Disclaimer and Legal Stuff:  Don't read this if you're not supposed to, either because you live in a regressive community or you don't like erotic stories about gay sex (in which case, why are you here?).  If you distribute this story, that's fine, just don't edit it, and leave my name on it.  Thanks.

Student Orientation
Chapter Eight

That Sunday by the lake was the last pleasant day for a while, and it was the last day Tom and I were able to spend more than a few hours together for a while, too.  We had gone back to campus in the afternoon, and after the cum in my jeans had dried, the smell was almost gone; with my shirt tail out, the stain was pretty much hidden.  The next day when I woke up the temperature was almost 80 on its way to the upper 90s, and that set the tone until late September.  With orientation, finishing off my required summer reading, and falling into the dull rhythm of college life, I had my hands full.  When the upperclassmen returned the following weekend, Tom's friends came back.

Every other day or so, I'd go knock on Tom's door or he'd catch me in the hall and invite me over.  I'd either suck him off or he'd fuck me; sometimes he got me off and sometimes he didn't.  The sex was great, and sometimes I'd watch TV in his room instead of the lounge or just use his room as an escape from the bustle of the dorm.  I was still concerned about discretion, because I wasn't sure what it would be like to come out in a conservative, Southern school.  Our hook ups usually happened during a 9:30 to 10:30 break in classes that overlapped in our schedules, or else at night on weekends when most of the dorm was out partying.  After the McDonald's incident, Tom never pressured me to do anything publicly.

I was sure my roommate, Scott, knew what was up, because some times I'd come in exhausted in the middle of the night, smelling of cum because I'd been too tired to shower in Tom's bathroom.  Scott was from Northern California, though, and he didn't have the biases I suspected would make my life difficult if more people were in the loop.  He and I had a laid back relationship.  He was a good guy, bony and bookish, not my type at all.  We didn't have any classes together, and our friends on campus were in different circles.  Neither of us was noisy or annoying to the other, so we got along fine.  It was a completely innocuous pairing.

By the week before Thanksgiving, everything had grown fairly settled.  The routine was monotonous but comfortably so; it might have been predictable but it was familiar.  The dorms closed for the holiday weekend, and with my parents overseas and about 800 miles between campus and home, I wasn't looking forward to the break -- at least, not until I talked with Tom.  One RA from each dorm was supposed to stay on campus in the event of an emergency, and while the assignment was usually a dismal one, he and I agreed that our being left virtually alone together was worth his volunteering for the job.  That week, we only hooked up once, on Monday.  The standing order from that first day on campus in August was that I only got off when he got me off, and he didn't that Monday and hadn't since the Wednesday before that.  A week of chastity, coupled with the constant thought of what might happen in the four days we'd be left to ourselves, made my life a hell of sexual frustration and anticipation.

The university officially shut down at the end of classes the Wednesday night before Thanksgiving, but the student body had thinned out considerably by lunch.  My last class ended at 2, and I sat on my bed with the door open, waiting for Tom to wander in from his last class.  Scott had skipped for the day, catching a morning flight back to California.  After what felt like hours of staring at page after page of Kipling, too distracted to absorb a single word, I perked up as I heard footsteps in the corridor.  The steps stopped just short of my door, and I looked up.  Tom waited several cruel seconds before sticking his head in through the doorway.

"Still dressed?" he asked.

"I was working on homework while I waited," I explained.

"In your clothes?"

His tone was one of amusement.  Wordlessly, I stood and lifted the sweatshirt I wore over my head.  He was biting his lower lip again when my head popped through the opening.  I kicked off my shoes while I stripped off my undershirt, then unfastened my belt, unbuttoned my jeans, and let them fall to the floor.  He stepped into the room, leaving the door open behind him, and smiled as my hard cock poked out through the fly of my boxers.  His twill khakis did nothing to hide his own bulge, his package unconfined as ever by underwear.  He brushed his long, blond bangs back from his eyebrows as I slid my boxers off my hips with my thumbs and stood before him in nothing but crew length white socks.  The air in the dorm was cool; outside, the bare tree limbs rocked in a moderate breeze under the gray skies, the temperature in the mid-forties as the fall dusk approached.

My eyes closed as I felt one of his palms rest flat on each of my pecs.  He slid his hands slowly down my chest and stomach, drawing goosebumps from my skin as the warmth of his hands teased my flesh before exposing it to the room's chill.  He closed his hands on my hips and pulled me tight to him, and I felt his iron cock press into my lower abdomen, just above my own.  I shivered while his hands ran up along my sides, then wrapped around behind my shoulder blades and held me to him.  I opened my eyes to see him leaning down, and I eagerly received his kiss.  I relaxed my mouth for his tongue, and after a brief pause to nip at my lips, he rewarded me with it.  I locked my arms around his waist.

