanted to keep me, I made you a fucking FRITTATA, and you disappeared like my dick does in January. And now you want coffee?

"Sure." I'm such a fucking pushover, Chris thought.

The doorknob rattled. A key fumbled in the lock. 

Justin. He'd been with his girlfriend, which meant he was probably drunk. She must have quite a liquor cabinet, Chris thought.

His roommate tumbled in, swearing at the door. He was damp from the rain, and his eyes were unfocused. He stopped in front of Chris.

"Hey, roomie."

"Hey."

"You forgot the Sir, bitch."

"I'm sorry, Sir. Let me take your shoes off." 

Justin sat on his bed unsteadily, and let his sub remove his sneakers. He lifted his hips so the boy could take off his jeans, too. He peeled off his jacket and shirt himself, and leaned back against the wall in just his boxers and socks. He closed his eyes, exhausted.

"It's hot in here, boy."

"I know." Chris sat on the bed next to him and rubbed his thigh gently. While kissing was something Justin would clearly never contemplate with a guy, touching, rubbing, and frequent "bro hugging" had all become permissible over the last three months. Their kink exploration had now ventured into restraints, nipple clamps, and spanking; oral worship of Justin's feet, pits, ass and crotch was still demanded daily, or close to it. But Chris had made progress on the other, sweeter front, too. There was a lot more affection now. Not enough for Chris, whose heart had never been so completely fulfilled as when giving his soul to Mark through his kisses. But it was better than it had been before. And now there was no punching or hitting, other than the occasional light warning slap to the face when Chris was being particularly whiny or demanding.

"How was your night?"

"Sucked," Justin replied.

"Maybe you should just dump her."

"Huh? Who?"

Chris was puzzled. "Your girlfriend."

"Oh yeah. Maybe I should. Maybe I will," Justin slurred.

Chris reached over to Justin's dick, and pulled it out of his boxers. Justin pushed his hand away.

"We gotta talk about that fuckin' invitation, boy."

Chris suddenly felt a wave of sympathy. However bizarre Mason's note had been for him, it was probably much weirder for Justin. These guys were his friends, his brothers. The stud's worlds had just collided.

"We can talk about it later, Sir. I'm just gonna say no anyway." Chris leaned over, and took Justin's flaccid, but still impressive, uncut cock in his mouth.

Justin shoved the boy's head away, irritated.

"Not now. I need to think."

"You'll think easier with empty balls," Chris wheedled.

Justin forced a smile. "Not tonight, boy. I'm turning in." And without another word or look at Chris, he lay down and turned his face to the wall. 

Chris ran his hands over Justin's broad shoulders and his muscular tapered back, and pressed his face to the jock's neck. Not a kiss, just a . . . facial salutation. 

"Don't worry about it, Justin. I'll do whatever I need to, whatever you want me to." He knew that SAE was an extremely homophobic frat, and that Justin's behavior with Chris, even though it was one-sided and basically only involved being orally serviced, might displease the brothers. As close as he wanted to be with Justin, as badly as he wanted their bond to deepen, he would never do anything that would compromise Justin's standing or prestige. Chris padded to the bathroom, then returned and climbed up into his top bunk. Ironic that I'm on top, he thought, and promptly fell asleep.

He woke late. His morning cocksucking duties were not always demanded on Saturdays, and he certainly didn't have to be up at the crack of dawn for them, like he did before Justin's classes. Hearing Justin's regular breathing from below, he decided to check his phone. 

Oh shit! He had forgotten all about Mark. There were two more messages on the app. 

"When would be good for coffee? Are you around this weekend?"

Then, "Have a good night, kiddo."

Chris wrote back: "Sorry, got talking with my roommate and then I fell asleep." He had never told Mark about Justin. "I could meet you late this afternoon," he typed before he had too much time to think about it. His feelings were now surging and roiling - while he was still hurt that Mark had ignored him for three months, the older guy also represented a potential for emotional satisfaction that Justin, despite his animal charm, couldn't offer.

Not yet, anyway, Chris thought. But look at it strategically. If you rushed his house . . . things might be different. You'd belong, then. You'd have to be discreet, but you'd have a deeper connection with him than anyone else in that frat. Who knows where you might be after two more years? You'd be way more bonded than now, and on so many more levels. And Justin couldn't send you away, because you'd be in his closest circle. Chris had periodic anxiety about what would happen their junior year; it was a given that Justin would go live in his fraternity. With that kind of separation, Chris was afraid he would never see his jock Dom again. Maybe this invitation was really a golden opportunity, and not a joke at all.

His phone buzzed, breaking his reverie. "Sure, how about Uncommon Grounds at 4?"

Suddenly afraid to commit, Chris waited to reply. Was it really a good idea to see this guy again? Now that things are going so much better with Justin? Self-control was not Chris' strong suit, however. He wanted to be loved. He had promised himself last fall not to shy away from finding what he wanted. And, of course, he was always horny, and hated to disappoint people. So he said yes.

"Sounds good. See you then!" he typed.

Justin was having a groggy, hungover morning. He declined Chris' offer of head again, and sat his roommate down to work through this whole awkward fraternity mess.

"I don't know why he did it," Justin said for the tenth time. "And you already know he can be a real dick. I seriously doubt he has some elaborate, wild, kinky plan, though, he's gonna graduate in a few more months. If you got in the house, he wouldn't be around to mess with you. So I don't think that's the point."

"Well then, maybe it's for real. Maybe," and here Chris hesitated, embarrassed; he knew that Justin and the other frat brothers would have much higher standards for masculinity than he did, so he prepared to be dismissed. "Maybe he was impressed by . . . you know, how much I could . . . um, take . . . from him, and he saw something that he thought put me on another level, even though I'm not an athlete."

To his credit, Justin did not guffaw. He smiled with only a hint of condescension, and considered Chris' point seriously. As he thought about the boy's ass getting punished, he started absently stroking his big dick.

"I'm not a total wimp, you know," Chris said, eyeing his roommate's lengthening shaft.

Justin stopped playing with himself. "No, you're not roomie. You take your beating like a man. And you're, you know, masculine enough in the big picture, I guess."

Chris stiffened slightly; he wasn't sure he wanted Justin to evaluate his frat potential in front of him.

"But say you rush. You won't have anything in common with the rest of the brothers. It's all about sports, girls, and money. And that's another thing, it's expensive to join, too."

Chris didn't know how to respond to that; what Justin said was true. He wasn't rich. And he could maybe fake a few introductory conversations, but after that . . . it could get excruciating.

"How many people know you're gay?" Justin fixed Chris with an unusually direct look.

"Ummmm, no one, really," Chris answered, surprised at the question. They had never talked about this before. "Just you."

"Well, I know you like to suck my dick, and I know you're gay for me, roomie, but I was your first one, right? So there's no other track record out there for you to really know what you are, see? So maybe it's, ya know, a circumstantial thing."

Chris blushed. This would not be a good time to talk about Mark fucking him, then. Justin knew there had been no sexual contact with Mason, and was obviously assuming he was the only other guy Chris had gotten naked with. So, yeah, they could pretend it was circumstantial, even though Chris had come out to himself and Pat almost a year ago. 

But while we're on the subject, Chris thought, what exactly does that make you, "roomie", if you're not having sex with your girlfriend anymore?

Justin went on. "There's a lot of good guys in the house. I'm tight with them up there. You might turn into a whole new person if you joined, it might really set you up."

Chris wasn't sure how to take that, either. If I'm such a loser, why are you messing around with me every day? 

The voice of doubt had an answer: he's letting you suck his cock, Chris. You're not his equal, he's never treated you like one. Yeah, he jacked you off once, but at the end of the day, you're just his submissive. You don't even know how much he actually likes you. So yeah, I guess joining might help your long-term chances with him. If that's what you want.

That was what Chris wanted. 

"That sounds really awesome."

"They just can't think you're gay."

Chris nodded. "No problem."

Justin rolled his eyes. "You're too obvious, boy. You can't go around looking at them like you looked at me that first day, like they're all dudes you want to suck off. You gotta be way more discreet, if you do this."

Chris walked over to him, staring carefully at one of Justin's titty posters. Never once looking at his roommate, he knelt, pulled the jock's thick, uncut dick out of his boxers, and started stroking it.




Chris Donaldson Ch. 05



"Like this? See, I'm not looking at you . . . bro."

Justin smiled. "You're a dipshit."

Chris took that as a signal that he could finally get his mouth on Justin's massive cock, which he had been craving for more than 24 hours now. He sucked steadily and expertly, flicking his tongue on the underside of the stud's dickhead, firmly lapping the covered glans, then swallowing the massive meat to the base. Justin moaned.

Chris brought him close to the edge, and then stopped.

Justin whimpered and tried to force him to continue, but Chris avoided his grasping hands and looked up at his roommate mischievously. 

"So what do you think? I think I should accept the invitation."

"You fucker," Justin groaned, but not without amusement.

Chris rubbed Justin's shaft lightly with his fingers. "So it's a yes?"

"UUUGGGH, yesss!!" Justin finally caught Chris' head and shoved it down on his aching dick, and immediately began to spew. It was a huge load. Chris swallowed every drop, and leaned back on his heels, smiling smugly.

"Once the brothers find out how good I am, they'll let me in for sure."

Justin looked at him, the post-orgasm euphoria disappearing quickly. 

"That's not the way to rush a fraternity, Chris. I'm not kidding."

"I know, I'm just teasing you."

"I mean it, Chris." Justin skipped the usual pet names to underline the fact he was serious. "If you really want to get a bid, and make it as a pledge, you cannot let anyone know what you do for me. They're great guys, but no one respects a cocksucker." Justin headed to the bathroom in silence, letting the point sink in.

Chris stood up, feeling like an ass. Of course, Justin was right. 

But I'm more than just a cocksucker. I'm more than just a submissive. I can do this. 

After his shower, Chris packed up his laptop and headed downtown in the cool March sunshine to the coffeehouse. He wasn't meeting Mark for another couple of hours, but he could use the time to do some sleuthing on his future brothers. If he was going to take Mason up on his invitation, he was not going to half-ass it. The research proved remarkably easy, between the university's own website and various social media platforms. SAE was made up mostly of Political Science, Economics, and International Studies majors. If he made it in, he would be the only history major. Most of the guys already had LinkedIn profiles, and pretty impressive internships and jobs listed. On the more reputable online sites, there was a very adult feel to the place - Chris pictured them all moving on to get MBAs, or going to law school. 

The seamier side of social media revealed, surprisingly, nothing. These guys were good at keeping their noses clean. There were no pics of drunken parties he could find, not even shirtless pics at football games. No, it was all very disciplined, like there was some sort of marketing effort for the organization, some kind of policy about what they were allowed to post. Sports shots were always appropriately virile and clothed. Other pictures revealed conservatively-dressed young men who looked a lot alike. There was one token black guy, who seemed to make it into a disproportionate number of photographs. No Asians. No Latinos. Chris began memorizing their names, majors where he could find them, and other information like home towns. He would not reveal that he had been stalking them; no, this was an effort to remember the things they would eventually tell him more easily, because he would already know a little of it, and have memory pegs on which to put new information.

Chris was so absorbed in his research that he didn't hear Mark come up behind him.

"Hey, Chris."

Chris' heart fluttered. He had forgotten that in addition to a very hot body, Mark also had a very hot, sexy, deep voice. When he had called Chris "boy", it had never failed to produce a hardon.

Chris stood up to shake hands. He was again bowled over, this time by the incredibly vivid blue eyes. "How's it going? Great to see you." He didn't want to call him Sir, but there was no way he could call him Mark, either.

"You need a refill on your coffee? I'm going to get a latte."

"Sure, that would be great." Chris quickly closed all of the windows on his laptop, wondering if Mark had seen the screen full of hot frat boys. Well, he'd hardly be surprised.

Mark ambled over with the two drinks, a friendly smile on his face.

"It's really nice to see you again, kiddo."

Chris grinned. "You too." He was taken aback at how turned on, energized, and safe he felt basking in Mark's warm presence. There was a magnetism here as well, of a different type than Justin's. Chris had forgotten how much he liked it.

"So what have you been up to, Chris?"

"Just school, really."

"That's all?" Mark teased.

"Yeah, more or less." Chris was loath to reveal his obsession with his roommate to Mark. That all suddenly felt . . . tawdry. Unsophisticated. 

"A cutie like you ought to be getting laid." Damn it, man, why did you go there so fast? You were all set to be casual, and then when you lay eyes on this kid you start acting like . . . like a guy his age, Mark thought wryly.

Chris blushed.

"Aha! There's something you're not telling me." Mark was caught between jealousy, horniness and amusement.

Chris looked intently at his coffee.

"Who have you been fucking? That guy who whipped your ass?"

Chris looked up suddenly at Mark. "Jesus, lower your voice. No! That guy is an asshole. Although . . ."

"Although what?"

Chris spilled it. "He just asked me to join his fraternity."

Mark chuckled. Oh, the college drama. Thank God he wasn't doing THAT anymore. So much angst, so many hormones. In a way it was worse than high school, because everyone was more practiced at torturing their peers, and there was no parental supervision. No one becomes an adult in a frat, he thought. Ten years later, if they're lucky. He half-listened to Chris' story about rushing.

"Wait, your roommate is in the same frat?"

"Yeah."

"And . . . does he whip your ass too?"

"No. Not with a belt anyway."

Mark laughed out loud.

"You fucking slut," he burst out before he could stop himself. "And I thought you were a poor little virgin needing to be saved."

"I was a virgin! You're still the only person who . . ." Chris lowered his voice. ". . . has ever fucked me."

Mark rolled his eyes. "Sounds like it won't be for long, kiddo. You're already getting spankings from a bunch of guys, and Lord knows who you're blowing." He smiled, not wanting to be a too hard on the kid. "It's cool, you're young! You should be having fun."

Chris was humiliated and mortified. Mark thought he was just a college whore . . . like Mason had said he was. He had been so happy to see the 27-year-old marketing executive again, and desperately wanted his respect, especially after being ignored for so long.

"Don't look so offended. I mean it! I wish I'd had a roommate to mess around with when I was in college. Not to mention join his frat. You'll have more dick than even you can handle, kiddo." Mark reached over and rubbed Chris' arm, winking at the boy.

"I'm sorry I didn't meet your expectations," Chris said in a dull voice.

"Aw, don't be like that, Chris. I didn't have any expectations. We had an amazing time! I'm flattered I was your first, and I know I won't be your last. You should squeeze all the fun you can out of your college years. And all the cum out of those frat boys, too." Mark grinned.

"Yup. I gotta run, man." 

Mark grabbed his arm. "Lighten up, Chris. You're 19. You're supposed to be a horny fuck."

But for a whole month, thought Chris, I thought I was going to sublimate all that horniness into worshipping you. I thought you were going to lift me out of all this shit. "Well, good, cuz I am a horny fuck," he replied.

Chris packed up his computer and stood up. "It was really great seeing you again. Hit me up online any time. I'm always available." Chris turned and left the coffeehouse. 

Mark sighed. This was not what he'd been thinking when he texted the boy last night. He'd been thinking they'd have a nice talk, Chris would be dorky and charming, and maybe . . . there would be some more ass on offer. But the kid is too young, he thought. Let it go. Also, you only think of him as a trick, and he realizes that. He's looking for more. Remember the frittata?

Mark winced. That had been the sweetest gesture ever, and he had behaved like a total prick. As he had just now. He stared at Chris' quickly vanishing backside as it hurried down the street. Damn. Maybe it's my loss, not his.

********************

Chris had not been anticipating quite so much nudity.

He was in his second week as a Sigma Alpha Epsilon pledge. He had surprised Justin, Mason, and most of all himself by passing the first event with flying colors. Billed as a casual get-together, it was of course a proving ground for prospectives. It was spring, so there were fewer potential candidates; most guys rushed in the fall. Chris had excelled at the afternoon party, talking with nearly every active member who was there, and carefully modulating his speech and mannerisms so that he would appear straight, just like he mostly had in high school. 

"Dude, you rocked it!" was Justin's verdict afterwards in their room, as Chris had given him a celebratory blowjob. Chris was allowed extra Vaseline that night, and Justin's musky ass in his face.

There had been more rush events that week, and at each, Chris had demonstrated his ability to be one of the guys. He found it wearing, but had his own end game: Justin's love. Eventually. This was the best way. 

He had received his bid, and had managed to come up with the requisite dues, much to Mason's surprise, who had pegged Chris for solidly middle class, and not up to SAE's financial standards. Chris had simply withdrawn from his mother's legacy to him; it wasn't huge, but enough to cover the initial fees and his obligations through the pledge period. It would run out, of course, but not until he was a senior, at which point he would certainly have found some kind of work to cover it. Probably a gig at a financial firm or something; his future brothers would hook him up.

Justin and Mason had both been impressed with Chris' ability to hold his own in this new environment. They both knew him only as an obedient submissive; they had never met his more public persona. Justin had suspected that Chris was actually very put together in real life, and it made him more boned for his roommate than ever. Boned and proud. Mason had not suspected Chris had any of this in him, and it made him want to take the boy down.

For Chris' part, the most incredible part of pledging had not been his own mostly positive reception, but the opportunity to observe Justin in his element. To be clear, Chris had thought his roommate was hot from the first instant he laid eyes on him. He had witnessed the jock's charisma firsthand, and its good and bad sides; succumbing to that animal magnetism had given him constant sex, but it had also laid him flat on his back, panting for breath after being beaten up. But here, in the frat, Justin seemed . . . so happy. So at home. He clearly enjoyed being an instigator, a character, but also a uniter. Chris saw immediately why the fraternity had embraced his roommate. Justin's happy-go-lucky demeanor endeared him to all the brothers, and his ability to consume any amount of alcohol without passing out garnered their respect.

And Chris noticed something interesting. When Justin drank with the brothers, he never got mad. That correlated with his behavior back in their dorm room. When Justin came back from the fraternity, he had always wanted service, but had been fairly genial about it. The violent episodes had always corresponded to Justin's nights with his girlfriend. 

Seeing him in this context only renewed Chris' devotion to his Dom, and made him want to fit in with SAE even more. Sometimes Chris was jealous of how well-liked Justin was at the house, but he didn't see any evidence that another brother had access to the fat, uncut dick he loved so much. So it all seemed ok.

But now, shit was getting real. Pledging had turned out to be very time-consuming; it had also turned out to involve long periods in various states of undress. There had been lots and lots of shirtless pushups while brothers watched; more shirtless pushups with another pledge sitting on your back; shirtless pushups where you had to kiss a brother's shoe at the bottom of each one - those had been hot, and Chris had struggled not to reveal his woody. That might be the only advantage there was to having a dick this small, Chris had thought. And of course, there was the constant threat that you could be cut at any time if you failed to meet expectations.

Tonight was a new frontier; for the first time the pledges were all totally naked, and had been for more than an hour now, mostly standing at attention with their hands clasped behind their backs or behind their heads. No hands were permitted in front of their junk. Everything was on display. They had all had to bend over and hold their ass cheeks apart too, while Chas, the pledge master, inspected them and slapped their asses a few times. There was a lot of teasing about the state of their dicks; Chris was not the only one who had chubbed out a bit, but this night had been sheer torture for him, so terrified was he of revealing that he was attracted to guys. 

It was a small pledge class. There were only eight of them, and they had all been at least a little nervous at stripping down all the way in this context; it was different than a locker room. Of the eight, five were regular jocks who had played varsity sports in high school. SAE rarely accepted active collegiate athletes in this chapter, but rather excelled in intramural events against the other frats. Two more were athletic, but also debater types with a penchant for political argument. They fit in well with the Young Republicans in the house, of whom there were many. And then there was Chris. He was very familiar with the inside of a gym, and had nothing to apologize for to a normal observer in terms of his physique; he was wonderfully proportionate, and there was no fat on his 19-year-old frame. But he always felt incredibly self-conscious among his better-built peers; he was also the second-shortest of the pledges, at 5'8". 

