Date: Thu, 3 Nov 2011 14:28:32 -0400 From: M W Subject: The Lacrosse God Across the Hall -- Final Chapter, part 7 LACROSSE STUD: FINAL CHAPTER, PART 7 The Lacrosse God Across the Hall Below is the continued story based on some true events that happened to me in college, though its been heavily fictionalized for dramatic purposes, and of course names have been changed. This is meant as entertainment for adult consenting readers and not meant for anyone who is offended by aggressive and dirty gay sex. Please do not ready if scatological and authoritarian sexual acts in any way disturb you, or if you are a minor. I welcome all suggestions and comments: Striker88888@gmail.com *** PART 7 MIKE THAT DOUCHEBAG TRAVIS Since starting these sexual misadventures with Luke and his friends, I'd been in some shady situations: bent over a shit-filled toilet getitng fucked from behind, behind a glory hole sucking 20 dicks in an hour, getting rug burns on my face as I was fucked across the room by an angry jock...the list goes on. But there I was in probably the most fucked up situation of them all: tied to a chair naked, knee to knee with Luke's younger brother, being stared down by one big, broad-shouldered douchebag of a baseball player. Travis wasn't just mean, he was downright spiteful...and he had a chip on his shoulder for Luke. Why that was was anybody's guess. Luke once told me he had a "problem" with Travis after fighting with him at a Rush event (back before anyone pledged we'd party at all the frats to figure out which was the best fit for us). But that's all I really know. Now Travis was shit-faced drunk and still swigging vodka. A few of our baseball teammates stood behind him, arms crossed, not letting anyone in or out of the room. All of them sneering and cheering Travis on. "I knew Luke was a fucking gay" "Red haired bitch" his friend egged him on "A faggot. Just like you bitches." Travis hocked a loogie and spit it right on my forehead, "It's disgusting that I played on the same team as you for three years. I'm sure you checked out my dick a few times in the showers, you sick freak. Don't worry you're gonna get a lot more than a look now." Another guy, skinheaded dude named Eddie, started setting up a tripod in the room. "You're gonna film me?" I asked, staring him in the eye. "We're gonna send Luke a message" "What mess--" Travis slapped me across the face with his free hand, hard. I winced. "Shut the fuck up unless you're asked a direct question. Next time you get the bottle upside your head." I bit my lip. "I'm gonna turn on the camera and you're gonna say exactly what's written on those cue cards. You understand?" I nodded. Travis spit on me again. "Do you????!" "Yes, sir" I looked over at Scott, who was quietly shaking. He was scared, showing his age, a bit overwhelmed. I noticed he a big wet stain in his briefs where he had pissed himself --though I was pretty sure the other guys hadn't seen it yet. "Hit it Eddie." Eddie turned on the camera and Travis held up some big cue cards he made. I begrudgingly read, knowing Travis would kick my ass if I didn't. "I am" I began reading, "a worthless faggot. I am not a man. The only purpose in my life is to be inferior to the man I serve." Travis flipped a card. "And that man is" I continued, "Travis Pitt. Luke is no longer my master, because" I stopped, reading ahead the rest of the card. I couldn't say it. "Read it fucker!" Travis said, spitting in my face. I felt his drool slide down my chin and drip off, drop by drop. "Luke is no longer my master, because he's as much of a faggot as me." *** Eddie turned off the camera and Travis came back up to us. Scott was squirming, he was gagged so was just making muffled noises. Travis lit a cigarette. "You shut up, Scott. We'll get to you in a second." He looked back at me. Okay look. If you struggle, if you bite, if you do anything bad it's just gonna hurt more. So bite your lip and shut the fuck up. Do you understand?" "You're gonna videotape you fucking me?" "Yep." "Thought I got first dibs, Travis." A familiar voice rang out, and I looked up to see James entering the room. James! That fucking bastard. "Luke's gonna have your ass, James!" I was angry. I pulled hard on the ropes tying me to the chair, no way they were gonna loosen up. James sauntered up to me and pulled his dick out of his basketball shorts. He waved it in my face, just a millimeter from my lips. I inhaled and caught the familiar scent of his junk. "Stop acting like you don't want all these guys dicks rammed up your hole, including mine" "I don't want your dick anywhere near me, James. What are you doing with these guys?" Travis laughed, "Who do you think got us this video of you blowing Luke and his friends? Who do you think let us into your house last night so we could get up to your room?" I looked up at James. Is he really a traitor? "Luke will murder you" I said, believing it. James looked guilty for a split second, but quickly covered with his tough-guy act. "Luke is a fucking faggot. So sick of his everyone-should-bow-down-to-me attitude. I'm done with you Zeta bitches." James coughed up a thick, phlegmy loogie and spat it in my face. It dribbled slowly down my chin as I continued to leer up at him. "You're just jealous Luke likes fucking me. You wish it were you." With a quick motion, James spun me around and bent me over, still tied