His eyes were hooded when he pulled back.  He reached down with one hand and gently took hold of my raging cock.  Hypersensitive, I flinched at the first contact, and then whimpered as he slowly stroked me.  "You've been waiting for a while, haven't you?"

"A week," I reminded him.

He bit his lip again and smiled wickedly.  "Then you can wait a while longer."  He withdrew his hand as my eyes widened and jaw dropped in surprise and disappointment.  I started to plead, but he cut me off.  "Lie on the bed.  On your back.  Spread eagle."  I jumped to obey, throwing back the unmade sheet and blanket, rolling onto my back, and thrusting my hands and feet to opposite corners of the bed.  Tom reached back and produced a coil of twine from his back pocket.  I was lying flat, my cock pointing up at an acute angle from my stomach, pulsing in the air, as Tom unwound the rope.  It fell into three separate lengths, two about a foot long each and the third significantly longer.  He used the two short pieces to fix each of my socked ankles to a corner of the bed.

The frame was made of light colored wood, probably pine.  At the foot of the bed, the corner posts intersected two cross beams, one near the floor and the second at the top of the mattress and about four inches short of the top of the posts.  A solid central panel spanned the gap between the top and bottom cross beam, but was about an inch short on either side of meeting the posts.  The intersection of each post and the top cross beam was an ideal anchor for bondage, and Tom didn't miss the opportunity.  The loops around my ankles were tight, but didn't cut off the circulation.  Nevertheless, without the cotton socks, they would easily have chaffed me.

I knew Tom was going to bind my hands as well, but wondered how he'd accomplish this.  While the foot of the bed was all but made for restraints, the head of the bed consisted of a single solid piece of wood, rising from the floor to about three feet over the top of the mattress.  I watched as Tom slid the remaining length of rope under the center of the bed, then draped it between the headboard and the wall, and looped it around under the center of the bed again.  I realized that the coil around the headboard would prevent any lateral motion of my hands, once tied, and that the bed railings supporting the box springs would prevent any vertical motion either.  I waited for him to complete the job by tying knots around my wrists, but he surprised me again by backing away from the bed.

"You look really good, Jeff.  Trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey," he smirked.  He closed the door and started taking off his own clothes.  My eyes devoured every inch of his bare flesh as he exposed it, first his chest, hairless except for the small patch over his breastbone; then the straw colored pubes as he opened his khakis; then down his crotch and legs as he let his pants fall to the floor.  He toed off his shoes and the puddle of trousers at the same time, and then returned to the side of the bed.  He started slowly stroking up the insides of my thighs and I instinctively lifted my hands from the corners of the bed.  They rose for no more than a split second before I forced them back into position, but Tom's whole face broke out into a wicked smile.

He climbed on top of me, sliding his chest over mine, his legs over mine, his crotch over mine, and closing his fingers around both of my wrists.  As he pinned me down, his head hung inches above mine.  He stuck out his tongue as he began humping me, grinding our cocks against each other and between our abdomens.  I strained up to take his tongue into my mouth, but he pulled back each time, teasing me.

"Fuck!" I cried out.  He'd gotten off two days earlier; for me it had been a week. I could feel cum boiling in my balls as his velvety cock slid alongside mine, as our bodies pressed against each other, as I felt his warmth and smelled his clean, masculine scent.

"You may NOT cum," he ordered, his face stern.  I sobbed and closed my eyes in concentration.  The feeling was so good, his body on mine, my cock between us after its week of neglect.  I was emersed in the electric waves of lust rippling from my groin, trying to hold back.  I felt him lick my eyelid and my legs spasmed.  My eyes flew open and I saw his cruel smile.  He leaned down and kissed my cheek.

"God, please!  Tom?!  I'm going to fucking shoot!"

"As your chaperone for this weekend, I would strenuously advise you not to do so," he mocked.  "The consequences will be dire."  I clenched my eyes and shook my head back and forth as I writhed underneath him.  The writhing only made it worse, though, as my muscles clenched and my body twisted beneath him.  If my legs were free, I'd have easily thrown him off.  As it was, I could only slide the back of my wrists over the flannel sheet.  Still, I squirmed, simultaneously trying to escape the inevitable and incidentally hastening my orgasm with each new friction of my body against his, my hips against his, my cock against his.  I felt his warm breath a second before his teeth harshly raked the exposed, upturned, sensitive inside of my right wrist.  The teeth closed loosely around a flap of skin, like the teeth of a mother cat around the neck flap of an errant kitten.  The sensation was completely new to me and purely erotic.