And tonight, a Saturday night which was proving to be the intense apex of the weekend, that self-consciousness had increased a hundredfold. The order to strip everything off had come as soon as they were gathered. Much posturing, blustering and feigned reluctance had ensued; and then, just as Chris had feared, there had been an assessment of the pledges' . . . assets. Both soft and hard. Flaccid and erect. There had been a big show of notating each one's endowment, and much hooting and joking about the competition. It had perhaps been a contest for first place; it was not a contest for last. Josh and Keith had been measured several times, and each one was right around 8.5" hard; Keith had eventually won, on the third try. His cut dick jutted out proudly, completely shaved. Soft, though, Josh had won hands down. Josh had the rare natural bush, and was a shower, not a grower. They both got a prize: a Fleshlight, which they of course claimed they would never have occasion to use, they were getting so much pussy. More hilarity. Bryce, Chandler, and Cooper were all bigger soft than Keith was, but not as big hard. All three of them were very thick, though, and over 7". Ryan was a solid 6 and three quarters, and also very thick. He did get grief for what almost looked like a woman's landing strip above his cock. Jay was also about 6.75", but just average thickness.

And then there was Chris. They had all seen it coming for more than an hour of course; there was no way that little thing was going to grow enough to be significant. The catcalls and whistles had been deafening when the tape came out to measure his penis; at 4.5" hard and very thin (only 3.5" around), he was without question the loser of this competition. His prize was a 10" floppy dildo with balls. He tried to take it in stride and be good-humored about it.

Fortunately, they were all drunk by the time the measuring happened, including the actives. Since Chris had learned from his roommate over seven months to hold his liquor, he was able to respond with some semblance of coherence. 

"Not the size of the boat that counts," he had protested, red-faced; the others responded with jeers.

"Yeah, but I'm the only one here who can bang a hot, tight Asian chick, and not hurt her," he added to general laughter. He put his hands behind his head and thrust his hips forward repeatedly for comic effect, his ludicrous little dick flopping and softening.

"You know all those studious girls with big tits who you think might be hot if they just dressed better and wore contacts? Well, they're all over me."

"That's because they never had one of us," one of the actives yelled. Mike. He was a prick, Chris noted.

"They're scared of you, bro," he said. "I'm the king of tight twats." He flexed his biceps and quads; everyone laughed. 

Chris risked a quick glance at Justin for moral support. His roommate was engaged with one of the other brothers, and didn't seem to be paying attention to the pledges.

The one source of relief for Chris once the measuring had started was the tacit permission to be fully, and then intermittently, hard. Alone (he assumed) among his seven peers, he had a reason to get a boner when all the men around him were naked. Hell, he had a hard time staying soft when they were all clothed. But tonight, thanks to the sexually charged atmosphere, all the pledges were having sporadic erections, even when they weren't required to. That came as a relief to Chris, because he had been at least half-hard pretty much the whole time he was forced to be nude.

I may actually fucking get through this, he thought. Just don't panic.

Chas brought the group back to order after Chris' antics. It was time for a trivia game, based on fraternity history. Chris, sensing he had passed the dick challenge despite having theoretically lost it, contemplated his strategy. He didn't want to appear too nerdy, too eager, or like a know-it-all. He didn't want to be the small-dick striver who had memorized every page of the pledge manual, although that's in fact what he was. So he decided to be clever. He would miss a few questions, and then get enough right to finish solidly in the middle.

Unfortunately, the drinking started to catch up with him. 

He flubbed the first two questions on purpose, but his mistakes on the third and fourth were unintentional. He got the fifth right, but at the end of 50 rounds of turning his answer over on an index card, he was concerned about his performance. 

Chas' tally of the results followed a few minutes later, and it was not good for Chris. 

The naked pledges had to line up, at attention again. Eight hot young men, butt naked, drunk, and goofily nervous. Chas read out the scores.

"Ryan was first, with 48 correct answers." Everyone booed.

"Keith is second, with 37 correct answers." Everyone cheered; it was enough of a dropoff that the brothers felt he had hit the sweet spot of caring about fraternity history without trying too hard, which would be uncool.

Then Chandler, Bryce, Josh, and Jay. Cooper was seventh.

To his utter, drunken shock, Chris came in last. Much hooting and whistling ensued.

"PAD-DLE, PAD-DLE," some of the actives started to chant.

Chas smiled.

"Looks like our friend, pledge Donaldson, has come in last TWICE now. Once for having the smallest dick . . ." The catcalls were again deafening. "And additionally for knowing the least about SAE's history." Booing and stamping shook the walls. Chris looked around, and sensed that all the guys in the room were drunk off their asses. And out for blood. He looked at the floor.




Chris Donaldson Ch. 05



"STEP FORWARD, PLEDGE!"

There was no point in looking around. Chris knew that Chas meant him. He stepped ahead out of line, his arms instinctively moving forward so that his hands could cover his inadequate genitals. His training with Justin reminded him to keep his arms at his sides. He continued to look down at the floor, but stood straight, determined to show everyone assembled that he was not a pussy, no matter what was about to happen.

"This lowly pledge, Chris Donaldson, has demonstrated his utter lack of knowledge of our great fraternity." Everyone booed and jeered.

"Therefore, it is incumbent on me to decide on a suitable punishment." Chas paused for effect. "His crime is so great" . . . more jeers . . . "his transgression so egregious" . . . more catcalls . . . "that even I, as pledgemaster, feel unequal to the task of determining his penalty."

Chris started to grow genuinely concerned at that last bit, which was unusual; having a hardon was definitely not an issue now.

"And so I refer him to our great officer, Vice President Evans."

Chris' heart sank.

Mason walked to the center of the room, facing Chris. 

"Pledge! Kneel."

Chris dropped to his knees, his dick shrinking even further. He was going to break a reverse record for a soft penis at this point; it was about half an inch long now. Please, please, please, don't let this be some fucked-up outing of me. That I'm a cocksucker on my knees. Please. He didn't dare look up, but prayed to every god he knew to save him.

Mason spoke.

"Your failure to respect our fraternity and our house is the worst shame you can bring on yourself. And by extension, you bring that shame on all of us. You deserve," and here Mason raised Chris' chin so he could look the boy straight in the eye, "A most severe punishment." Mason smirked, and Chris quickly looked down again. Was it going to be the paddle? Or worse, the cane?

"Your punishment will be administered by the brother who is most responsible for your poor behavior and inadequate education." Mason smiled broadly. Chris started to tremble involuntarily. Tag, his pledge dad was a nice enough guy, but a stocky brute. If there was going to be spanking, it was gonna hurt like hell.

"CORVINO," Mason, shouted. Chris sucked in his breath, shocked and panicked. Corvino was not his pledge dad. Corvino was his roommate. "You will punish this errant pledge."

"Yes, Vice President Evans." Justin stood up, momentarily white as a sheet. "Can't wait," he laughed to his friends, trying to lighten the atmosphere.

"VINO, VINO, VINO!" The actives started chanting. 

Oh holy fuck, please don't let me get hard, please don't let me get hard, Chris intoned silently.

Justin strode over, and with great fanfare took a chair and placed it in the middle of the floor. The other seven pledges pulled back to give them room. The smell of sweat and stale booze in the air had started to make Chris queasy, but the familiar scent of his approaching roommate was arousing him. Shit, shit, shit.

Justin sat confidently the chair, and made a big show out of placing his feet firmly on the floor and adjusting his legs so they made a solid lap for punishment.

"Over my fuckin' knee, ROOMIE PLEDGE," he said to cheers from the assembled men. He beamed at his brothers, and grimaced comically at Chris, to general approbation. Only Mason noticed his pallor, and gloated quietly. 

Chris caught Justin's eye briefly, and steeled himself. He remembered the low, sexy voice muttering in his ear all those months ago, "Shhhh. It's gonna be ok." He commended himself to the hopefully kindly spirits of whatever closeted former pledges might haunt this room, and walked over to Justin.

"Pledge Donaldson presenting himself for punishment, SIR!" Chris barked, according to the formula. His mind was going a hundred miles an hour. Please don't get hard, please don't get hard . . . he had fantasized about a scene like this many times. The reality was just as hot - terrifying, but hot.

"Down, Pledge."

Chris bent over his roommate's lap.

The room fell quiet.

"How much do I give him?" Justin asked Chas. Chas deferred to Mason. 

"Whatever you think it takes, Corvino," was the answer.

Fuck you, you fuckin' pervy douche. 

Justin made a big production of raising his right hand high to deliver the first spank, flexing his arm as he did it. With his left hand, he ostentatiously gripped the nape of Chris' neck.

SMACK!

SMACK!

Justin spanked Chris with vigor. Cheers broke out with each spank. Some of the pledges started counting. The brothers were fixated on the meaty hand delivering the punishment and the quickly reddening firm ass cheeks. They didn't see Justin's left hand gently stroking Chris' neck with every swat. 

It's ok, Justin was saying with his left hand. You'll be ok. Just stay with me.

SMACK!

SMACK!

SMACK!!

The brothers were impressed with the force of Justin's spanking, and Mason was not the only one who started to get hard. Six of the naked pledges winced in sympathy with each swat, but Keith was fully erect and proud of his stature as top dog. He wanted Chris to suffer. That dumb fuck didn't know shit about being an SAE. He didn't belong here.

SMACK!

"Thirty-one!" Came the cry from the crowd.

Justin showed no sign of letting up. Chris was smarting and squirming, but internally he was deeply grateful. While he was still totally turned on, his roommate was hitting hard enough that there was no chance Chris would sport an erection at the end. And the fingers on his neck kept sending the message, stay with me. You'll be ok.

SMACK!!

SMACK!!

Justin's swing got more exaggerated with each blow. The guys cheered louder with each one, as the count mounted past what they had expected. They were turned on by the violence, but also impressed with what the small-dicked pledge seemed to be able to take. Chris was yelping now, a short exclamation with each swat. But he wasn't breaking.

SMACK!! "Owp!"

SMACK!! "Owp!"

"Seventy-nine!"

SMACK!! "Owp!"

"Eighty!"

"GOOD!" Mason shouted. 

Justin raised his right hand again dramatically, and then let it fall, disappointment all over his face.

"Aw fuck, Evans, he hasn't had nearly enough."

Cheers from the audience.

"You're right Corvino. He hasn't."

Chris tensed. The hand spanking had been very painful, and while he was glad it had spared him the indignity of getting hard while over Justin's lap in front of the whole fraternity, he wasn't sure he could take much more. His secret Dom had not stinted. And Chris knew what Mason might have in mind.

"Time for the paddle, don't you think, Corvino?"

The brothers and pledges cheered. More beer flowed into red solo cups.

"Yes, Vice President. The paddle is in order."

Chris' heart sank. Now even Justin was against him.

"Stand up, pledge!" This time the voice was his roommate's. "Place your hands on the chair." Chris knew how to do this, and he obeyed, turning around so that the whole room now had a clear view of his ass. There were hoots, gasps and cheers; every square inch of it was a very angry red.

Chris was sure this would be his downfall. There was no way he could survive an assault with the paddle. The razor strop with Mason had at least been flexible; wood, he had read, stung worse because it was not. He had never been paddled before. He felt real dread. He had to endure it, though, and he had to be sure not to betray Justin.

Mason sauntered over, a massive paddle in his hands. The fraternity's letters had been embossed on the surface, and there were a dozen holes drilled in it as well. It was 22 inches long, three-and-a-half inches wide, and half an inch thick. A fearsome instrument. The pledges had not seen it before; only junior paddles had been used on them so far, and nothing with holes. Mason handed it to Justin, who received it with a bow.

"How many, Vice President Evans?"

"Pledge Donaldson had only 24 correct answers on the test. That means 26 errors." Mason pulled something out of his pocket. "So 26 swats."

Chris felt cautiously relieved. 26 was a lot, but his ass was already numb. This might be ok. 

"With this multiplier." Chris stifled a gasp.

The drunken room jeered and hooted again.

Mason rolled an 8-sided die so that it landed on Chris' flattened back.

"What does the die read, Corvino?"

"Three." Mason was annoyed that using a die with more than six surfaces had not produced a better result.

Chris groaned. Three times 26 was . . . 78. Jesus Christ. He had only a moment to be thankful that it hadn't been higher. Motherfucker.

"ASSUME THE POSITION, PLEDGE!"

Chris stuck his ass out.

Silence fell as the brothers and pledges held their breath. 78 with the paddle was a lot, even for this fraternity, and the actives couldn't remember anyone getting that many outside of hell week. This was gonna be good.

"COUNT 'EM OUT, PLEDGE! TO 78!"

THWACK!!

"AAAHH!" Chris yelled involuntarily. "One!" FUCK that hurt.

THWACKKK!!

"Two!" Chris grunted before calling out the number, but stopped yelling.

THWACKK!!

"Three!"

Justin gave the punishment in groups of three; 26 sets, one for each of Chris' wrong answers. That actually made it worse for Chris, because the numbness from each set faded slightly before the next one. This was intentional, of course.

Now it was Justin willing himself not to get a hardon. He was incredibly turned on by the scene, his eyes starting to glaze over with lust.

THWACCK!!

"Seventeen!"

"THWACCK!!

Justin was being careful to hit hard, but not too hard, and not exactly in the same place twice in a row. It was a long way to 78, and he didn't want his roommate too damaged. Just nice and red, he grinned to himself. Fuck, man, don't think about that!

THWACCKKK!!

At 36, the meaty middle part of Chris' ass was starting to turn grey.

THWACKK!

"Thirty-nine!"

At 41, Chris started giving a full-throated yell after every stroke. No one else in the room made a sound. A few of the brothers started to get uncomfortable.

THWACK!

"AAHHH! Forty-seven!" Chris grunted. His knees were bending with each swat. At 56, his left leg started to shake.

Justin took his customary pause; they had reached 57. He looked over at Mason. Most of the guys were now looking at the floor. Mason was rubbing his fly. You fucking asshole, Justin thought. 

It was one of those things, though. He couldn't stop. They all knew it. And Chris . . . Justin could tell he was suffering mightily, but he also knew how tough that boy was.

THWACK!

"AHH! Fifty-eight!"

After three more, Chris' ass was beginning to look raw. Justin tried to moderate the stroke, swinging just as dramatically, but not hitting as hard. He was getting worried. There were too many left.

THWACK!

"AAHH! Sixty-eight!"

The cracks of the wood were not as loud as they had been at the beginning, but if anyone noticed, they weren't going to say anything. Bryce, the shortest pledge, looked like he was going to cry.

Chris wasn't crying, though. He couldn't - he wanted to, and there was a huge lump in his throat, but all that was coming out was a dry panting that was not quite a sob. He had three thoughts: don't lose count; don't fall over; keep trying to breathe.

THWACK!

"AHH! Seventy-two!"

Only two more sets of three. You're a champ, Chrissy, Justin thought. You can do it.

THWACK!

"AAHH! Seventy-three!"

THWACK!!

"AAHH! Seventy-four!"

Chris leg was shaking so badly now that he had leaned forward, supporting his weight with his arms, and with his chin gripping the back of the chair to his neck.

THWACK!

"AAGH! Seventy-five!"

Last pause. Just finish it, Chris begged silently. As if reading his mind, Justin gave out the last three swats as fast as Chris could count them.

THWACK!

"UNH! Seventy-six!"

THWACK!

"AAGH! Seventy-seven!"

THWACK!

"UNGH! Seventy-eight!"

Chris sobbed out the last three numbers. No one moved. What did they all do now? Justin unceremoniously dropped the paddle on the floor with a loud CLUNK that made half the guys jump. He bent over Chris and lifted his shoulders gently. The boy was about to collapse, that was obvious. Justin slipped an arm around his roommate and lifted Chris' right arm over his neck.

Chas, in an attempt puncture the awkwardness and pretend this was all run-of-the-mill, if a little severe, announced:

"PLEDGE! The punishment has been served."

"Thank you, Sir," Chris said clearly. 

You are a FUCKING CHAMP, Justin thought, and squeezed Chris' shoulder. He was breaking protocol with the physical contact, but everyone was so shit-faced at this point, they weren't gonna notice.

There was a smattering of applause, but most of the guys were too uncomfortable to react until it was clear where this was going. Chris' ass was just about skinned in two places, one on each cheek. He wasn't bleeding, but no one in the room had ever seen an ass looking quite like that before.

"Let's hope you remember your fraternity history better next time, Donaldson," Mason said tightly. Justin wanted to punch him in the face. 

Chas leapt in again; this party was clearly over. "Great night, men," he said. "Pledges, you will now be escorted out of the house."

The pledges collected their clothes and met their pledge dads to be led out; Justin gingerly slipped Chris back into his briefs and jeans, while Tag helped with his shirt.

"I'm fine, I can do this myself." Chris walked slowly over to his shoes. There was a brief, relieved murmur in the room. It had looked worse than it was; he was walking. He leaned on Justin as he shoved his loafers on. He couldn't find his socks.

"I can take him out," Justin said. The vibe among the brothers was awkward and a little tense. No one wanted to show undue sympathy to a pledge, but this paddling, after the long and hard hand spanking, had been on the verge of being too much. They were glad someone else would take responsibility; Justin was the dude's roommate anyway, and he'd make sure there was no ugliness or backlash.

Chris insisted on going up the stairs on his own, although he gripped the banister tightly. Chas was the only one to speak to him before he left. "Good job, Donaldson. Way to take a paddling!" The words were face-saving, but also heartfelt, and a few of the other guys mumbled in agreement. 

Justin and Chris walked down the sidewalk, two feet between them, in the direction of their dorm. They didn't speak until they were well out of sight of the fraternity, and Justin was sure Mason was not trailing them. 

"Stop a sec, Chris."

Chris stopped, still a bit dazed and in a lot of pain.

"I gotta know you're ok." 

"I'm ok."

"I had to do it."

Chris looked him in the eye. "Of course you did. Don't worry, I'll be fine. This wasn't as bad as when Mason whipped my ass." Chris was lying. It wasn't worse, but it was just as bad. "And if anyone else had been doing it, it would have been a lot tougher." That was the truth.

Justin wrapped his arms around Chris and pulled him into a tight hug.

"You were so amazing tonight, Chris. You put 'em all to shame."

Chris smiled, pleased at the praise, and at the warmth of the embrace.

"I wasn't gonna let ya down, Sir."

Justin kissed Chris' forehead with a fervor that shocked them both. Not knowing what to say, Chris squeezed Justin again, and they continued their walk back to Kroetzger, Justin's arm never leaving Chris' shoulders. Once in the privacy of their room, Justin stripped his roommate gently, and looked at his ass. Ouch. 

"You got any antibiotic ointment, roomie?"

"Am I bleeding?" Chris asked, startled. "It's mostly just feeling numb now."

"No, you're not bleeding, but I skinned ya in a couple places. I'm sorry." Justin laid Chris on his bed and rubbed first antibiotic cream, and then some skin lotion into his roommate's butt. Fondling his roommate's ass got him hard in no time, and took off his pants and boxers, almost apologetically.

"I know you're hurtin', Chrissy, but your ass is making me so fucking boned."

Chris chuckled. Good old Justin. 

"Yeah, I was turned on too."

"While I was paddling you?!" 

"Sure. I mean, not like popping wood, but mentally . . . yeah. Because it was you."

"And in front of all those guys, I bet you loved that part, you little slut." Justin rolled Chris over on his back, and mussed his hair affectionately. Chris winced as his butt touched the comforter.

"Aw," Justin purred, "I'm sorry your pretty little ass is on fire, roomie. But God damn, I want to fuck it soooo bad."

Chris laughed. "Not tonight, Sir. PLEASE not tonight."

"Aw, you won't even feel it, with all the pain on the surface," Justin grinned.

"It hurts a lot more than just on the surface!"

Justin pouted comically. "Oh, ok." He gathered Chris to his chest and started gently pumping his massive uncut dick beneath the boy's sore asscheeks without trying to penetrate. He teased the crack, loving how the heat from the spanked butt warmed his cock. Chris moaned. Justin buried his face in the pillow, and started pumping harder. Chris' own dick was now at full mast.

