Date: Sun, 4 Apr 2021 12:44:21 -0400
From: Elliott Patterson <elliottpatterson02@gmail.com>
Subject: On Call Slut for the Frat Bro chapter 12

This story is an original work of fiction. It should not be reposted or
reproduced in whole or in part without the author's consent. This story is
meant to be entertainment for consenting adult readers and not meant for
anyone who is offended by aggressive/kinky gay sex. If you do not enjoy
this type of material, or if it is illegal in your country or place of
residence, please stop reading immediately.

Also, trigger warning for this chapter: some drug use.


I love hearing your comments and suggestions: elliottpatterson02@gmail.com


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==ON CALL SLUT FOR THE FRAT BRO==



PREVIOUSLY:


The new brothers had sparked up a joint and were passing it around,
laughing at a joke someone had made. When they saw us enter, they fell
silent.


"Alright boys," Carson said brightly to the room. "The faggot's got his
marching orders from me. I'll leave you to it. Have fun!!"


He turned to leave, and as he shut the door I saw a familiar look in his
eyes: don't fuck this up.


I turned back to the pledges, and without thinking dropped to my
knees. What I saw before me were five sets of eyes, hungry, eager, ready to
show the world what alphas they truly were.


I gulped, then opened my mouth.


"Hello sirs. How many I be of service?"



CHAPTER 12: Spring Breakthrough, Part 1


The boys were giggling, stoned as fuck. When they saw me, with my red eyes
and a fucked-out look on my face, they all cracked up. Even Trey, who had
seemed so friendly, laughed at the sight of me. I just stood there,
awaiting what hell I was in for, but apparently my service wasn't yet to
begin.


"What's your Snapchat, faggot?" Hassan asked with a laugh.


I told them, and each of the boys took out his phone and typed. I felt my
own phone buzz several times in my pocket--five new people I'd soon be
on-call for. With that, they went back to shooting the shit with each
other, and by the way I was ignored it was clear I was no longer needed.


As I walked home from Delta, I checked my snaps and saw that not only had I
been added by each of them, they'd created a group with all six of us as
well. Fisher had named it "BITCH LOGISTICS."


When I got home, I had to jerk off. Yes, I'd had my mouth used in a way
that turned my crank, but I'd also been humiliated in both a more public
and more personal way than ever before. Carson's psychosexual mind game had
me frazzled, raw, and intensely horny.


I also realized I'd miscalculated. As my relationship with Carson had grown
more intimate, I'd thought he was softening toward me, enjoying me as a
person rather than a thing, and while I had no illusions there was more to
it than sex, I had felt a kindness where none had existed before. In truth
the opposite seemed true. The softness I'd given him had been repaid in
degradation, in a deepening of the power he had over me and a more
expansive definition of our arrangement that, while exciting, also
terrified me.


I nutted hard, feeling both fear and excitement at the thought of what
awaited me over Spring Break.


The next night, the night before he was leaving for Mexico, Carson keyed
into my room and fucked my throat with clinical efficiency. There was none
of the manipulative hostility of the night before, nor the warmth of our
fuck from the weekend. It was raw, rough, and quick. Yet again I didn't
taste his load, his dick was buried so deep in my throat when he came.


I loved it, of course, but I found myself craving more from him. Either the
Carson who hugged me close as he buried his face in my neck, muttering
horny nonsense as he loosed his kids into my hole, or--yes--the Carson who
laughed in my face at my desperate need to please him after I'd deigned to
hesitate when he told me to give myself over to five strangers. I wanted
him, all of him, but his indifference killed me.


Of course I couldn't show that. I'd experienced, just last night, what it
meant for Carson to know his true hold over me. It was scary--and
thrilling--how quickly and completely he'd taken advantage of that power.


I gasped and coughed as he finally released my skull from his grip and
withdrew from my mouth. He pulled up his sweats and put his winter coat
back on, not even having taken his shoes off to destroy my throat, and then
he gave me an indecipherable look. It reminded me of how my parents checked
on the family dog before leaving the house.


"I want an update on your progress every day," he said. "Let's say 2
o'clock. Every day, whether you hear from me or not. All the details of how
the boys are keeping my bitch occupied. You got it?"


I nodded slightly. "Yes sir."


"Good," Carson said, pulling a beanie over his messy blonde hair. "Have a
fun week, faggot. I know I will."


***


I woke up Friday feeling a buzz of anticipation. Despite my wariness of how
this week of unsupervised use by the new Delta brothers would go, I was
eager to get the show on the road. I'd never been good with surprises; I'd
discovered the stash of Christmas presents "Santa" had squirreled away in
the back of my parents' closet beginning when I was 7 years old. The
thought of waiting for a different kind of surprise had me deeply anxious.


The Snapchat group lay dormant all day. While I hadn't explicitly been
given the same rules I had with Carson, I assumed they applied to the new
guys as well, and refrained from reaching out until I was summoned.


My curiosity at its peak, I filled the day with the sort of deep dive into
each guy's background that would be fodder for a shitty montage in a spy
movie.


Trey was the easiest to find. He was a tennis star as a kid, attending one
of those Florida tennis academies that regularly produce Grand Slam
champions. I found articles about him as a 13 year-old predicting great
success in the ATP, but at some point he transferred to a local high school
and had minor success as an amateur rather than going pro. It wasn't hard
to read between the lines: Trey's love of tennis had been superseded by his
love of getting high, and while that was a death sentence to any career on
the professional tour, it didn't prevent him from getting a full ride to
college. As a bonus, I discovered that Trey also had a decent following on
TikTok, nearly 100,000 people who seemed to enjoy his bad dance moves and
better thirst traps. I bookmarked several of them for later.


Fisher's background was also ready for the taking, though less because of
his accomplishments than for his family. I cringed when I found out his
parents were prominent Republican political donors, mom a lobbyist for Big
Pharma and dad a partner at a white-shoe D.C. law firm. I found a photo of
them, smiling in Brooks Brothers and pearls, with Chief Justice Roberts at
a 4th of July party. Fisher himself had been a good enough lacrosse player
to earn some local accolades, but it didn't escape my attention that his
older brothers had gone to Princeton and Yale while he was slumming it with
the rest of us plebeians at a state school. His Instagram was public, post
after post from golf courses and yacht clubs and beach trips to the Outer
Banks with identical dudebros in pastels.


Speaking of WASPs: I kicked myself for not looking into the Thorn family
earlier, but Jake had made such an impression on me I'd even never felt the
need. What I found wasn't surprising. Dad was a Goldman alum who'd started
his own boutique hedge fund in the late 90s. He'd gone all in on tech
stocks only to lose his shirt in the dot com bust, but eventually recovered
and made a quiet but fruitful name for himself as a safe pick for family
offices to invest with. It wasn't clear from my research if his current
wife was the mother of his children--she seemed too young, but we're
talking Connecticut here: that could have been expensive preservation
through modern medicine. All of his kids went to Choate, and both boys were
now here, their father's alma mater, where he had given a large enough gift
to have a lab named for him at the engineering school, a building in which
I'd never set foot. If the pattern held then Claire, the youngest Thorn
child, would be a freshman when I'm a junior. Quite the legacy.


Dre was a little harder to uncover. His name, Andre Taylor, was pretty
common, and I didn't find any mention of such a person from Eugene,
Oregon. With a little more digging, I discovered he'd graduated from high
school in a small town in rural Oregon outside Eugene. Mom was white, a
hippie artist who made pottery, and dad was black, a mortgage broker. He
was ex-military, although I couldn't tell what branch, that being far out
of my area of expertise. Dre had single-handedly led his high school soccer
team to the state championships, a huge accomplishment for such a small
school, and as a result had seen heavy recruiting interest, leading to a
full scholarship and the attention of Delta.


About Hassan, I found nothing. There were countless Instagram and Facebook
accounts with his name. None of the pictures matched. His name was too
common, and after scrolling through dozens of accounts, I had to give
up. But if he was a Saudi in college in America, there was money there.


(You may be wondering why I never did this kind of research into
Carson. Are you kidding? Of course I did. There just wasn't much of
interest to relate. Northern California, public high school, hockey
star. Parents divorced, mom remarried, older brother, 12 year-old half
sister. Dad didn't seem to be in the picture. One of my biggest non-sexual
thrills of the year was when Carson accepted my request to follow his
private Instagram, only to discover he posted about once a year, and never
to his story. The man keeps his own counsel. I'd had his dick deep in both
ends of me. I'd swallowed enough of his sperm to populate a galaxy. What
more did I need to know?)


Still, my private investigations only took up so much time. I spent the day
in an anxious frenzy. Most of the campus had cleared out for break, and
those few people left were occupied with their own pursuits. All of my
close friends were either headed home to see parents or off on some
vacation I half-wished I'd joined. But duty and Delta called.


I rewrote my notes for econ. I did laundry. I cleaned my room. I
masturbated, twice. I went to the gym only to discover it was
closed--limited hours during spring break. I wandered around the empty
campus wondering why I was there, but also knowing exactly why.


I'd made a purposeful effort, in my sojourn, not to head toward frat
row. The temptation was too much, my hackles raised too high. But somehow,
even though I knew Carson wasn't there, a magnetic force seemed to pull me
toward Delta house. I resisted, barely, for my own sanity.


Finally, after dinner at a local taco place, a treat to myself for getting
through the day, my phone buzzed with a Snap. BITCH LOGISTICS floated to
the top of my chats.


Dre: were throwin a party tonite no one wants to deal w u yet ur off the
hook til tom


Trey: but come kick it if u wnat [beer emoji] [foliage emoji]


Hassan: 4real come


Fisher: if you can keep up faggot [6 double beer emojis]


Dre: bro chill


Fisher: ???


Danny: [eyeroll emoji]


Fisher: [snap of him giving the finger]


Hassan: why tf do i hang out with u losers


Dre: u love silver's d


Fisher: lol


Danny: no cap


Trey: lol


Hassan: true, my boy got the best d on campus


Trey: [heart eyes emoji]


Hassan: [open mouth emoji] [eggplant emoji] [drooling emoji]


I couldn't help but giggle at their boyish banter. But I also felt like a
foreign observer in my own life. What was happening? The last thing I'd
expected was to be treated even remotely like one of the boys, much less
invited to a party. And yet here we were.


Me: thanks for the invite, i'll def stop by


I read and re-read my response, knowing it was somehow inadequate. Hastily,
I responded again.


Me: sirs


Hassan: be cool fag


***


On a normal Friday night, there would be a line of freshmen down the block
trying to get into Delta. Mostly groups of girls in skimpy clothes, far too
done up, taking selfies. The occasional dudes hoping, almost always
futilely, that they won't get turned away at the door. (They always do.)
Friends of the frat--buddies, teammates, girlfriends--would cut the line
and greet the guys on door duty with performative congeniality, flaunting
their access, of course I'm on the list. The music, just bass at this
distance, bumps from inside, muffled by expensive soundproofing, reaching a
brief crescendo each time the door opens. Brothers peacock on the upstairs
balcony, pointing out which fresh meat they want to invite into their den
of sin. Peels of laughter, drunken yelling, vape clouds, a mood of
anticipation, power, and desire, a sad mess of cloistered, wasted
almost-adults trapped in the belief that a campus dominated by Greek life
is the center of the world, and this is its Olympus.


Even before I met Carson, I'd never tried to attend one of Delta's
parties. The few times I'd walked past and observed that ridiculous scene,
I'd felt both jealousy and relief at the knowledge that it wasn't for
me. My female friends who'd made it in described the inner sanctum with a
breathless devotion that clearly masked disappointment. The point of going
to Delta was to get with a Delta brother. If you didn't get picked for
that, what did it matter?


I, of course, had been picked in a way that would have shocked all of those
sweaty, desperate kids. So when I sauntered up to the house this Friday
night in March, going for a party for the first time, I felt an ownership I
didn't deserve and a hesitation I surely did.


Since it was Spring Break, there was no line down the block, and no drunken
Chad checking an iPad at the door. In fact, when I rang the doorbell, then
knocked, then rang again, no one answered, though the driving beat and
muffled voices clearly indicated a party in progress. I tried the doorknob
and, sure enough, it was open.


What I found behind that most exclusive of doors could hardly be called a
party. The newest brothers of Delta didn't have enough clout yet to conjure
from the dregs of Spring Break stragglers a true rager. Call it a
kickback. There were a few dozen people distributed between the cavernous
downstairs rooms, mostly congregating in what I'd come to know as the pong
room, filled with tables built by Carson's pledge class, to the right of
the entrance hall. The lounge to the left, full of couches, also had a
decent crowd. The dance floor behind it was all but empty. Weed and stale
beer perfumed the air. A Pop Smoke song played over the house speakers, too
loud for the sparse crowd. A chorus of whoops and jeers emanated from the
pong room as players hit or missed their shots.