At the same instant, he began short fucking motions, thrusting his hips against mine, which pressed our cocks tighter together and jerked the head of my cock along his smooth abdomen.  I shouted as the cum welled up from my nuts.  I consciously tried to clamp my prostate down, to hold back the flow, but it was useless.  Semen shot through my cock like liquid fire, spurt after spurt, I lost count as the waves washed over me, but I felt it smearing between me and Tom as he continued to fuck his groin against mine while I came.

At last, my head fell back into the pillow and my wrists collapsed onto the mattress.  The strain of my orgasm had enabled me to raise my hands even against Tom's weight and strength.  I was acutely aware of the sweat on my brow as it began to cool.  As I relaxed, Tom stopped humping against me.  I opened my eyes and his face was devoid of any humor.  It was almost blank, except for subtle traces of something like a frown.  Anger?  Disappointment?

"I'm sorry!" I started.

"Shut up!" he barked.  He reached down the floor, and took up the ends of the rope.  He rose to straddle my chest and, using his knees to pin my wrists down, tied first one then the other tightly down to the mattress.  When he was finished, he looked down to me.  My wet cum on his stomach glimmered under the light.  His eyes held contempt and I felt awash with guilt.

"I couldn't..." I tried to whine.  He interrupted me with a slap across my cheek.  My jaw dropped before the first tears welled up.  The slap stung, but he'd never hit me.

"I told you not to, and there are no excuses," he hissed.  He looked momentarily indecisive, and then wrapped one hand under my head and curled his fingers into a fist in my hair.  He lifted my head to his groin, and I eagerly opened my mouth.  I was sure that this was going to be an opportunity for me to suck him off, for me to redeem myself to him for having disobeyed him.  He slid his dick in, and I closed my lips around his shaft, but for the first time ever he didn't stop after the first few inches.  With my head angled up so far from my chest, I couldn't open my throat like I usually would, and his cock head rammed inside.  He pulled my head into his thrust, and his cock popped inside.  I gagged hard and drool flowed from my lips soaking his pubes.

I sputtered and coughed as he withdrew, gasping for breath before he repeated the motion, impaling my face on his long cock.  My eyes watered from the harshness of the penetration and from the shock I felt.  I couldn't believe he was doing this to me. Had he really expected me to endure his erotic torture without cumming?  After a week without an orgasm?  After anticipating the sex that I'd expected over the next four days?

He'd rammed into me a half dozen times.  Suddenly, he dropped my head onto the pillow.  He turned so that his knees were spread on either side of my head, lowered his cock into my mouth, and resumed thrusting.  He was still fucking my face, but he'd realized I'd never be able to take him in the position he'd held me in before.  Now the angle was right for his cock to slide down into my throat on each thrust.  His balls hit my nose each time he pumped into me.  It was a 69 position, but he ignored my cock, which was growing hard again despite the powerful orgasm only minutes earlier and the ferocity of his assault on my face.

It didn't take long.  It had been two days and I'm sure he'd been looking forward to the long weekend, too, fantasizing about ways to use me.  He'd thought up this bondage scene, anyway.  I felt his cock pulse, but he pulled it out of me before the first shot.  He rose to a kneeling position, and I stared at his cock and balls from the underside as he pumped his fist tightly up and down his shaft.  He caught his cum in his other hand as he milked his dick over me.  When he was done, he placed the empty hand on my chest for balance and climbed off the bed.  He poured the cum over my forehead and down my cheeks, used his fingers to spread it over the openings of my nostrils, into my eyebrows, and around my earlobes.  Then, he wiped his hand dry in my hair.

"You don't get dinner when you're a bad boy," he sneered.  I could feel the cum cooling on my face.  It was on my cheekbones, on my nose from nostrils to the middle of my eyebrows, in my eyebrows, over my forehead, and down to my ears.  He gathered up his shoes and clothes from the floor and turned to leave.

"Hey!  Tom!  Please?  Please don't leave me here tied up like this," I begged.  He turned back to me, picked up my boxers shorts, and crammed them into my mouth.  The excess cloth jutted from between my lips.  He then reached over me to the window above my headboard.  I grunted into my underwear as he slid the window up a couple of inches.  I could feel the cool wind blowing over me.  The sweat and cum from my orgasm, the tears on my cheeks, the facial Tom had left me, each drop of moisture magnified the cold.  Goosebumps covered my body again and I shivered.  Tom reached down, took hold of my hard nipple, and gave it a sharp twist.  I grunted again as my cock jolted.

"Let's see how long it takes you to cool off now," he taunted, and then he disappeared into the hallway, leaving the door open behind him.