up. Before I knew it he had his bball shorts down and his hard dick lubbed up and jammed up my hole. Hurt for a second like all hell before I relaxed, and then it felt great. A bastard for sure, but James did have a great dick. James,always in a rush, pounded me hard, was barely three minutes before he let loose a spray of cum in my hole. He slapped my asscheeks hard as he spurted, foaming at the mouth in pleasure. His cum instantly began leaking form my ass, which felt great. I had a feeling that was only the beginning. "Go get em, boys" James said, throwing me off him. * DEEP SHIT I hadn't realized what deep shit I was in until the next round of fucking began. I was still thinking this was just a little prank by James and Travis and a few of the other guys who hated Luke. But when the train begun I saw that seemingly the entire house was in on this. In fact there was a line of baseball guys out the door waiting for a turn to put their dick in me or at the least whack off in my face until they spooged. Think it was at about the twentieth dick that I decided to give in a little and have fun with it, and did my best to deep throat the gigantic uncut schlong that was currently pulverizing my throat. Unlike the lacrosse team who got used to cum sort of dripping everywhere and a mess being made, the baseball players were all a sit squeamish about getting each other's cum on them, so they were pretty careful to deposit every load directly in my mouth. Even if they were fucking my ass, they'd make sure to pull out and cram their dick in my mouth right before heir nut exploded. And these guys could cum, let me tell you. For a bunch of straight guys, they certainly seemed to know what they were doing fucking man ass. And they all came at me with fully hard dicks, I had no idea how they got so boned so quickly. It was really fucking hot, I have to admit. I swear it must have been a gallon on jizz, all directly down my gullet. Knew I didn't have to eat anything for a while.... The whole time James and Travis videotaped gleefully, cheering on Travis's frat brothers and basically shit-talking Luke into the camera's mic. They teased him about no longer owning me as his slave and about the abuse I was getting (though I think it was pretty obvious, from the way I was eagerly sucking dick and taking cock, that I was loving it). When the last of the guys (I counted 32) deposited their semen into my face, after about an hour of blowing dick, I was exhausted. I had gotten gangbanged by Luke and his friends but nothing on the magnitude of this. Though most of the sperm had gone down my throat, I had gagged on a few monsters (this guy who plays outfield, a short dude name Rick who never says much, turned out to have a 10+ incher. Who would have guessed!?) so there was plenty of spit and phlegm all over my face. Travis brought the camera in for a closeup and asked me how I felt. "Used" I admitted. "Good." Travis laughed. "You're not done though, faggot." He positioned the camera and then took a hold of my hips. He put his own dick in me with little effort, I immediately felt its tremendous girth blow past the ring of my asshole. Travis began pounding away ruthlessly, not looking at me or closing his eyes (as some of the guys had) but looking directly into the camera, taunting Luke with a half-smirk. His pace quickened as his nuts slapped against my ass with the THWACK TWACK TWACK, clearly enjoying himself now. When he could no longer hold his load, he pulled out, grabbed me by the hair and pulled me right in front of the camera. With two jerks of his long dick he sprayed his protein all over my face, and even though I had swallowed the last 30 loads he came so much that it looked like each of them had given me a facial. It was an impressive load by any standard. Travis was sexy, I'll give him that. A sexy douchebag. He threw me down and shut the camera off, giving the lens the middle finger right before he his record and stopped the tape. He rewinded it and pulled it out of the camera, marked it "Mike" in sharpie, and put it in an envelope. "Luke's gonna have some great home viewing when he gets this baby" I looked up at Travis. I didn't know what their plan was now that I'd been shot full of sperm. Let me go? "What now?" I asked, weakly. Travis shot me an annoyed look. "One more movie to make, asshole" He snickered. I bit my lip, not knowing what to expect. Two of the guys came over and re-tied me to a chair, then tipped it over to I was on my back and unable to move. Suddenly I heard some commotion and turned my head to see them dragging Scott back into the room, also tied to a chair. They tipped his chair over too, so the crowns of our heads were touching and we were both looking straight up. James re-positioned the camera and his record, as Travis cleared out most of the room. Travis walked over to us finally and looked down, letting a long gossamer thread of saliva trickle down and hit me of the face, and spitting again to get Scott wet. He smiled. "Just want to make sure Luke gets the point" He dropped trou and underwear, positioned himself right over our heads. Then he squatted, his knees bending just 45 degrees. By the time I knew what was about to happen, I was already getting it... Travis was squeezing out a shit on both our faces. A long, soft, disgusting turd draped across Scott's nose and chin, and then a second