Disclaimers
This story is a work of fiction. It contains descriptions of sexual contact between males. If you are not of legal age to read such material, or if you find this subject offensive, please leave and do not read on. Safer sex techniques (i.e., use of condoms, etc.) have not been included for the sake of storytelling technique. Real life, however, is not storytelling; and condoms should be used without fail during anal intercourse and other high-risk activities (even you boys on PrEP and you undetectable guys).
All rights reserved. This story is copyrighted by the author and commercial use is prohibited without the express permission of the author. No part of this story may be reproduced or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.
The author would appreciate any comments or questions you might have about the story. Constructive criticism preferred. Please contact artefice@softhome.net.
Accepting the Petey within, part one - fraternity life, my boy, 1 of 2
Author's note: You are joining the middle of this story. There is past history and there will be future history, but fear not. Just sit back and enjoy a sex story. Character development will follow – I promise. And now...
I was sitting in the middle of the empty fraternity house common room. It was a large room. Like those inexplicably large fraternity common rooms in the movies. Ours used to be a sitting room in front of the dining room, but someone took down the non-weightbearing dividing wall. A dining table still sat in the rear of the room, but most of it was occupied by a goodly number of chairs. Low, round, cushioned chairs on wheels. The kind I associate with Gentlemen's Clubs.
The chairs' moveability was a real asset. Chairs could be grouped around tables for card games or they could all face forward to watch the enormous-screen TV.
This Saturday afternoon, someone had placed them in small groupings. That someone also had placed a table with a built-in pole lamp in the center of the room, between two chairs. The lamp cord plus the two required extension cords really created a trip hazard.
Regardless, I was seated in one of the two chairs next to the table with a built-in pole lamp – light on, reading Herman Hesse's Siddhartha. I had read it as a high school freshman and decided it was my favorite book. I was re-reading it because I couldn't remember why it was my favorite book.
Author's note: Hang in there. The sex is coming.
So, a guy I've never seen walks in the house, enters the common room and sits it the chair on the other side of the table with the built-in pole lamp.
"Petey, right?", he says.
"It's Pete."
"Get me the remote, Petey." I sense a sneer in his voice and my dick starts to swell.
Without a thought, I stand and walk across the common room to the remote (which is actually closer to him than to me). I pick it up, turn it so it faces him, and hand it to him. I stand there for a second, trying to imagine a nod of thanks. He doesn't even look at me. My dick is a rock.
I ask, "Can I get you anything else?"
"Beer."
I walk into the kitchen off the common room. He follows. I know what this means. I have never even seen this guy before. He is waiting for one of my frat brothers to come downstairs, so they can go to the gym together. I assume he know my name because my frat brother has told him about me. He has followed me into the kitchen, because he is a friend of a frat brother who wants a blow job from Petey.
I continue through the kitchen and into the narrow pantry just off the kitchen. The space is lined with shelves on the sides and back; the floor space probably not more than 1.5 feet wide by 4 feet deep – just enough width to turn around. I step in as far as I can, turn to face him and drop to my knees. He follows me in and doesn't even bother to shut the door behind him. He pulls his sweatpants and jockstrap down to mid-thigh. A thick, curly, red bush (which matches his thick, curly red hair) grows above an average-size dick (soft, it's like a roll of quarters) and slightly hairy, but smallish, balls. He shoves his crotch in my face.
I've developed a feel for the various scenarios that present themselves. If a guy silently pulls down his own pants and waits, he wants a straightforward blow job. No small talk. No "Yes, Sir" or "No, Sir". In fact, he'd rather there be no noise at all. I start in on his cock. Doesn't take long before he stiffens up and I am able to get a lot of suction and give him a quality blow job. I'm well practiced - I've been giving blow jobs for the last 8 of my 18 years (more on that later).
He gets into it and starts rocking back and forth to create a rhythm that must feel good to him, though he remains completely silent. He steadies himself by holding on to the vertical shelf supports. He never touches me. When I think he is getting too close, I stop and plan on spending a little time on his balls, but I am too late. No sooner do a pop one of those gumball-sized nuts into my mouth and start to tug on it than he makes "the noise".
I know this noise all too well. My boy has reached "the point of no return". He is about to come.
I can never predict how long this will last – the time from the beginning of "the point" to the actual ejaculation – too many factors contribute. I sit back on my haunches and reach up to grab his dick (which has actually not gotten much longer, though the head did plump up nicely and the shaft – especially the base - did increase in width, assuming the overall shape of a directional arrow).
I grab it backhanded – my fingers on top, my thumb on the bottom, forming a "C" if you look at my hand from the head of his penis. There is still plenty of my saliva on his dick, so I can twist my hand clockwise as I slide my hand toward the head. When I reach the head I flip my hand over it and assume a "backwards C". I slide my hand down to mid-shaft and squeeze. I am hoping the skin on his cut prick is loose enough to allow me to jerk him hard. I push my hand up to the base of his cock and his skin follows. Then, I milk him until my hand is just below the head of his dick, which I squeeze between my thumb and forefinger.
Despite his preference for no noise at all, my boy is whimpering – not so much a moan, as a moan which includes a request for mercy.
I give an exceptional hand job (more on that later) and my hand jobs do not include mercy.
I loosen my grip a tad and slide back up to the base, then milk down again. I am able to do this three times before my boy is ready to explode.
I reverse my stimulation. Now, as he attempts to shoot his load, I squeeze as I push back to the base of his shaft – opposite the direction his cum wishes to flow. My timing is impeccable and with each spurt traveling out, I am applying pressure in the opposite direction.
I own this boy. I direct his creamy load all over my face and t-shirt. I let go of his still swollen member. He grabs his dick in his right hand, takes a small step forward, then wipes the last drops off by rubbing the head of his prick across my lips (a much more interesting and hotter finale than I would have expected from this horny hetero).
He pulls up his clothing, turns and leaves me kneeling in the pantry. Based on the cum volume and the slightly fishy taste of his dick, I would guess he fucked his girlfriend the night before.
I lick my lips to taste his salty manjuice. I go out to the fridge and grab him a beer and take it out to him in the common room, where he has returned to the same chair.
"Thank you," I say. I say.
He says nothing. I head upstairs to my room.
P.S. On my way out of the room, I trip on the lamp extension cord and pull it out of the wall, probably bending the prongs. I lose my balance, but I grab the banister to break my impending fall.
My boy does not notice I tripped.
My boy does not notice the light he is sitting next to went out.
My boy does not notice I left the room.
My boy did not even notice I served him his beer with his cum still on my face.
My boy is a whole lot hotter than I expected.
Author's note: Lots more to follow. Also, I hope to revise this first chapter periodically to include character traits that develop as the work progresses. I think it will be fun to re-read in retrospect. Also, I will be reading my text (I suspect along with unscripted commentary). I will let you know when and where that audio will be available. Thanks for reading all the way to the end.