Grunting, Justin hastily flipped Chris over and spread the boy's legs. FUCK, that red butt looked hot. He spread Chris' steaming asscheeks and laid his dick in between them, oozing precum. FUUCKKK. He pumped back and forth for a minute. He was so incredibly horny, and close to blowing. He grasped Chris' shoulders firmly and rubbed back and forth, back and forth over the lightly hairy crack, inflamed butt, and tight pucker. Eventually he couldn't hold it back. His tight nuts smacking Chris' already-tortured sit spot, he fucked his roommate's crack until he spewed spurt after spurt of his load, all over Chris' back and ass.

He practically howled when he shot.

Chris laughed. "Careful, the whole dorm is gonna hear you!"

"Dude, do you know how long I've been holding that in??" He collapsed on top of Chris, who felt the air go out of his lungs at the weight.

"And what about me? Don't I get to cum after all that?"

"Heh. Of course you do Chrissy, you were awesome. You earned hands-free tonight, boy." Chris flushed with pride.

Justin spat on his hand generously. "I don't wanna get that crap all over my hands," he laughed when Chris looked wistfully at the locked filing cabinet where his lube was.

Justin pumped Chris' dick slowly with his left hand and wrapped his other arm around Chris' head, holding him tight and whispering sexily in his ear the whole time.

"You were such a fuckin stud tonight . . . you had to show your little wee-wee to the whole house, and they laughed at it . . ." Chris's dick bounced. He loved it when Justin talked shit about his small endowment now. "You got your sweet ass paddled in front of 50 guys . . ." He pumped Chris' cut cock faster. "You got put over your Sir's knee like a bad fuckin boy right in front of all those hot men with big dicks . . . you must've loved that, you little faggot . . . they all were lookin' right at your ass, hearing you yell and scream, I bet you woulda loved to suck every one of them off . . . "

AAUUUGGGGGGGGGGGGGG HHHHHHmmmmphhhhh. Justin put his hand over Chris' mouth as he came, laughing. "Damn, you thought I was loud . . . shit, boy!" He stroked Chris more slowly, easing the cum out of the battered little stud's dick. He stopped and wiped his hand on Chris' chest. "Hang on."

Justin threw his boxers on and came back from the bathroom with two hot, wet washcloths. They cleaned themselves up.

"Ok boy, brush your teeth and get in your jammies." Chris obeyed. Justin held Chris's torso gently as the boy climbed into the top bunk, helping him up. To Chris' surprise, Justin climbed up after.

"Huh?"

"I'm tucking you in, boy." He arranged the covers around Chris' small but fit frame. He laid his hand alongside Chris' face and looked deep into his light blue eyes. "You were such a fucking champ." He kissed Chris quickly on the cheek, and let himself over the side into his own bed, switching off his light. 




Chris Donaldson Ch. 06



This story is about Chris and Justin, roommates during their sophomore year in college. After a bumpy start, Justin has turned Chris into a live-in submissive. In an unexpected development, Chris was invited to rush Justin's fraternity, and is now a pledge there. The roommates' RA, Mason Evans, is a member of the same fraternity, and appears to have it in for Chris. While there is a certain amount of "catch-up" material included here, this story is probably best enjoyed after reading the previous chapters. All characters in this story are over 18.

*****

The line of naked fraternity pledges stretched across the rec room. Chris stood with his brothers, hands behind his head.

"Ok, everyone," Chas, the pledge master said. "Smile for the camera!"

No one smiled. As the video feed of their nude bodies appeared on the wide screen TV in front of them, the fraternity hopefuls watched themselves in HD with acute discomfort. They saw eight handsome white guys on the screen, ranging from 6'2" to 5'7", all of them 19 or 20 years old, and almost all of them nicely hung with bodies ranging from athletic to ripped. It was a sight that any gay guy looking at a porn site would love to see . . . and that was apparently exactly what they were being made to do: show off for a site called NakedFratStudz. Chas had told the pledges that the website had a membership of close to 100,000 guys, any or all of whom could be watching them right now. But if the young men wanted to get into SAE, they were going to have to perform for the camera.

"You know that all Greek organizations are based on providing community service, right? Raising money for charities, doing good deeds . . . well, we're providing an awesome service to fags all over the world tonight, am I right, pledges?"

"Yes, SIR!" came the strangled response. 

"Like I said, only faggots who pay to join the site can see it, and they can't record you or hear us, just watch. So after they spew their gay loads all over their screens with you as inspiration, they'll never see you again. Your pretty faces and big dicks will merely be a fond memory."

The pledge group found that small consolation. As far as Chris could tell, they were all completely straight - he had not sensed a hetero-flexible or curious vibe from any of them. They ranged from extremely vocal probable gay-bashers (Keith and Bryce), to contemptuous and generically homophobic (the other five). Chris, of course, was gay; but having come out only to himself and one other off-campus adult, he was unlikely to be betrayed. Well, there was also Justin, his studly jock roommate and SAE active, who had been face-fucking and otherwise sexually dominating him for eight months. He was certainly aware of Chris' . . . proclivities. Chris was Justin's bitch, there was no question about that really. But the last thing Justin wanted was for anyone to know what they did together. And of course there was Mark, too, Chris thought - the ad exec in his late 20s who had fucked Chris in the ass for the first time last fall. But Mark would never set foot on campus, or ever be in the same room as any of these guys, at least not until they graduated, at which point Chris would be safely in the fraternity and protected from being outed and kicked to the curb. 

He still had one more week of vulnerability and stress before the comfort of belonging, though: Hell Week, during which, so the pledge master said, ANY of them could be cut at any time. It had begun tonight, a beautiful spring Friday, at 6:00 p.m. sharp. It would not be over for another week. And tomorrow happened to be Chris' birthday, for anyone who was paying attention - which so far had been exactly three people. Chris had opened his presents early, since he knew he would not be back in his dorm room for a long time. His dad had sent a card and a check for $25; his older friend Pat had sent him an ecard and a gift certificate to her shooting range; and this morning, Justin had given him a small tub of Vaseline, Chris' favorite lube, AND a much larger bottle of Astroglide, which Justin had intimated might see some use very soon. 

The last gift and the broad hint had made Chris' little weiner hard immediately; he was way more than ready for Justin to fuck him with his thick, 8.5-inch uncut, veiny, delicious cock - a cock he had swallowed more times than he could count, but which had not yet made its way into his ass. He clenched his hole just thinking about how amazing that would be.

Chris was positive that if he made it through this week, Justin would not only fuck him for the first time, but that the hot jock with the shaved head, great body, handsome round face, and deep brown eyes would also finally feel free to develop the most intimate bond imaginable with his boy. Belonging to Justin's prized fraternity would clinch Chris' place in Justin's world.

And who would have thought, after being such a completely nondescript freshman, not to mention being beaten into submission last semester by his roommate, that Chris would have been able to pull this off? It was a real achievement. Membership in this prestigious society would open countless doors for him in the future. At the moment, though, he only cared about one door, and that was the one to Justin's heart; fuck, how he hoped THAT door would open, for real and forever. 

They would be discreet, of course. But after the live-in requirement next year, they could get their own place senior year, and then . . . Chris had it all planned out. He had recently altered his usual route home to include a walk past some great off-campus apartments; as he passed each day, he looked longingly at the bay windows on the top floors, imagining the hardwood inside . . . yup, there would be quite a lot of hard wood in there once he and Justin moved in, that was for sure. And probably some eye hooks in the ceiling before long, too, Chris thought hornily.

Chas' voice snapped Chris out of his reverie.

"And we have our first request from our online viewers!" The pledges groaned. "Pledge Reynolds, step forward."

The actives watching from the sidelines cheered, and Chris smiled to himself. That was Keith. He wasn't surprised that whoever was tuned in to NakedFratStudz had chosen the biggest-hung guy first.

"Please stroke yourself for the camera, Pledge Reynolds."

Keith looked resentfully at Chas, and then at the camera. What the fuck was all this homo shit, he thought. He gave his 6-inch flaccid member a few desultory tugs.

Chas read out a viewer's response from his laptop. "Is that it? LOL."

"You're being laughed at by a faggot, pledge. Are you gonna take that?"

Keith scowled, and focused a look of utmost contempt on the camera lens, then started deliberately stroking his dick, never breaking eye contact with the screen. He was hard in less than a minute, and the other pledges yelled their approval. He slapped his eight-and-a-half-inch, thick, cut monster on his left hand a few times, then continued to jack it with his right.

That's pretty fuckin' hot, Chris thought. Shit! Don't get hard, don't get hard, don't get hard . . . that had been Chris' mantra for two months now. 

It had been a titillating but terrifying journey for the gay, submissive pledge. He wondered - would the fact that his 20th birthday aligned with hell week be a fortuitous coincidence, or just an opportunity for extra abuse? Chris imagined he would get a special paddling for sure, and probably some other hazing, but all eight of the pledges were no doubt in for a lot of alcohol-fueled, sexually-charged fun. Justin had not revealed anything specific about what the week might contain, but he had hinted that it was nothing Chris couldn't handle, particularly after his performance last month. Man, that had been one scary but incredibly hot night. Chris had taken both a harsh hand spanking and an even harsher paddling from Justin in front of the whole fraternity, and hadn't broken. The guys had all felt awkward about the severity of it, but most of them had ultimately been impressed, and his nickname was now "158" for the number of swats he had taken that night. Chris wore that name as a badge of honor. Never mind that it also turned him on. The other guys didn't need to know that he was servicing the dude who had paddled him that night on a daily basis, or that getting spanked aroused him.

In fact, Chris felt that night had bonded him to his fellow pledges in a really meaningful way, although only he had experienced the punishment. He had sensed a respect from them in the following weeks that hadn't been there before . . . well, from everyone except Keith. Keith was wealthy even by SAE standards, and he had also won the competition that night for best-hung pledge. Fitting, because he was turning out to be the biggest dick of the eight of them. Chris thought he was insufferable, but everyone higher up in the fraternity seemed to really like him. Keith thought very poorly of Chris too, and showed it at every opportunity. The fact that Chris hadn't been cut from their pledge class appeared to infuriate him, and Chris had been extra careful to keep his nose clean, show unparalleled enthusiasm for the frat, and strive to fit in as casually and as artlessly as he was able. Fortunately, other pledges' opinions didn't ultimately matter; it was the brothers' votes that counted, and he was sure that if he had made it this far, there wasn't going to be any problem now. Not for Mr. 158.

Chris' attention snapped back to Keith; the dark-haired stud with the shaved bush and smooth chest was now whipping his monster dick into a frenzy.

Chas kept reading comments from the online audience. 

"Open your eyes, stud." "Slow down, I want to see you edge."

Keith ignored the pledge master, and shut his eyes, going for gold. He wanted this to be over. He grunted, and shot a huge load of jizz that hit the floor by the camera with an audible THUNK. Then there was a second, slightly smaller THUNK. Then a third. There were five cum volleys in total from the hunk with perfect, 6'2" 200 lb. cut body. Each one traveled more than six feet.

"Woah, nice shot, pledge," Chas said, raising his eyebrows. "Next time aim a little higher, for the lens - the viewers will love that." Keith gave him a nasty look.

"May I return to my place in line . . . Sir?" Keith asked insolently.

"Do I hear disrespect in your tone, pledge?"

"No, pledge master."

Chas was unconvinced.

"I think I did, pledge. Go fetch the paddle."

Chris nearly cheered out loud. Keith NEVER got the paddle, and now he was going to get it in front of an audience of thousands, who could all see his dick, his ass . . . and his face. Keith reddened, and he walked silently to the wall, where a small, thin wooden frat paddle was hanging. He yanked it down, and handed it to Chas with a curt nod instead of the required bow.

"Assume the position for the camera, pledge!"

Keith turned around, and bent over, showing the viewers his magnificent, chiseled ass.

"The commenters are going wild, pledge. Shall I ask them how many to give you?"

"That's your call, Sir," Keith hissed.

Chas laughed. "Not so cocky now, are we pledge? That'll be ten swats for the camera."

Chris groaned to himself, outraged. Ten swats with the junior paddle! He had taken 78 with the badass senior paddle that had holes drilled in it. Keith was getting off easy, like the pussy he was.

Smack!

Smack!

Smack!

Keith's punishment was over in less than a minute. Hardly chastened, he resumed his place in line. 

Next was Chandler, who was first told to flex for the camera. Chandler was 6'0" and 220 lbs.; Keith had a perfect body but Chandler was huge and jacked, and shaved all over except for his legs and forearms. He posed like a body builder - biceps, quads, lats, everything. He started to get half hard, and blushed when viewers commented on his tumescence. 

"Is this turning you on, pledge?"

"Fuck no, Sir!" he yelled, but the brothers around the room whistled at him. 

"Since you're practically already there, stroke yourself for the camera, pledge."

Chandler complied with some relief, figuring that once he came, this humiliation would be over and he'd be that much closer to a welcome beer. He jerked his seven inches quickly, and spurted almost instantaneously, his large load dribbling down his thick penis and landing in a puddle at his feet. He closed his eyes, embarrassed at how fast it had happened, and that others would get the wrong idea.

"That was quick, pledge," Chas observed sarcastically. "Do you cum that fast with your girl?" Chandler shook his head, abashed, and retreated back to the pledge line, returning his hands to their position behind his head.

And so it went; Jay was next. It was fairly predictable, but with a little variation each time. A pledge would be called forward, required to flex and pose, fondle himself, do something unique, and then jack off until he shot his wad. Jay was told to spit on his hand and get his dick wet to show the guys online; he took a long time to cum, and spent a lot of time in profile so the horny men on the other end could get a long look at his slicked-up cock. 

Cooper had to spank his own meaty ass while he jerked his dick with his other hand. Bryce, the shortest pledge, had to do pushups and thrust against the floor at the bottom of each rep. His arms were the second biggest of the pledges after Chandler, but his legs were skinny. A few of the brothers teased him for having a "state prison body" - built on top and nothing below the waist. He also closed his eyes when he came, and it took him the longest of all the pledges, which proved to be very entertaining for the audience, both online and in the room. It was a solid ten minutes before he climaxed, with his penis deflating at regular intervals. His cock looked raw when he returned to the line.

After Bryce came Ryan, whose extra twist was having to show off his pubes, which were shaved into a tight rectangle above his manhood; he was made to rub what Chas called his "landing strip" before he was allowed to jerk off. Josh, the only pledge besides Chris with natural pubes and chest hair, had the second-biggest cock of the bunch. He had to squat down and look up at the camera while he rubbed one out. He was among the handsomest of the group, and the viewers apparently wanted a really good view of his face.

All seven of them were very, very clearly not into it. Chris waited and waited for his turn to be called, and the delay helped him in a way; his nervousness had half an hour to build, and it kept him from getting hard. Maybe the online audience wasn't interested in a guy who, while slim, tight, and in good shape, was shorter at 5'8" and not as built (or as smooth) as his peers - and who had a much smaller dick. Just as Chris thought he had escaped this one indignity, Chas called, "And last, but certainly least in the penis department, pledge Donaldson! Step forward."

Chris walked to the designated spot, picking his way through the minefield of semen on the floor, and resigned himself to jacking off his dick on camera like the rest had. It would be more embarrassing for him, because he was only 4.5" cut and really thin. But whatever it took to get into the fraternity, he would do it. Humiliation was temporary. Justin was forever.

"Is that all he's got?" Chas read out from the online comments.

Chris blushed and lowered his clear blue eyes. Somehow, being humiliated about his dick in public never got easier. He didn't mind when Justin did it, but others . . . it was a different story.

"They want to see it hard, pledge."

Chris obediently jacked his dick, slowly making it stand out proudly from the thick, light brown bush, which was a few shades darker than the hair on his head.

"Wow, that's the smallest one I've ever seen," Chas read from his screen.

Keith laughed loudly, and the rest of the pledges chuckled. There was more laughter from around the room - how many brothers were watching this, too? Chris looked at the floor, trying to angle his head to see if Justin was in the room to give him strength. 

"Eyes up, pledge! Look at the camera!"

Chris obeyed, casting a quick glance to each side as he looked up. He couldn't see his roommate.

"They want you to turn around, pledge, and show them your asshole. They think you're more built to get fucked."

Chris turned even redder, and hesitated. Why was he the only one who had to show his hole?

"DO IT, pledge!"

Chris pivoted so that his ass was facing the camera. He bent over without being asked again, and spread his firm, pale butt cheeks with his hands. His almost-virgin, hairy and tight pucker came up on the screen in the rec room. Chas zoomed the camera in.

"Woah, these comments are coming in faster than I can read them," Chas laughed. "Here's some - 'I wanna tap that.' 'I wanna fuck it!' There's about ten of those . . . shit, more like twenty."

A new comment appeared on Chas' screen: "Make him finger his little hole." The author typed another line. "He has to wet his finger in another pledge's mouth first." Chas chuckled. This shit was getting good.

"Pledge Donaldson! We have a request for you to finger your hole." Chris took a deep breath and started to move his middle finger to his anus. "Not without lube, pledge! Go stick your finger in a pledge brother's mouth to get it wet."

Beet-faced, Chris started to stand up and walk to the line of naked men. His dick had already shrunk back to its normal soft length of about an inch.

More typing on Chas' screen: "Make him walk there bent over, still spreading his ass for the camera. And make him put his finger in Reynolds' mouth."

"Not so fast, pledge," Chas shouted before Chris could take a step. "He wants you to walk over to the pledge with the biggest dick, but still bent over with your cheeks spread for the camera."

Chris bent over again, relieved not to have to look at anyone's face. He waddled like an idiot over to Keith, his head now level with the jock's flaccid but still large member.

"That's it pledge, now put your finger in his mouth. I hope he didn't already have it up his ass, Reynolds!" Chas was laughing like a maniac now. Keith set his jaw and locked his lips together. "Open up, pledge Reynolds! Or do you want me to paddle you again?"

Keith knew he couldn't get out of this, and glaring at the top of Chris' head like he thought he could set it on fire, he opened his mouth slightly. Chris stuck the middle finger of his left hand in and drew it out quickly.

"What, are you afraid he's going to bite you? Do it again and get it good and wet." 

Yes, I am afraid of that, Chris thought, and reluctantly complied. Keith made audible hocking noises to get the saliva going. Chris' finger was now very wet. 

"Ok, now back to the camera, pledge, and bend over. Put your finger up your hole."

"Here's some extra," Keith snarled, and spit an enormous gob at Chris' retreating face. "Oops, missed your finger."

Everyone laughed.

Chris bent over again in front of the camera as Keith's spit ran down his nose, and gently slipped his now dripping finger into his asshole.

"Make him finger fuck himself," Mason Evans, the vice president of the fraternity and Chris' RA, typed from the next room, where he sat in front of his laptop, monitoring the closed circuit link.

"Fuck yourself with that finger, pledge. No one wants to see you jerk off, they're all way more interested in what you offer on the other side," Chas said.

"Make him moan like he loves it," Mason typed.

"Moan, you little bitch," Chas pretended he was reading from the screen. All the men in the room laughed again. Chris moaned in a low voice, his eyes casting about for Justin, searching for just a hint of reassurance.

"Do it faster, slut." More laughter. Mason and Chas were in sync now, and on a roll.




Chris Donaldson Ch. 06



Chris obediently pumped his middle finger faster in and out of his own hole.

"Make him rewet it in his own mouth," Mason typed, idly stroking the front of his jeans.

"Your pussy must be getting pretty dried up, pledge," Chas said.

Chris stiffened, guessing what was coming next. 

"Take your finger out." 

Chris complied.

"Now get it wet again, this time in your own mouth." The hoots and catcalls from around the room were deafening. Whatever the individual men of SAE truly thought of Chris, they all agreed that his pledge journey had been the most entertaining they had witnessed in a long time. Each semester there was always some version of this shit, but somehow with Chris it was all a little edgier and more intense. 

Chris sighed to himself, and put his middle finger in his mouth. He tried to look like he was horrified, and kept up his chant to himself: don't get hard, don't get hard. Despite his grimaces, his finger tasted ok. He already loved to rim his hot roommate's solid butt, and he had also thought to douche that afternoon, imagining that at some point, something might go up his boy hole. So the taste of his own slightly musky ass was actually not a big deal. Chris' thoughts returned to Justin, who had insisted on a blowjob that morning as usual, but had also insisted that Chris jack off. Twice. So he would be less horny tonight, and less likely to . . . trip up. Good planning, Chris had to admit. And so far, it was paying off. Chris had not yet gotten an erection, or even a semi except when he had been forced too, and then it had quickly wilted. Let's keep it that way, he thought as he swirled his tongue around his middle finger.