Still, the mood was jovial and light. We were on break after all. I didn't
immediately see anyone I recognized, but when I peeked further into the
pong room, I saw Trey and Dre at the end playing against a couple of girls,
a blonde and a brunette. I was struck by how tall Trey was, easily 6'5",
towering over the room. From what I could tell, the guys were way ahead,
and soon enough Trey sunk the girls' final cup with an easy, stylish
toss. The two boys bumped chests as the brunette finished the final beer,
and the blonde screamed for a rematch.


"Oh FUCK NO!" a familiar accent bellowed almost right into my ear.


My hackles raised, but as Hassan came barreling past me toward the table
with Fisher in tow, I realized he wasn't yelling at me.


"We got next, ladies," he said, smirking down at the blonde
girl. "Brothers' priority."


She batted at Hassan's muscular chest playfully before giving him a hug
around his waist. I noticed him grab her ass with a big paw. Meanwhile,
Fisher arranged and filled their cups while trying less successfully to
spit game at the brunette.


A hand clapped my shoulder roughly.


"There he is!"


I turned to find Danny smiling down at me, a seemingly genuine smile
surrounded by that signature Thorn 5 o'clock shadow and masculine jaw. He
was wearing a hunter green hoodie and khakis, a backwards white baseball
cap completing the ultimate bro fit. I could tell by the glimmer in his
eyes that he was, at the very least, drunk already.


"What's up, Teddy?" he said.


I was on high alert. My only experiences with Danny were limited to behind
a wall and under Carson and Jake's control. He'd seemed, in those moments,
more reticent than the other frat boys, enigmatic, quiet, and observant,
but also somehow purposeful. I didn't know what to make of him, and
friendliness wasn't exactly what I expected from any of these guys. Yet
here we were.


"Hey...Danny," I replied. I almost added "sir" but we were in public. "Cool
party. Thanks for having me."


He shrugged. "It's alright. The pledge class wanted to send it but no one's
really around."


I grunted in agreement. Nothing had prepared me for having to have a real
conversation with these guys outside the context of what Carson had
arranged. We stood there for a few minutes watching the scene unfold.


"You need a beer. C'mon," he said eventually. It wasn't a question.


Danny turned on his heel and headed back toward the kitchen. We took a left
into a small, crowded room filled with kegs. Danny pushed our way to the
front and grabbed a couple of Solo cups from the top of the keg. A muscular
black dude was manning it, filling cups for a group of girls. When he saw
Danny brandishing our cups, he broke out in a huge smile and handed the
girls some half-full beers.


"Bro! Where you been?"


"Had to run over to Pike and pick up," Danny replied with a wink.


"Bet!"


"Marcus, Teddy. Teddy, Marcus," he said with a nod toward me.


"Yo dude," Marcus said. "How you know Teddy?"


I panicked. "Ummm..."


"Teddy's in my bio study group," Danny quickly interjected. "Only reason
I'm passing."


"Nice! I dropped bio first week, bro. That shit was too hard for me. Good
friend to have!"


Marcus filled a beer and handed it to me. I took a gulp and thanked him. It
wasn't a lie. I needed the liquid courage to get through this social
clusterfuck.


"Chug?" Marcus asked us.


"Why not?" Danny replied, giving me a grin.


We clinked cups, and all began gulping down. When we finished, both guys
looked at me with surprise. I may be Carson's bitch, but I'm no bitch: I'd
kept up.


"Okay, bio!" Marcus laughed. "Never underestimate a nerd!"


Danny chuckled. I handed my empty cup back to Marcus.


"This nerd's still thirsty," I said.


Marcus favored me with a laugh and poured another beer. "I like this dude!"


"Me too," Danny said, looking right at me. It was a look I recognized, the
look Carson gave me when I did a good job taking his dick.


"So..." Marcus asked Danny in a low voice. "You carrying?"


"Yup. Jake's room later. Come find us."


They dapped each other, then Danny's hand was on my back, steering me out
and toward the pong room. The table with the rest of the boys was deep in
an intense game. The girls had left, and I could tell from the energy
around the table that they weren't fucking around.


"We got next," Danny announced. The other boys noticed me for the first
time.


"Look who's here," Hassan said with a smile, mischief in his eyes.


"Your shot, bitch," Dre told him.


They continued their game. Based on how quickly they played, and how many
cups they made, it couldn't have been the same game we'd left. I watched
Fisher swaying drunkenly, and Trey was dancing to the music (a Weeknd song)
as he waited for his shot while Dre rolled his eyes at him. Danny nudged me
with his elbow.


"You know how to play pong?"


"Yeah, I've played a few times."


He looked down at me again, patronizing. I wanted to climb him like a tree.


"We got house rules here."


Danny proceeded to explain Delta's particular version of pong. It wasn't
that different from what I knew, but I could tell he felt an ownership of
this, so I let him treat me like a novice. Rerack at 6, 4, and 3, but not
2, and only if the other team calls it. You can swat a bounce but only off
the board, not back. Last cup gets rebuttals unless both players hit.


These were the sort of nuances I couldn't possibly have cared about. As I
got drunker, I found myself leaning in closer to Danny to hear what he
said. He smelled like beer, salt, and Old Spice, and I could see that his
scruff was patchier up close, the dark color masking its sparseness. He was
a man, but also a boy, a boy eager to be seen as a man, and for whatever
reason I was the one he wanted to show.


Hassan and Fisher lost, talked some shit, and gave up their side of the
table to us. As Danny filled our cups, Trey came over and slapped hands
with me.


"Glad you could make it dude!" he said. "The more cool people the better,
right?"


"Yeah man," I replied. "Glad to be invited. Awesome party!"


"I know, right?"


Up close, I could see that Trey's eyes were bloodshot. Was this dude ever
not stoned? But at least he was friendly, I thought. A friendly stoner was
preferable to a mean drunk any day.


As we played, I tried to draw some small talk out of Danny, but he mostly
focused on making his shots.


I did get one rise out of him.


"Is Marcus in your pledge class?" I asked casually.


"Yeah," he replied with a smirk. "Is it weird to be in a house where you've
had every dude's dick in your mouth?"


"Almost every dude. All but Marcus's actually," I said brightly, looking
Danny right in the eye. "But the load he shot onto my tongue tasted great."


He missed his next shot.


We played a decent game, but in the end we lost. Danny made most of our
cups, but I made a couple, and each time he whooped it up and gave me a
high five. When he talked shit as the other team was shooting, he threw an
arm over my shoulder companionably, bringing me into the trash talk. The
heat of his body teased me. When I made one of my shots and Dre missed his
follow-up, Danny gave him total shit.


But still we lost. Trey, despite being baked as fuck, couldn't miss. I'm
sure it helped that he was shooting from a few inches higher than anyone
else. When the game ended, we slapped hands, and even Dre gave me a smile
and told me good game.


Danny noticed no one else was clambering for next, so he turned to his
brothers with a conspiratorial look.


"Dre, Trey..." he said in a lower voice with a wink. "Ayo?"


"Say less!" Dre replied, tossing his ball into their water cup.


"I'm good," Trey said.


"C'mon," Danny told me and made a beeline up the stairs. As we ascended, I
saw Fisher leaning over the brunette from earlier, a hand against the wall
as she laughed at something he said. Maybe he did have game after all.


I found myself guided up to Jake's room on the third floor. Dre collapsed
into the desk chair with a leg splayed over the arm, letting it spin. He
took out his phone and started playing Astroworld from the beginning. I
leaned against the bed, nervous to be alone with these guys who knew they
had total control over me. Danny grabbed a small mirror off the wall above
Jake's dressed and set it on the ottoman.


"Lock the door?" he said to me.


I went to do so, but before I could Hassan came rushing into the room,
almost knocking me over. Once he'd passed, I locked the door as
instructed. When I turned back, I saw Danny dumping white powder out of a
little baggie onto the mirror and pushing it around with his student ID.


Oh.


*Oh.*


I knew this week would provide new experiences, but I didn't know they'd be
starting quite so soon. The only drugs I'd ever tried were weed, a few
whippets in high school, and my nascent poppers habit. Coke hadn't even
been on my radar. But I wasn't about to pussy out right at the start.


"You think your brother'd mind if we get into his Scotch?" Hassan asked,
pouring one already.


Danny grunted in indifference. "Fuck if I care."


Hassan laughed, and threw back a finger before refilling it and handing out
cups to each of us. When he got to me he looked me in the eye purposefully
before handing over the drink.


Danny had laid out four thick lines. He rolled up a $20 bill and did the
first one with a practiced snort. He handed the bill to Hassan, who took
half the line, switched nostrils, then took the other half. I found myself
rapt by the sight, both in anticipation of something I knew I'd soon be
expected to do, as well as the way his big nose scrunched up in a sexy way
after he'd inhaled.


"You gonna bang Brianna tonight?" Dre asked him.


Hassan dragged his finger across the mirror to pick up the crumbs and
swiped it across his gums.


"That's the plan!" he said. He looked at me and pawed his package through
his Adidas track pants. "Sorry bitch, you'll get your chance soon enough,
but tonight this dick needs some pussy."


The boys all laughed. I held Hassan's gaze, enjoying the shit-eating grin
on his face.


"Your loss..." I said with a shrug. "Sir."


"Oh shit!" Danny laughed.


"Damn, bro," Dre said as he leaned down to do his line. "The faggot's got
some balls on him."


Hassan's eyebrows had shot up in surprise. He lurched over, sat against the
bed next to me, and threw an arm around my waist, pulling me in. I could
feel his hard bicep against my back. He looked down at me and smiled, a
dark, menacing smile that set his perfectly white teeth against his dark
skin and darker beard.


"I like a bitch with spirit," he said. His blue eyes twinkled. "More fun to
break."


He released me and gave the side of my ass a quick hard smack before
walking away. I jumped at the hit, but Hassan acted like nothing had
happened.


"Yo Dre, did I show you the snaps this Kappa sent me the other day? I got
her to finger her asshole. She's got these long-ass fake nails. It's too
fucking funny."


Danny had silently watched our whole interaction, a coy smile on his
face. Once I was free of Hassan, he nodded for me to come over. I knelt
down in front of the ottoman. There was one line left on the mirror, not
counting the pile in the corner. Danny handed me the $20 bill, but by the
way I accepted it he could tell I didn't know what to do.


"Here," he said, holding the bill to my nostril and covering the other with
his finger. "Breathe out, then lean down and inhale hard with just your
nose. You don't have to do it all."


I did like he said, and as I snorted through the bill he angled it to swipe
across half the line for me. I watched in amazement as the powder
disappeared. The coke went up my nose with a sharp but painless burn,
leaving behind a smell like salt and metal. Reflexively, I scrunched up my
nose and sniffled a few times, and when I looked up, all three pairs of
eyes were on me, pupils tiny, expectant.


A pleasant numbness began to form in the back of my nose, dripping down the
back of my mouth. I could taste it, a taste that matched the strange
smell. As the numbness spread, I felt a rush of energy, an alertness that
didn't cancel out my drunkenness but rather clarified it. I giggled
boyishly and turned to Danny in awe.


"Nice, right?" he asked.


"Fuck!" I said. "That's amazing!"


The boys laughed. Danny shook his head in amusement.


"We'll make a man out of you yet, kid," Dre said, drawing on his Juul.


I finished the line myself, only making a tiny mess. The guys continued to
shoot the shit, talking about this or that girl they wanted to fuck. We
drank more whisky, did another line each, then headed back down to the
party.


I followed them around like a puppy, feeling myself like never before. I
sure saw why people liked coke! We played more pong, drank more beers, did
more lines, and the night passed in a blur of good vibes. I almost forgot I
wasn't one of them.


At some point I found myself in the middle of the crowd in the keg room as
the boys did keg stands. Beer was spraying everywhere, so I receded to the
back, enjoying being drunk and high and watching the eye candy bro out. I
noticed a girl I knew a little bit from my poli sci recitation standing
nearby. Her name was Chloe, a hot Asian chick with blonde highlights who
consistently made our TA look like a fool with her incisive questions.


"Chloe!" I yelled as I sidled up and gave her a half-hug.


"Teddy!" she replied with a huge smile. "What the fuck are you doing here?"


We made drunken small talk. I parroted Danny's lie, without hesitation,
that we were in a study group together. She explained that she'd rushed a
sorority, but her parents weren't cool with her going on their Spring Break
trip, so in defiance she'd refused to go home to Houston. I noticed her
checking out Trey, who'd just finished a massive keg stand and was reveling
in his glory, towering over the room.


