Date: Mon, 21 Jun 2004 08:38:14 -0400
From: Herb Cat <herb_cat@lycos.com>
Subject: IOK part 1

--------

Disclaimer: Do not continue reading if you are not 18 years old or you are
offended by portrayals of male to male sex or the laws in your state or
county forbid this type of material.

Copyright 2004 by the author. Do not reproduce or distribute this story
without the author's permission.

Names, characters, locations and incidents are fictional. Any resemblance
to actual events or locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely
coincidental.

------

By the time Tim entered college he was a bona fide faggot boy. Through high
school, he was one of those kids who never wanted to climb the rope in gym,
and hated the game of dodge ball. He was a little dumpy and his breasts
resembled those of a girl in early puberty. Worst of all, he had the faggot
manner about him. He stood with his shoulders drooped, his head hung down,
his hands limp. He was the brunt of all the stunts in the locker room. As
he walked to his locker, his ass was whipped by a succession of towels. He
knew he couldn't cry or the abuse would get worse. And if he tried to
complain, his voice would raise an octave into the squeaky range. The other
boys loved to hear that squeak. Like when they laid a rubber dog poop on
the bench by his locker. Sure enough, as soon as Tim saw it he squeaked a
long "eeeeeewwww" that sent them of all into hysterics. Throughout the rest
of the day, as Tim walked from class to class, he'd hear students mocking
him with that "eeeeeewwww ." Even kids who weren't in his gym class. Even
girls. So the word had obviously spread.

Oh, Tim did have a small cadre of friends in school. Guys like himself who
had early on acquired the fairy label, and pulled themselves together not
so much for defense, as that was impossible, but in order to get a little
respite from the abuse. They would eat their lunches quickly and then
hustle down to the library and meet at the back table and support the one
who had received the latest traumatic humiliation. They would get together
after school at one house or another and begin to explore just what a
faggot was. If they were going to be called cocksuckers, then damn it, they
might as well see what cocksucking was all about. So they would suck each
other off and in those sessions discover that hell, it wasn't such a bad
lifestyle after all.

So by the time Tim went off to college, he had perfected his blow job
skills, and had even once let his ass be penetrated. Back in eleventh
grade, a young gym teacher had called him into his office allegedly to
comfort him after a particularly horrendous class. He hugged the boy, and
listened to his story with feigned understanding. He wiped Tim's tears with
his gentle hand, and petted his rear end and said, "There there. You're a
good kid. Any time they give you trouble, you just come to me." So Tim did
just that. Once or twice a month he was in Mr. Foster's office and each
time he left feeling strengthened, feeling loved. As the months passed,
Foster's hands moved from Tim's tears and rear end, to his nipples and his
little dick. Foster guided Tim's hands to his own cock, and told him he was
a very special boy, more like a son than a student. Eventually, Tim was
sucking Foster regularly. He didn't mind the abuse he was getting in the
locker room any more for he knew the wonde rful feeling he would get from
his secret meeting with the fatherly teacher. So after an especially hot
blow job, when Foster asked Tim if he'd like to learn what it was like to
get fucked, Tim was ready. Foster pulled down Tim's shorts and tidy
whities, and told him to lean over the teacher's desk. Tim closed his eyes,
and soon felt Foster's gentle fingers applying some sort of cream all
around and into his asshole. Then he heard Foster whisper "Now just relax,
my boy. This won't hurt." And it didn't. The man's huge cock which Tim had
measured with his tongue so often, did indeed feel tight as it punctured
Tim's tight virgin hole, but it wasn't really a feeling of hurt. It was an
exhilaration. Foster held Tim's buttocks as he pressed his cock in and
out. And when he got ready to ejaculate, he reached around and held Tim's
own cock in his warm manly hands. Tim let loose a small but satisfying
string of jizz just as the Master began pumping his own massive load into
his ass. Fos ter pulled out, turned Tim over and kissed him. Then went to
the sink and handed Tim some wet paper towels to clean himself off.

But immediately, things changed between Tim and Mr. Foster. The teacher was
no longer available when Tim came around. "Sorry, my boy, I got a meeting
to get to." Or else the door would be locked. Tim soon realized that his
friend Wally, another faggot boy, was visiting Foster regularly now. Tim
now knew what Foster had wanted him for all along, and he accepted it. He
was a faggot boy, and he figured he had performed his function well.