In truth, Chris considered, Justin was probably as worried about tonight as he was, although he sure hadn't shown it this morning, grinning, slapping Chris' ass, joking around . . . he'd been in a fantastic mood. Chris smiled, seduced as always by how well Justin fit in with his brothers. I wonder if I'll ever belong to this group as completely as he does? Deep inside, Chris wasn't sure, but the optimistic part of him thought, who knows? It's a whole new world out there now. You may surprise yourself, and the guys may surprise you too, once you're in.

Chris finished licking his finger, and followed Chas' instruction to put it back in his ass. The finger fucking wasn't too bad, but his back was starting to ache from being bent over so long. He hoped whoever was looking at the porn site would get bored with this soon.

"Whoever" was looking at the site did indeed get bored. Chas called out for him to stop fingering himself after another minute.

"Let's see what our audience wants next from you, pledge."

Mason's fingers flew over his keyboard.

"Oh boy, this is going to be fun, pledge," Chas crowed. He was on his third beer. "We have a guy who says there's only one fair way to treat the pledge with the smallest cock."

Oh shit, this could be bad, Chris thought.

"And now there's a bunch of them saying the same thing. They all want to see you show some appreciation to your pledge brothers, and respect for the fact that they're all better hung than you."

Ok. You can do this. Just don't get hard. Don't get hard.

"Pledges, pledge Donaldson is going to show you the respect you deserve as his brothers. Pledge Donaldson, kneel in front of the camera and turn to the left. Pledge Eilers, come stand in front of your pledge brother." Jay was first. "Hands behind your heads, pledges, don't make me remind you."

Chris knelt, and Jay stood in front of him, a few feet away. "Closer, Eilers," Chas barked. Jay inched forward. "CLOSER." Jay moved forward, his soft dick about six inches from Chris' face.

Mason typed into the chat window. Chas read the result.

"Now lean forward and kiss your brother's cock, pledge Donaldson."

Chris hesitated, remembering he couldn't appear to be at all eager, at all into this. Don't get hard . . .

"DO IT, PLEDGE!"

Chris leaned forward and gave Jay a gentle peck on his thick, flaccid cock, which shrank slightly. Jay's nervousness and discomfort was contagious, and helped keep Chris' little dick soft.

"Your audience wants more," Chas said, waiting for Mason to type the next instructions.

"Make him get each of the others hard with his mouth," Mason typed.

Chas was nonplussed. This was intense for this early in Hell Week. Yeah, a little cock-in-mouth action usually happened when you were a pledge, but not this kind of systematic and one-sided deal. Oh well, Evans was the boss.

Chas spoke: "Pledge Donaldson, our viewers want you to help your brothers demonstrate their virility. They've each just squirted out a big load. You must get them all hard again with your mouth. That way all the fags watching will be impressed with the prowess of SAE."

Aw, come on, thought Chris. This isn't fair. It could take forever to get these guys hard again after they shot their wads, especially considering they're all going to fight it to demonstrate they're not gay. On the other hand, Chris thought, this is a real bonding opportunity. We're all trying like hell not to be turned on, me included. We'll laugh about it later. Just stay calm, and be smart. We're all young and horny, maybe it won't take as long as I think.

"I'm sorry, man," Chris mumbled softly to Jay, and tried to figure out how to give the guy a blowjob while looking like he had never done it before. He decided to use his hands. Chris disobeyed Chas' instructions about his required posture, and took Jay's cock between his thumb and forefinger, rubbing it back and forth a few times before putting the head in his mouth. His mind was working overtime: Do I give amazing head and make them all hard as quick as I can and get this over with? Or will that reveal too much? Is any of them really going to make a fuss over the fact that I know what I'm doing, or will they just be grateful and figure that's our little secret? Well, it's not a secret if I have to do it 7 times; they'll all be watching. So I have to pretend. I have to make it so it gets a little easier and faster each time. And I have to not appear to enjoy it. 

Chris tongued Jay's head, he hoped inexpertly. Maybe this will be enough.

And, after only about 15 seconds, it was. Jay sprang a boner and turned bright red.

"Fuck you!" he shouted, and everyone laughed.

So much for making it appear easier and faster as he went, Chris thought. He risked being flip - he absolutely had to get this right. 

"Hell no, bro, that's what all those fags want to do, but that door is exit only."

There was weak laughter from the crowd.

Fuck! Chris thought, that didn't go over like I thought it would. Are they buying this?

"Well done, pledge Donaldson! You've made Pledge Eilers hard again. Good work. I don't know what it says about you that you managed it so quickly, but . . . good job. Next!"

Cooper was next. He had a fat dick. Chris again feigned reluctance, and kept repeating his mantra to himself. So far, he had not gotten hard. The stress was overriding his excitement at putting his mouth on cock. 

Chris kissed Cooper's shaft, mumbled another apology, and tongued the head without taking it in his mouth. Cooper's rod sprang up almost immediately. Mission accomplished. FUCK! This is going too fast, Chris thought.

"I'm a little afraid of how easy this is for you, pledge Donaldson," Chas smirked. There were awkward chuckles and some whistles from the brothers. 

"NEXT!"

Next was Bryce. Chis vowed to make this one last longer, so they could both prove they weren't fags.

"Sorry, bro," Chris whispered, and kissed Bryce's dick. He ran his lips clumsily up and down the shaft, and deliberately grazed the circumcised head with his teeth. 

"Fuck, asshole!" Bryce yelled. The room roared.

"Teeth? Yeah, teeth always suck, am I right pledge?" Chas laughed.

Chris smirked to himself. That's for all the homophobic comments, you asshole.

He bobbed up and down once, his mouth loose to make sure Bryce would take a while to get an erection. 

No such luck. Bryce sprang a boner on the third insertion, and violently thrust Chris' head away from his thick, pulsing unit. Apparently a light touch was effective on Bryce's raw rod.

"Three for three, pledge," Chas gloated. "And still doing it in record time. NEXT!"

Josh proved to be Chris' salvation. He was fourth in line, and was second only to Keith in overall size. However, he proved to be nearly impossible to get hard. He had been pegged as a shower, not a grower, when they had all been measured. And he sure as hell wasn't growing in Chris' mouth. 

This made Chris sweat a bit, afraid that the effort would make his own little dick hard. With remarkable cognitive dissonance, he managed to continue to give a bad blowjob while willing his own dick down, as incredible a turn on as the whole event was.

But Josh simply would not get hard.

"Deep throat!" someone called from the edge of the room.

Chris flinched at the demand, and settled on a different strategy. He pulled his mouth off Josh's cock and stroked it firmly with his right hand. Josh sprang a woody. Chris kissed the tip, and smiled, as if declaring victory. See, I didn't really blow him, he seemed to say. 

Chas decided to buy it; he knew Mason's end game, but wasn't inclined to linger along the way.

"NEXT!"

Chandler stepped up.

"Sorry, bro," Chris mumbled for the fifth time, and proceeded to use his hand more than his mouth to make the other pledge hard. He achieved success in two minutes - a blessedly slower time than the first three.

"NEXT!" 

Ryan stepped up. Thick, but not huge. Chris apologized, and performed his now customary routine, all the while willing himself not to get hard. He succeeded. Ryan was slower than Chandler, but still got it up. Chris' jaw was starting to ache.

"NEXT!"

And they saved the best for last, Chris thought ruefully, as Keith stepped in front of him.

The hung pledge hocked again and spat right in Chris' face before he could apologize for putting his mouth on Keith's meat.

"Thought you needed some more lube, bro." Some of the brothers laughed. Chris felt the saliva run down his face again. You're getting the worst fucking blowjob ever, he thought.

Chris put Keith's cock in his mouth, and deliberately scraped it all the way up and down. Twice.

"Motherfucker!" Keith yelled, pulling away. 

"I don't know how to do this, bro," Chris said loudly. Do NOT get hard. Do NOT get hard.

"Keep trying, pledges," came the order from Chas.

Chris switched to his hand, making sure to bump it roughly into Keith's nuts a few times, then used his mouth again. More teeth seemed appropriate.

"Jesus, you little bitch!" Keith roared, while the others laughed and swigged more beer, enjoying the spectacle. 

Don't complain, asshole, Chris thought, I'm helping us both help ourselves. This is proving neither of us is a fag. He tried the loose mouth technique again, and it had its intended non-result this time. Keith took eight minutes to get fully hard. When he did, he pulled out and walked angrily back to the line.

Success achieved, Chris put his hands behind his head again, praying this was over. Do NOT get hard.

"Let each of them give the faggot a swat with the paddle," Mason typed. "We'll finish this later."

"Pledge, you have successfully completed the task. I don't know if I should congratulate you or be embarrassed for you." There were a few weak cheers from the crowd. Chris resisted the temptation to raise his head and search for his roommate again. "You all managed to do your duties. Well done. But before we dismiss you to your pledge Dads, our fans on NakedFratStudz have requested that pledge Donaldson receive a swat from each of his pledge brothers on his bare ass. Pledges, line up! Pledge Eilers, here's the paddle. You will swat pledge Donaldson in the order he took care of your worthless cocks."

Chris assumed the position without being told; eight swats with the junior paddle was nothing.

SMACK!

Jay delivered his swat, and passed the paddle to Cooper.

SMACK!

And on it went. Keith's swat was as hard as he could muster, but there was no way he was going to break Chris. Not Mr. 158. Not after he had managed to get all seven of his pledge brothers' penises hard without springing a boner himself. Chris took the last painful stroke with equanimity. He knew he had made it. He had done himself proud. And he had done Justin proud too, if his roommate was watching.

"Pledges, you are dismissed. Bedtime is early tonight. Your pledge Dads will lead you to where you're going to sleep this week."

Tag, Chris' pledge Dad, came forward to collect Chris; he was a burly jock with a nascent beer belly and an honest and well-meaning personality. He blindfolded Chris, and led him upstairs to his own room. Without removing the blindfold, he helped Chris lie on a futon next to his own bed. He left the room briefly, and returned with Chris' overnight bag, which he laid next to the humiliated but hopeful boy. The backpack contained only the week's needs; just basic toiletries, really, and Chris' pledge manual. They had only been allowed to bring what was on the emailed list of required supplies, and no extra clothing had appeared on that list. What a surprise, Chris had thought. Justin had hinted to Chris that the pledges would still be required to attend classes during hell week, but would be doing so sleep-deprived and without changing clothes. That might be uncomfortable, but it wasn't as hard as leaving his phone and wallet in the dorm, as they had not been on the list.

Chris wished he had been given an opportunity to brush his teeth or at least use mouthwash after having seven cocks in his mouth, but was also relieved that the evening was over so early. He wasn't sure if he was allowed to talk. Better not to ask - tomorrow would be another day. Maybe Justin would slip him some gum. Chris nestled into the futon as Tag set a pillow under his head, and drew a thin blanket over him with surprising gentleness, tucking it around the boy's shoulders.

Yeah, I was singled out, Chris thought as he drifted off to sleep, but I didn't fail. I didn't get hard. 

His exhaustion was so complete and his sleep so deep that he didn't notice a masculine voice repeatedly calling his name, urgently but quietly. He woke up when a rough but familiar pair of hands shook him hard.

"Are you deaf? I called you six times."

It was Justin.

"Huh?" Chris was surprised. What was Justin doing in Tag's room? 

The studly jock ripped the blindfold off Chris, who stared at him groggily.

"What are you doing?" Chris asked.

"Keep your voice down, nobody can know I'm with you. Why the fuck didn't you answer your fucking messages right before you came over here tonight? I texted you like eight times!" Justin whispered.

"We're not allowed to have our phones. I left it in the dorm." Why was Justin so upset? And why can't he be here?

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, of course. SHIT."

Something was not right. What the hell was going on? Chris looked up from his futon. Where was Tag? His pledge dad was not in the room.

"Fuck! At least I caught you in time." Justin looked more than upset. Angry . . . yeah, angry for sure; as Chris' eyes slowly focused in the dim light, he had no trouble recognizing anger on his roommate's face. But there was something else there, too. 

Justin grabbed both of Chris' shoulders and held him still against the thin mattress.

"You can't stay here. You can't go back to the dorm, either."

"What are you talking about? I passed the first night with flying colors," Chris whispered back. "I'm trying to get some rest before whatever they throw at me tomorrow. Did you see it? I had to use my mouth to get everyone . . ."

"LISTEN TO WHAT I'M SAYING TO YOU!" 

Chris resented the tension in Justin's low but forceful growl. He was psyched up from his perceived victory, and eager to continue his long initiation. He didn't want any drama with his roommate.

"Don't yell at me, I didn't do anything."

"Listen." Justin lowered his voice to a whisper again, and tried to speak calmly. "I just told you, you can't stay here tonight. You need to come with me, NOW."

"What?" Chris exclaimed incredulously.

"SHHH!" Justin thrust a ball of clothing at his roommate; it was the outfit Chris had worn to the house earlier, and which had been taken from him upon entry to SAE. "Get dressed!"

"What are you talking about?! I was told to stay here! Where's Tag?"

"GET. DRESSED." Justin grabbed Chris' hand and yanked him to his feet, shoving his arms into shirt sleeves. Chris obeyed instinctively, and put on his underwear and socks once his shirt was on. 

"Why are you doing his? Is this part of the initiation? Why did you take my blindfold off?"

Chris fumbled for the fallen eye mask while Justin shoved the boy's feet into his pant legs and pulled them up.

"You don't need that anymore," Justin hissed impatiently, and ripped the black cloth out of Chris' grasp.

"STOP!" Chris raised his voice.

"Shut the FUCK up and put on your shoes," Justin snarled in a low voice. He grabbed Chris' overnight bag from the floor, and held his roommate's arm in a tight grip, drawing him to the door.

"Don't say a fucking word." Justin cracked the door, and looked out, to the right and to the left. "It's clear. MOVE." Justin clamped his left hand onto the back of Chris' neck and marched him down the hall. Chris had never seen this part of the house, and wondered idly where he was, and what time it was. Quickly, they reached what looked like a back staircase, and descended three flights to the basement. Then, Justin shoved him forward through a door labeled "Emergency Exit", and they were outside in the alley behind SAE. No alarm sounded. Justin broke into a run, dragged Chris about 500 feet to a wooded area that abutted the end of Fraternity Row, and shoved him unceremoniously against a maple which had just started to put out leaves. Justin planted his meaty hands on Chris' worked-out chest, pinning him against the tree.

"Okay. We're out. You can't go back to the house. You can't go back to the dorm, either. I got a hotel room for you."

"What?!" 

"LISTEN. There's no time." 

Chris heard panic start to creep into Justin's speech.

"Justin, what the fuck are you doing? I can't leave the house like this, they'll . . ." Chris found himself silenced by Justin's hand over his mouth.

"NO. You're going to a hotel. I got you a room at the Four Seasons downtown."

Chris grunted into his roommate's hand, and looked at him like he was crazy. 

"LISTEN! It's in your name. You go there, check in, go up to the room, and wait for me there. DO NOT go back to Kroetzger first."

Chris finally ripped Justin's hand away from his face.

"But why?? Didn't you hear me? I aced it tonight! I can't just leave now, this is stupid! What the fuck are you trying to pull? They'll have my ass if they find out I'm not in Tag's room, if I'm not in the house." Chris struggled to go, but Justin held him firmly against the tree. There was no point in fighting; Justin was much stronger. 

"They'll have your ass if you ARE in there, don't you understand?"

"No, I don't!"

Justin let out a groan of frustration. There was no TIME for this. And no good way to explain it even if there had been.

"Chris, you're not going to BE a pledge after tomorrow."

"What?!"

"They're going to cut you."

Chris was shocked. "But why?? I did everything right! Everything! Didn't you see? They made me suck everyone's dick and I didn't even get hard. I didn't get hard!!" Chris nearly sobbed with frustration and incomprehension. "You're crazy, you weren't even there! They can't do this now!" 

He looked desperately up at Justin with his adorable blue eyes. "And it's my birthday!" he added lamely.




Chris Donaldson Ch. 06



Justin grabbed Chris' jaw as gently as he could, given his agitation and the urgency of the message. He held Chris' head firmly against the bark and leaned in, speaking clearly and concisely.

"You DID do everything right. And I WAS there for part of it. You were . . . amazing. It's not your fault. It was a setup. They had it planned from the beginning," Justin's kind tone turned bitter. "The officers. I overheard them talking about it this afternoon, and I've been trying to find you ever since. I don't think the other brothers are in on it, but they'll go along. SAE isn't a democracy."

"You're not making any sense. Why would they cut me now?" Chris couldn't believe it. This was all an elaborate prank, the next part of his hazing - the true trial. "You're making this up, Justin, this is just a trick. It's part of the hell week shit." Chris smiled. "It IS a setup, but you're the one setting me up. Ha ha, I get it. Do I pass?"

The look that flew briefly over Justin's face was of deep anguish and pain.

"NO! God, LISTEN to me!!" Justin grabbed Chris' shoulders and slammed them against the tree. Chris was startled into silence.

"This is not a joke, Chris." Not roomie, not Chrissy. Justin was serious. "They have it all planned. This night isn't nearly over yet. You'll all be called for bed check in a few minutes, and then they have a whole fucking nightmare planned for you for the next twelve hours. Yeah, you're all going to get it, except YOU will be singled out for extra hazing, extra punishment on everything you do. They're going to put you through the fucking wringer - paddle your ass 'til you scream, make you do pushups 'til you collapse, give you so much to drink you'll be covered in your own vomit, then they'll make you eat your own puke and drink your own piss. They are going to throw every fucking thing in the book at you until you break. And then they'll cut you."

"But what if I don't break?" Chris asked defiantly.

Justin almost collapsed with anger. "It DOESN'T MATTER. That's the whole point. They'll make you do every degrading thing they can think of - stick your face up the ass of every man in the fraternity, clean a toilet with your tongue, whatever - and then they will STILL tell you that you aren't good enough to join. They don't just want to cut you. They want to make it as awful and humiliating for you as possible. You WILL NOT be accepted, and they want to do this shit to you in the next twelve hours, EXACTLY because it's your birthday. They got a real fuckin' boner over that."

"But how . . . how did you find all this out?"

"All the regular brothers are tight with me," Justin said grimly, "and it's hard to keep a secret from the whole house. One of my buds told me this afternoon that he thought something was up, and I should keep my ears open. Didn't say what it was about, just that I should pay attention. So I hung around and did some recon, and I heard Evans go over the whole fucking plan with Mackie and Johnson."

Chris' heart sank. Mackie was the fraternity president, and Johnson was the pledge master. His own pledge master, whose respect he thought he had earned. Evans, of course, was the Vice-President and his RA back at the dorm. Who knew he liked dick. And who also had whipped his ass twice, the second time because Chris had asked him to.

"Evans was behind all that dick-sucking shit. That wasn't a real website you were all performing for, that was just Evans giving you all orders from another room." Chris' stomach turned. "And that was just the fucking PRELUDE, Chris."

Justin held Chris' face again. "Now do you understand? You can NOT go back to the house now. You need to get to the hotel and stay there. Do NOT go into the dorm, either. When you aren't there for bed check, they'll probably send someone to go look for you and bring you back." Justin's warm brown eyes glinted with rage. "Those motherfuckers want blood tonight. They want a fucking sacrifice."

"There has to . . . to be a mistake," Chris said weakly.

A horrible, pained look of sympathy washed over Justin's rugged face. "No, Chris, it's not a mistake. They planned it all out. You never had a chance. It's not your fault. You need to get to your car and drive downtown. Now GO." He released Chris from the tree.

"How? My wallet's in the room, I can't drive without my license!"

Justin groaned with impatience and exasperation. "Just don't go over the speed limit, dumbass. Here." Justin pulled a wad of bills out of his pocket, and his Amex. "They'll ask you for a card for incidentals. And here's my student ID in case they ask for that."

"But you said the room was in my name . . ."

"The payment is in mine. You can just say there was a mistake. It's the Four Seasons, Chris, and you look respectable. They won't give you any trouble."