smaller one was delivered right on my forehead. We were officially emasculated. "Faggots" Travis said, spitting down on his messy work. Then he winked at the camera. *** LUKE PATRIOTS Was hard enough scoring these Patriots tickets, luckily coach had an in with some big-wig with a box. Thought it would be a perfect way to spend my dad's birthday, since he's been a fan for like forever. Scott seemed excited too, we aren't exactly on speaking terms these days but he's always got along great with pop. Wonder what pop would think about his son being a faggy little dickhound? Who the hell knows? So I'm a bit confused when Scott is missing this morning and isn't answering his cell phone. I told him about the game 100 times, he better have a good fucking excuse. And he was dead drunk at the party last night--I threw him on a couch upstairs to sleep it off. How could he have gotten up early and out of the house? God damn it, Scott. These tickets weren't easy to come by. Also a bit perturbed when I lumber to the bathroom at 9:20 for my morning piss and my pissrag is missing himself--can't remember the last time i opened that stall and didn't find his eager fucking face looking up at me and begging for my stream. I wonder for a minute if these two bitches have run away together or something gay like that, but I decide Mike wouldn't do anything like that..he knows how I feel about him boning my bro and he wouldn't want to jeopardize the chance to taste my dick. I got that kid wrapped around my pinkie finger, I tellya. So I guess it's just dad and I on this trip out to Foxboro. Dad's in good spirits despite Scott's absence, says it's been too long since just the two of us bonded, and I agree. We tailgate a bit with some BU frat guys grilling in the parking lot. A few hotdogs and five beers a piece (who drinks Miler High Life anymore?) later we head to our seats, a bit tipsy but no worse for wear (dad I both can handle our booze, must be the Irish in us.) Views great, just right of the fifty yard line, couple rows from the front. Coach hooked us up! We have another beer or two and watch the Pats destroy the Chiefs, Brady throwing for 3 touchdowns in the first half alone, and generally kicking ass as always. My dad is having a blast, can't believe the guy is 62 years old...still fit as all hell. He was a semi-pro boxer some 35 years ago, and he always kept the build -- definitely the toughest dad on the block growing up, a fact I was always pretty proud of. Dad was a hell of a drinker, a bit of an alcoholic I guess if you want to be all technical about it, but after being left out in the cold by two thankless bitches (my mother and then, ten years later, Scott's), it's no wonder he has a couple of demons to battle. "So how's your kids brother?" I took a swig of my high Life. Actually getting a taste for these. "He's fine." "Fine, that's it?" We both stand to watch Brady break a tackle--almost a sack. "Hell yea!" my dad cheers. "Yeah, he's fine." "He seems a bit...distracted these days. Not much time for his old man." "Yeah he's distracted allright" I said automatically. 'By dick' is what I was thinking. We were silent a moment. "Dad..." My dad looked over at me and nodded, he could tell I wanted to spill something. "I think Scott is...well, how should I say this. I think he's a bit of a faggot." Dad nodded slowly, for a minute I had no idea if he was going to yell, punch me, or just get up and leave. "No shit, Lucas" he said at last, cracking a smile. I was genuinely perplexed--a state I don't often find myself. "You knew??" "Knew? Hah, I more than knew. I've had the little cocksucker get me off dozens of times." So there you have it. My dad was just as perverted and aggressive as I was. They say an apple doesn't fall far from the tree and now I know it's true. "No way, man!" "Yeah, Luke. I surprised you haven't." "Well, there was this once when we were kids..." I started, remembering Scott's mouth on my dick after he lost the basketball bet. The thought of it still made my dick jump a little. "Hah. I knew it." "Nah but I'm not gay or anything, pop. Still there's something about using a guy who is such a pansy like that. Don't want you to think--" My dad put his hand on my shoulder and looked at me with tired, beer-drunk eyes. "Say no more, son. Let me tell you about life. There are guys like Scott, cocksuckers, who are born to serve...who genuinely exist to be on their knees feeding. Then there are guys like you and me -- men born to use a dude like Scott. Shit is natural, and you have no reason to be ashamed." "Still makes me ashamed of Scott, knowing he's a cocksucker like that. I would never suck a dick, man." "Hah. Strong words." "It's true. No fucking way." "Look, no reason to be ashamed of Scott. He is who he is. And overall, you know he's a good kid. You need to look out for him a little better. Everyone has their place--alpha and bitch alike. You hear me? Everyone has their part to play." I know it sounds all mushy and shit, and I'm trying to spare you some of this utterly-Hallmark moment, but dad was right--so what that Scott blew guys? So what he was a fag? I was getting what I wanted from Mike so Scott may as well get what he wants too. I mean, isn't that what life is about--pursuing your pleasure? giving in to it? Maybe that's an un-Christian view, but then again I was never a very good Christian. That's