"Into him?" I asked.


Chloe blushed. "And you're not?!"


"Bitch, of course! And I gotta tell ya..." I turned to her
conspiratorially. "Don't ask me how I know, but I have it on good authority
that he's got the biggest dick you've ever seen."


Her eyes turned into saucers and she bit her lip in a way that even I had
to admit was sexy. I realized that I may have been indiscreet, but the
wheels were turning in my head, so I waved Trey over. He lumbered to us
with a goofy smile. I introduced them, he asked if she wanted to play pong,
and they stumbled out of the room with his hand on her lower back. As they
rounded the corner, Chloe turned back to me quickly and stuck out her
tongue in delight.


I looked back to the keg stands. Danny was looking over at me with a
curious smile. I pushed through the crowd to him.


"You talkin' yourself out of a job?" he asked.


I rolled my eyes. "Gotta help a bro out, right?"


He laughed. "If you say so."


"You got your eye on anyone? Gay guys make great wingmen."


"No thanks, not tonight. Just chillin'." He bit his lip. I couldn't help
but notice how juicy it looked.


"If you say so."


In the hallway, I saw Dre animatedly FaceTiming with someone, screaming
over the music. It could have been a fight, or a profession of love. I
turned back to Danny.


"What's that about?"


It was his turn to roll his eyes. "His girlfriend. They've been together
since like freshman year of high school. They're totally codependent. I met
her last semester, she's really cool, but like..."


He motioned around at the debauchery.


"Yeah," I said. "Seems like a losing battle."


He shrugged.


"Plus I sucked his dick," I added.


Danny threw his head back in a peel of genuine laughter. The coke had made
him open and friendly in a way I hadn't expected.


"TEDDY!" Hassan screamed at me from the keg. "Your turn!"


I suddenly found myself inverted, strong hands holding my legs and ankles
as I tried to keep myself balanced on my hands gripping the keg. The tap
was shoved into my mouth and opened. I swallowed the beer as long as I
could, acquitting myself decently. It wasn't my first keg stand. I don't
know if it was the coke, or being upside down, or drinking a ton of beer
straight from the keg, but as soon as I was back on the ground I felt
intensely nauseous, and bolted out of the room.


Not knowing where else to go, I dashed upstairs to the second floor
bathroom and dry-heaved violently into the sink. Nothing came out but air,
a huge trapped burp that had nowhere else to go. When it was done, I leaned
over the sink, thankful I hadn't made an actual mess. When I looked up into
the mirror, I saw a familiar figure standing behind me.


"You good, bro?" Fisher asked.


There was an edge to his voice. He sounded drunk, for sure, but it was more
than that--he sounded like he had an axe to grind. He was carrying a can of
Natty Light and wearing a flannel over a grey hoodie, jeans, and Air Force
1s. A dribble of what I hoped was just beer spilled down the front of his
sweatshirt. On his face, the kind of smirk that could have been in the
dictionary next to "date rape."


"Yeah," I replied.


"Yeah *what*?" he asked.


I gulped. "Yeah I'm good...sir."


Fisher blinked a couple times, then motioned with his beer toward the door.


"Let's go."


I followed him out the door and past Carson's room around a corner. We came
to a back staircase I'd never seen. I realized this must have been where
Carson brought me up in his hockey bag. Fisher led me down two flights to
the basement, and when he flipped on a light switch I saw we were just past
the fork that led to the bathrooms and the pledge's cells. The basement was
dark and cold, but you could still hear the stomping of feet and thumping
of bass above us.


"In here," he said, leading me into the first cell. Much like my gloryhole
room, there was nothing but a bare twin mattress on the floor. Fisher
pointed at it.


"On your knees, faggot."


I may have been fucked up, but I knew my duty. I fell to my knees and felt
the flimsy mattress cushion my fall. Fisher stood over me and undid his
belt with one hand while he took a swig from his beer with the other. He
was having trouble so I reached up and helped release his braided belt,
then unbuttoned his jeans and unzipped the fly.


Fisher was wearing plain navy Hanes boxer briefs. He shoved them down
roughly under his balls and then grabbed the back of my head and smashed my
face into his crotch. I could smell his sweat as I struggled to get his
soft cock in my mouth. Fisher was the smallest of the guys I was set to
serve, but I remembered he had a decent 7-incher, so as I mouthed his soft
piece, I waited for it to grow.


"Yeah faggot, get me hard," he said. "Fucking slut upstairs was being a
tease, need to get a load sucked out of me bad."


I began bobbing on his willy and slurping as hard as I could in an effort
to get him up. I also brought a hand up to cup his balls, which in the cold
of the basement were hugged up tight. Fisher had a thatch of dense light
brown public hair sprouting above his cock and over his nuts. I could see a
light happy trail going up his abs too.


For a few minutes, it seemed like he wasn't gonna get hard, despite my best
efforts. Fisher let out a constant stream of low verbal abuse, calling me
faggot, cocksucker, cumdump, bitch boy, and every other nasty epithet he
could think of. To be honest, I was starting to get bored, and my knees
hurt. Sucking a soft dick isn't exactly stimulating.


Eventually, though, Fisher's dick began to grow and I soon was sucking on a
nice cock issuing a little bit of precum. He was thicker than I'd
remembered, and as he began to fuck my face I gagged a little. He laughed
at my predicament.


I don't know if it was the coke, the beer, the secretive atmosphere, or
just my overwhelming libido, but I quickly became outrageously turned
on. Fisher had a hand on the back of my head guiding me, but I was giving
him the works, going all the way up and down his hog, gagging and choking,
slurping like a pro. He seemed almost taken aback by how eagerly I was
worshipping his cock. When I glanced up he was slack-jawed with wonder.


After a few minutes of the best blowjob I could deliver, he pushed me off
roughly.


"Open up," he said.


I opened my mouth wide. Fisher took a swig of his beer and leaned over
me. He let the beer drip from his mouth into mine, most of it hitting my
tongue but some my face. He scrunched up his face and laughed.


"Ew, you're fuckin' gross. You'd do anything I say, won't you?"


"Yes sir," I said with a nod.


Fisher spat in my face without a second thought. It landed on my eyebrow
and slid down into my right eye. I had to close that eye, but with my left
I could see a mean smirk on his face.


"Sit against the wall," he said.


I slid back and sat as he'd instructed. The rough grain of plywood felt
scratchy against my hair. I wondered which pledge class had built these
rooms.


Fisher crouched down and set his beer on the floor, then waddled over and
stood over me. His pants were still around his ankles, and they ended up in
my lap. He aimed his cock at my mouth, and when I opened, he shoved it in
roughly to the hilt.


"Fuuuuuuck yeah," he grunted. "Faggot throat wide open for a big frat boy
dick. You're nothing but a fleshlight for my cock. I dunno what the other
bros have planned, but I'm gonna use you so fucking hard this week."


He had both hands on the sides of my head and was giving me a full stroke
with each thrust. His hips were slamming into my face, and my head was
slamming into the wall each time. It actually hurt, both my nose and my
head, but I did my best to take the assault. I was pretty hard myself, but
I couldn't reach my dick under the pile of Fisher's pants, nor did I dare,
so instead I brought my hands to his asscheeks and enjoyed the feel of his
strong bubble butt as he plowed my face.


At one point, Fisher shuffled forward until he was practically standing on
me, his dick buried all the way down my throat. He wasn't as big as Carson
or Jake, but his cock was still thick, and he'd gotten it as far in as
humanly possible. I had tears in my eyes and was gagging up a storm, but
when I glanced up I could see him biting his lower lip in amusement. He
gave me some light thrusts, just barely leaving the deepest depths of my
gullet. Then I felt him roll his hips and withdraw quickly until just his
head was in my mouth, and fuck right back in forcefully.


A huge retching sound came from my throat with each thrust, and by the 3rd
or 4th I couldn't take it anymore. I twisted my head and pushed him off. As
soon as his dick was out of my mouth an enormous torrent of vomit spewed
forth. I'd had the good sense, or at least reflex, to turn my head to the
side, and the puke spilled all over the dirty mattress. All the beers I'd
drank, as well as the remains of my taco dinner, painted it a putrid
yellow.


I coughed violently. A dribble of vomit dripped down my chin onto my shirt,
meeting the throat slime already there. As I caught my breath, I looked up
at Fisher. He had a smug smile on his face, like he'd intended this, or at
least like he was happy to see he could do it. He wagged his piece,
glistening with mucus and god knows what else, at me.


"Not done yet, bitch."


I tried to keep catching my breath, but Fisher wasn't having it. He smacked
his dick against my cheek a few times and then slid back in. This time,
there was no hesitation, no lingering in my throat. He just railed my face.


Since I could no longer breathe through my nose at this point, I did my
best to breathe around Fisher's cock and just take the throat fuck. He was
giving it to me fast and hard, and if I hadn't just puked my brains out,
I'd be enjoying the ride. As it was, I did all I could to hold on as he
used my mouth like a pussy.


"Fuck you, you fucking faggot slut. You're nothing but a hole to stick my
dick in. You ready for this big fucking load? Gonna swallow all my babies,
you disgusting piece of shit? Should be that Pi Phi slut taking my nut, but
lucky you, you're about to get it!"


Fisher's grip on my head was tightening, and he seemed right on edge. I
reached a hand up and cupped his balls, and with my thumb pressed on his
taint. A little pressure on the gooch usually set a dude off, and sure
enough I felt his balls draw up and he was soon blasting his load straight
down my throat.


"Awwww fuck yeah! Take that load faggot!" he grunted with a series of rough
thrusts.


I could feel Fisher's shaft pulsing repeatedly as he emptied his nuts into
my belly. When I glanced up I saw his o-face, a boyish scrunch that,
despite myself, made my cock jump. After he finished nutting he lingered,
letting his cock begin to soften in my throat. He looked down at me and
sneered.


"Time to wash that puke out of your mouth," Fisher said.


His soft dick lurched and he began pissing full force into my mouth. I
coughed and struggled to keep up with the flow, and a little bit gurgled
out the sides of my mouth. Eventually, I found a rhythm and was able to
keep up with the force of his pissing, swallowing in big gulps as he
laughed.


"That is so fuckin' nasty! Conway wasn't kidding when he said you were a
pig. I've always wanted to piss in someone's mouth. You're gonna be a great
toilet this week, fag!"


Fisher finished using me as his urinal, smacked his now soft, slimy cock on
my forehead a couple times, and pulled up his pants. He grabbed his beer
from the floor, gulped the rest of it down, and let out a huge burp right
in my face. His breath smelled sour, although at this point who was I to
judge?


"We're just getting started, faggot," he said with a smirk, then stumbled
out of the cell and back up the stairs.


I pulled myself to my feet and staggered into the basement bathroom. It was
filthy, but I was worse. Here I was, left to myself for the first time all
night, and I looked a mess. My face was red and puffy from the oral assault
I'd just taken, and there was a combination of spit, piss, and bile running
down my shirt. At least I'd had the good sense to wear black tonight, so I
scraped off the grosser bits in the sink, hoping it would just look wet. I
swished some water in my mouth, but I doubted anything short of a real
tooth-brushing could save my breath at this point.


When I got back to the main floor, it was clear the witching hour had
arrived for this party. Couples were pairing off. The drinking games had
mostly been retired. Everyone was stumbling and slurring. I realized that I
hardly recognized anyone. I looked at my phone: it was after 3am.


In the lounge, I saw Chloe straddling Trey's lap, making out with him
sloppily. In the chapter room, a few people were dancing. Hassan had the
blonde from earlier grinding against him, his fingers snaked into her
jeans. Marcus was nearby, sucking face with Fisher's brunette. My erstwhile
facefucker was nowhere to be seen, nor was Dre.


I peeked into the pong room and saw Danny. He seemed the most sober of the
bunch, or maybe just the least lust-drunk. Maybe it was the coke. Laughing,
he was deep in conversation with a couple of girls. They each looked up at
him with a look I had probably given him myself, and one I'd surely given
Carson many times: please, please fuck me.


I pictured a threesome for Danny, these girls making out with each other
over his big uncut cock as he towered over them with smug satisfaction. The
thought made me incredibly horny, and incredibly jealous. Just as it
crossed my mind, he glanced at me and our eyes met.


Suddenly, I had to get out of there. I bolted out the front door before
anyone noticed and practically ran home through the cold March night.