"But . . ."

"GO!!"

"But why are you doing this? You're one of them." Chris blurted out.

Justin couldn't meet Chris' eyes. Instead, he looked at the maple's bark with enough ferocity to shave it off the tree. "Because I . . ." 

Justin paused.

"Because . . ." 

Justin breathed deeply, trying to finish his sentence without revealing what he was afraid to say.

"Because I will . . . not . . . I will NOT let them fucking do this to you," he finished brusquely. Justin closed his eyes and squeezed Chris' shoulders one more time before pushing him away, back towards their dorm. Chris grabbed his bag from the ground.

"RUN." Chris looked back at his roommate; Justin's face was hard, angry, and urgent. "RUN!"

Chris hurried away, and Justin, after making sure Chris was truly headed to safety, took off himself, sprinting back the way they had come. He slipped into the alley behind the row of fraternity houses, and made his way to the other one of SAE's two back doors. He trotted quickly through the kitchen to the rec room, where the festivities would recommence in . . . he looked at his phone: 12:13. Bed check would start in two minutes, and all hell would break loose after that. They had cut it close. Hopefully not too close.

He sidled into the lounge, moving unobtrusively to the opposite side of the room from the door before he began slapping shoulders and fist bumping the other brothers, so it wouldn't look like he had just walked in. He looked surreptitiously for Mason and the other officers; no sign of them yet. Good. 

"Hey Corvino." A hand grabbed his arm. It was Tag, Chris' pledge dad. And now the lying begins, thought Justin.

"Hey man."

"Have you seen Donaldson?" 

"No, man."

"He's not in my room any more. I walked down the hall to take a whizz fifteen minutes ago, and now he's gone," Tag said, sounding worried. This whole pledge period had been really awkward; although he was Chris' pledge dad, and therefore officially responsible for him, the kid was naturally much closer to Justin, who was his roommate. Tag understood why the officers had arranged it this way, but it was still difficult to feel like he had the right relationship with the dude, and he wanted to do a good job. Sophomore pledges were always hard.

Justin raised his eyebrows. "That's not good."

"No, it isn't. If Johnson and the council don't find him at bed check . . ."

Justin looked at his phone. "Maybe he had to piss, too. You should check your room again."

"Ok. Did he say anything to you?"

"About what?"

"I don't know, not following through? De-pledging?"

"Are you kidding? He's totally gung-ho. This morning he was just doin' his thing, getting ready, he seemed excited."

"Hmm. Hope nothing happened to him."

"Nah, I'm sure he's fine. He probably just had to piss. Anyway, it'll be his ass that pays for it, not yours," Justin grinned amiably.

"Ha. Mr. '158' could get busted for vandalism in Singapore and still walk away without a limp," Tag replied drily. "And it makes me looking fuckin' bad if he's not in his bed." 

He went off to look for Chris one more time.

Justin casually greeted another brother. Run, Chris, and don't look back, he was thinking fervently. Get your sweet, precious ass to the hotel, and I will be there as soon as I fucking can. He got a beer and nursed it slowly. He was going to need to be able to concentrate tonight, so he'd better go easy on the booze, but he still had to have one in his hand or arouse suspicion. Mason would probably suspect him of warning his roommate, so he'd have to be very careful to play dumb.

At 12:15 the sounds of thudding feet started to emanate from the floors above, as the pledges were rousted out of their beds. The actives started to chatter with anticipation in the lounge. Twenty minutes later, Mason Evans walked in, alone. The brothers all fell silent. This was not how this part of the evening was supposed to start. The other officers should be with him, and the pledges right behind, all dressed in their convict uniforms.

"Gentlemen," Mason began in a tight haughty voice. "We've had a small hiccup in tonight's festivities." The actives started to mutter.

"Pledge Donaldson is nowhere to be found. He was not in his bed in Newton's room, and we can't find him in the house. We've also looked outside. His clothing is missing from the locker, too. That makes us think he's run away for some reason. Johnson and I are going down to his dorm to make sure he's alright." He glanced at Justin coldly. "We'll be back shortly. The other pledges are in holding downstairs with Hamidge supervising." Tag had reappeared in the doorway, looking concerned. "Newton, you should come with us." 

Tag followed Mason out the door. Justin willed himself not to look at Woodard, the bud who had tipped him off. 

The boy should be at the dorm getting in his car by now, Justin thought.

Chris had indeed just reached the dorm, but he was not yet getting into the Jeep. As he had rushed back to Kroetzger, his practical side had taken over. He was not panicking, not yet. He had a hard time believing that the fraternity's officers would come after him with any speed; he was sure they would wait at least half an hour for him to turn up, maybe longer, before actually trying to find him. He had plenty of time if he was efficient. He slipped in the south door, remembering there was no security camera posted there - so if Mason was monitoring dorm video feeds from some secret SAE or RA control center somewhere, he would not be able to dispatch his hounds right away. Chris chuckled to himself; this was all verging on the absurd. But the look on Justin's face . . . he had never seen Justin look scared before, and that was the emotion Chris hadn't placed at first. It had been fear.

He let himself in his room, and immediately grabbed his wallet and phone. The screen was filled with texts; he'd look later. As an afterthought, he locked the door. Toiletries he had; he just needed some clothes. And his laptop. He quickly shoved everything he needed into his bag, zipped it up, and was just about to reenter the hall when he froze. Voices. Male voices. Getting closer quickly.

Don't panic, it's just guys from down the hall. Wait'll they pass, and then go.

"It's 119," one of them said.

FUCK. That voice was unmistakable - it was Mason. So fast!! Now Chris couldn't go out that way. Which left - 

Thank God for my fucking insane, violent roommate, he thought as he opened the window and deftly removed the screen, tossing it on the ground outside. If it weren't for him, I wouldn't already know how to do this. He lowered his bag first, and then quickly dropped out of the window himself. There was knocking at the door. How did they get here so fucking fast, he wondered again. 

They drove, dipshit; you didn't, his inner voice answered.

Chris froze as he heard more knocking. "He's not in here, Evans," he heard someone say - was that Tag?

"Maybe he's in the bathroom." That was Chas, the pledge master. Jesus fuck me, it's a posse.

"Go check the bathroom, Johnson, I have a master key," were the last words Chris heard as he lowered the window behind him and scurried along the wall to the parking lot. 

Faster, faster, he thought, now panicking for real. Why didn't I change my fucking loafers to something I can run in?

Afraid to look behind him, he dodged behind SUVs on his way to his Jeep. He hadn't driven it in weeks, and it was parked at the far end of the lot. He unlocked the door, staying low. He flipped his backpack onto the passenger seat and turned around. He couldn't see anyone in the lot. 

Please don't stall on me, he thought as he started the car.



Chris Donaldson Ch. 07



This story is about Chris and Justin, roommates in their sophomore year at college. From their first day together, Justin asserted his Alpha Male dominance, and essentially turned Chris into his live-in submissive - a situation that, while occasionally violent, ultimately pleased them both. During one of Justin's violent episodes, Chris found solace in the arms of Mark, a Dom in his late 20s who proved patient and mature. Chris let Mark take his anal virginity, but subsequently lost touch with the older man. In the roommates' second semester together, Chris was invited to rush their RA's fraternity - which also happened to be Justin's fraternity. Chris managed to conceal his homosexuality through the pledge period, and arrived at Hell Week having endured more hazing than any of the other pledges. In the last chapter, Justin pulled Chris out of the fraternity house on the first night of Hell Week, telling him that he was about to be cut from the pledge class despite his best efforts. Justin sent Chris to a hotel to wait for him. Chris, confused and upset, found himself pursued by the fraternity's officers, who wanted him to return to the house to continue Hell Week.

All characters in the story are over the age of 18.

*****

Chris' Jeep sputtered to life. Thank you, Jesus.

He pulled out of the parking spot, and drove as fast as he dared to the lot exit that was farthest from his dorm. Left onto Cedar Avenue. He checked behind him quickly. He didn't see or hear any rich-boy cars peeling out of the lot with squealing tires. Had he made it?

It wasn't until twenty blocks and six interminable lights later that he started to relax. At first he had taken a number of turns in order to throw off any potential pursuit, and then thought, it's almost 1 a.m., this is dumb, just get the fuck downtown.

It was another fifteen minutes to the hotel. He drove his dirty Jeep into the entrance horseshoe, gave the keys and one of Justin's twenty dollar bills to the surprised valet, and hightailed it to the elevator. Reception, fifth floor.

He walked as confidently as he could to the counter, and smiled, he hoped casually, at the clerk, aware that his blue eyes were drooping, that his dark-blond hair was mussed, and that his clothing was disheveled over his worked-out but slim body.

"Checking in?"

"Yes, please."

"Name?"

"Donaldson."

"One moment. Chris?"

"Yes Sir." The clerk smiled. He was about 30, very tan, very handsome, and very gay.

"I just need an ID and credit card for incidentals."

Chris surrendered his own ID and his own credit card. He had calmed down sufficiently to recover his middle class pride; he knew he couldn't afford the room, and Justin could, but he was not going to let Justin pay for the minibar he planned to raid as soon as he got up there.

"Two keys or one?"

"Two, please." Justin was supposed to join him later.

The reception clerk smiled knowingly.

"There you go. Room 2116. 21st floor. The wireless password is on the keycard envelope. Elevators are over there. It's right below the penthouse. The fitness center is on 6. Sauna and spa are on 15. They're both open 24 hours." The man gave him a friendly smile, as if sure he'd be seeing Chris in the sauna before long.

"Thanks very much."

"Can our bellman help you with your luggage?"

Chris blushed. "No thanks, I've got it."

The clerk, seeing it was just the backpack, raised his eyebrows.

"Enjoy your stay, Sir."

Chris beat a hasty retreat to the elevator bank, and waited impatiently for one of them to open. Once inside, he hit 21 and breathed a sigh of relief as the doors closed. Almost there. He walked down the hall to his room and sucked in his breath as he opened the door. Even from here, the view of the night skyline was amazing. He walked closer to the window. Wow. This was incredible. He looked around the room. Everything was so . . . white. Well, white and cream, actually, he noticed as he got closer. But where was the bed? Then it dawned on him.

This wasn't a room, it was a suite. He passed through the door to the bedroom. Holy shit. A king-sized bed. And the bathroom! There was a shower AND an enormous tub with a Jacuzzi. 

Chris started to get suspicious again. Was this some elaborate plot of Justin's to plan the perfect romantic getaway and get into his pants for his birthday?

Then he remembered the fraternity brothers outside his room and Mason unlocking the door with his master key. And Justin's face. No, this might be an awesome suite, but the story Justin had told him . . . it must be real. He put his bag down, took off his shoes, and sat on the bed.

Well, now what? he thought.

Before anything else, the minibar. He found it back in the living room, and pulled out a bourbon - it was Bulleit, it was good, and it was gone before Chris realized this all might be more pleasant (and last longer) with ice. He dialed for a bucket, and it came within minutes. 

Having taken the worst of the edge off this incredibly bad evening, he poured a second Bulleit over some ice cubes and took off all his clothes, putting on the luxurious bathrobe provided by the hotel. He went out onto the balcony. The April night was cold, but the bourbon warmed him enough to stay out a few minutes.

Chris put up his feet, and raised his glass to himself for his 20th birthday, now just an hour old. He drank deep. Finally, he had the courage to check his phone.

Wow. About 20 texts and four voicemails. He read them over. The first batch were all from Justin trying to find him earlier. Then a couple from Tag around midnight, wondering where he was. Then a series from the fraternity officers, which looked like they had come about once a minute, starting when they were headed to the dorm, and finishing after they'd gone back to the house to get on with hell week. These were terse; the first ones were simple inquiries from Chas and Mason, and then they got nastier, informing him that he was going to lose his place in the pledge class if he didn't return to the house; then one last salvo from Mason a few minutes ago: "What a waste of time you were. You'll get your de-pledge notification by US Mail."

Happy Birthday to me, thought Chris. 

The first voicemail was from Justin at around 5:30, wondering where he was; the next two were hangups from blocked numbers at around 12:30. The last one was from Chas at 12:45. "Hey, I'm sorry, Donaldson, but . . ." There was a noise afterward; it sounded like someone had grabbed the phone.

Chris sipped his bourbon. It was all starting to hit him now - both the alcohol and the fact that he had just walked away from his only chance at . . . well, anything good. Making close friends; opening career doors for later; the prestige on campus that would have accompanied his acceptance as an active SAE; and most of all, the chance to get closer to Justin, close enough that Justin would never abandon him.

One hour passed. Two. Should he try and communicate with Justin? No. That was the hardest part - keeping Justin out of it. There was no telling what was going on at the house, and what his roommate was doing, but every time he nearly broke down and thought of texting, just to try and get some word, some sign, from the person he cared about most in the world, he stopped himself. He typed, and then deleted. Again and again. 

There were only two bottles of bourbon in the minibar, and rather than call down for more, and perhaps be questioned about which birthday this in fact was, he started in on the scotch. Macallan 12. Was that a good one? Sure seemed like it. Ice might be appropriate with this one, too.

Chris tried to distract himself by heading down to the spa at 2:30, but he wasn't sure if it was a good idea to take his phone into the sauna or the whirlpool, and he was glued to it, so he went back upstairs. Eight weeks as a fraternity pledge had increased his tolerance; he started on his second small bottle of scotch. 

He ran through every moment of his conversation with Justin, over and over. Had he done the right thing? Had Justin been telling the truth out in the woods, or had he failed some arcane pledge test? And he ran through every second he could remember of his pledge period, wondering where it had all gone so horribly wrong. This was so fucking unfair! Chris came to realize how much he really had his heart set on all this, and he nearly broke down; but like the night Justin had paddled him, he found himself unable to cry.

He had nearly dozed off when his phone buzzed with a text. Immediately alert, he grabbed it, hoping that it was Justin. It wasn't. It was . . . Mark?!

"Happy Birthday, kiddo. Hope I'm not waking you up, but I wanted to get in there first, so to speak, lol." It was 2:57 a.m.

Chris stared at the screen in disbelief. Did Mark secretly plant a homing beacon up my ass when he fucked me, which goes off every time I'm feeling at my most vulnerable? And how the fuck did he know it was my birthday? I don't remember telling him. 

Chris was so dazed by the unexpected message that he waited a full three minutes, phone frozen in his hand, before he replied, "Thank you."

"Wow, you're up?? How's it going?"

Chris tossed the phone on the bed and lay back down. Even drunk, though, he was polite and a pleaser. In a few minutes, he picked it up again and texted back, "Honestly, it's been pretty rough."

"I'm sorry to hear that. Anything I can do?"

"No, not right now, but thank you. It's all ok, just you know - college drama."

":( that's no fun." Then, "I'm sorry. Call or text me if you need anything. I hope you get some sleep and wake up with a new perspective. You deserve a happy birthday."

Yes, I do, Chris thought, but didn't reply. No point right now. Also, he couldn't keep his eyes open. A creature of habit, he dragged himself out of bed, found his toothbrush (in his bag next to the pledge manual, which he threw in the garbage), cleaned his teeth and washed his face, finally dispatching the taste of seven cocks in his mouth. Wasn't that the name of a course at a Chinese New Year banquet? Once in bed, he contemplated pouring one more drink and waiting up for Justin . . . who had said he was going to come . . . but he fell asleep before he could decide if that was a smart idea.

He woke to a hand gently shaking him.

"Chrissy."

Chris rolled over groggily and saw the face he'd been desperate to see for so many hours. Shaved head, handsome, often friendly, but now a little drawn, with tired but warm and liquid brown eyes. On top of an athletic but rounded body that Chris thought was the sexiest he had ever seen - and he knew it well now.

"Hey . . . what time is it?"

"5:30."

"How did you get in? I took both keys, I forgot to leave you one."

"I called the front desk earlier and got the room number. I told them I'd be flying in late, and joining you. The room was on my card, so it was fine."

"You think of everything." Chris forced a smile.

"How're you doing, roomie?"

"Bad."

"I know."

"But only because I haven't gotten my birthday spanking yet," Chris added, trying to play it off. He clumsily tried to get out from under the covers and crawl over Justin's lap, but the bigger jock stopped him and gently sat him back on the bed, naked. 

"You don't need a spanking, Chrissy, you need a hug."

And now Chris' eyes started to water.

"Shh, come here." Justin drew Chris to his chest and held him tight, stroking his back. "I'm sorry, Chris. I'm so sorry." 

Chris nuzzled his head in Justin's neck, then wrapped his arms around his hot-as-hell jock roommate, holding on for dear life.

"It's gonna be ok. I know it doesn't seem like it right now, but it's gonna be ok," Justin murmured into Chris ear. 

"What about you? What happened? How did it all go down?"

Justin hesitated. 

"Did Mason figure out you had warned me?"

"I . . ." Justin started stroking his head. "Chrissy . . . Chris . . ." Justin stopped, embarrassed. "I can't tell you about what happened tonight because . . ."

Realizing how much this was going to hurt, Justin stopped.

And then Chris got it. It was like a knife in his heart. 

"Because I'm not a pledge anymore," he said in a dull voice.

"Shit, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"Well, what can you tell me, then? If anything." 

Justin felt the boy go dead in his arms, and began to panic.

"It's not you, Chris, it's . . . those guys are . . . fuck, I don't know what to say."

"It's ok," came Chris' distant voice. "I understand."

"Don't do that, Chris, don't pull away," Justin said angrily.

"I'm not the one who pulled away first," Chris said simply. He disentangled himself from Justin's arms, but Justin pulled him back in.

"Ok." Justin's grip on Chris got tighter. "I'll tell you everything I can tell you, but please, please don't pull away from me." Chris looked up at the jock's face, and saw the same anguish written on it that he had seen by the tree earlier that night. 

"Ok. I'm listening," Chris replied, emotionally drained, but seeing a faint glimmer of hope that perhaps the man of his dreams actually did care about him.

"The pledge shit went ahead fine. Just the normal bullshit. It's not interesting."

Chris nodded, his emotions crashing again at Justin's attempt to dismiss the evening's significance for the other aspirants; he felt the most profound sense of loss he had experienced since his mother had died - that now he truly would never belong, that he would never be in the same league as Justin. 

"Mason went away to look for you with Tag and Chas."

"I know. They almost caught me."

Justin grasped Chris' shoulders and held him up, looking at him in distress.

"What?!"

"I went back to the room. I needed my wallet and my phone. And some clothes, and my laptop. I didn't know how long I was going to have to be away. They were coming down the hall as I was about to leave. I left through the window." Chris sounded sad and tired.

"Chris, I TOLD you," Justin began, and then cracked a hint of a smile. "Through the window, huh?"

"Yeah."

"That explains why Mason was so pissed. I'm sure he thought he would catch you and bring you back to teach you . . ." his voice trailed off. "Anyway, he was a real bastard to all the pledges all night. So was Johnson." Justin had reverted to his habit of calling the brothers by their last names, a habit he usually dropped when he was just talking to Chris. An adjustment that Chris now realized might have indicated that Justin himself had never seriously believed Chris was ever going to be a member of his fraternity.

"I was never really a part of all that, was I," Chris asked, defeated.

"Jesus, NO, that's not true!" Justin was desperate to improve his roommate's spirits. "A lot of the guys liked you. Fuck, most of them did. It was just the officers . . ." Chris looked so sad, so lost. "It's just a fraternity, Chris, it's not the end of the world."

Chris looked away.

And then Justin could no longer stop the memories from flooding back: another night, another boy's birthday. How that boy had also been rejected by his peers that night. How Justin had suddenly glimpsed what it might be like to not be one of the group, to have a hard time fitting in - and worse, to be invited into a social group as a joke, and then have it all fall on your head. 

Fuck, the poor boy. 

Justin knew what to do, how to fix it, but he had tried for so long not to go there, not to get caught again; for eight months he had fought his feelings, his instincts; he had punished the boy, abused the boy, anything but showing affection for him, because he knew that would only lead to pain. 

But the slumping figure next to him couldn't be passed off like that. Chris was special. As special as the other boy.

You know what's right, Justin thought, you know you've been headed here from the beginning. You didn't think it was possible to feel this again, but you do.