about as close to a philosophy I'm gonna get here, so take it for what it's worth. Anyway, I decided to bring my dad into the circle of trust. "There is a guy at school me and the guys abuse pretty often. Never seen such a slut. His name is Mike." "Hot man, maybe you'll share him with your old man one of these days." "Yeah, maybe. He really loves the dick." Dad was drunk enough, and turned on by this conversation enough, to get a 'brilliant' idea. "Why wait, Luke? Bet we could find a little punk like that anywhere." "Hah, like where?" "Anywhere, son. Right here." "A little faggot at Foxboro? Doubtful man." "You haven't been around as long as your old man. Believe me. I can spot them when I see them. Come with me." I followed my dad out of our seats and down a staircase, to the mezzanine bathrooms near centerfield. On the way he grabbed two brews--not that we needed them, we were already pretty drunk. I nursed mine and followed my dad a few paces behind, curious to see what he was gonna do. The bathroom wasn't too busy as it was one of the smaller ones away from the main concession area. A few guys hustled in and out, all in pats jerseys and all drunk, cursing and stumbling as they took quick pisses and got out of there. Dad lingered in front of me at the sinks, washing his hands over and over...waiting, I guess. This whole thing was beginning to seem pretty stupid if you ask me. Just then a guy came in, probably around 30, a little bit husky but definitely was a jock, perhaps a football player himself maybe 4 or 5 years ago. He was wearing a Wes Welker jersey and was almost as big as Welker himself -- broad as hell. He came into the bathroom with his chest puffed out, his huge biceps pulling against the sleeve of his jersey, and his eyes a bit bleary and unfocused --- was everyone here drunk? (answer: yes! it's a fucking football game.). My dad spotted him as I did and quickly went over to the urinal, which was basically just this long trough against the wall. I saw the guy do the SLIGHTEST double take as my dad crossed in front of him, and then he took a place himself at the trough just about a foot away from where dad was pissing. Could dad be right about this?? I stand at the urinal trough on the other side of dad, a bit further away, trying to watch the scene out of the corner of my eye. I see dad whispering something and then the guy looked across dad at me. I pretended to be busy with my dick. Dad smiled and I saw him shake the last drop of his piss in the direction of the big bruiser. The guy left and dad signaled me to follow out. Outside the bathroom the guy was waiting by the stairwell and dad smiled at me guiltily. "Fucking told you, man." It was incredible. Pop was better at this shit than me! I should have known. I followed dad out of the stadium and back through the parking lot towards out car. The guy, who by now dad and I were calling Welker, was never more than 15 paces behind us. We had parked sort of out of the way so it took some time to get to the car, but when we got there we were pretty far away from anyone else in sight. I swear, by the time we reached the car I was rock hard. As the usual alpha bro, I wasn't used to sitting back and watching things happen. Still dad seemed so in control of the situation, so I didn't say much. Welker came up to our car and gave me a look up and down, the fucker's eyes popping out of his head a bit -- guess he didn't realize what a stud I was up there in the bathroom. He smiled and licked his lips. Dad put down the back seat of our van so we had some good space. He poured some paper cups of nighttrain and we kept drinking, but it wasn't three sips in before dad grabbed the guys collar and brought him down into my crotch. The guys fumbled with my belt and soon brought out my dick, mouthing it eagerly, a bit sloppily to be honest--my entire package was covered in his saliva. Still it felt good, I was pounding away and watching dad as he released his own belt and whipped out his gigantic cock. Damn, pop had a monster--good genes he passed on to me. Dad's turn was next and he wasted no time on gagging the fucker---he tried to use his hand to guide dad's dick in but dad wasn't having that and kept swatting it away. Instead he mounted the guys face and thrusted deep, while I kept lookout to make sure no one was coming nearby. Bored of watching dad get all the action, I decided it was time to show pop what a good fucker I was...and so without further ado took the guys pants off, spit on my dick a bit (it didn't need much after that wet BJ) and slid into his hole. He let out a loud cry and then a moan, but didn't toss me off. I saw dad smile, evidently proud of his boy. We took him like that for about five minutes, nailing away from both ends as the guy struggled to hold in his cries. Dad came first, pulling out halfway and creaming all over the dudes lips and chin, a good amount splattering all over the front of his jersey. When I came I also pulled out, seeded all over his puckered hole and then--for good measure--shot a bit in his pulled down underwear--just so he'd have something to remember me by. Dad sighed heavily and sat back, pretty sweaty. He rummaged through the car's console and brought out some cigarettes--and we both smoked while Welker got dressed. When he was dressed dad sort of gave him a nod but didn't say anything, and the guy, I