In his last year at home, Tim had even gained a reputation among some of
the straight boys as an accomplished cocksucker. They would let him suck
them off on the condition that if he told anyone, he would have the living
shit beaten out of him. They were too straight to try anything anal. All
they wanted was a good blow job, something most of their girl friends were
either too reluctant to do, or too inexperienced to do well.

Now, here he was at college. He had a small room to himself in the freshman
dorm, where the other guys tended to give him a wide berth. No one ever
knocked on his door to visit or shoot the breeze or listen to music. Tim
enjoyed his privacy and felt at ease enough to post a few centerfolds on
his wall from Honcho and Men magazines. His wall of inspiration, he called
it.

Tim had an oncampus job to help pay his way. He was a PE assistant. As
such, he would gather up the dirty towels and used jock straps around the
locker room after a team practice session, make sure there was soap in the
shower dispensers and clean towels piled just outside the shower, pick the
toilet paper up off the floor, and in general make the locker area
presentable. The job didn't pay a lot but it did have its perks: he could
smell all the sweaty jocks he wanted to, and he had an excuse to look at
big muscular hunks showering off.

One hunk in particular caught his eye. Damon was a halfback, with a
gorgeous build, a manly cock, and a quiet demeanor. He wore an IOK
jacket. Iota Omicron Kappa was known as the jock fraternity. Most of the
brothers were on either the football or the basketball team, with a
smattering of LaCrosse and gymnastics thrown in. There was a rumor going
around that as part of the pledging routine, those wishing to join IOK went
through a `measuring up.' One evening, after fulfilling all the other
requirements of membership, the pledges who had not yet been weeded out,
would stand naked before their future brothers and beat off, until they
were fully erect. Then their hardons would be carefully measured by one of
the brothers. No member was admitted who couldn't produce at least ten
inches. That was the rumor. Tim knew that Damon certainly had no problem
with that requirement. Even flaccid, his cock was impressive in both length
and girth.

Damon must have noticed Tim's admiration, for one afternoon after showering
off, he asked Tim to hand him a towel, even though he could have reached
the pile himself. Tim gladly obliged and then took another towel and dried
off Damon's back for him. "Thanks. That was nice of you." Tim blushed, but
Damon continued, "I don't even know your fucking name. All the guys call
you the jockstrap boy. I'm Damon," and held out his hand to shake.

"I know," Tim stammered, taking his hand. "I'm Tim." After what seemed to
be an eternal silence, during which Damon continued to dry off his balls
and dick and asshole, Tim asked, "Is there anything else you need?"

"You know there is, actually." Tim's eyes brightened. He hadn't expected
that answer. "Come with me back over here." Tim, in his street clothes,
followed the bare assed athlete to a back corner of the locker
room. Classes were over for the day and no one would be coming in. When
they got there, Damon stood up on the bench and looked down at Tim. "How
about sucking me off, Tim?"

Tim was flabbergasted. This impressive hunk of young masculinity not only
called him by his proper name but seemed to be reading his mind as well. Of
course he had fantasized about sucking not only all the cocks he had
studied since his arrival on campus, but this particular cock. And wasn't
it thoughtful for Damon to stand up on the bench, so Tim wouldn't have to
get down on his knees, though of course he would have done that too. Tim
looked at the manflesh in front of him as it was beginning to stiffen, then
he gazed up at its owner, and simultaneously they exchanged silent
smiles. Tim opened his mouth and took the tool into his mouth. All of the
skills he had learned in high school came into use. He licked the shaft, he
ran his mouth sideways along its length, he slobbered on it, he held the
base in his hand as he took the helmet in and out of his mouth, he flicked
the piss hole with his tongue, he wanted this performance to be
perfect. And judging from Damon's quiet moans, it was.

After a long time of oral satisfaction, Damon grabbed Tim's head in his
hands. Tim felt the muscular body begin to quiver and knew it was coming.
At the last moment, Damon pulled out and showered Tim's face with a huge
load of splooge. "Thank you." Who said that? They realized that they had
both uttered their gratitude at the same time. And that made them both
laugh. Damon climbed down and kissed Tim. Then hugging him tight, he licked
some of his jizz off Tim's face. "That's ok. You can leave it there," Tim
smiled. "I'll keep it as a souvenir."