And so Justin gently pulled Chris' head up from his neck, and looked at him, his hands on either side of Chris' face. Without a word, he closed his eyes, tilted his head forward, and kissed Chris full on the mouth.

Chris' heart started beating triple time. He kissed back, shy at first, then teasing with his lips and tongue; and suddenly he was fully awake and so incredibly eager, his blood surging now that the impossible had finally happened. Their first kiss! Justin opened his mouth. Their tongues danced. This was better than good. It was better than perfection. This was the universe opening up, with every star in it showering its light on the two of them. Justin felt the power of Chris' kiss - his passion, his devotion, his trust, his lust - deep within his own soul. And he was hard as a rock now.

After what seemed like an eternity, they broke contact, gasping for air. For the first time Chris looked into Justin's brown eyes and saw his own fire returned. 

I don't care if my whole world splits apart tomorrow, I am going to make this moment last forever. 

Both of them thought it together. 

Chris leaned in again and kissed Justin with all the fervor of a man getting his heart's desire, and Justin did not pull back, but plunged his tongue into his boy's mouth, exploring it, owning it. Chris had been waiting for this moment for eight months; now Justin realized he'd been waiting for it almost as long himself. Justin guided Chris backwards, laying him on the bed, their mouths never separating. They kissed, grinding, Chris peeling off Justin's wrinkled clothes until they were both naked. They reveled in this new sensation, this new activity - the thing that Justin had tacitly forbidden for so long. And then, eventually, they came up for air, still gripping each other urgently, but somehow not quite ready for anything else yet. This feeling was so huge, they both felt like they needed to experience it fully before moving on, although their dicks were both straining.

Justin pulled Chris into a tight embrace again.

"I'm just so fucking glad you're ok," he said.

"I'm ok as long as I'm with you. Sir," Chris whispered. 

Justin's dick bounced at the gesture of respect. Even in this most awful, vulnerable moment, this boy never stops giving, he thought. God damn. How did I not see what a keeper he is? Well, I know it now.

Justin kissed Chris again, hard and passionate, rough and raw. The emotions he had kept walled up for two years came flooding out, and Chris received their brute force with gratitude and equal ardor. It felt to them both like they breathed as one, their mouths never parting. Make it last forever, they both thought again. 

Chris finally broke the lip lock and pushed Justin onto his back. He kissed his beautiful roommate's hard pecs and the prominent nipples, and worked his way down Justin's belly on his way to his favorite: Justin's pulsing, enormous cock. 

"Wait," Justin breathed, and slid his hands under Chris' armpits, lifting him back up so that their faces met. "Not yet, Chrissy."

"Why?" Chris' eyes were burning with desire, and he tried to go down on Justin again.

"No. Wait. I want to tell you something."

"What?" Chris asked impatiently.

Justin lifted his roommate up and laid him to his side, then wrapped the boy's head in his powerful arms. Kissing Chris' forehead, Justin murmured, "A lot. Everything."

Chris cringed inwardly. He had been desperate just ten minutes ago to find out what had happened after he ran away from SAE, but now he didn't want to know. He had won the prize - almost. The kisses had been unbelievable, and the fact that Justin had initiated them unreal; but this wasn't over until Justin's huge cock was up his ass, and his load deposited in Chris' yearning hole. Only then would this moment be irrevocable, only then would their bond be cemented, and unable to be altered by any fraternity dictate or caprice.




Chris Donaldson Ch. 07



"I don't want to know the details, Sir, I'm sorry I asked."

"Huh? No, not about tonight, Chrissy. Maybe in a while we can talk about that. No. What I want to tell you is more than what happened tonight, it's something older."

Justin squeezed Chris tighter, and the eager submissive felt . . . like what? Like he wasn't the one who was always being vulnerable and over-sharing? Like his Dom needed him as bad as he needed his Dom? Realizing he was about to receive Justin's real and secret confidence, Chris felt like he was descending backward into the most perfect trust fall; not because he had something to give up or confess, but rather because he was finally trusted himself. He would catch Justin as he leapt off his cliff of macho uncertainly, and Chris would in turn be caught -not only caught, but embraced and even . . . loved?

"Ok, first off. I've talked about a girlfriend. I don't have a girlfriend."

Chris started to laugh. Justin looked at him, puzzled. Almost irritated.

"What's so funny?"

"Of course you don't, Sir. I figured that one out a long time ago."

Justin's irritation dissolved as quickly as it had arisen. Yeah, the boy was a little fresh, but still respectful.

"How did you know?"

"Oh Jesus, Justin. I'm your roommate. I swallow your cum daily. I'm a smart guy. Give me a little credit. I bought it at first, but after a while, when she never had a name, and I never met her . . ."

Justin grinned ruefully. "Ok, roomie, we all know you're quick on the uptake. That was one of the things that made the brothers so . . . I'm sorry, Chrissy." Justin had felt Chris wince. He kissed his boy reassuringly on the lips again. Chris responded with such passion that they were lost for several minutes in their tongue battle.

"Stop it," Justin wheezed, pulling his face away, "there more stuff I want to tell you. And this is the bad shit."

Chris closed his eyes, preparing for revelations of how Justin liked him, but only so much. How Justin appreciated the daily head, but would never talk to his roommate after tonight because the kid hadn't made it into SAE. How . . .

"So when I was a senior in high school . . ." Justin paused, closed his eyes, and gripped Chris tighter.

"So when I was a senior in high school, I was a dumbass jock like I am now. I had it all. And I thought I loved it. Football in the fall, baseball in the spring. Great teammates. Pussy when I wanted it. No entanglements. I was a legacy at this fine university. No trouble getting accepted, and I knew I'd be set up when I arrived."

Chris rolled his eyes. That had SO not been his high school or college application experience.

Justin, surprisingly intuitive this evening, kissed Chris' forehead. "Stay with me, roomie. I'm not trying to tell you I was so awesome." Chris looked at Justin; the jock averted his eyes, but not before Chris saw the flecks of pain.

"So it was late fall of our senior year. Football was over; we didn't make the playoffs, but it was a great team, great bros, and we were all celebrating on a Friday night. It was a party at one of the guys' house, his parents had a sweet setup with an indoor pool. We were all getting drunk and having a great time. My 18th birthday was the week before, so we were kind of celebrating that, too. And around about midnight, this dude walks in, alone."

Justin swallowed.

"He wasn't on one of the teams - he was smart and skinny and a nerd. His name was Andy. We all knew who he was, but he definitely wasn't one of us. No one knew why the fuck he was there. Who invited him? He walked in all nervous. He asked where Pete was. Turns out, one of the guys had seen him in the hall before seventh period, and invited him for a joke. But Andy took it seriously. He got the address, mapped it out, asked what time the party started, and showed up an hour after the start time. He thought he had finally made it in. But it was a fuckin' joke. Pete was upstairs humpin' some girl, and the rest of us thought, what the fuck? Just get out. One of the guys told him to get lost. Some of the girls started teasing him. Everyone in our circle already assumed he was gay, and the girls started making fun of how he acted in gym class, and imitated him talking, all lisping and shit. He wasn't like that, though. I was in gym with him, so I knew what he talked like. And we had lunch at the same time. He wasn't effeminate, and he didn't lisp. He was just shy and nerdy. You know . . . like you."

Chris cringed. Yes, that's true. But let's not put too fine a point on it, ok?

Justin kissed his roommate's forehead again, and Chris felt something wet fall on his brow. Wait . . . was that a . . .?

"So Andy said, 'there must be some mistake. It's my birthday, and Pete invited me. It's cool, I'll just find the bar.' He was trying to be so suave. He had just turned 18 that day, and thought with this fake invitation he had a ticket to the better life we had. That he could start to share it. And then shit got nasty. One of the guys started shoving him around, and a bunch of girls went after him, too. They roughed him up and pushed him out the door, laughing at him. But I felt bad. We weren't friends, and I figured he didn't know me either, but still . . . I knew he wasn't what they said, he didn't deserve what they were doing. And so I snuck out a side door and ran around to find him. Big hero, huh? Didn't stand up for him at the party, just ran around after."

Chris felt another drop on his forehead.

"Anyway, I found him. He was walking to his car. He had parked real far away, the street was so full. And I grabbed him by the shoulder, and I said, 'I'm sorry, buddy. That wasn't cool.' And he said, all scared, 'You're right, I shouldn't have come.' And I said, 'No, it wasn't you. Pete's a douche. It wasn't cool of him to invite you and not mean it.' And Andy just looked so . . . fucking . . . stricken. It was his fucking BIRTHDAY. And that asshole had tried to ruin it. I mean come on. It was his 18th birthday, he probably had other plans he ditched when he thought a popular guy had invited him to a party. And then everyone just laughed at him. I felt so fuckin' bad for him."

Justin paused again. 

"Anyway, I walked him to his car. It was a shitty car. Like yours." Chris winced again; feeling it, Justin kissed Chris' tightened eyelids.

"And I was just trying to be nice, and I helped him get in and then I shut his door for him, but he didn't start the car. He just leaned forward onto the steering wheel and started sobbing. And he wasn't a fuckin' wimp, he was just emotional," Justin said passionately, remembering. "And I said, 'Bud, what's wrong? Can I help?' And he just kept fuckin' crying and I felt so bad. I walked around the car and got into the passenger seat, and I reached out, and I held him. And then all this shit came back to me. How I remembered him from junior high, when we still had a few classes together, before he got tracked into AP and I stayed with the dumbasses. And how much I had liked his personality. He was always smart and fun, always had something clever to say. And I remembered how in gym he was really unathletic, but it was so fuckin' cute how he never managed to hit a fuckin' ball. And how I had totally lost track of him for three years, but never forgotten him. How I had seen him in the halls without seeing him, but was always somehow aware he was there. And now he was 18. And I realized I admired this little dude. Me, the cool jock. Admiring the little dude everyone thought was gay. But he had skills, and smarts, and all kinds of shit about him I would never have. And he was in pain, and it was my group that had caused it. So I leaned down and kissed him."

Justin fell silent. Chris didn't know what to say. 

"I was a wimp," Justin continued. "After I kissed him, I bolted out of the car and ran back to the party. But I found him online later, and I messaged him the next day. And we started to hang out. Well, way more than hang out. I was his first, and he was the first dude who blew me that I gave a shit about. And we got way beyond that. Into some deep and kinky shit, like the shit you like, Chrissy. And man, those were the best fuckin' months of my sorry life. We kept it discreet. He didn't want to be gay, he just wanted to be with me. And I was so fuckin' proud of that. We were so tight. He did everything I asked, and I took care of him. I made sure he was always ok. That no one messed with him again. And we weren't going to the same college, but we were both going to a school near here. So we wouldn't even have to travel that far to see each other. But . . ."

Justin squeezed Chris' head again.

"He really didn't want to be gay. His parents were real conservative, and he told me a couple weeks before graduation that he thought they were onto him. That they had figured out he was a cocksucker. And he got so fuckin' tense and ashamed. And then a week before we were set to walk the stage, I got a call from his half-brother, Jayson. And he told me Andy had been found with a gas generator in his car, and that he was dead. Asphyxiated. Jayson knew we were friends, we had met a few times. He found my number on Andy's desk. He wanted me to know."

Justin buried his face in Chris' dark blond hair.

"I'm so sorry, Justin. I had no idea," Chris said haltingly. 

"No one knew. No one but me and Andy. And now you. And this is the thing. You remember when I . . . when I came in and saw you naked, and I was upset? Last fall?"

How could I forget, Chris thought. "Yes. I remember, Sir."

"So Andy was smooth all over. And he also had a small dick, like you. And he had blue eyes. Blonder hair than you. But when you shaved everything, all of a sudden, when I walked in, you looked just like him. And I hated you for trying to be like him. It was stupid. I was drunk. I'm sorry, Chrissy."

Chris reached out a hand and rubbed Justin's shaved head.

"It's ok, Sir."

"And so that's why I couldn't let those fuckers do this to you tonight. On your birthday. Toy with you like that. Like . . ."

Like your friends did to Andy, Chris thought. Is this all just about guilt, then?

Justin rubbed his eyes dry and looked down at Chris. Seeing the boy's pained face, he realized that he might have said too much - or said it wrong. He was not a talker by nature. He was better at doing. And so he did.

"C'mere, stud," he whispered in Chris' ear, releasing his roommate's head and lowering himself on top of his boy. He kissed Chris again passionately and without reserve, as if relinquishing all of his fears to someone who knew better how to deal with them. Chris kissed him back. Harder. And harder. Chris spread his legs and then wrapped them around Justin's ass. He felt the jock's uncut cock start to harden again as it nestled in the crease between Chris' thigh and his balls. He raised his hips, and let Justin's enormous dong drop to the mattress, then lowered his crack onto the massive rod. Legs still wrapped around Justin's solid butt, he rubbed himself over his roommate's now throbbing cock, grinding his ass onto Justin's trapped hardon. 

"You want me inside you, boy?" Justin growled.

"Yes Sir!" They both wanted to leave the awkward moment produced by Justin's story, but preserve the connection they had just deepened. The best way to do that was sex. And there was only one thing left that they had never done.

"Then you better get my dick wet for your hole." Justin rolled over onto his back, and with one of his meaty hands guided Chris' head down to his large shaft. The foreskin was half retracted over the huge head, and Chris eagerly sniffed the jock's manly sweat odor before taking the head in his mouth and darting his tongue under the hood.

"Fuck yeah, Chrissy, you do that better than anyone," Justin purred. 

Chris gobbled the head in his wet mouth and slid down the shaft, pumping it a bit with his left hand while he did it. He put the whole slab down this throat a few times, making sure Justin's fuck tool would be nice and wet. Plus he loved the way his roommate's tightening balls hit his nose each time he went down. The heady scent and the lack of oxygen, plus the emotions of the day, pushed Chris into an amazing, animalistic, submissive head space. He felt Justin reach around and grab his hips, lifting his slighter roommate easily so that Chris straddled Justin's chest without his mouth every leaving his dick. Justin stuck a finger in his mouth and ran it over Chris' tight pucker. 

"I can't wait to get in there, boy. Are you ready to lose your cherry, roomie?"

Chris mumbled something he hoped sounded affirmative into Justin's crotch. He momentarily spun out of his groove, realizing that of course the jock thought Chris was still a virgin. Well, it had been five months since Mark had fucked him, and it had only happened once, so really, he might as well be. He continued his rhythm on Justin's cock, and moaned and hummed on the big sausage as he felt Justin lightly penetrate the outside of his hole with a wet finger.

"Fuck, that puck is so tight, Chrissy. You're gonna squeal like a little pig when I put my massive cock in you." Justin rewet his finger and pushed it a little further in, slowly but insistently. Chris pulled up off of Justin's dick and started lapping his musky balls, trying to relax everything so that Justin could loosen him up. Justin pushed his finger further, stretching the boy's sphincter, and then he was in. Chris gasped.

"You like that don't you, roomie? My finger in your hole, opening you up. Controlling you."

"Yes, Sir." 

Justin pumped his finger in and out a few times, then drew it out. Chris whined softly, and Justin chuckled. 

"Miss it already, huh, champ?" Justin put two fingers in his mouth. "Shame we don't have any lube, boy."

"Yes we do, Sir," Chris murmured, "it's in my backpack."

"What?"

"I picked it up when I stopped at the dorm, Sir. Just in case."

Justin grinned broadly. "Now it's you who thinks of everything, boy." Justin slapped Chris' firm ass. "Go get it, boy." Chris scampered off the huge bed and into the living room to his bag; he found the Astroglide and brought back the tube, taking a moment in the doorway to drink in the sight of his handsome, hung and horny roommate. Justin lay on his back, legs spread, idly rubbing his huge, uncut cock, smiling sexily with his crooked grin and white teeth. The jock's shaved head glistened with a fine layer of sweat, and while his eyes looked tired, he looked as friendly, open and warm as he had appeared the first time Chris had met him. The domineering glint in the brown eyes was still here, and he spoke in a low drawl as he cocked his head. "Get back over here, roomie. Lie down next to me, face down."

Chris handed him the lube and complied. Justin pushed the boy's legs apart, and squirted a generous amount of lube on his fingers. He pushed his middle finger back into Chris' eager hole, and quickly slipped his index finger to join it.

"Ow!" Chris cried out.

"Shh, roomie, you can take it. You're a champ, Chrissy."

Justin let the two fingers sit in his boy's chute for a minute before he slowly started pumping them in and out, rotating them slightly as he went to continue stretching what would soon the receptacle for his sperm. 

"Ok, Chrissy, here we go." Justin lifted Chris' hips up off the bed, and put the boy on his knees. A firm hand on his back encouraged Chris to arch it and stick his ass out. Justin slathered his engorged penis with more lube, and pulled the foreskin back. Planting a kiss on Chris' right ass cheek for good luck, Justin positioned the tip of his big dickhead at the entrance to Chris' boy pussy. "Just breathe, roomie. Relax. I'll go slow."

Justin inched his dick into Chris' hole, and the boy immediately gasped in pain.

"Shhhh, boy. You're gonna be fine. You've wanted this since you first checked out my package, bitch." Chris whimpered, but could not disagree.

Justin pushed in a little more, then grabbed Chris' hips and popped the whole head in.

"FUCK!" Chris yelled.

"Shhh," Justin consoled him again, "Don't worry, I'm not moving."

Justin let his roommate get used to the enormous head of his penis for a few minutes, rubbing the boy, circling his hand around his back, and with each circle pressing down, so that with each round Chris' chest sank further into the welcoming mattress, and Justin's cock slid a quarter inch further into Chris sweet, sweet ass.

"Ok Chrissy, I'm comin' in." Justin pushed his cock into his submissive boy's pussy as gently as he could. He did not have Mark's finesse or experience. But, Chris thought, I've wanted this for so long, I'm gonna fuckin' take it however it comes.

It came slow but steady, and didn't stop, not once, not until it was all the way in. Chris thought he was going to split apart at the seams - somehow, this was harder and more intense when it came from behind.

"FUCK, boy, you have the fucking sweetest pussy." Then, as an afterthought, "You ok?"

"Yes Sir," Chris managed to squeeze out of his compressed lungs.

"Good boy." Justin squirted some more lube on Chris' crack, and began to pull out, slowly but steadily. Chris felt relief, then panic as Justin pushed it back in, all the way. Out. In. The pull out was always slow, but the downstroke was more of a slam, and increased in intensity with each thrust. Before either of them knew it, Justin was pounding Chris with a steady rhythm.

This was a whole new sensation for the sub. Each time Justin's swollen uncut cock pushed back into Chris' tight hole, the boy thought he was going to piss a bucket. It dawned on him that his prostate was getting a nice whack on each pass, and he kept trying to relax, until at last . . . 

It all clicked. Chris started to ride the feelings in his prostate, and ride Justin's cock, too. The sweaty, dominant jock started pulling out farther each time, and then slamming back in. He was turning Chris into a power bottom, and the handsome little slut was loving it. He had no idea his tight hole could accommodate this kind of assault. 

"FUCK YEAH," Chris moaned, and started bucking his ass back to meet Justin's thrusts. Grinning, Justin slapped Chris' white cheeks with each push into his hole.

"Take it, bitch!" Justin yelled, shoving all 8.5 inches in harder and faster.

Chris had never felt so owned. So used. Taking it from behind made him feel like a cheap male whore. He loved it . . . but he also wanted to capitalize on his earlier intimacy with the man he knew he loved more than anyone on the planet. Without warning, he lowered his hips back onto the bed, and had Justin's dick been shorter, it would have fallen out.

"What the fuck, Chrissy? I'm so close . . . get your ass back up," Justin panted.

"I want you to give it to me face to face," Chris moaned seductively. "I want to see you when you shoot your fucking load up my ass."

Justin's eyes widened. This would be a first for him. Eye contact while fucking was not part of his vocabulary. But . . . 

"Ok, bitch, but if I fall out of your ass when I turn you, I'm gonna whup it harder than . . ."

He stopped, realizing that ass-whipping referenced might be too soon. Instead of talking, he hunched forward and thrust half his dick into Chris, and then lifted the boy's torso, helping him turn while impaled.

It worked; Chris was on his back and the jock's dick never left his hole. Justin was rewarded with a triumphant smile.