guess feeling pretty awkward, eventually just walked away. Or hobbled away, really, because I'd given him a pretty great fuck if I do say so myself. I bet he never expected that when heading out to the stadium this morning. Feeling good about ourselves, dad asked me if I wanted to try to talk our way back into our seats--it was only the beginning of the 4th quarter. I said we may as well go grab some burgers on the way home, beat the traffic, and dad agreed. He started the car as I smoked another cig, but oddly I wasn't thinking about the ass I just tagged, or the fact that my dad was my partner in that threesome. Rather, I was thinking about what he said before about Scott. How "everyone has their place." I knew I wasn't pissed off at Scott anymore. "So you think that's why Scott didn't make it out today?" Dad asked, pulling towards the exit (carefully driving very slowly--I know dad's 'I'm drunk-let's-not-get-pulled-over" style of driving anywhere). "You think he is off somewhere sucking a dick like that faggot we just used?" I thought about it, and also thought about how Mike was missing this morning too. "Guess it's possible, pop. In fact, I'd say it's pretty damn likely." *** SCOTT FLUFFER Gotta admit at first I thought the whole thing was kindda hot -- I mean these were some of the studliest guys on campus. But then when they just kept me tied up for hours I started getting worried -- what the fuck were they actually going to DO to me? I felt like I was gonna get beat up at any second, and it scared the shit out of me. I even pissed myself waiting, I'm not too embarrassed to admit -- it was that fucked up. Eventually Travis and some other dudes came and dragged the chair I was tied up to into the hallway of the room Mike was being kept in. I saw a big group of guys sort of lined up waiting to get into the room and I wasn't quite sure what to make of it. I waited there, largely being ignored while Travis went one by one down the line, giving each of the guys a little private pep talk it seemed. The guy that had actually grabbed me in Mike's room earlier that night was this shorter muscular guy everyone kept called Fletch. He had these big brown eyes and messy hair and was objectively really fucking cute, but seemed to have this bad attitude and chip on his shoulder with everyone. He kept cursing to himself about how "long" everything was taking and spitting on the floor. A couple of times he spat right on me, or grabbed the back of my neck and squeezed tightly, laughing as I winced. Fletch attended to me while everyone else was milling around, and when I'd try to wriggle out of the chair, he'd be the one to slap me a little and tell me to "calm the fuck down." After about twenty minutes I watched as James came up the steps and went into the room where Mike was. I was a bit confused--what the hell was he doing here? Was he gonna get us out of here? When I was still tied up fifteen minutes later I realized perhaps a rescue wasn't exactly in store. Soon Travis open the door and came up to me, undoing my gag. "Listen up, faggot. We got more than we expected when we found your gay ass in Mike's bed last night. So you be a good little gay boy and be our fluffer, and if you're lucky we'll let you go tonight. You hear me? No fucking teeth, or you're gonna pay." I nodded. "You hear me, bitch?" "Okay, Travis." Then I realized what the line was for--they were all waiting to go into the room and take a turn nailing Mike. And right beofre they got into the room, when they were "on deck", it was my job to lick their dick and nuts--to be their "fluffer" and get them hard for the big game. Damn--how did I get so lucky! Travis was thinking he was torturing me, but in reality this was about as hot as it gets. When each dude came Travis would wave in the next one, and he'd go to town on Mike in front of the camera. Meanwhile the next guy in line would pop his balls into my mouth, stroking his cock and getting hard. If a guy was about to come he would quickly pull out, bite his knuckles, and do his best to hold it in. Only one guy ended up blowing at all, thick milky dribble from his swollen cockhead, and I eagerly licked it up. That guy was Fletch. "A fucking waste Fletcher!" Travis yelled at him from inside the room. Must have been over thirty guys waiting to get into the room and when I had fluffed them all Travis came out and dragged my chair back into the room. Had no idea what to expect when he tipped it over and put me scalp-to-scalp with Mike. Milke looked exhausted and covered in cum or saliva or something--but not unhappy. He even smiled at me--seeming to say everything was gonna be fine. But it wasn't. Travis pulled down his pants and fucking dropped a gigantic turd right on my face. I gagged as the smell wafted through the room. Then he did the same to Mike, and got it all on camera. I'm not sure what Travis was hoping for, getting me involved. Sure I can see Luke being really pissed about these guys using Mike--after all Luke considered him his property and Luke HATED it when people used his things (growing up with him I know this to be true--I'd gotten more then a few dead-arms after borrowing his cleats or books or whatever through the years). But ever since Luke found out I sucked dick, he's basically been shitting on me himself--or at least ignoring me--which is somehow even worse. I bet he wouldn't