"OK. As you wish. But I'd like to think that this won't be the last time
you give me a BJ." Tim liked the way Damon said that. This wasn't another
Foster just using him and dumping him at the end. Tim had become fairly
astute at judging people and there was a sincerity about Damon.

"I'd like that very much," Tim said, as Damon returned to his own locker
and began getting dressed. Tim wondered how long he'd wait for the next
time. But he was surprised anyway when he next saw Damon.

The very next day, as Tim crossed the quad on his way to the Science lab,
Damon came up beside him and nonchalantly patted his ass. "Hi, Tim." He
still remembered his real name.

"Hi, Damon. Want another blow job?" Tim was grinning but the offer was
heartfelt. To hell with science lab if an absence meant he could once again
taste that man sausage.

"No, sorry. Not now, I gotta get back to the frat house. But I gotta ask
you something. What do you get paid as the jockstrap boy?" Wow, thought
Tim, that came out of left field. Why is Damon at all interested in my
finances? Tim told him his weekly salary. "OK, Tim, IOK will pay you the
same salary, plus free room and board." Tim stopped dead in his tracks, and
stared at Damon openmouthed.

"What the hell for?"

"We need a houseboy. You'd have your own room in the basement and you'll
eat your meals in the kitchen."

"And what does the houseboy do?"

"Well, that's the official name for the position. That's what we told the
Greek office that we needed. But unofficially, we joke that we need a
slave. Frankly, we're a bunch of jock slobs and we need someone to pick up
our messes and keep the place looking presentable. Like you've been doing
in the locker room."

"And I'll get paid, plus free room and board?" Tim repeated disbelieving.

"Plus maybe a few other perks," Damon winked at him and cupped his crotch,
"if you know what I mean."

That was the coup de grace. The thought of being able to suck Damon's
mantool often was the clincher. "I'll do it then." Tim said, and wondered
if, in his excitement, his voice had entered that squeaky range he tried so
hard to avoid.

In the following week, Tim took care of a lot of necessary loose ends. He
had to give notice at the gym office. His boss was sorry to see him
go. "You're the most efficient worker we have. Frankly, most of the others
just stand around scratching their balls. Look, if this new gig doesn't
work out, you're always welcome to come back here." Tim thanked him
profusely. "And also if you ever need a job recommendation, come to me."

Tim also had to tell the dorm he was moving out and arrange for a refund on
his rent and on his dining card. He visited the frat house one day and saw
his room - well, not a room exactly. It was a corner of the basement that
may have been a coal cellar at one time. It was separated from the rest of
the area by a cloth sheet hung over a pole. There was no window, and the
cot was minimal. Nothing like the comfortable privacy he enjoyed at the
dorm. The bathroom consisted of a toilet, sink and shower in one corner of
the basement, without so much as a door. He was beginning to have second
thoughts, and remembered his boss's offer. Then he met a few of the frat
guys. They all seemed especially friendly, not at all like the abusive
musclemen in his old HS gym classes, or like the disdainful heteros in his
dorm. "Damon's told us a lot about you," they said, "Welcome to IOK." Tim
was thrilled. His reservations about the accommodations melted. He knew he
would never be a brother, - he could never `measure up' - but he would be
among guys, gods really, who seemed to accept him for what he was.

Midweek, Tim was startled when someone knocked on his door at the dorm. He
cracked it open slowly and saw Damon standing there with a bunch of empty
liquor boxes. He smiled at Tim, "I thought I'd come over and give you a
hand packing." Tim noticed that some of his fellow freshmen were in the
hall gawking dumbfounded that the school's star halfback was unexplainably
visiting the freak.

Damon came in and Tim quickly closed the door. Damon looked at the
centerfolds. Tim blushed and whispered, "My wall of inspiration." Damon
smiled. Then he began helping Tim pack up his books and his records and the
clothes in his closet. They left enough items to get Tim through the rest
of the week, and together carried the boxes downstairs to Damon's car, to
the further confusion of the dorm residents. Back in the room after the
last trip to the car, Damon said Tim would find all his things in his new
room when he moved in on Saturday. "Wow, how can I thank you, Damon?" but
both of them already knew the answer to that question. Damon opened his
zipper and offered his schlong to Tim, who took it readily in his mouth and
gave him a long fulfilling blow job.