"Now give it to me, Sir. Fuck me like there's no tomorrow." That's a cliché, Chris thought, but maybe it isn't. I don't know if there is a tomorrow for us. "Fuck me, Sir!!"

And Justin did. Inspired by the pressure of Chris' heels against his muscular ass, he pumped Chris' now gaping hole, thrusting from the tip to the hilt each time. Chris was in heaven. Finally, his ass was being plowed by his hot roommate. Finally. Chris reached up and gripped Justin's biceps reveling in the feel of the muscles, incredibly turned on that his hands couldn't come close to encircling them. He craned his neck up and grazed Justin's nipples with his lips, first one, then the other. Chris's little dick sprang up, now hard as a rock.




Chris Donaldson Ch. 07



The thrusts came relentlessly, but Chris was empowered now, and determined to taste, feel, and enjoy every part of his Dom's body within reach. Sensing that Justin was close to cumming, Chris grabbed the jocks pecs and squeezed hard. This was access he had never had. Then he seized Justin's head from both sides, and pulled him down for a kiss. Justin resisted, pumping his boy's ass and not wanting any distraction before his orgasm. But Chris wouldn't let go. He wrapped both forearms behind his roommate's head and pulled his face inexorably closer.

"Kiss me, Sir."

Justin pumped harder, fighting the pull of Chris' arms.

"Kiss me, you motherfucker!" Chris summoned strength he didn't know he had, and drew Justin's face closer. "Your cock feels amazing in my ass, Sir, you kissed me before, kiss me again NOW!"

For a brief moment, Justin gave up - everything. His previous notions of anal sex. His resistance to kissing. His fear of intimacy. He bent down, still thrusting like a maniac, and kissed Chris. And then he came. Hard. 

"FUCCCKKKKKK!! CHRISSSYYYY!!" Chris pressed his cheek next to Justin's as the stud bellowed out his orgasm, and sank it deep into the boy's gut. When Justin stopped shouting, Chris kissed him again sweetly, and the jock spurted the remaining shots of his jizz into the sub's ass.

Justin came up for air, and looking on Chris' lustful face with tenderness, he spit into his hand and reached down to grab Chris' unimpressive but straining dick. Guessing what his boy needed, he left his thick cock deep in Chris' well-fucked hole, and leaned down to kiss his sub on the lips. That did it. Chris came after two pumps of Justin's meaty hand on his thin meat.

Fuck. FUCK!! Justin sank down on top of Chris, and let his sweaty mass crush his roommate. Chris didn't mind. He was happy to be smothered. Owned. Fucked. In this incredible bed, in this beautiful suite in the Four Seasons. For this moment, they were one. 

After a few minutes of exhausted joy, Justin pulled his dick out of Chris' ass, and pulled the boy tight, spooning him. He drew the covers over their spent bodies. Neither of them wanted to disturb the moment by cleaning up. They were asleep in minutes. It had been a very long day for both of them.

******************

Justin woke first. He had slept fitfully. Carefully disentangling himself from Chris, he crawled out of the bed and retreated to the main room of the suite. He checked his phone. It was noon. He dressed quickly and left, telling the desk clerk that his friend would be staying another night. Just in case Chris needed it. Or Justin wanted to come back.

He blocked his conscience, which said, running away is what you do, isn't it?

Chris woke at 3, to an empty bed, a sore hole, and a puddle of semen on the sheet, which had emanated from said hole while he slept. He panicked. Where was he? Where was Justin? He saw his phone and grabbed it. The screen showed he had three texts and a voicemail. The first text was from Justin: "Don't worry, roomie. I had to run. Left you a VM."

Chris listened to the voice mail next. 

"Hey Chrissy. I'm not deserting you. I have . . . um . . . obligations I gotta fulfill. You know, back up there on campus. I paid for another night in the room for you. You should stay here and relax. Enjoy your birthday. I'll come back when I can. Last night was amazing. All of it. Thanks for listening, Chrissy. And for . . . everything."

Chris fought the temptation to feel utterly rejected. He reviewed the events of the previous night. Now, in the cold light of day, he couldn't believe that Justin had been telling him the whole truth. Yes, it was now obvious that the fraternity hierarchy had rejected him. But was it really planned from the beginning? And if so, was Justin truly not in on it all? He was unbelievably tight with his brothers. How could he not have known what they were planning with his roommate? No, it had to be because of his performance with the other pledges last night. Chris had been proud of the fact that he had not gotten hard, despite putting his mouth on seven cocks, but maybe the rest of the fraternity had been turned off. Justin too. Sure, he was good enough to fuck, but not good enough to join SAE, not good enough to be drawn into the inner circle.

Paranoia and self-loathing set in.

He recalled Justin's story about Andy. Chris marveled at how quickly he had felt sympathy for Justin. 

I just got kicked out of your frat, he thought, and then an hour later, I was making YOU feel better. I was practically apologizing for the fact that you beat me up last fall. And was it Andy who really didn't want to be gay? Or was that you? Because you sure don't want to be, but you sure as fuck are. And I don't know if you'll ever admit it. 

And yet, Chris thought, I feel how deeply you were hurt by your past.

Unable to sort it out, Chris looked at his phone again.

The second text was from Mark. "Are you ok, kiddo? Worried about you."

The third text was from . . . Tag. Huh? His pledge dad? Wasn't that all over? He had failed. He had been discovered as a natural born cocksucker. What more was there to say? Did the rest of the brothers want to follow Justin's lead and fuck his ass before he retreated into obscurity?

It read: "Hey, Chris. Do you have time to meet for a quick coffee today? Before 6 is best. Tag."

Chris hobbled to the bathroom. He couldn't walk without feeling the effect of Justin's cock in his ass. My limping would be so much hotter if he were here to laugh at me, Chris thought ruefully. He used the toilet, and then showered, wondering if it was too late to have the soiled sheets changed. He didn't want to go back to the dorm tonight, and thought another night in the hotel suite might be a better option. But he didn't want to sleep in his own cum. And he suspected he might want the minibar refilled.

After his shower, he called housekeeping; yes, they could come up now. Thank God.

Chris texted Tag. Sure, I can meet you at 4:30/5. Where?"

Tag's response came quickly. "Meet me at Giorgio's at 5."

Giorgio's was a coffeehouse and club a mile off campus. It was not a college haunt. Tag apparently wanted this to be private. 

Chris texted Justin. "Thanks for the extra night. I'm going to take it. Hope to see you . . ." Delete. "Would love to see you . . ." Delete. "Let me know if you're coming back." 

Then: "I need you." Send it before you change your mind, he thought.

Fuck it. I do need him.

Chris retrieved his Jeep from the skeptical valet, and drove back north. He pulled up to Giorgio's and walked in. It was 4:55, but Tag was already there, waiting for him.

He stood up as Chris approached, and reached out a burly hand. Chris shook it, suddenly feeling lonely and empty. 

"Want some coffee?" Tag asked. 

"I'd rather have a Manhattan."

Tag's lip curled up in a half smile. "It's your birthday, right?"

Chris nodded.

Tag flagged the waiter.

"Hey, my friend here just turned . . . 21. Can he get a Manhattan?" He turned to Chris. "What kind of bourbon?" 

"Knob Creek," Chris whispered.

"Up or on the rocks?"

Chris shrugged.

"Rocks," Tag ordered.

They paused.

"So," Tag said awkwardly.

Chris raised his head, and eyed his former pledge dad as neutrally and casually as he could.

"Chris . . ."

Another pause.

"Listen, man, I'm sure you're feeling . . . confused, or . . . bad right now."

Chris nodded again. His drink came, and he took a large swig. Yeah, ordering a cocktail was pretty gay, but he didn't have to pretend anymore.

"Chris, I . . ." Tag looked at the table. This was so fucking weird, but he had to do it. It wasn't fair not to. "Ok." 

Chris looked up again, inquisitive but worn out.

"Here's the deal. The fraternity doesn't know I'm here."

Ah, more of the "you can't be seen with me" bullshit, Chris thought.

"But I had to tell you this. I know . . ." Tag paused awkwardly. "I know we weren't exactly tight. But I had a lot of . . . I HAVE a lot of respect for you, Chris."

Chris cocked his eyebrows in surprise.

"I didn't really get it at first, but over time you showed you were really SAE material. A lot of us felt that way. We really did." Tag looked Chris in the eye. "And we're really ashamed of how the house treated you. That wasn't right, what happened last night."

Chris looked down, embarrassed and humiliated.

"It wasn't right," Tag repeated. "If I had known that was coming, well, shit, I would have . . ." He paused, careful not to say too much. "I might have taken the opportunity to get you . . ." he stopped again, wary. "I'm just saying, I don't blame you for getting away. You did the right thing. Those guys had some bad shit planned for you, and none of us knew about it. None of us rank and file dudes. Not even me, and I was your fucking pledge dad."

Chris took another big swig of his Manhattan.

"I'm telling you this because I like you, Chris. But you know I can't change what happened."

Chris nodded again, numbly.

"I'm also telling you this because I don't want you to . . ." Tag paused again. Speaking from the heart was not his strong suit. "I don't want you to think this was all some game. The . . . person . . ."

Chris sighed, mortified. How much must they beat around the bush?

"Tag."

The beefy pledge dad stopped abruptly, surprised to be interrupted.

"Just say what you mean. I'm not gonna break."

"Ha! No you won't, Mr. 158," Tag said, genuinely smiling for the first time.

Chris wanted to cry. It was sweet of him to reference his best moment in the fraternity, but it was all over now.

"Listen." Chris jumped in his chair; Tag sounded like Justin. "I'm telling you this because the most important thing is that you . . . um . . . be you. You're a great guy. Just be yourself. You don't need us. You never did. You're not really . . ." Tag started to blush. "You're your own person, Chris. Just be that. You'll find your group. It wasn't us, although a lot of us would have been proud to have you, even though . . ."

Oh just fucking SAY it, Chris thought, and slugged most of the rest of his Manhattan.

"What I'm trying to say is, I found out a bunch of shit this morning. And I'm telling you that whatever the council told you is bullshit. They were against you. And the rest of us didn't know. It's already brushed under the rug. You don't argue up there, you probably already know that. But I'm sorry. I'm sorry you went through all of it. You did good. And you'll do even better on your own, with your own . . . circle. Just be you, Chris. That's more than good enough."

Tag, at the end of his ability to communicate and empathize, got up. Chris rose too, but Tag waved him back down.

"Finish your drink, Mr. 158. You deserve it. I'm going to pay and get back to . . . anyway . . . Happy Birthday," he finished lamely.

"You don't have to pay, Tag," Chris protested, but the tall and stocky jock stuck out his hand.

"It's the least I could do." 

Chris shook his hand, and sat back down to finish the drink. 

He stayed at Giorgio's a few minutes longer, until he was sure Tag had pulled out of the parking lot, and then left himself, a bit buzzed. He drove too fast back the hotel. He wasn't sure where else to go, and decided just to keep vigil until Justin showed up.

The suite was pristine when he returned, and he curled up on the balcony again, this time able to enjoy the view of the city skyline close to sunset. He sipped some more bourbon from the minibar, which had been replenished. He tried not to check his phone more than once every five minutes. This was torture.

He didn't have to wait that long for salvation. Justin's text came at 6:40.

"Hey roomie, where are you?"

"The hotel."

"In the room?"

"Yes Sir."

"Stay right there. I'll be there in 20 min."

Thank God, Chris thought. His conversation with Tag had been terribly uncomfortable and pretty depressing, but it had also reassured him about Justin's actions the night before. Justin was not in on it. Justin was not the villain. Justin's openness had been real, and fuck - the sex had been amazing. This might still all work out. Somehow.

Chris went back to the minibar and poured two more bourbons over ice - whoever had restocked the bar had put in extra Bulleit, guessing correctly what Chris might consume this evening. He took both glasses back out the balcony, and waited.

The sound of a key card sliding into the lock made Chris' heart leap. He closed his eyes, feeling the last rays of the sun on his face, and anticipating a pair of hands on his shoulders . . . which descended a few seconds later.

"You're back!" Chris said, and turned. 

Justin smiled. "Were you worried, roomie?"

"No," Chris lied. "Just hoped it wasn't too bad a day. I poured you some bourbon."

"Good boy," Justin purred, and mussed his hair. He took the glass but did not sit down.

"Have a seat, Sir, the sun's going down. It's pretty."

"You're pretty, Chrissy," Justin replied, but remained standing. "I'm good."

"Aw come on, let's have my birthday drink together. It's almost over."

Justin smiled ruefully, and chuckled. "Well, you're gonna find out sooner or later, so here it is." He turned around and unbuckled his jeans, pulling them with his boxers down to his knees. Across his ass, Chris saw an orderly stack of angry red welts laid out. "I'm not gonna be sitting for a while, Chrissy."

Chris gasped. "Who . . .? Mason?"

Justin pulled up his pants, wincing, and nodded. "Come and lie down, and I'll tell you," he purred sexily.

They walked through the living room to the bedroom, and reclined on the bed, Justin folding Chris into his arms in their (now suddenly) usual position.

"So I got back to the house around 1. Just wanted to poke my head in, didn't want to stay, but figured I couldn't be totally absent today. One of the brothers told me Mason wanted to see me. So I looked around for him, but he wasn't here. Then I got a call - he was back at the dorm, and insisted I come down and see him. So I did. And we . . . talked, in his room. I gotta admit, he was a little bit careful. He's not stupid, he knows exactly what must have happened. But he talked around it."

Justin paused and sipped his drink.

"Basically, he just told me that it had 'come to his attention that I might be involved in a serious breach of fraternity decorum and secrecy.' I just kept staring at him, not saying a word. I let him flounder. He wanted me to confess to something, and I just sat there. Eventually, he switched tacks. He told me that running away like you did was a serious offense, and that even though you were no longer in consideration for membership, you had not de-pledged through proper channels in a mature way, and that you would have to answer for that in some fashion.

So I said, 'what, are you going to whip him again?' And he just smirked. So I told him that if he laid a fuckin' finger on you I was going to out him as a pervert to the whole house, and confirm everything he had done to you, and make sure I found out who else he had fucked with. And wouldn't that be a nice way to end his senior year, in disgrace."

Chris flushed, both with embarrassment at the reminder of his encounters with Mason, and with pleasure that Justin had stuck up for him.

"But he said, 'someone must be held accountable. Someone must atone.'" 

You do his voice pretty well, Chris thought, smiling.

"And so I said, 'Fine. If you need to get your jollies by whipping someone's bare ass, here's mine.' And I yanked down my pants and stood there bareassed, daring him to do something. And well . . . that was a mistake," Justin laughed. "He took me into that little room behind his closet, bent me over some bench he has, and took out a cane. We 'discussed' what would make this right. And we settled on 24 strokes. So there they are, roomie, your price is paid. You're free." Justin kissed Chris's hair.

"I guess that makes me Becky Thatcher, huh," Chris smiled, completely won over.

"Who?"

"It's from Tom Sawyer, dumbass. He did the same thing you did." Chris turned around and kissed Justin in gratitude; the jock smiled and kissed him back, hard.

"So now can you rub some lotion on it, roomie?"

"Of course." Chris jumped up from the bed, and got a bottle from the bathroom.

"Your ass is gonna smell like lemon verbena, Sir."

"I hope you like that flavor, boy, cuz it's gonna be all over your face when you get down there and lick it," Justin growled, grinning.

"I can't wait, Sir," Chris replied, and flipped Justin on his stomach, rubbing lotion onto his hands first to warm it, and then onto Justin's striped butt. "Man, that must hurt, Sir."

"Don't worry, Chrissy, yours is coming. But from me, not that asshole."

"Yes Sir!"

After he had salved Justin's sore behind, he lowered his head and sniffed eagerly at his roommate's hot crack. As always, the scent gave Chris an instant boner. He tongued and licked Justin's hole, making his Dom groan in pleasure. After a few minutes, Justin turned over and grabbed Chris' arm pulling him up so that he was sitting straddling Justin's thighs.

"Where'd you put that lube, roomie?"

"It's in the night stand, Sir, but my hole is really sore, and I . . ."

"Shhh. I'll be gentle. And you got me worked up so I'll shoot quick. Now suck my cock to get it ready, boy."

Chris obeyed, nervous but thrilled to be penetrated twice in 24 hours by the man he admired and loved. Justin was already rock hard, and a few licks and some quick deep throat action was all it took to get the precum moving. Justin moved his roommate's head out of the way, and lathered up his dick with Astroglide.

"This'll be great, Chrissy, just sit on it nice and easy. Your pace. No rush. Just take as much of it as you can." He helped Chris rise up off his lap, and supported him as the boy gently tried to take the dickhead in his sore hole. 

Fuck, that hurts, Chris thought, but he wanted to do it. He wanted to prove to Justin that he wasn't a wimp. He shut his eyes tight, and very, very, slowly, lowered himself so that the head slid in past his sphincter with a wet PLOP.

"Oooohh," he moaned. Yeah, it hurt, but he was still kind of loose from the previous night. He sank down further. Once the initial pain subsided, it felt amazing - like he was back where he belonged, and the time off Justin's cock had been an unexcused absence. He pumped slowly up and down, impaling himself over and over again. 

"That's all you, Chrissy, I'm not moving," Justin groaned. "Fuck that's awesome boy, you're . . . a . . . FUCKING . . ." Chris picked up the tempo. "CHAMPP!!"

Chris was riding Justin's cock like he was at a rodeo, and it didn't take long to bring the athletic stud over the edge. Soon, Chris felt a hot shot of goo in his rectum, and smiled as Justin let out a yowl from deep inside his gut. 

"FUCKKK YEAHHHH!!" Justin's impressive load started to dribble out of Chris' boy hole, as Chris sat down firmly and ground every last inch into his aching ass. Justin played with the boy's half hard weiner, but Chris grabbed his hand.

"Please Sir, I'd like to shoot with your ass in my face."

"You got it, boy." 

Chris pulled slowly off of Justin's dick, and the massive meat eased out with a loud farting noise. They both laughed. Chris lay back on the bed, and Justin got up, towering over his roommate's smaller body. He knelt facing the headboard, knees planted on either side of Chris' head, and lowered his musky ass onto the boy's eager face.

Chris started tugging his little dick in earnest, first sticking his fingers in his ass for lube. In thirty seconds, he was there.

"Permission to shoot please, Sir!" he yelled into his Dom's meaty cheeks and asshole. Justin understood the muffled plea.

"Shoot, boy! Shoot your little pee pee." 




Chris Donaldson



NO, NO, NO, NOT Justin. STOP IT.

Slow down.

Back to Mr. Greek Daddy-god. Chris smiled. Now he was able to deep throat, magically. He looked up to see Mr. Greek Daddy-god's eyes brimming with lust and appreciation. Faster . . . faster . . .

The sound of the doorknob turning jolted Chris out of his fantasy. He abruptly lowered his knees, turned to the wall, and brought the towel to his greasy hand. SHIT, SHIT, SHIT, SHIT, SHIT, SHIT!!!!!!!

"Hey bro, sorry, figured you'd be awake by now," Justin said loudly, banging the door against the wall. "Sorry man, didn't mean to do that." He shut the door with exaggerated care and solicitude. Chris finished wiping off his hand, with as little actual discernible motion as possible, and tried to make one natural movement of pulling up his shorts and rolling over.

"Hey, no worries. I must have dozed off, yeah? Back so soon?" Chris was trying to play it off like he thought it was still only an hour after Justin had left, but it didn't fly.

"Dude, have you been out since I left? It's 9:30, I left almost four hours ago!"

"No fuckin' way, I've been asleep that long? You're shitting me."

"No man, I left a little after you passed out around 5:30. Man, you're a lightweight." Justin grinned, but his face had become more brittle. His eyes were harder, and his smile more set; his skin was a shade paler than when he had left. He was drunk. "You eaten anything? You must be hungry, man."

Justin opened the fridge to get a beer, and saw the pizza box. 

"Oh, you did eat then," he said in a puzzled tone. "So you weren't asleep this whole time. What, did you pour yourself another while I was gone?"