When I finally got back to my dorm, not a minute passed before I had my
dick in my hand, stroking it hard and fast. A panoply of images and
sensations passed through my mind, each more of a turn-on than the last:
Danny's scent and the heat of his body when he had his arm around my
shoulders; Hassan licking his lips after wiping coke on his gums; the odd
sensation of being with the guys in a room where I'd done so many
unspeakable things with Carson, Jake, and even Matt; Fisher's face as he
came, and his sneer as he realized how low I'd go; and finally the
realization that this was just the beginning, that I had a whole week of
getting used by these frat bro freshman in all sorts of ways I couldn't
even imagine.


I nutted on my stomach, hard and unsatisfying, and passed out without even
cleaning up.


***


Pain. Throbbing pain.


I woke up with the worst hangover of my life, a headache that seemed to
encompass my whole body. The clock said 1:27. I didn't know they kept time
in Hell.


I had to piss like a racehorse. With a groan, I tumbled out of bed and ran
down the hall to the bathroom in my underwear. Thank God the dorm was
emptied out for Spring Break. After pissing for what felt like 10 minutes,
I ran back to my room and grabbed my toiletries. My mouth tasted like
sandpaper and I'd never felt the need to brush my teeth more strongly.


As I scrubbed away at my filthy, disgusting pig mouth, I looked in the
mirror and realized what a fright I looked. My hair was matted down on one
side of my head and sticking up like crazy on the other. My eyes were
bloodshot, the bags under them so pronounced I could have had two black
eyes. A trail of what I hoped was just drool caked one corner of my mouth.


Brushing my teeth helped. So did a shower.


When I got back to my room, I dumped a packet of Emergen-C into a bottle of
water and chugged it with 3 Advil. I realized I was ravenously hungry, but
there was no way I could possibly leave my room, so I got into my emergency
snack stash. I used my electric kettle to heat up water for a Cup of
Noodles, devoured with fistfuls of Doritos and a whole bag of Sour Patch
Kids.


The ibuprofen was working on my head, but the food made me feel nauseous
and tired. I got back in bed. It was almost 2, so I wrote an update to
Carson, as per his instructions, and when the hour ticked over I hit send:


"Hello sir, I hope you're having fun in Mexico. Today's update: the pledges
didn't want to use me last night since they had a party, but they invited
me. It was fun, they're cool guys. I hope it's okay that I went. Fisher did
take me to the basement and fuck my face and feed me his piss. That's all
so far."


As soon as the text was sent, I turned over and passed back out.


When I woke up, the sun was waning. It was after 5. I'd slept almost the
whole day. I checked my phone, and I'd received a response from Carson,
just a thumbs up emoji and a picture of his feet in the sand, waves in the
background. Even just the sight of his feet made me horny for him.


I considered jerking off again, but thought better of it. I hadn't heard
from the guys yet, but I assumed I would at some point today. Best to hold
off. Instead, I showered again and shaved. It was nice to have the dorm
bathroom to myself, and when I was done, feeling bold, I walked back to my
room naked.


My stomach rumbled. The junk food hadn't sated my hunger, so I begrudgingly
put clothes on and headed out into the world. Campus was eerily silent. The
dining hall was open--students weren't required to leave over Spring
Break--but I felt like going to a restaurant, so I went into town and found
a sushi place popular with undergrads. Cheap and cheerful, and they'd sell
you sake bombs without bothering to ID. (Not that I needed booze in my
current state.) I passed the time eating my miso soup and spicy crunchy
tuna roll reading Twitter.


It was Saturday night in a college town. Even though it was a break, the
street sparkled with weekend possibilities, people going out to dinner or
drinks, shouts and laughter, the hum of bars and cafes, the click of heels
on the sidewalk. I looked around me and wondered what I was doing here
alone, but then the thought of Delta flashed in my mind, my greater and
baser purpose.


I didn't hear from anyone for another couple hours. I FaceTimed briefly
with my sister, but she was getting ready for a night out. She turned the
camera around so David could wave hi. He was putting clothes on, his dress
shirt unbuttoned. I suppressed my crush and said hi back brightly.


Balland Hall stood dark and empty when I returned. The hallways were like
something from a horror movie. Creeped out, I dove into bed and under the
covers, fully clothed, and put on an episode of the Great British Bake Off
to counter the gloom. Just as the technical challenge was winding down, my
Snapchat pinged once, then again.


Hassan: gtf over here


Trey: but no rush we movin slow


I responded that I'd be there soon, then leapt out of bed and got to my
bottoming prep. I didn't know what was in store for me tonight, but I knew
I'd want to be ready. It was nice to be able to douche without worrying
about anyone hearing, and once the water ran clear I threw on my clothes
and got ready to leave. Just as I was about to shut my door, I pocketed my
poppers, just in case.


This time, the dreary campus seemed alive with possibility. I knew I could
well be on my way to a gangbang, a night of abuse, both or worse, but the
eagerness with which my feet carried me to frat row proved that this was
what I truly wanted.


Most of the lights were off in Delta. No party tonight, not even a hint of
bass from within its walls. The outdoor lights cast shadows over the brick
facade.


I messaged that I was there. A minute later, the responses came.


Dre: come in the back door


Fisher: twss


Hassan: u wish


I rounded the corner to the parking lot and tried opening the back door. It
was locked, so I messaged again. A few minutes passed, then the door burst
open and Trey appeared, a wide grin on his face.


"Teddy!"


He grabbed my hand and pulled me into a tight bro hug. I didn't even come
up to his shoulder. Then he gabbed at me as he led me up the back
staircase.


"Dude, you are the MAN for setting me up with that girl Chloe!"


"No problem," I said. "I take it you hit it off."


"Oh *hell* yeah. We were all over each other. Her tits were..." He made a
chef's kiss motion. "She freaked out a little when she felt my junk but I
fingered her for a bit and convinced her to go out with me later this
week. Blue balls but hopefully worth it."


He said this with a bashful smile. We had reached the third floor and
walked to a door at the other end of the house from Jake's room. This place
was huge; I'd never been down here before.


"Nice, dude," I said, chuckling.


Trey went to open the door, but then stopped and turned to me, suddenly
serious.


"Best not to call me that in there."


I straightened up. "Yes sir."


Trey winked and opened the door.


It was a long, narrow single, blue LEDs lining the ceiling, but unlike in
Jake's larger room the bed was lofted, creating out of this shoebox a cozy
but sumptuous seating area facing a TV that was far too big for the
space. March Madness played on it at low volume.


In a mess on top of the dresser I saw a bunch of baseball
trophies. All-State. MVP. State Champs. One said V. Panos, and I realized
this was Vinny Panos's room. Vinny was our starting shortstop, a hot
dark-haired junior, the kind of dude who had a 5 o'clock shadow five
seconds after he shaved. (Yes, you know I'd done my research.)


The room felt like an opium den, so many couches and beanbags. Two
recliners flanked the sides. Fisher was in a plush leather one by a
makeshift bar. I assumed in the bro hierarchy it meant this was his Big
Brother's room. Dre had the other. Each seemed in a similar state, nursing
beers. Dre was puffing on his Juul. I noticed a pile of pizza boxes in the
corner. Fisher had a half-eaten slice in his hand. Each grunted "sup" when
they saw me.


The mood there echoed mine throughout the day: a little glum, a little
regretful, but recovering with every moment, teetering towards okay. Hassan
was lying on the floor, slouched over a beanbag. He had a pair of Wayfarers
on his face and looked worse for the wear. Trey bounced into the room and
laid down behind him, spooning the big Arab from behind. Hassan snuggled
back into him and groaned. And I'm the gay one, I thought.


"Where's Danny?" Trey asked.


"Napping," Dre grunted.


"Go wake him up, bitch," Fisher said to me. His voice was raspy and
dismissive.


"Yes sir."


I went to Jake's room. The door was ajar, and looking in I could see it was
empty. That mirror still lay on the ottoman, a few crumbs of coke scattered
across it, the $20 bill mostly unrolled. I turned and went to go back to
the guys to ask where he was, then had a hunch.


Downstairs, Carson and Matt's door was closed. I knocked lightly. No
response. I turned the knob and it opened. All the lights were off except a
desk lamp, but I could see socked feet hanging off the end of Carson's
lofted bed.


I climbed halfway up the ladder. I could see, in the dim light, Danny's
form asleep under a navy blue comforter. He had his head on one pillow and
was clutching another to his chest, a picture of boyish innocence. For a
second I watched him sleep, but since it was four against one I knew I had
to wake him. I reached into the bed and lightly shook his leg. It took a
few shakes, but eventually his eyes slowly opened and he smacked his lips a
couple of times.


"Hey..." I whispered, and then thought better. "...sir. Sorry to wake you
but all the other guys want you to come upstairs."


Danny sniffled, blinked twice, then gulped.


"Okay," he said with a wan smile. "Thanks. I'll be right there."


Taking my cue, I descended the ladder then went back to Vinny Panos's
room. When I entered, Dre and Trey were arguing.


"Bro," Trey said, about as forcefully as I'd heard him. "No fucking WAY
Oregon makes it to the Final Four. Your bracket is so fuckin' sus."


"CAP!" Dre shouted back. "Deadass. Take your SEC bullshit home so you can
fuck your cousin with it!"


"Holy shit," Fisher laughed.


"Fuck you, man!" Trey yelled.


"UGGGHHH," Hassan let out a deep, guttural moan. "Who the fuck cares? Just
let the man throw away his money!"


"Fuck you too!" Dre countered.


"Jesus fucking Christ!" Danny came in behind me, the hood of his sweatshirt
pulled over his head. In his hand, an open, mostly finished bottle of
Scotch. "I take one fucking nap and you pussies are at each others'
throats. Save it for Teddy!"


They all laughed, and suddenly the fight was forgotten. Danny lumbered into
the room, one hand on my lower back as he passed. A shiver went up my spine
at his touch. As he climbed into this den of bro sanctity, he clinked his
liquor bottle with Dre's beer.


"Respect," Dre said.


Danny slumped down on one of the couches, then they all, all five of them,
looked right at me. I was filled with a sense of fear I hadn't felt since
the last time I'd been in a room with this group alone.


Fisher sighed heavily, muted the game (UCLA vs. Morgan State), and turned
around and addressed his brothers.


"So..." He began. "How we gonna do this?"


They looked at each other. Whatever he meant, no one wanted to be the one
to answer. Finally, Hassan pulled himself up to seated and whipped off his
Ray-Bans. He looked right at me with bloodshot eyes.


"No one here's trying to have a fucking gay orgy this week. The boys and I
need to figure out how best to split up the time," he said, menace in his
voice. "So we each get our turn to use you."


"I see, sir," I said.


He looked deeply into my eyes. Something about it stirred something inside
me, and I felt myself collapse onto my knees.


"Better," Hassan said. The rest of the room laughed.


"Look," Trey said. "I've said it before and I'll say it again..."


"Fuckin' don't," Danny interjected.


"...one on one pong!"


"Silver, you *know* that's not fair," Fisher said.


"Bet," Dre added.


"Well I'm not hearing any better ideas!" Trey responded. He was propped up
on a shoulder lying behind Hassan, who rolled his eyes again and tilted his
head back in exasperation.


"Look," Fisher said. "We all want our time with the faggot, but no one
wants to be sloppy fifths. We just need a way to pick an order that doesn't
involve some 12-dimensional round-robin clusterfuck."


"What about ookie cookie?" Danny offered.


"Gross!"


"Yuck!"


"Thorn, get your prep school bullshit outta here."


"Not again!"


"No, you dumbfucks," Danny said firmly. "No one loses. Teddy gets the
prize."


A moment of silence. Whatever he meant, they let it sink in. Then:
epiphany.


"Oh fuck. I get it."


"Makes sense!"


"Fair's fair."


"Anyone got a cookie though?"


I had no idea what was going on. The boys had gone from disgust and
indignance to laughing agreement--indeed, the most collegial they'd seemed
all night--in an instant.


"You are a fucking genius!" Hassan said, pointing at Danny. Trey gave him a
high five.


"But wait," Dre said. "Do we let the faggot watch?"


"Why not?" Fisher asked.


"Seriously," Hassan said. "He's already sucked you off and he's gonna do it
again and then some. Let the bitch see his fate."


Dre shrugged. That seemed to decide it. Whatever *it* was.


Trey climbed up from the floor and flopped onto the couch in the other
corner. Hassan made himself comfortable on a bean bag chair along the wall,
at Danny's feet. Fisher dug into a pizza box, found a slice of pepperoni
and a paper plate, and dropped it onto an empty bean bag in the middle of
the room.


I was still standing near the doorway, deeply confused.


"I'm sorry, sirs, but what's going on?"


"You never played ookie cookie in high school?" Fisher asked.


"No sir."


"You missed out, bitch," Dre sneered. "You woulda loved it."