Friday night, Tim could hardly sleep. He had packed the rest of his gear,
pulled down his centerfolds, and was ready to go. He woke up early on
Saturday. While the rest of the dorm was sleeping off their hangovers, he
took a quick shower, ate a banana and a pop tart for breakfast, and stared
out the window looking for Damon's car. It came around 11, and Tim grabbed
his bags, looked quickly around his room one last time, and ran down the
stairs. When Damon actually climbed out of the car and opened the trunk for
the stuff, Tim hoped some of the guys in the dorm were awake enough to
witness this.

In a few minutes, they were in front of IOK, unpacking the trunk. Damon
took one of Tim's bags and led him down the alley to the back door. The
houseboy would never presume to use the front door. "It wouldn't look
right," explained Damon. They walked through the kitchen and Damon
introduced Ramón. Tim had heard about Ramón's culinary prowess. The
university insisted that its top athletes be well fed so they underwrote
the food expenses of the frat. Tim would be among the privileged few who
would eat Ramón's legendary menu.

Then they headed down to the basement. Tim started for the curtain that
separated his new quarters, when Damon stopped him. "I have to tell you
something, Tim, before you go in. The brothers decided you should have a
new `wall of inspiration,'" and with that he pulled open the sheet. "Meet
the brothers." There on one wall, Tim gazed at row upon row of 8x10 glossy
prints of the brothers. Not their faces, but life-size close-ups of their
giant erect cocks! Tim quickly scanned them and then pointed to the third
photo in the second row. "Yep, that's me. You sure do know my cock!" And
eventually you'll be able to name every picture up here. Your new wall of
inspiration."

Tim was stunned. Seeing his eyes welling up, Damon left him to adjust to
his new surroundings. Tim slowly realized all that the house had done since
he last saw this room. It had a fresh coat of paint, new lighting, and this
fabulous wall of inspiration. They must have taken these pictures this
week. Maybe one of the brothers had a darkroom. They had set up his
computer, linking it into the house's own LAN, which reputedly had great
resources for researching papers. The cot was the same, and there was still
no privacy, but Tim was almost in tears thinking of all that these guys had
done for him already. He wanted to give each of them a blow job right then
and there in gratitude.

Tim tried unpacking the rest of his gear, but he kept being distracted by
his new wall of inspiration. Suddenly, he heard a phone ring. Holy
shit. The brothers had even installed a house phone in his room. Not for
outside calls, mind you. But a phone that allowed anyone in the house to
summon the houseboy when needed. This time it was Ramón telling him his
lunch was waiting in the kitchen. Tim sat on a stool at the kitchen
counter, eating a delicious consommé and some thick roast beef
sandwiches. The best meal he had had thus far at college. After lunch,
Ramón showed him where the cleaning supplies were stored, and the bulletin
board with the elaborate house schedule. Tim studied it diligently. He
wanted to find times when he could do his cleaning duties without intruding
on the brothers. During supper every day, they would all be occupied in the
dining room. Most mornings, some had either classes or team practice, and
the others would probably be sleeping late. Wednesday eveni ng was the
weekly business meeting. Saturday was probably going to be party night. As
he studied the chart and made notes, Damon came through the kitchen and
confirmed his assumption. "Look, Tim, we're having a bunch of sorority
sisters over tonight. You'll probably want to make yourself scarce." Tim
understood completely. He had no desire to see or be seen by any of the
sisters. And the brothers certainly wouldn't want the girls to see this
cocksucker living among them.

"Absolutely, Damon." Saturday night would be a good opportunity to hole up
in his room and do his homework. With that understood, Tim went about the
house locating the bathrooms and sprucing them up for the visitors. He took
special note of the bathroom just off the conference room, because it was
unique. It was extra large with an oversized hot-tub right in the center.
"Like a roman bath," he mused. He picked up stray socks and jocks that
somehow hadn't made it into the hamper. And random pizza boxes and empty
beer bottles that were apparently still en route to the garbage bins.