even care what Travis did to me, little brother or not. Anyway, after a few minutes of letting us lay there in his shit, Travis yelled that we "stunk" and ordered some guys, led by Fletch, to lead us to the house's communal showers, where we were allowed to wash off and given some basketball shorts to wear . Travis kept yelling after us things like "stop being such faggy little pigs." Mike smiled at me--"what the fuck is this dude's problem?" he whispered at one point. Cleaned off at last (lots of scrubbing) we were tied back to the chairs. "Now what?" Mike asked, bolder than me to speak. "Now we wait" Travis said, leaving the room. We heard the door lock behind him. *** LUKE TAPES After getting some chow and laughing about what just went down in the parking lot the whole way home, Dad dropped me off at the frat, declining my invite to come in but telling me he'd be back the next day. He was heading into the city to see a friend. "A date?" I asked, wise now to dad's tricks. 'Let's just say between your mom and and Scotts' I'm done with bitches for a while." "Oh so a fuckbuddy then?" I laughed. Dad smiled and drove away. When I got upstairs I noticed my room was left open--something was up. Inside I saw a manila envelope on my desk. "What the fuck is this?" I said out loud. Two video tapes. One marked: MIKE. The other marked: SHIT. The Mike one was pretty disgusting-- Travis and those fucking baseball kids were gangbanging him wile he was tied up. When did they film this? I had no interest in watching this homemade gay porn so fast forwarded through it--dude it must have been an hour and dozens of dicks he took before the flick finally ended. To be honest while it certainly pissed me off, I didn't care ALL that much about Mike getting filled with dick--we both know he loves that shit. Sure, I don't like Travis thinking he got one over on me, but big fucking deal--not like Mike's a virgin. It was the other tape that got me murderously angry. I popped it in out of sheer morbid curiosity--why would he send two? Not only was Mike--MY fuckbuddy, MY slave, MY slampiece getting shat on by that faggot punk Travis, but my little brother was getting an even bigger turd laid on his face. This was an affront to my family's fucking honor! Especially after my afternoon with dad and our discussion about Scott. No way was this gonna stand. At the end of the tape Travis taunts me to come fight him. Bastard thinks he stands a chance against me? I needed recruits. I knew Travis was hedging his bets on me retaliating without proper numbers, after all the baseball frat is bigger and--as far as I knew he didn't know everyone was in on this little secret--maybe he thought my boys wouldn't have my back. Fucking asshole, I'll teach him. First recruit was Craig, of course-- the guy didn't take steroids for no reason, he was huge--and had a real bad attitude with people he didn't like. He also felt pretty possessive over Mike, as one of the first to be let into the circle of trust. With him there were a couple of underclassmen who eagerly joined the cause: Kremlin, Stoli, Teeter, Kimchi, Marx, Stinger, and Irish were all aboard. Rob and Pat were easy to convince, they couldn't believe it when I showed them the tape. Got a few more kids and actually we were getting pretty good numbers--most of the frat that I could find was ready to have it out with these fucks. But I knew it wasn't enough. Travis must of known I'd rush over there and must have gathered his boys to prepare. But who could I trust for this...let's just say...pretty delicate mission? It came to me in a flash, a brilliant idea. I called Harvard. "Paul? I got a bit of a problem. May need you guys' help" * With the guys I had met last year at Harvard, who first gave me the idea of having Mike as our live-in bitch, agreeing to come out to help us--I knew we stood a good fight against the baseball house. Paul and his brothers got their within the hour, and we were crewed up and itching to rumble. "I love a good brawl" Craig said, taking a vodka shot on the way out of the house. I told him to settle down but in fact I agreed--sometimes you just needed to fight. With a crew of about 23 deep, we rang the bell of the baseball house, feeling pretty confident. A tall, skinny guy opened up and stared us down for a minute, confused. Then he nodded, "You must be looking for Travis." "Yes." I said, stone cold. "Let me go see if he's around, stay here." The guy began to shut the door, but I shoved my foot in. "You gotta be fucking kidding me" I said. I shoved the guy, hard, and he stumbled back into the foyer, tripping backwards. The guys and I piled in and instantly we heard people running upstairs. This was gonna be fun. *** MIKE ESCAPE It has been a few hours since our shower, and though Scott and I weren't exactly scared we were getting a bit angry about the situation. How the hell long was this gonna go down? And how would it end? We got our answer soon enough, as a SLAM on the door sounded loudly, startling Scott. We both became aware of a big commotion somewhere downstairs, the house suddenly filled with noise. "Hello!?" I called out. Suddenly I head a few voices out of the door and someone slamming into it repeatedly, trying to break the lock. After the fifth or sixth attempt the door busted open. Craig. "What's up bitches?" he cackled. "Never thought I'd be this happy to see