"It's a jerk off race," Fisher continued. "Everyone jerks off and cums on a
cookie, or I guess in our case a slice, and the last dude to nut has to eat
it. But since you love to eat cum, you get to eat it all. We're just
picking an order of ownership."


This cannot be happening, I thought. This is like a bad porno. I couldn't
be so lucky.


"Okay, so we're all agreed," Hassan said. "Winner gets the rest of tonight
and tomorrow night. Second place gets Monday, third Tuesday or Wednesday,
fourth Thursday, fifth Friday, and Saturday it's a free-for-all?"


"Why Tuesday *or* Wednesday?" Dre asked.


"Conway said we had to give the faggot a day off."


"Oh, right."


It was a strange feeling, to watch your fate be decided for you, with no
input of your own. I marveled, in a way, at their negotiations, even as the
whole enterprise struck me as absurd and wildly overdetermined. All of
this, for me?


But it wasn't really for me, was it? I'm sure each of them had their own
reasons for wanting to participate in this week, reasons I was ever so
curious to learn, but the real reason any of them were taking part was to
prove they belonged. To prove, even after making it through pledging, that
they truly were Delta men, alphas in a house of dominance.


Fisher had already begun casting from his phone to the giant TV. Trey,
Hassan, and Dre all had their hands down their pants, touching
themselves. The mood in the room had abruptly become both libidinous and
competitive. I felt like I was witnessing something deeply private,
something I shouldn't be seeing, and yet it was all I wanted to see.


I was still standing near the door and the TV. Dre kicked the side of my
leg.


"I don't wanna see you while I jerk it, fag," he grunted.


I crawled under the lofted bed into the back. The only remaining seat was
in the middle of the couch, between Danny and Trey. As I settled in, I
realized that somehow, unknowingly, the boys had arranged themselves by
dick size. And I'd found myself between the two biggest.


The PornHub homepage was on the TV. Fisher began scrolling through, one
video after another each displaying its highlights.


"I say lesbian."


"Lame."


"Fag."


"Something with Mia Khalifa."


"You're such a cliche."


"What? She's hot."


"How about Johnny Sins?"


"No, gangbang."


Finally, they landed on a video. It was a group video with two super hung
tattooed guys sharing a couple of unnaturally buxom blonde girls. There was
facefucking, lesbian action, double penetration, the works. It ticked every
box.


So far, none of the dudes in the room had taken out his dick. Each was
jerking in his pants, which almost seemed hotter. Perpetual
anticipation. But the thought of finally seeing their dicks connected to
their bodies and faces was killing me.


To my right was Trey, in his concert t-shirt and pajama pants, stroking so
far back and forth in them that it seemed impossible. To my left, Danny,
using just his wrist in a way that suggested he wasn't there yet. Sitting
at his feet was Hassan, staring at the screen impassively. He was wearing
the same Adidas track pants from the night before, and based on the bulge
it looked like he was fully hard. His other hand was snaked up the front of
his shirt. Was he pinching a nipple?


In the recliners, Fisher was fisting his dick with abandon, while Dre was
taking long leisurely strokes. I could see a precum stain in his grey
sweats. Suddenly, he whispered "fuck it" and pulled his pants down to his
ankles. The floodgates opened, and one by one these studs pulled out their
dicks and stroked with intention.


I can't really put to words how hot and strange it was to witness this
bizarre display of masculine competition, as close to an actual pissing
contest as the world has ever seen. (Although I wouldn't be surprised if a
few of those had taken place within Delta's walls.) And to be the prize,
for lack of a better word, in this race to completion gave me complicated
feelings of pride and revulsion, covered in even thicker layers of
anticipation and desire.


Fisher had pulled his thick 7-incher through the fly of the boxers that
were all he was wearing on the bottom. I watched as his fist flew back and
forth. Dre, on the other hand, gripped his larger uncut piece in the middle
and let his foreskin slide back and forth over his glans. When his head
peeked out on the downstrokes, I could see it glistening.


Hassan crunched up in his beanbag chair and let a wad of spit fall from his
mouth onto the head of his girthy 8-inch hog as he beat it, a thumb
brushing across his piss slit with each stroke. It was an image I'll never
forget.


And on either side of me were two of the biggest cocks I'd ever
seen. Trey's was a sight to see, so long and thin. It fit his build. On
anyone else, it would have looked ridiculous. He concentrated on his head,
short small strokes that probably would have covered the length of my whole
dick. With his other hand, he pulled on his low-hangers. I could hear soft
groans emanating from his throat with each tug.


I saved the best for last. Danny looked like a king on his throne, sitting
there with his legs spread wide, leisurely fisting that perfect dick. He
may not have been as long as Trey, but his column of flesh was so thick it
seemed to take up all the space in the room. Like Dre, he let his foreskin
do most of the work, but Danny's pulled all the way back with each stroke,
displaying his enormous head for everyone to see.


I was, of course, rock hard. Perhaps harder than I've ever been in my
life. I could sense my dick leaking like a faucet, but I didn't dare touch
it.


On the TV, the two dudes had finished trading off the throats of their two
paramours, covering them in spit and their own throat slime. I'd appeared
like that in this house, minus the giant knockers, often. Now each stud was
pounding deep into a shaved pussy.


Suddenly, Dre kicked down the footrest of his recliner and crouched over
the pizza slice, fisting his cock faster than before and breathing
hard. Hassan jumped up from his seat and did the same, his other hand
holding the underside of the lofted bed for balance.


"No you fucking don't!" Hassan roared.


"Oh yes I do motherfucker! Eat my jizz!" Dre cried, and blasted his load
all over the pizza.


So it was decided: I'd be spending the next two nights as his bitch.


Hassan was only moments behind, busting an even bigger nut that filled
several pepperoni cups to the brim. His whole huge body bucked as he came,
shaking the bed and with it the rest of the room.


"FUCK!" he complained. "I wanted first blood."


Silently, Trey stood up and squatted over the slice, pointing his long dong
almost straight down at it, and dumped a watery load across the crust with
a series of short grunts. He was the only one I hadn't made cum yet, but
soon I was gonna taste his nut. I was still looking forward to the
challenge of taking it down my throat directly from the source.


Three down, two to go.


The two lacrosse studs worked their sticks. Fisher seemed to be
struggling. He'd watched in disappointment as his brothers reached climax,
but now he had screwed his eyes up and was stroking like a man
possessed. Danny, on the other hand, continued with his leisurely
self-abuse.


Dre and Trey had put their dicks away, but Hassan laid back in his seat
with his deflating monster still hanging out. When he'd recovered from
nutting, he examined himself, squeezing the remains out of his long tube of
man meat, then proffered his wet finger toward me. I leaned in and let him
press it into my mouth, the dregs of his cum salting my tongue. He smiled
cruelly.


I could see Fisher noticing this. It seemed to put him over the edge, and
with a huff he twisted himself from his chair and erupted over the pizza,
barely making it, his face a familiar visage.


I looked to Danny, who with a placid acceptance stood up (as far as he
could under that bed's low ceiling), picked up the paper plate on which my
prize was marinating, and stood over me. He looked straight into my eyes,
offering the pizza like a gift. Something in his gaze told me that this was
exactly what he wanted, to have me last. Finally, sliding his hand a few
times over his length, he winced slightly, gave one loud grunt, and issued
forth a load so big it glazed the entire slice. Some rebounded onto my
face: extra cheese.


"Savage, bro," Trey muttered.


Danny dropped the paper plate into my lap. Even that friction made my dick,
so painfully hard, almost bust. The guys all looked at me
expectantly. Fisher had that customary sneer on his face, while Dre had a
look of disgust.


I examined the pizza slice. There was so much cum it looked like its own
topping; I could barely see the cheese. When I picked it up, the cum
jiggled and began to slide. Feeling dramatic, I folded the slice in half
like a New Yorker, and let the loose jizz slide down the fold into my open
mouth.


"Holy shit!" Dre said.


"Eat it, you fucking bitch," Hassan growled.


"That was so much fucking jizz, dude," Trey said.


Danny was slack-jawed.


Fisher giggled.


The cum had mixed with the cheese and oil to take on a somehow even saltier
flavor than usual. To be honest, it wasn't disgusting, but it wasn't hot
either. I was still turned on by the scene I'd just witnessed and by the
idea that I was swallowing all of their nuts, but eating it wasn't
erotic. I began to eat the slice itself, and the grossest thing about it
was how congealed the cheese was.


When I finished chewing the last bite, Hassan began a slow clap that soon
grew to envelop the room. Danny wolf-whistled. Trey leaned over, shook his
head ruefully, and gave me a fist bump.


"Alright losers, enough," Dre announced. "You'll give my new bitch a big
head. Faggot, head down to Barker's room next door to Conway's and wait for
me there."


I stood up, and immediately realized I'd made a mistake. My jeans were
tented like crazy. All the guys laughed at me.


"The fag's got a little boner!" Fisher said with contempt.


I moved to cover it as I sidled out of the room. When I passed Dre, he
grabbed my forearm hard and gave me a serious look.


"I don't wanna see that shit. You got it?"


"Yes sir," I whispered back, and ran out.


***


I almost walked into Carson's room out of habit, but went instead, for the
first time, next door. Mike Barker was a junior, and a striker for the
soccer team, so that explained why he was Dre's Big. His room was a small
single, the smallest I'd seen yet in Delta, but it still held space for a
queen sized bed and a recliner facing a TV and gaming setup. LED lights
lined the ceiling, green tonight, as they did in so many rooms in the frat
house. A huge "SATURDAYS ARE FOR THE BOYS" flag took up most of the wall
next to his bed.


The room had a distinctly dude-like smell, the sort of sour mix of sweat,
unwashed sheets, dirty clothes, and too much masturbation that I associated
with teenage boys (myself very much included). I didn't know if it was from
Barker, Dre, or both. Regardless, it kept my dick hard.


I did a little snooping, but didn't find much. Barker seemed like your
average frat bro. The only thing I found out of the ordinary was row after
row of cleats on shoe racks in the closet, much more neatly organized than
anything else in the vaguely messy room. Must have been a soccer player
thing.


A laptop lay closed on the unmade bed. A backpack full of clean clothes sat
on the desk chair. Dirty clothes littered the floor. I picked up a pair of
Under Armor compression shorts and examined the crotch. Sure enough, it was
covered with white spots. I brought them to my nose and smelled the
unmistakable scent of semen.


My boner jumped. I wondered if it would ever go down.


I waited for probably 20 minutes before I heard a tumble of footsteps on
the stairs. Some continued down to the ground floor but one set
approached. I quickly dropped to my knees.


It wasn't Dre. It was Danny. He peeked in the open door, gave a slight
smile, and bit his lip.


"They're starting a beer dye tourney," he said. "Dre's a beast at it. You
might be waiting a while."


"Thanks for letting me know, sir."


He seemed to look both into me and through me. I could tell he wanted
something, but what was it?


"Can I do something for you?" I continued.


Danny paused, then shook his head.


"Thanks for the offer, but you're spoken for tonight."


With that, he went into Carson and Matt's room and shut the door.


That seemed a little odd, but I was buzzing with anticipation over what Dre
had in store for me, so I let it go. Now all I had to do was wait.


And wait I did.


And wait.


And wait.


For over two hours I waited in Barker's room, checking my phone and
occasionally getting up and walking around. I was frustrated and annoyed,
but I didn't dare do anything about it. Dre had struck me, so far, as the
least friendly of the group, and I didn't want to start my time under his
sway off on the wrong foot.


Finally, well after midnight, I heard footsteps and Dre stumbled in,
clearly drunk. He was shirtless, wearing just a pair of navy athletic
shorts that displayed a prominent bulge. His chest had a dusting of wiry
black hair. While he wasn't as built as the other guys up top, his small
pecs and extremely visible abs reminded me of a darker version of David's
chest.


I quickly dropped to my knees. When he noticed, he scoffed and rolled his
eyes.


"Hungry for more nut already, bitch?"


"Yes sir," I replied. "I'm here for whatever you want."


Dre let out a monster burp.


"Well..." he slurred. "You're in luck. I usually nut at least 5 times a day
so I've got some catchin' up to do."


He stumbled over to me and immediately pulled my face into his crotch. I
could smell sweat and beer. His dick wasn't hard, but it wasn't soft
either, and as he ground my face roughly into it, I could feel it begin to
grow. Clearly Dre didn't suffer from whiskey dick.


"Take it out," he commanded.


I grabbed each side of his shorts and pulled them down. His dick flopped
out and bounced against my face. Dre chuckled at this. He struggled to kick
his shorts off without taking off his sneakers, then grabbed his semi and
smacked my face with it.