Justin smiled again, but there was less humor in his eyes than before. Chris became apologetic. "No, c'mon, what do you think I am? I'm not gonna drink your shit unless you invite me, man." He smiled, he hoped winningly. He had noticed the change in Justin.

"Shit?"

There was an awkward pause.

"Knob Creek is some fucking expensive bourbon, man."

"Dude, easy. Just a figure of speech. That's probably why it knocked me out, cause it was so good."

Justin laughed insincerely. "It is good. But if it knocked you out, did you order a pizza in your sleep?"

"No dude, come on. I ordered it, ate half of it, and went back to bed. No big deal."

Justin smiled slowly, the light coming back into his eyes. He's really not that bright, Chris thought, shifting again to feign the stretching that he hoped covered the buttoning and zipping of his shorts.

"Hey, I get it man. Sorry, I'm still a little buzzed from the house. Little slow here." Justin grinned, and his eyes were halfway convincing that they were engaged in the smile. "And don't worry about it. My shit is your shit."

Chris stiffened. It was obvious that Justin was still insulted. An insulted drunk was going to be tough. Better go for a walk, let him check the level of the bourbon in the closet and count the bottles in the fridge. In an hour, he'd be fine. Or asleep. No use getting off on the wrong foot the first day.

"Hey, thanks man. Listen, I'm going to go for a walk to wake up a little bit, check out the rest of the dorm, see if anyone is around. I'll catch you later."

Chris threw off the covers, having carefully replaced the plastic jar under his pillow. His clothes were mussed, but that was natural if he had been sleeping. Confident in his subterfuge, he slid down, and walked to the closet to find his flips. He put them on, and made for the door. Justin was standing in front of it and flipped the lock.

"Huh? I'm just going out, man, see you in a while." Chris reached out for the door handle, but Justin grabbed it first.

There was another awkward pause as Chris and Justin stared at each other. Unable to maintain eye contact, Chris looked at the door, and said, "What's the deal? Is something wrong?"

Justin continued to stare at him silently.

"Dude, if it's about calling your bourbon 'shit', I really didn't mean that literally," Chris said, laughing as easily as he could through his nerves.

Justin took his hand off the handle, but before Chris could grab it, his hot, shaved-head roommate took a step toward him. Not wanting to make physical contact, Chris stepped back. He felt his dick getting hard. NO, NO, NO!!!!! Stop it!!! He screamed at himself.

Justin advanced again, and Chris retreated. One step. Two steps. Soon they were against the window, near Chris' desk. Justin opened his mouth, and Chris wondered what he was finally going to say. His roommate said nothing, and instead burped loudly into Chris' face. It smelled like onion and hamburger. Chris turned his face away in disgust, his dick wilting. Thank God for that, he thought.

"Dude, what the fuck???" Chris sputtered.

Justin smiled amiably, and put his meaty hand on Chris' left shoulder. Chris expected a joke or a laugh. Instead, he heard,

"Kneel."

"What?"

"KNEEL!!"

"Are you fucking drunk, man?" Obviously, he was, Chris could smell the booze clearly now that he was so close, even over the onions. He tried to slide away to his right and get beyond Justin to the door. It was only a few steps, but Justin's powerful arm pushed Chris to his knees.

"What the fuck is this," Chris yelled.

Justin looked down at him, smiling. Amiably had not been the right word. Contemptuously would have been more accurate.

"Cocksucker."

It was a simple statement. Not a question, not a comment, just a statement of fact. Chris knew deep inside that he had not even been able to go a day without being found out. He was scared, but decided to try and bluff it out.

"WHAT???? Dude, I'm not gonna blow you, what kind of fuckin' perv are . . ."

CRACK!

Chris raised his hand to his left cheek in a daze, the initial sting now turning into a strong ache.

"Shut up, pussy."

Justin planted his left hand on top of Chris' head, and with his right reached over to his own desk and turned on his iPod, cranking up the volume.

"Put your hand down."

Chris, stupefied, did not respond, and Justin yanked his kneeling roommate's hand back away from his face, down to his side.

"If I give you a correction, you take it, you do not resist, you do not complain."

"Jesus Christ, man, what the fuck is . . ."

Chris was unable to block the second stinging face slap, this one a backhand to the right side of his face, which hurt even more than the first. His eyes watered.

"LISTEN."

Chris lowered his eyes and stopped trying to talk. He figured he would manage not to cry, that was the least of his dignity he could preserve. The crappy sounds of white-boy Hip-Hop blared from the iPod.

"It took me about two seconds to figure you out, Donaldson. Chrissy, that's what I oughtta call you. Only real men go by their last names, not faggots. I thought you were normal when you walked in, but then I caught you checkin' out my junk and then tellin' me my girl was gonna like the look of me in my workout gear . . . like YOU did, you fag. How fucking obvious was that?" Chris' dick was beginning to harden again, despite his fear and his orders to his genitals to stop.

"You're drunk, man," Chris argued feebly, knowing it was true, and also knowing what would follow.

CRACK!

CRACK!

Chris' eyes were watering now in earnest. The pain in his face was intense -- he hoped he wasn't going to be going to class on Monday with bruises on his cheeks.

"What do you want out of me, man? I'm not gay."

A rough hand lifted Chris' chin. He averted his eyes.

"LOOK at me, you cunt!"

Chris looked briefly into Justin's eyes, and then away. Sensing the upraised hand, he flinched and looked back in Justin's eyes. There was no trace of friendliness there now.

"You're gonna service my cock just like you want to, faggot. You're gonna do it any time and every time I ask you to." Chris' hardon surged, despite his terror.

"It's that simple. Got any questions?"

Chris looked down, and sensed the upswing of Justin's arm once more. 

"NO!" he yelled. Clearly this was going to be a speak-when-spoken-to, answer-every-question-promptly type deal.

"Alright. Open wide."

Chris couldn't believe what he was hearing. On the one hand, his erection was out of control at the thought of getting to see, much less touch Justin's dick within six hours of having met him. On the other, he had never sucked cock, and the size of Justin's feet, hands and bulge had intimidated him thoroughly. Since he'd been on his knees, he had not looked at Justin's package. Now he did. Justin had changed out of his earlier gym gear. He had put on a gray t-shirt, which he was now stripping off, and camo shorts. Chris looked up at Justin's chest. It was everything he had hoped and dreamed. Developed, rounded, muscular without being a body-builder, Justin had a fantastic chest and very respectable abs. No 8-pack, but his belly was firm and solid. Chris had guessed right: Justin shaved his chest, and his stomach too. There was no hair above the enticing line of his camo shorts, just the shadow of stubble in a triangle between his pecs and in a thin line running down the middle of his abdomen. Chris drank in the sight of Justin's flexed arms as he took his shirt off, and the dark and thick burst of armpit hair. 

Chris' erection was undeniable now, tenting in its own small way the loose front of his cargo shorts. His head still spinning from the slaps, he began to notice another strange odor. Not a belch, this time, but something muskier and danker.

Oh fuck, he thought, is that his fucking NUTS I smell?

Justin, fully in command, flexed his arms for Chris.

"You like these guns, you dumb ho?" The wiry hair seemed to writhe under each pit as he clenched his biceps.

Mercifully, Chris' brain, gut and dick were all now on the same page. They thought Justin was unbelievably hot, and were not going to argue with the drunk frat stud.

"Yeah man, you got some awesome guns."

Justin's hand reared back again, and then he smiled. "We'll work on proper address later, bitch. Now. Get to work." He thrust his pelvis forward.

Again, Chris' nostrils were assaulted with a strong whiff of something that could only be a rutting male. Granted, he'd never been an athlete, but he knew the smell of a randy guy, from himself and from gym class. His tiny dick dribbled a bit of precum. He was at a loss. Take down the shorts? Put his mouth on the clothed crotch of his tormentor? 

"NOW, FAGGOT!!"

"Dude, I've never done this!" Chris sputtered, and instinctively put his hands in front of his face to shield the inevitable blow. He sank on his haunches and fell back against the wall, under the window. He heard the sounds of the cheap dorm blinds being lowered.

He smelled the alcohol and sensed Justin changing position as his roommate brought his face close.

"Bullshit," he heard in a low, clear voice.

"I'm serious, man, please . . .!" Chris whimpered.

"Stop fuckin' around!" 

Chris slumped to the floor in a fetal position, eyes closed and hands still protecting his head. 

"I'm serious, Justin, I've never done this. I just figured out I was gay a few months ago, I never did anything about it except look at dudes. I'm sorry, man, can't we just forget this?" Chris was desperate for a way out, and figured a moment of sympathy, a glimpse of the easy-going Justin he had seen earlier would allow him time to sprint to the door, run upstairs to the RA, and beg for a new room assignment, or at least to sleep on the RA's floor for a night.

Justin gave something between a growl and a chuckle. "Then this is your lucky night, bitch-boy." 

Chris felt the hand under his chin again, no gentler than before, raising his head up. Justin's grip tightened, and Chris was dragged up by his head to his former kneeling position. He opened his eyes, and saw Justin sneering at him. Chris' face was positioned directly in front of Justin's crotch, and he was again hit by a whiff of musk.

"Unbutton my shorts, fag."

Chris looked pleadingly at his roommate, but knew that the hard glint in Justin's eye was incontrovertible. His hands moved quickly to unbutton Justin's waistband, and his tiny dick had another spasm.

"Unzip it."

Chris unzipped Justin's fly, and without being asked, lowered his roommate's shorts to the floor. Justin raised his right leg, and Chris unhooked his right foot. He did the same with the left. There was his studly roommate, no shirt, no shorts, clad in only red plaid boxers, white ankle socks, and size 12 running shoes.

Justin's left hand gripped the back of Chris' head, and brought his face forward to his groin. Chris had stopped resisting, and was oozing precum from his trapped four-and-a-half inch penis in a continuous flow. Chris reached with his face instinctively for the obvious outline of Justin's massive cock, but Justin's hand guided him lower, so that his nose hit Justin's large nuts.

"Lick my balls through my shorts, faggot."

Chris obediently stuck his tongue out and licked the warm red fabric over Justin's testicles, and it was clear to him that the formidable but intoxicating scent he had noticed earlier was indeed emanating from them.

"Treat 'em nice, fag."

Oh, fuck it, Chris thought, and lapped tenderly and lovingly at his roommate's clothed balls. He was in heaven, and he knew it. This wasn't how he had fantasized his first time, but it was still incredible. He felt Justin's meat stiffen above his nose, and he became anxious to see it, taste it, and see if it smelled as good as his nuts. His tongue worked more eagerly, and he threw his whole being into licking Justin's boxers.

"Thatta girl." The front of Justin's boxers were now sopping wet, and his eyes began to glaze over with pleasure. Abruptly, he pulled away. The look of disappointment on Chris' face was immediate and undeniable. Justin laughed. He turned around, and pulled his boxers down.

"I know you want my dick, faggot, and I'll let you pretend it's your first one. But you gotta kiss my ass before I give it to you. Pucker up, babe." He bent over, anticipating more resistance and whining. But to his surprise, Chris leaned in and gave each muscled, awe-inspiring, lightly-haired cheek a big, wet smack, with a little bit of tongue poking through his lips on each one. Holy fuck, this dude is compliant, Justin thought. He toyed for an instant with the idea of making Chris rim him, and then decided to save it -- he really wanted to get off soon, and it was obvious this cunt wasn't a virgin, at least not orally, no matter what he said. Otherwise, he'd never have kissed ass so willingly. Justin could smell his own nuts; he knew he wasn't fresh anywhere, and if his roommate was a first time rimmer, there'd be crying for sure. He spun around, his dick fully hard, and grabbed both sides of Chris' head.

Chris sucked in his breath in surprise. Justin was easily eight inches long, as thick as a can of Edge shaving gel, veiny, and uncut. Holy Fuck. Acrid crotch sweat, precum, recent urine, and ball musk all combined in a whirlwind of scents that nearly made Chris faint from horniness. He had never known he would be so into a man's natural odors, but what the fuck, new quarter, new discoveries. Uncut made him nervous as hell and turned him on completely. He had no idea how to suck a dick in real life, much less a hooded one, but he was going to try. Like his online fantasies, he hoped Justin would be patient and slow, understanding that it was his first time.

No such luck. Justin grabbed Chris' jaw, tugged down, and pinched his nose shut. Then he thrust his enormous, uncut dick as far into Chris' mouth as he could, releasing both hands for an instant, and then clamping them down again on the back of Chris' head. Chris couldn't breathe, and started to panic. Justin thrust a bit, in and out, and Chris started to gag, his eyes immediately flooding with water. Justin pulled back until only the head of his cock was in Chris' mouth.

"Bitch! I know you can do better than that! And if you can't I'm gonna learn ya like I'm gonna learn ya to hold your liquor." Chris tried to sputter in protest, but knew he had nowhere to go. This was a far cry from the first blowjob of his fantasy. He felt Justin's dick push into his mouth again, a bit slower, but no less insistent. He opened as wide as he could, and tried to endure.

"NO FUCKIN' TEETH, YA DUMB PIECE OF SHIT!!!" Justin yelled, and Chris desperately tried to rectify the problem. After a dozen more relentless thrusts into his mouth, he figured out that he needed to curl his upper lip over his upper teeth, and stick his tongue out far beyond his lower ones, so that only lips, gums and tongue would encounter the monster cock that never gave him an instant's respite. This also meant he had to open his smallish mouth that much further to accommodate Justin's large girth.

"Tha's what I'm talkin' bout," Justin grunted, as he thrust, now more easily, in and out of Chris' slobbering orifice. Drool oozed down the poor kid's face, and his eyes were now bloodshot and watering continuously. Justin loved every part of it, knowing that he was conquering a new piece of meat, and it slowly dawned on him that in fact, he may have lucked into a total virgin after all.

"AAUUUGGGHHHHHHH," Chris gagged, and nearly vomited; Justin, realizing that his roommate had been telling the truth, pulled out again so that only his head was in the fag's mouth, and gave him a few seconds to recover. Chris widened his mouth around Justin's gigantic tool, and sucked in some air. Justin smirked. This kid learns fast, he thought, and then plunged in again with no remorse.

"AAUUGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH," Chris gagged again, but Justin loved "Gag the Fag" videos, and was not about to be put off by a little mess that he would make his roommate clean up anyway. 

Chris, to his credit, held on to his insides. He felt completely assaulted and humiliated, and his little dick had wilted to half-mast (a sorry sight indeed), but he wanted to prove he was not a wuss, and that he could succeed. He remembered a piece of porn he had once read, and tried to open the back of his throat as much as he could; then, every time Justin's cock slammed in, he swallowed vigorously. 

It didn't mean that Justin's head went any further down, but he sure felt it, and it was fucking awesome.

"YEAH! Do it like that, pussyboy!" Justin pumped harder and faster now, with no regard for his roommate's wellbeing. Chris, learning on the fly, felt his jaw stretch past what he had thought was the breaking point, and his face started to go numb. All he could think of was, breathe when you can, swallow like crazy when he gets in deep.

Chris gagged intermittently, but never came quite as close to hurling again. He was in it to win it. He started to get hard again.

"FUCK YEAH, you crazy bitch, you are MINE!!"

Justin pumped in and out, ever faster. Chris held his mouth as still as possible, his little cock now oozing. Justin's grip tightened on Chris' skull.

"SUUUUCCCKKK ITTT, FAGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" 

Justin's feral glare, and his imposing cock, hardened as far as they could go. Chris' hands were braced against Justin's muscular thighs, and he felt them tense. Chris steeled himself for a wanted-but-unwanted invasion of his mouth with hot sperm. Instead, he gasped as Justin pulled out.

Chris sucked in welcome air in deep breaths, and then began to choke as Justin spewed his enormous load all over Chris' face. Spurt after spurt flew into the air, all over Chris' hair, eyes, mouth, nose and beard. Chris choked when he inhaled some of Justin's load while trying to catch his breath; relieved that he had survived, he reached down to his own puny cock and began to stroke it. A flash of light made him open his eyes.

Grinning, Justin was holding up his iPhone to Chris' cum-splattered face. Another flash, of Chris, flabbergasted, holding his own small, erect cock.




Chris Donaldson



"What the fuck was that for," Chris gasped, his dick shrinking in his humiliation.

"Don't make me slap you again, cunt," Justin said, grinning as he had when they had first met. "This is to make sure you don't fuck with me. I know how gay guys are. You're gonna service my dick whenever, wherever, and however I want. These pics stay with me, and maybe with a few of the brothers. But if you argue with me or fail to satisfy me, they're goin' out on Twitter. And Facebook. And to your parents. And friends."

Chris weighed the implications of this. Even assuming Justin hadn't planned this in advance, and didn't have all the information he suggested he did, it would be a matter of a few minutes to find it online. Chris had to concede defeat, at least for now. He nodded.

"Look at me, faggot."

Chris looked up.

"We can do this easy, or we can do this hard. Hard means I beat the shit out of you until you have no will left. Easy means you follow my orders with a smile, and I give you some fringe benefits, like access to my shit."

Chris cringed. Justin smiled.

"Yeah, I mean my booze. And other stuff you might enjoy down the road." Justin's face became serious again.

"Easy or hard, cunt? I need a verbal commitment."

Chris hung his head. "Easy," he whispered.

"What? I didn't hear you."

Chris raised his head to look his roommate in the eye. 

"Easy," he said, quietly but firmly.

Justin gazed at his new fag's cum-spattered, humiliated face for a full minute before he broke into an easy grin. "Ok, fag, go clean yourself up."

Chris, confused, stood up and reached for the hand towel he had tucked away in his bed earlier, but remembered it was soiled. He went to his closet for a washcloth. Before he could wipe his face, Justin grabbed his arm and opened the door. 

"Grab a bar of soap, too, fag, you need to use water." 

His heart plunging into his stomach, Chris grabbed the soap box from his toiletries, and ran down the hall to the bathroom, as Justin laughed behind him. He burst open the door of the suite's lavatory, and nearly sobbed in relief that no one else was there. He washed his face thoroughly, but could not quite remove the smell of Justin's nuts and pube sweat from his nostrils. He ran back to room 119 again. Justin was lounging on the now made-up lower bunk, hands behind his head, forested armpits in view, boxers back up, looking amused. 

"Did you like that, fag?"

Chris looked down. "Yeah," he muttered.

Justin laughed. 

"Bet you're horny now, faggot."

Chris decided to go for broke, and knelt.

"Yes Sir, Justin, I'm really horny. I'm going to jack off now, please, Sir."

Justin laughed again.

"You were jerkin' off when I walked in, douche-brain. Weren't ya?" He smiled cockily.

"No I wasn't."

"Oh really? In bed sleeping, huh? What was this for, faggot?" Justin reached behind his head and drew out Chris' little tub of Vaseline. "Isn't this yours?"

Chris wanted to die.

"Who uses Vaseline to jack off with except a fag with a little boy dick," Justin teased. He put the tub back behind his head and sat up, serious again. "You don't get to shoot your little pee-pee again without my permission, faggot. And I'm not giving it tonight. You get into your little jammies and get your ass up into your bunk, pussy. You can ask me for permission again tomorrow."

Chris reached for his dick in desperation. "But I didn't actually . . ."

Justin leaned forward and grabbed his arm, his right hand raised menacingly.

"Your face is already red enough, pussy. Do you really want me to mark it?"

Defeated, Chris shook his head.

"Use your words, sweetie."

"No."

"No, you won't use your words, faggot?" Justin's arm rose again.

"NO! I don't want you to mark my face, Sir!" Chris yelled hastily.

"Good cunt. Get into bed."

Chris put on the sweatpants and t-shirt that served as pajamas for him, and crawled into the upper bunk. Justin turned off the iPod, and the main lights. He left his own reading lamp on.

"I'm going to stay up for a few, pussyboy. See you in the morning. Don't talk to me unless I address you, ok?" Justin picked up his ipad and became instantly absorbed. Chris rolled over on his stomach and gently ground his hard dick into the mattress before he realized Justin would notice it. He whimpered and gave up. 

May as well sleep, he thought. 

As Chris drifted off, he had an awful thought. Despite his sore face, raw throat, utter humiliation and regret that his first gay sexual experience had not been as he had hoped, he was devastated by a far greater problem. He was in love.