you busting down the door" I admitted, laughing. "Yeah yeah spare me" He started untying me, grinding his groin in my face playfully as he did so. He was semi hard, the pervert! When I was loose we both undid Scott, who stood up uneasily. We'd been sitting a long time now. "I'm here to rescue you. When we get home you can give up your asses to me in thanks. Let's go!" "How the hell did you break in here?" I began asking, as we left the room. But I had my answer. A huge brawl. Jocks fighting everywhere, swinging violently, cracking bones, cursing and screaming. I couldn't even tell who was on whose side--I didn't even recognize all the guys--was there people there from NEITHER frat? All I saw was fists, ripped clothing, and the occasional pool of blood. The fighting went down the stairs and into the main rec room, where I could tell most of the action was. Craig wound up and punched out a stocky outfielder who was trying to hold us at the top of the stairs, and pulled us behind him, "Let's fucking go!" he shouted. When we got downstairs I could see into the rec room, and there Travis and Luke were clearly decking it out. The rest of the guys were sort of circling up around them, waiting for one of them to go down. I knew Luke, and I knew it sure wasn't gonna be him. * TABLES TURN And I was right. I didn't see it all go down but when I was able to push my way to the front of the group I saw Travis on his knees, his nose bleeding, and Luke holding him by the hair. Luke's cloths and hair were a mess but otherwise he looked fine. In fact, after all these years after all the times I've seen him looking smoking hot, I'd say Luke never looked as good as he did right then--the true alpha. Luke pulled Travis into the kitchen, which adjoined the rec room, while a couple of the other guys held back the remaining baseball players still on their feet. Most had given up, and either nursed their wounds or sat lamely and waited for Travis to give some sort of order. Luke and Travis spoke privately and we all heard Travis cry out,"NO FUCKING WAY!" at one point. Luke seemed to be whispering. More commotion. Whispering. Three minutes later Luke and Craig walked back, side by side. Craig seemed to have a new bruise under one of his eyes, but he was looking down, avoiding everyone's gaze. The room got really quiet, waiting for him to speak. Even Craig stopped punching one of the last baseball guys to keep struggling. "Enough." Travis said, his voice booming. "This is done." "What else?" Luke said, shoving his shoulder hard from behind. Travis sneered at him but then sighed, "and...we lost." "Damn right you did!" Rob cheered from the crowd. "We've had a pact--not to discuss this--not to drag any...umm...attention on any this to anyone outside the frats. No authorities, no friends, nobody. Never happened" Some listless complaining from the baseball team. "It's over" Travis kept repeating. He then looked at Luke-as if to say, enough was enough. But Travis wasn't through yet. Not by a long shot. "Alright biatche" Luke said, "enough talk." Travis took a breath as we all waited. "This is just to seal the agreement" Travis said, shamefully. He looked as if he were about to cry. Then he got on his knees. We all witnessed an amazing site that day. Travis fucking Pitt, kind of the diamond, asshole frat president, slurping gingerly on the massively thick dong of the Lacrosse God himself. My Lacrosse God. His teammates all gasped, some lept up but Craig and the other helped sedate them. Within a few minutes Luke was ready to bust, and he did so all over Travis, even though he tried to pull away. A milky mustache and beard of Luke cum, it was the very least the asshole deserved. I wished it was on my face. "One more thing" Luke said, pulling up his pants. "Or should I say two more" The room fell silent again. "Mike, Scott--get your asses over here." We did, and stood there quietly. Even though I knew Luke had saved me, I was still somehow scared of him. So was Scott. We both stood there like little kids, awaiting our punishment. "Well don't jsut stand there, boys. Take our your weiners. Travis is just developing his taste for dick." And Travis sucked us both off, begrudgingly sure but he got the job done. I pumped his face hard, enjoyed tormenting him. Scott and I both came down his throat and when he tried to spit it out Luke punched him in the arm. He swallowed the rest, and fell back, pathetically. "Let's get the fuck out of here, boys" Luke said, leading the way. I had never felt better. *** SCOTT PROUDER Big surprise--my brother is the hero again. The script always plays out this way, and has since we were kids. Luke is a winner, and it's as simple as that. But when Luke told me it was my involvement in all this that got him really heated, I saw the brother I loved a little bit more clearly than I had in months. He said he was fighting for our family honor, which I guess is at least somewhat self-interested, but I know deep down that at least a little bit he was fighting just for me. Later, when we all celebrated our victory over two kegs of Killians and about 500 buffalo wings, Luke told me he "didn't give a shit" if I sucked Mike off or was gay or whatever. "As long as you make dad and I proud" he added. That's not my brother's typical talk. I found out later dad got to him and, well, maybe convinced him being a cocksucker isn't