"Get to work, bitch," he said with a sneer. "Make daddy feel good."


I opened my mouth and he shoved in. I could taste sweat on his cock. Dre
wasn't wasting any time. He slid all the way into my throat in one stroke
and pulled back out. He began to fuck my face as though he owned it.


With the white boys I usually serviced, a facefuck was like a jackhammer,
straight in and out, as hard, fast, and deep as possible. Dre had more
style. His whole body was in it, rolling his hips and bouncing slightly as
he plowed my throat. His 7.5 inch cock tasted great. As his foreskin pulled
back I could taste the ripeness of his smooth head. He fucked with long
strokes, going almost all the way to the base each time. His wiry pubes
tickled the tip of my nose. I put my hands on his firm, muscular ass and
pulled in to let him know he could go as deep as he wanted.


"Fuck yeah, bitch," he grunted, eyes closed. "Choke on daddy's dick."


I was an expert cocksucker at this point, but I made some gagging sounds to
lean into Dre's fantasy. All guys like to think their dick is big enough to
make someone gag, and to be fair, most people working Dre's dick would
have. I had just trained my gag reflex away.


Dre continued using my throat for a while, eyes closed, in his own little
world. He didn't say much aside from the occasional "fuck yeah" or "suck it
bitch." It was like he was masturbating with my mouth.


I wasn't going to complain. Dre's dick was delicious, and as he thrust in
and out he was building up a nice slick of spit along his length. He didn't
seem to mind me clutching his ass, which was lightly hairy and rock
hard. For a lean guy, he had a real dump truck.


At some point, he knocked one of my hands away and put a foot up on the
seat of the recliner, getting leverage to fuck my throat even deeper. Now I
was gagging for real. His hips hit my nose with each stroke. I reached
under his thrusting cock and cupped his balls.


"Yeah bitch, pull on daddy's nuts. Gonna empty them down your throat soon."


And soon it was. Only a few minutes later, Dre's grip on my head tightened,
he pulled me all the way onto his rock hard cock, and blasted his load
straight down my throat with a satisfied groan. I swallowed gratefully.


Dre let his cock, which was still at full mast, marinate in my mouth for a
minute, and then pulled out and flopped down into the chair, legs spread
wide. His dick was still sticking straight up, wet with spit, his foreskin
pulled back only slightly over his red head. His chest was heaving. To be
fair, he had done all of the work.


"Did you think I was kidding, faggot?" he said, snapping his fingers
between his legs. "Back to work."


I learned two things that night: Dre didn't have a refractory period, and
he had the stamina of a marathon runner.


I got back on my knees and serviced his cock for what must have been
another 45 minutes. I gave him the works, every trick in the book, lips,
tongue, throat, hands. I'm not sure he looked at me once. He sat there on
his phone puffing on a Juul, sometimes watching porn videos, sometimes
texting or checking Snapchat. At one point, he shoved me off and showed me
his phone.


"What do you think, bitch? Doesn't my girlfriend have a pretty fucking
pussy?"


On the screen, the very dick I was sucking was seen sliding in and out of
what I suppose was a nice pink vagina. I didn't exactly have any frame of
reference, aside from what I'd seen in porn. I could hear both Dre and his
girl moaning, but the camera never panned away from where they were
joined. His cock slid in and out sensually. I could tell from the video,
which I watched with a sort of zoological interest, that Dre fancied
himself an expert cocksman.


"Very pretty, sir," I replied. "Looks like you really know how to fuck her,
too."


"Damn straight I do. If you're lucky maybe you'll get to see. Now get back
to sucking me off."


I sucked him for a while longer. This time, instead of cumming straight
down my throat, Dre pulled out and jacked it for a minute before blowing a
huge load all over my face. He had a wide smile as he watched his nut drip
down my face. He pulled out his phone and started recording.


"Eat it," he said simply.


I scraped his hot jizz into my mouth. As I debased myself, Dre narrated.


"Yo Conway, how's your bitch look with my load all over his face? Sure
seems like he likes it to me, haha! This is load number 3 from me
today. Slow day so far but plenty of time left. May have to try some of
that shit you mentioned. Peace, brother."


I blew Dre yet again sitting in the chair, this time straight into my
belly, then he dismissed me for a while to FaceTime his girlfriend. In the
hallway, Delta was silent. I went to the bathroom, took a much-needed piss,
stretched out my sore jaw, and wandered the halls quietly until he summoned
me back. He was still hard.


"Get on the bed on your back, faggot. Talking to Lizzie always puts me in
the mood to fuck something."


I climbed into Barker's unmade bed and laid down with my head over the
edge. Dre sauntered up and, without any hesitation, shoved his dong all the
way in. I gagged a little but found my footing, and let him go to town.


Somehow, at least three nuts deep today, including two in a row just before
this, Dre was able to summon the energy--not to mention the dick
stamina--to give me the throatfucking of a lifetime. This put even Carson's
most vigorous efforts to shame. He held my skull tight in both hands and
used that same rolling hip motion to piston in and out of my mouth.


Taking a hard throatfuck from a hot straight guy will always turn my
crank. Especially since my only view was his magnificent ass, including a
tight little hole surrounded by dark hairs. I could feel myself getting
hard.


Dre must have noticed. He pulled out roughly and slapped me across the
face, hard. It stung. He looked down at me with wild, angry eyes.


"Motherfucker, I told you I didn't want to see your little boner!"


"I'm sorry sir!" I cried. I looked around and all I could think to do was
pull the messy comforter over my midsection. Once it was covered, I quickly
adjusted my dick so it was under the waistband of my underwear.


"Better," he grunted, then spat in my face. The loogie landed on my upper
lip, but he pushed it into my mouth with his dick and began another assault
on my throat. This one was perhaps even more violent than before. I could
feel my teeth biting into my own lips with each thrust.


"Fucking. Take. That. Dick. You. Faggot. Piece. Of. Shit!"


Dre's dirty talk crescendoed as he unleashed his babies into my belly one
more time. The force of this orgasm seemed to surprise him. As he pulled
out and smacked my face a few times with his slimy cock, he was both
catching his breath and laughing.


"FUCK!" he whooped, flopping onto the bed next to me. "That was a good
one. Nice work, faggot."


"Thank you sir," I croaked out. "That's what I'm here for."


Dre laid back with his arm across his face for a few seconds. His chest
hair was matted down with sweat, and his crotch was a mess from all my spit
and throat slime. His dick had begun to deflate, finally, but he was still
sporting a decent semi. He dropped his arm and looked at me.


"Conway showed us some videos of you drinking his piss. Can I try that
shit?"


I rolled off the bed onto my knees. "Of course, daddy."


I held my mouth open, tongue out. Dre stood up, and let his deflating dick
rest on my tongue. He looked away, willing it to go. We waited like that
for a couple of minutes, but nothing happened.


"Not sure I can do this," he said with a frown.


Another minute of nothing.


"I got an idea," Dre said suddenly.


He reached over and grabbed an empty Gatorade bottle from the
nightstand. (Why do straight guys always have empty Gatorade bottles in
their bedrooms?) He turned away from me and stuck his dick in the mouth of
the bottle, pulled his foreskin back, and almost instantly began
pissing. This went on a while, and by the time he was done, the bottle was
about 3/4 full of light yellow urine. Satisfied he was done, he handed it
to me with a smirk.


"Drink up."


I turned the bottle to my lips and, because we were in a frat house after
all, chugged it as fast as I could. While I gulped down his offering--it
was beer piss, mostly flavorless, with maybe a slight tinge of fruit
punch--Dre bit his lower lip, a slight smile on his face, as though he was
about to burst out laughing.


When I'd finished, I smacked my lips and let out a satisfied "ah!"


"Thank you daddy," I said.


Dre grabbed the bottle back and tossed it on the floor as though it was
nothing, then flopped into bed, still naked. He grabbed a weed vape from
the nightstand, took a big pull, then grabbed a laptop and pulled the
covers over himself, turning toward the screen. I heard the Netflix sound.


"Lights, bitch" he ordered.


I got up and switched off the lights. I wasn't sure where I was meant to
sleep, but Dre quickly made it clear. He pulled the covers open, revealing
his still naked body.


"Get down there and nurse my cock until I nut again or fall asleep."


I climbed under the covers and soon found myself in a warm, musty cocoon. I
had to maneuver to get my entire body onto the bed, but eventually got into
a position where I could suck his cock without putting any pressure on the
rest of his body. I bobbed on his dick and felt the occasional thrust, but
he didn't get fully hard again. At some point, he shut the laptop and
flipped onto his back. I kept going lazily, but eventually we both fell
asleep, tonight's master's dick still in my mouth.


***


Would it surprise you to learn I woke up to my throat being penetrated yet
again? I didn't think so. I was still under the covers, having slept some
indeterminate amount of time, but Dre's dick was very much awake. He must
have farted in his sleep, or maybe I did, because it smelled pretty rank
under that comforter, but I was more than happy to wake up with a dick in
my mouth.


For morning head, Dre seemed to like a leisurely facefuck. He was turned to
his side, thrusting lightly into my throat. I felt his hands on the sides
of my head, holding me in place, but this was a far cry from the rough
beating I'd take the night before. Often, with Dre, I felt like a human
fleshlight, like he was jerking himself off with my mouth.


It didn't take him long to blast his babies down my throat. I expected him
to either push me off or go for another round, but instead he held me in
place as his dick shrank. I heard him sigh, and then immediately tasted his
morning piss shooting into my mouth, washing out the taste of cum.


To be honest, I retched a little--Dre's morning piss tasted terrible,
acrid, with a heavy tang of iron. But I knew I'd be in for a world of hurt
if I let him piss Barker's bed, so I did my job and swallowed it down. He
must have really had to go, because it lasted forever. By the time he was
done, I was feeling ill from drinking so much of such a strong brew.


But my ordeal wasn't done. Dre didn't remove his dick from my mouth. He
just laid there. I wasn't sure what to do. Then, a few minutes later, I
heard him softly snoring. The asshole had gone back to sleep!


I checked my own dick. Yep, hard as a rock: I'm such a fucking pig. But of
course I couldn't do anything about it, so I shut my own eyes and did my
best to fall back asleep as well, in the stuffy embrace of that blanket, my
lips still wrapped around the slimy tube of a frat boy's uncut cock.


Suddenly, or it could have been hours later, I felt a rush of cold air. Dre
had yet again begun fucking my face, but this time he'd thrown off the
comforter. I was lying on my back and he was in a push-up position over me,
pumping in and out of my throat. All I could see were his tight, hairy
abs. It was the quickest session yet.


"Fuuuuuuuck yeah," he groaned, his dick buried deep, blasting another load
of hot cum into my belly.


Dre rolled off, and stood up to stretch. As he cracked his neck, I marveled
at how hot he was, and so different from the other guys I'd be serving so
far. Lean, tight, defined, a hot body and a sexy as fuck face. No wonder
this Lizzie was holding on to him.


He grabbed some dirty underwear from the floor, pulled them on, then added
a pair of gym shorts. Continuing to search the mess of clothes, he found a
t-shirt and socks, then running shoes.


"Alright fag, I'm gonna go for a run and hit the gym. Meet me in front of
Tillary in..." he checked his watch. "Two hours."


I sat up. "Yes daddy."


"Also," Dre continued. "Get me lunch from Chipotle. I'll text you my
order. And bring my backpack and all my shit."


He indicated the clothes on the ground. I'd gone from sex slave to domestic
servant in a blink.


"Yes daddy," I repeated.


"Cool," Dre said dismissively. "Later."


He bounced out of the room with a childlike energy. Meanwhile, I felt
disgusting. I looked at the clock and saw that it was 11am already. All I'd
eaten since my early dinner was one slice of pizza and a lot of cum. My jaw
was sore. My face felt greasy. I could tell I smelled like garbage. And I
had to piss like a racehorse.


I stuck my head into the hallway and, seeing the coast was clear, snuck to
the shared bathroom, hoping no one else was up. No such luck. Danny was
standing at the sink in a white t-shirt and pajama pants, brushing his
teeth.


He looked me up and down, smiled wide around his toothbrush, white foam
coating his lips, and laughed. He spit into the sink.


"Rough night?" he asked, a grin on his handsome face.


I groaned and ran into a stall. My bladder was overpowering my
submissiveness. I pissed for like three full minutes, my
double-concentrated urine a worrisome goldenrod. The feeling of the
pressure releasing was better than most orgasms.


When I went to wash my hands, Danny was still there, popping a zit. Trying
to be inconspicuous, I washed my hands, but of course there were no paper
towels. I was about to wipe my hands on my shirt when he passed me the hand
towel he'd brought with him.