Even though a housekeeper was hired to come in every Thursday and give the
house a thorough vacuuming and cleaning, Tim still found time to get out
the hoover and give some areas a quick once over. All the while, various
brothers came by with requests. Several needed clean briefs, one wanted his
tie pressed, one was out of shaving cream, one needed condoms, and most
surprising to Tim, several of these hetero frat boys asked for blow
jobs. "To get me primed for tonight." Apparently, the expected arrival of
the sisters made them especially horny. All these petitioners were polite
and respectful, but they assumed that their wishes would be fulfilled. And
indeed, Tim did grant every last request.

Long before the party was underway, Tim was sequestered in his basement
area, just happy to have found this wonderful situation. He contemplated
his fortuitous meeting with Damon, his valuable experience in High School,
and the amazing way in which everyone here seemed intent on his comfort. He
took out his pen and labeled a few more of the pictures on his wall of
inspiration. He had memorized the pictures so well, that as soon as any
brother had proffered his erect cock, Tim could immediately match name and
picture. As the noise of the party got louder upstairs, Tim took his dick
in his hand, jerked himself off and drifted into a sound satisfying sleep.

On Sunday morning, just as Tim expected, he was able to go about cleaning
up all the downstairs rooms without interruption from the brothers sleeping
overhead. Still, whenever he heard someone stirring, he made sure he wasn't
seen. It wasn't the brothers themselves he was hiding from, but the
possibility that some of the sisters may have spent the night.

By the time the brothers began stumbling downstairs in robes, or pjs, or
briefs, or less, the living room, dining room, front hall and parlor
actually bore some semblance of order, which caused several of them to
scratch their heads in bewilderment, wondering if they had only dreamt the
party. When they did encounter their new houseboy, they congratulated him
on his amazing efficiency. They probably would have let him suck them off
as a reward, but they were so hung over, that they knew they could hardly
lift their poor dicks an inch. Blowing would have to wait.

As the next few days passed, Tim began to get into a real routine. He
managed to keep all the public rooms in order, the bathrooms sparkling, and
even the private bedrooms free of unnecessary clutter. He also managed to
satisfy the brothers' sexual desires and by Wednesday he had most of the
pictures on his wall labeled. Tony's was the longest shaft. Bart's was the
one with the ponderous low hangers, George was completely shaved, - maybe
that had something to do with being on the swim team. Pete had a heart with
his girlfriend's initials tattooed on his belly, toward the left side, and
slightly below his waistband. Tim hoped he was planning to keep this girl,
because down the line a wife finding those initials would expect some
explanation.

Tim also managed to keep up with his schoolwork. In fact, this living
arrangement seemed to give him new resolve to do well in class. He
certainly didn't want to flunk out now that he had it made. He had a report
due on Thursday, but he knew he could work on it without interruption
during the house business meeting Wednesday night. That's why Tim was
surprised when Bart (big balls Bart) came by before supper. He threw open
the curtain, - Tim had already decided he could never expect any privacy in
his basement pad, - and said "Hi, Tim." After some brief remarks about how
wonderful the house looks, Bart came to the point. "Listen, after our
meetings each week, we like to have a little fun. We call it game
night. You know, drink some beer, shoot some pool, joke around. We'd like
you to be part of the fun, if you don't mind." Tim raised his eyebrows. "If
you feel like it, we'd like you come upstairs and knock on the conference
room door at 11. The brothers will be expecting you.  But if you'd rather
not, we understand. There's no pressure. And you can leave any time you
don't feel comfortable." Tim couldn't understand what Bart was getting
at. Why wouldn't he want to join in game night? They had all been so nice,
it would be terribly impolite to refuse their invitation. And, what's more,
if he was lucky he might be able to identify the last few photographs on
his wall. Maybe a couple beers was all it would take for these final
stragglers to open their zippers and show him their cocks. "Oh, and one
more thing, Tim," Bart said as he headed through the sheet curtain, "you
don't need to wear anything. I mean, anything at all." He headed up the
stairs leaving Tim both confused and elated.

"So no clothes," he thought after he was alone again. "Maybe it's like a
weekly toga party, but without the togas. Maybe they just like to hang
around the place bare assed once in a while. Why not? One thing for sure,
I'll be able to identify all those pictures now. . . . But why was Bart so
evasive? He kept saying I could leave if I ever felt uncomfortable. Hell,
I've never felt more comfortable in all my gay fucking life!"