the worse thing in the world. Anyway, all was well for the time being--we didn't hear back from the baseball team for a while. The frat war seemed to be a fraternity secret, and the few people that did ask about it would just get denial, denial, denial. It was hard for even me to believe but Luke had gotten away with it, yet again. I guess I could tell you about the rest of that year and how I almost flunked out, then nailed my finals to get Bs. I guess I could tell you about the rest of college, how I kept seeing Mike even after he moved to Boston, but how eventually it sort of just faded away...maybe wasn't meant to be. I guess I could tell you about Chris, this smoking hot--you know what, I think that's a different story. For another day. And I guess I could tell you about the day later that semester, when Dad was visiting, that I walked into Luke's room unexpectedly, and saw what to this day was the most surprisingly thing I'd ever seen: Dad getting head from his son, my brother, Luke. *** LUKE WISER Yeah, I sucked dad off. Big fucking deal. I don't have to explain myself to you. I figured if anyone deserved it it was my pops. Guy worked his whole life to make a life for Scott and I, and nobody stuck around long enough to help him. I don't like dick, not even a little, but I figured if my dad needed something--anything--I was gonna help him out. It wasn't so bad. He was gentle on my throat, and I spit his load out in the trash. Don't fucking tell Mike though--can't have my bitch see any weakness. Besides that, life went back to normal--and the rest of my junior and senior year was just about as awesome as you'd imagine. Travis steadfastly avoided me for the rest of that year, and then transferred, over the summer --so that was the end of that. How did you expect this story to end? Obviously I win and get everything I've ever wanted, and get to fuck the bitch in the end too. That's just what happens, yo. That's the story. I look back and wanna make sense of this thing, or this tendency to take whatever it is I want, to find bitches and put my dick in them, and wonder if it means anything. I'll tell you one thing, my dad was right about everyone having a part to play -- a place in the pecking order. And I'm at the top, always and forever. But I guess using a dude or a bitch doesn't necessarily mean hating them, and that doesn't make it less fun. John, Scott, Mike, that Red Sox dude in the woods, all of them over the years...they are all okay dudes. Bitches and fags, all of them, but okay. 10,000 loads later, I'm that much wiser. And that's what I learned in college. *** MIKE STRONGER This all started pretty simply -- a guy in my Freshman year dorm was way too hot to handle. You've probably seen a guy like that too, one that makes you stop in your track, quiver, pop wood almost instantly. One that you think you can never, ever have. One that you never, ever stop thinking about. I guess I loved him, if those were the words you wanted to put on it, but Luke and I found something that suited our purposes even better than love. It was our own thing--something most people proudly wouldn't understand. Most people probably would say Luke "used" me, or didn't "respect me", or abused or neglected me. Maybe he did, I dunno. But I have no regrets about how everything went down. Not one. Through it all, no matter how ugly things got or degraded I was, my confidence in who I was only grew. I had a fucking awesome four years of school, and I wouldn't trade it for anything. Though it did get more complicated after that day, the day of the big war, where Luke and company kicked Travis' ass. I quit the baseball team, a decision coach was pretty upset over, though I think he got the hint and didn't pressure me too much to come back. Yeah, I love to play, and I miss it even now, but I just was done with that -- those people and that world. It was the right thing to do. We all celebrated that night over a lot of beer. I learned that some lacrosse players from Harvard had joined Luke to help kick those baseball team asses. Pretty cool of them. Luke introduced me to this cute guy named John, winking at him when he did. "You should get to know each other" Luke hinted, "you'll find you have a lot in common." Later, of course, he fucked both our asses, while his Harvard teammates breeded our throats. C'est le Vie, right? There's more to tell, I guess, about that year and the next, about Luke kicking James ass in front of the whole frat, about so many drunken parties, about saying goodbye to Luke that final time after a very vodka-and-sperm filled senior week. There's more to tell about living in Boston and then New York and then Chicago. And about growing up and old and moving on. There's more to tell, but I won't here. There was once a lacrosse god who lived across the hall. One night he got drunk, and the rest is history. * THE END I welcome all suggestions and comments: Striker88888@gmail.com Author's note: Thanks for reading all 7 parts of this story and for the great feedback along the way. Sorry this last part was a bit delayed -- got involved with some other writing projects that demanded my time. I had a good time telling this story, so if you have a particular fantasy, fetish, or memory you want me to write about, I'm available for hire. Shoot me an email. Otherwise, hope you enjoyed--be seeing you bitches around!