"Thanks, sir," I said.


"Danny's fine, man," he responded with a smile.


I nodded, handed him back the towel, and awkwardly left the room. I
continued to be thrown off by his friendliness. It wasn't how I was used to
being treated in this house.


Dre had tossed his dirty clothes all over Barker's room. I gathered them
all up and stuffed them in his backpack, then grabbed my coat and hurried
out. I had a lot to do.


First, I was starving, so I grabbed a bagel on my way back to my dorm. I
scarfed it down before taking a much-needed shower and doing some bottom
prep (just in case). I didn't have a ton of time, but I did allow myself
half an hour of lying in bed watching TikTok before I got up and went about
Dre's day.


Chipotle wasn't too far from Tillary, one of the jock dorms close to the
athletic complex. Dre had sent me his order: a burrito bowl with double
chicken, brown rice, black beans, every salsa, lettuce and guac, tortilla
on the side and a fountain Diet Coke. I hoped my whole week wouldn't
involve catering meals for these guys, as that would put a serious dent in
my bank account.


A group of baseball players left the building for practice as I waited in
front of Tillary. It was a good 15 minutes before Dre sprinted up, sweaty
and breathing hard. His t-shirt was soaked, and he clasped his hands behind
his head and paced to catch his breath before he even acknowledged me.


"Yo," he huffed, continuing his circles.


His breath sufficiently caught, Dre grabbed the Chipotle bag and strode
into the dorm. He held the door for me impatiently.


"Sup Chaz," he said to the security guard. "Dude's with me."


He waved us in. We got in the elevator, just the two of us. I looked over
at Dre. He wasn't looking at me, but as I moved he caught my eye and turned
to me.


And spat right in my face.


His loogie hit my forehead and dripped down over my right eyebrow. The bell
dinged. The door opened. I didn't even have time to react.


"Leave it," he ordered, and strode out.


I walked down the long hallway, unable to ignore the spit dripping down my
face. Tillary Hall was one of the newer dorms, specifically built so our
("student") athletes could live in comfort near their training spaces. If
you lived there, you were on a team.


Luckily it was empty today. Dre's room, halfway down the hall, was a
dichotomy. The left side was clean as a college student's room could
be. Bed made, clothes put away, books lined up neatly on a shelf. The right
side was an explosion of dirty clothes, food wrappers, and various
junk. The comforter was a tangled mess and I didn't even have to look close
to see cum stains all over the navy sheets. You could almost see a line
running down the middle, separating them. Apollo and Dionysus. Thomas Mann
would have approved.


I didn't have to guess which side was Dre's.


He slumped down in the desk chair on the right side by the window and began
to unwrap his lunch. Before digging into his burrito bowl, he pointed at
his feet.


"Shoes," was all he said.


I got down on the floor and began to unlace his sneakers. As I pulled one
off, an intensely sour smell emerged from his foot. I must have made a
face, because Dre laughed.


"Nasty, huh bitch?" he said with a mouth full of fast-casual Mexican. "Get
'em off and rub my feet while I eat."


I peeled the sock off that foot, trying to hold back my disgust, and then
did the same with his other shoe and sock. Dre had surprisingly big feet
for a smaller guy, with a trail of hair on the tops and his toes. They were
moist from being encased during his workout.


He watched, looking bored, as I rubbed his slimy feet with my hands. I did
what I could to knead into his arches and the balls of his feet, cracking a
toe here and there. Something about the casual way he watched, and the fact
that he was eating his lunch, drained any sexual connotation from the act,
so I didn't bring my mouth into it. Nor did I want to. His feet smelled
terrible.


Still, after a while, Dre lifted his feet and pressed them against my
face. He was shoveling his lunch into his mouth, chewing loudly. I wasn't
turned on, and yet I felt completely under his control. He kicked the side
of my face lightly.


When he'd finished his burrito bowl, Dre stood up and began to strip off
his clothes. He dropped his shirt to the ground. His chest hair was matted
down with sweat in a 70s sort of way, and when he dropped his shorts I was
excited to see his pubes just as wet. The room already stunk of dude, but
the fresh sweat emanating from Dre's body only intensified it. It smelled
like a locker room. He sat back down in his desk chair and pointed to his
balls.


"Lick."


I quickly shoved my face into his undercarriage and began licking his hairy
nuts. The musk was intense down there. I lapped at Dre's family jewels
eagerly, relishing the flavor. He held me in tightly with one hand, and I
could feel him jerking his cock with the other.


His dick, half hard, came to rest on my forehead. He smacked me a couple
times, then wrenched my head back and shoved his slimy hooded beast right
into my throat. I gagged a little, which earned a chuckle, as Dre used my
mouth to masturbate himself to full hardness.


He fucked my face for a few minutes, bouncing me up and down in his lap
like a basketball, pushing particularly hard on the downstrokes. It was
like he was trying to get deeper with each thrust. His dick was sweaty and
ripe as hell. I savored the combination of sweat and precum, doing my best
to swipe my tongue under his foreskin when I could.


After a while, Dre held me down roughly for a good 15 seconds. I felt him
lean over and pull something out of a drawer. When he finally let me up and
shoved me off his dick, I saw he was holding a thick black tube, slightly
thicker at one end. When he took the cap off, I realized what it was.


Dre's fleshlight.


I barely had a moment to notice the opening, an anatomically correct (so
far as this gay boy could tell) replica of a pussy, before Dre grabbed my
hair and pulled me back down to his balls. As I suckled on them, I looked
up and watched as he pulled back the hood of his cock, spit on it, and then
slowly pushed the toy down onto it until his length was fully enveloped by
the silicone.


When he bottomed out, Dre let out a low, satisfied groan of pleasure. I
experienced a brief pang of jealousy, which I realized was an insane
feeling to have about a toy, especially since I'd already gotten so many
loads from this soccer stud and, given his prolific libido, expected to
receive several more.


I redoubled my efforts on his nuts as Dre stroked the fleshlight slowly up
and down his dick, clearly enjoying it. His eyes were closed but his mouth
was hanging open a tiny bit, utter satisfaction on his face.


"Oh yeah, baby," he said. "Ride daddy's dick."


After a few minutes, his pace increased abruptly, and the hand holding me
against his balls tightened. I took both of his nuts in my mouth, and felt
them pull up as his dick pulsed, his jizz flowing into the toy. Dre grunted
lightly with each pulse of his cock.


Satisfied, he pulled out. His dick was coated in a thin layer of cum and
smelled insanely ripe. Too ripe. Dre released his grip on my hair and
smacked my forehead with his cummy cock.


"Clean me off, bitch."


I took him in my mouth and encountered the most intense cum flavor I'd ever
tasted. I gagged instantly, it was so strong. Dre shoved his still-hard
dick down my throat and fucked my face, all the while laughing.


"You like that taste, faggot?" he sneered. "Haven't washed this toy in
weeks. You're tasting a few dozen loads."


That explained it. Dre's dick had tasted exactly like the concentrated
essence of cum, a jizz bouillon. It was almost too much even for me to
handle, yet at the same time I was intensely horned up by it.


"Yes daddy," I said when he finally let me off his cock. "Your cum is
delicious."


"I bet, faggot. Want some more?"


"Of course, daddy."


Dre regarded the used fleshlight for a moment, then his eyes lit up.


"You'll love this," he said with a grin.


He stuck his dick back into the toy, but only a little bit, and held it
there. I thought he was going to fuck another load into it, but he just
waited. A small sigh escaped his mouth. A few seconds later, he pulled out,
and I realized he'd been pissing into the silicone sleeve. He held it over
my face.


"Open up."


I opened my mouth and he turned the toy over, pressing the entrance against
my open lips. A strong brew of piss, fresh cum, and dried cum, flowed into
my mouth. I did my best not to gag, but the flavor was so strong I couldn't
help myself.


"Eating pussy makes you sick, huh bitch?" Dre laughed.


He repeated this process until he was done pissing: fill up the toy, dump
it in my mouth, over and over. It probably took a dozen times. Each load
was less intense than the last, and by the end it was just regular piss,
almost flavorless.


Finally, Dre set the toy on his desk. He kicked off his gym shorts and
underwear, which were still around his ankles, and rifled through his
wallet. He handed me his student ID.


"Do my laundry like a good bitch," he said, gesturing around the
room. "Sheets and shit too. Don't come back until it's done. I'm gonna
FaceTime my girl."


Dre turned away from me and opened his laptop. Apparently I was dismissed
for now.


I stood up, my knees cracking from spending so much time on the linoleum
floor. There was a portable hamper next to his closet, filled almost to the
brim. I grabbed all the dirty clothes from the floor and stuffed them into
it. I stripped the bed of its filthy top sheet and pulled the case off his
only pillow. A towel hung over one bedpost, smelling of mildew, so I added
that to the pile.


I found the laundry room in the basement of the building. It was empty but
a couple of the dryers were running. I separated Dre's clothes into whites
and colors and stuffed them into two washers. I'd gotten so much dick
lately I didn't even feel the need to perv on his underwear. Dre's ID had
plenty of money on it, so I put the linens and towel in a separate machine.


With time to kill, I fucked around on my phone. I gave Carson his daily
update, going into detail since I knew he'd enjoy hearing about my
debasement. Claudia had sent me a few memes, and my high school friend
group chat had blown up over the news that one of our classmates had
dropped out of college. I was so engrossed by my phone that I didn't even
notice someone else had entered the room.


It was another hot white jock. Unclear which sport. He was wearing a
backwards cap, t-shirt, grey sweatpants, and flip flops, the typical jock
getup. He gathered up his laundry from the dryers and tossed it all in a
bag, not bothering to fold anything. As he worked, I surreptitiously
checked him out, noticing a nice bulge in those sweats. Then the buzzer
went off on one of my machines and he looked over, catching me perving. He
rolled his eyes and quickly left.


God, I'm gross.


An hour later, Dre's clothes were washed, dried, and folded. When I got
back to his room, the door was ajar, and no one was home. But I saw his
phone on the desk, so he couldn't have gone far. I got to work putting away
his clothes, trying to find places for everything in his completely
unorganized dresser. I made the bed, and just as I was finishing, Dre
returned in just a towel, his hair wet, clearly having just showered. He
looked around at my handiwork.


"Good job bitch," he said, then dropped his wet towel to the ground. His
dick was hard. "Get your clothes off and get on the bed. Time to try that
pussy."


Here we go again.


He wagged his dick impatiently. I quickly stripped off my jeans and
t-shirt. I'd worn a jockstrap to keep my dick out of the way since Dre
seemed grossed out by it. I left that on and climbed onto his bed on my
hands and knees.


Dre got into bed behind me and smacked his dick on my ass a few times. I
felt him spread my cheeks apart and examine my asshole. I hadn't been
fucked in a while, so I was excited to get Dre inside me. He spat and I
felt it slid down my ass into my hole.


"That's a nice looking pussy, bitch. Glad to see it's smooth."


I had taken to shaving everything downstairs recently. Carson never
remarked on it, but I assumed that most straight guys, if they were going
to fuck a dude, wouldn't be too keen on hair, and while I wasn't
particularly hairy it was a small price to pay to get plowed by these
studs.


Dre spit on my hole once more, then I felt him begin to push in. He wasn't
slow about it at all; he just shoved the whole thing in, one hard
thrust. It hurt like a bitch and I screamed involuntarily at the searing
pain.


"AHHHHHHHH FUCK!"


"Oh shit, you good?"


"Lube please, daddy."


"Aight bet, I got you."


He reached over me and grabbed a bottle of hand lotion from the
dresser. Fucking straight guys. He pumped it several times and slicked up
his cock. When he pressed in again, it still hurt, but not nearly as badly,
and soon he was buried balls deep in my ass.


He lingered for a moment. I didn't dare look back, but I could hear his
breath catch.


"Holy shit," Dre said. "This shit tight as fuck. No wonder Conway's always
talking about his bitch's pussy."


I beamed at the thought that Carson bragged about me. Dre began to thrust
in and out, almost all the way, and while the lotion wasn't the best lube,
his dick felt fucking great.


The man could fuck, I'll give him that. And I hadn't been fucked in a
while, so even though he wasn't as big as Carson, he made me feel full and
used in the best way. As he railed me, Dre kept up a constant stream of
dirty talk.


"Fuck yeah, bitch, take that big dick. You like this Delta dick up your fag
pussy? Fuck yeah you do, dumb little faggot loves getting straight frat boy
cock up his tight hole. Fuck! Wish my girl could take my cock up her ass
like you, she'd be crying if I went this hard. Yeah, take it, take that
cock!"


And so on. He fucked me in doggie for at least half an hour before his pace
picked up and with a mighty roar he shot his load into me. For a guy who'd
already cum at least 6 times in the past 24 hours, it didn't feel like he
was cumming any less.


Dre pushed me down onto the bed and lay on top of me, his dick still rock
hard and thrusting slightly as he caught his breath.


"You like that bitch?" he whispered into my ear.


"Yes daddy," I moaned. "Thank you for nutting inside me."


"You're a lucky fucking faggot to get filled with my kids."


"Yes daddy, so lucky!"


Dre's assault on my ass didn't stop. He kept fucking, not as hard as
before, as he lay on top of me. A good old-fashioned prone bone. Then he
grabbed the pillow under my head, wrenched it out from under me, and put it
on my shoulders. I felt his weight return and realized he was lying on his
elbows as he continued to hump my butt.


Then I heard the unmistakable ring of an outgoing FaceTime call.


"Daddy!" a very familiar voice called out.


"Conway! What's up dude? How's Cancun?"


"Fuckin' lit, bro! You dudes are missing out!." I could hear in Carson's
voice that he was drunk.


"Say less."


"How's the fag treating you?"


"Got my dick buried in his pussy right now, bro. Just got him pregnant for
the first time after feeding him like 10 loads last night and today. You
weren't kidding, this shit is tight as fuck!"


Carson cackled on the other end of the phone. "Let me see."


Dre shifted his weight so one hand was on the bed and began fucking deep
thrusts, all the way in and out. He was showing off, so I moaned
dramatically with each thrust to add to the fantasy.


"Fuck yeah dude, pound my fag's pussy," Carson said. "Let me talk to him."


Even after all I'd been through, nothing made me happier than when Carson
referred to me as his.


Dre shifted his weight again and his phone shakily came into my field of
vision. He had my face pressed sideways against the bed but I could clearly
see a huge grin on Carson's handsome face. He was standing on a hotel
balcony, a little sunburned, shirtless and hot as ever. I could have cum
just from looking at him.


"You havin' fun, bitch?"


"Yes sir," I moaned. Dre's dick was hitting the spot. "Thank you for
sharing me."


"You're fucking welcome. You gonna be a good fag bitch for the boys all
week?"


"Yes sir!"


"Good boy."


I beamed. Dre withdrew his phone.


"Yo Dre," Carson continued. "Teddy said you fed him your piss and cum out
of a fleshlight. Fucking nasty, bro!"


"Bet," Dre replied with a laugh. "Probably had a few dozen dried loads in
there too."


"Savage!"


"You know it."


"You switched to his mouth again since you knocked the bitch up?"


Dre paused his fucking for a second, deep inside me.


"Wait for real bro?"


"Oh fuck yeah. The faggot loves some ass to mouth action."


"Bro, I *always* wanted to do that shit!" I could hear the excitement in
Dre's voice. "My girl barely lets me in her ass ever and that shit looks so
nasty in porn!"


"Get to it, bud. I gotta run anyway. Have fun!"


"You know it. Thanks for the pussy, bro!"


Dre ended the call and pulled out of me. I could feel the bed shift as he
dismounted. Suddenly, his dick was in my face.


"Clean me off, fag."


I took his hard, slimy dick into my mouth and nursed it. The taste of the
lotion wasn't great, but I had long ago come to terms with Carson's
penchant for ass-to-mouth action. And Jake Thorn had scared the shit out of
me--literally and figuratively--to the point that I was so meticulous I had
no worries about my own cleanliness.


"Fuck yeah, that's so fucking gross. You really will do anything for me,
won't you bitch?"


"Yeth daddy," I said with my mouth full of Dre's uncut cock.


After he was satisfied with my cleaning, Dre began to climb back onto the
bed, then stopped.


"Dude!" he cried out. "Your little dick is leaking onto my clean
sheets. Stupid fucking fag!"


It certainly didn't come as a surprise to me. He'd been giving me that good
dick. My body responded. I couldn't help myself. But of course I apologized
abjectly.


"I'm so sorry daddy! Your dick is hitting all the right spots and it feels
so good!"


This seemed to mollify him, at least momentarily. Dre looked at the pouch
of my jockstrap, bulging as a result of his efforts, however inadvertent,
and seemed slightly disgusted. But then his eyebrows shot up as an idea
formed. He stepped away and rummaged around in a drawer out of my
sightline. When he returned, he handed me a silver tube.


It was another fleshlight.


"Stick your dicklet in that and lie down," he ordered. "At least that way
you won't mess up my fucking sheets."


Dre turned away so he wouldn't have to watch. I took the fleshlight and
examined it quickly. This one was pristine, clean as a whistle, and the
opening was a mouth rather than a pussy. I was touched that he'd loan me
this and give me even begrudging pleasure, and also confused as to why he
abused his other fleshlight and let this one be. But I wasn't about to look
a gift horse in the mouth.


I pulled the pouch of my jock to the side and let me cock free. Dre wasn't
wrong: I was leaking like a faucet, so I spread some of my precum over my
dick and then plunged into the sleeve. It felt awesome. I may be a bottom
but I am still a man: my dick still loves a tight hole, and here was the
best substitute for a human orifice money could buy.


Once I was inside, I laid my upper body down and pushed my ass up, a
version of child's pose, so the fleshlight didn't dig into my stomach. I
told Dre I was ready, and he turned back and jumped back in bed. Within
seconds he was inside me again.


Then he proceeded to fuck me.


And fuck me.


And fuck me.


Dre spent the next few hours fucking three more loads into me, and two out
of me.


It was *insane.*


His stamina was incredible.


For someone who'd never fucked a dude before, and apparently only
occasionally even got anal from his girlfriend, the man went fucking HAM.


My first load came out before his next one. Dre's initial return to my ass
was hard and rough, long strokes that made it seem like he had a point to
prove. The novelty of the fleshlight around my dick coupled with the A+
pounding I was receiving had me busting into silicone within a few minutes.


Dre didn't seem to notice.


He kept going, dumping another load into me soon thereafter, then making me
clean his cock, at which point I thought maybe we were done. Hardly. He
jumped right back in bed and kept on railing my ass. At some point he put
the pillow back over my head and shoulders and laid on top of me, watching
porn on his phone as he rutted.


I'll be honest: I lost myself. I was a wet noodle, overcooked, pliable, my
mind mushy from the overwhelming and relentless input of sensations. I
think he pumped four more loads into me but it could have been five or
six. Maybe I came more than twice. I couldn't say with any certainty, I was
so fucked out.


When he finally dumped that last nut into me, he hopped off the bed and
gave a triumphant whoop. I opened my mouth to receive his cock once again;
it had become a routine after each nut. But instead he smacked my ass hard
and dropped into his desk chair. When I looked back at him, he was covered
in sweat again, his chest rising and falling with effort after his marathon
exertions.


"That'll do for now, bitch. That ass is getting a little loose."


I found myself apologizing. "I'm sorry daddy."


"No sweat bitch. You took it like a champ."


Dre was smiling, pleased with himself. He'd warmed up to me over the course
of our day together, and while I was still bitch, faggot, and other
unspeakable names, it seemed the edge to his treatment of me had been
sanded away by his appreciation of my eagerness and obedience.


I turned to my side and let my legs uncurl from under me, my knees cracking
as they finally straightened for the first time in hours. The fleshlight
slid off suddenly. I saw Dre's eyes harden as he noticed so I quickly
pulled my jock back over my now only half-hard dick, abused as it was in
its own way.


He stood up and grabbed the toy.


"You nut in this?"


I considered lying for a second, as I had defiled his fleshlight
repeatedly, but the evidence was there. So instead I nodded gingerly.


"Yes daddy," I said in a small voice. "Twice."


Dre looked into the opening of the toy, then let out a huge guffaw and
cackled with laughter. I'd never seen him so animated.


"Oh shit, bitch," he said while trying to catch his breath from cracking
up. "That's exactly what my uptight pussy of a roommate deserves!'


Then he pulled open his roommate's underwear drawer and dropped the ruined
toy in the back.


"Can you believe they stuck me with a dude on the golf team? Fucking golf!"


***


I wish I could tell you that the rest of my time with Dre was as intense
and cum-filled as the first 24 hours. And while I still got a few more
loads, even a stud like him could only nut so many times in a day.


After our marathon fuck session, it was dinner time, so Dre dismissed me
for a couple hours when he went to eat wings and watch more basketball with
the other freshmen brothers. I spent about half that free time in the
shower, letting the hot water run over me and soothe my aching bones. Then,
realizing I was ravenously hungry, I went to the dining hall and gorged
myself on pasta before they closed.


I was summoned back to Delta, and while I didn't go there with what I would
call reluctance, I was also concerned about how much more I could
take. When I'd examined my asshole after Dre's onslaught, it stung a
little. I could put up with a lot, but like it or not I did have a human
body with physical limits.


I found Dre in Barker's room again, playing another video game. He paused
it when he saw me, stood up, and dropped his sweats.


"Kneel."


I dropped to my knees, feeling a twinge of pain in each as they were
perhaps the second-most abused part of me after my asshole. Dre's dick
wasn't hard, so I wrapped my lips around it and began to suck. He held my
head in place and stopped me, then fed me a big load of his piss. The dude
had caught on quick. When he'd finished, instead of letting me get to work
on his cock, he pulled up his pants and went to leave the room.


"Just chill here," he said dismissively as he shut the door.


From what I could hear, the guys were playing pong and other drinking games
downstairs. I spent the rest of the night sitting in that room waiting
around for Dre. It was boring, absolutely, but I was also thankful to have
some time to just relax, let my throat and ass heal, and not live in a
heightened state of horniness.


Eventually, Dre returned, drunk once again. He fed me more beer piss,
tasteless now, then gave me a quick, lazy facefuck. Once his cum was in my
belly, he flopped onto the bed.


"Shoes off," he murmured.


I pulled his sneakers and socks off, and for good measure his sweatpants
too. Dre's eyes were closed, and by the time I'd disrobed him, I could hear
him snoring lightly. He looked peaceful and childlike. Feeling very much
like the roles were now somehow reversed, I tucked him in and turned out
the lights.


I slept in the recliner that night, and woke to a hard dick slapping my
cheek. When my eyes adjusted to the light, I saw Dre standing above me,
dressed in gym clothes, a yawn crossing his face. I opened my mouth and he
slid in, then grabbed the back of my head and pounded a final load into my
throat. When he was done he softened and gave me his morning piss, then
slapped my cheek lightly.


"This was fun, fag," he said in a scratchy morning voice. "More fun than I
expected. You did good."


With that, he shuffled out of the room.


I laid there for a second, disoriented and confused. Was that it? Was I
dismissed? Had I survived the first of my five trials this week?


Based on the fact that Dre never returned to the room, I had to say I did.


I waited a while, but eventually it was clear he wasn't returning. I
gathered up my things and snuck, or so I thought, out the back door. When I
opened it, I was blinded by the light then shocked by the swarm of activity
in the backyard. Pallets of lumber filled the parking lot, and various
pieces of heavy equipment littered the yard. An excavator was already
pulling the old deck apart.


The freshmen brothers were lugging torn up pieces of the deck to a
dumpster. Each was sweatier than the next, and if my libido wasn't worn to
pieces I would have had to stop and gawk. As it was, I scurried away before
anyone saw me. Or so I thought.


"Oy!" a voice called out. I stopped and turned. Hassan jogged up to me. A
blue Under Armour t-shirt highlighted his muscles. I could see sweat
dripping down his brow. As he approached me he threw an arm around my
shoulders. It seemed friendly until I felt his grip on me tighten and he
wheeled me out of view of the backyard.


"I'll come get you at noon. You're in Balland right?"


His breath was hot and insistent in my ear.


I gulped.


"Yes sir," I said as I looked up at him.


"Good."


He gave me a smug look. I saw in it darkness and excitement. It scared
me. It turned me on.


"We'll start your training then."


TO BE CONTINUED...


***


UP NEXT: As Teddy's Spring Break of service to the Delta freshmen
continues, he wonders if he's bitten off more than he can chew...


***


Yeah, yeah, yeah. This took forever. No shit. It's also super long and
complicated and only part one of two or probably three! I hope it was worth
the wait.


And yes, there will be a wait for the next part. Please don't ask when
it'll be done. I have no idea. This is a hobby for me, and while I love
writing it, I have other shit going on too. Feeling like I'm on a deadline
is NOT good motivation for me.


That said, hearing from readers has certainly kept me going. You guys have
given me great support, comments, and suggestions. Keep 'em coming:
elliottpatterson02@gmail.com