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).
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Accepting the Petey within, part three - fraternity life, my boy, 2 of 2
I have my own room. A bit of a luxury for a freshman and a newly inducted frat brother, but all the brothers want me to have my privacy. Of course, they could care less about my privacy; they do care about their privacy when they visit my room (again, more later). The common, second-floor bathroom is next to my room and has an entrance off the hallway. The only other door in the bathroom connects to my room. Very convenient for brothers who prefer not to be seen entering directly into my room.
Once inside my room, I remove my t-shirt, use it to wipe the cum off my face and lay back on my bed. Now I can re-live my downstairs encounter for my enjoyment. (If a guy silently pulls down his own pants and waits, not only does he want a straightforward blow job, but he has no interest in my pulling my cock out and having any fun.) I find the wet spot on the front of my t-shirt and shove it in my mouth. The salty taste and musky odor bring me right back to the pantry.
"My boy" (I will probably never get a name) is meeting Gary, a junior frat brother, so I assume he's about 20. I'd guess around 5'10", 180 pounds, and pretty solid – at least the little I saw naked. He clearly decided to exercise first and shower later, as his crotch had that day-old smell of man sweat that can get me dripping precum in an instant.
Since I am rock hard now, I kick off my sneaks, loosen my belt, unbutton my jeans and slip them off. I always take my clothes off, since I never know where my self-stimulation sessions will take me and I hate being overdressed, should I decide to take myself somewhere new. Besides, it's a free afternoon; I've finished my schoolwork and most of my cleaning.
Me? In a word – small. Only 5'4", only 120 pounds – like I stopped growing after eighth grade. A full head of blond hair that I keep on the longer side, so it brushes against the lower part of the back of my neck and I can hook it behind my ears, slightly wavy at that length. Sparse, light blond hair in my armpits and genital area (so light that it is hardly noticeable) – a source of more than a little ridicule in every locker room in which I've ever been forced to change. Needless to say, I was not much for communal showers in high school. Otherwise, totally smooth. My dick, more like a roll of dimes soft (not that it is ever soft). My balls, freakishly large and low hanging compared to my tiny prick – think two walnuts in a thin sack hanging down twice as far as my soft cock. Also, another source of ridicule, but that can wait. I need some release.
The redhead's cum stain on my t-shirt is mixing with my saliva. Back and forth I rub my nipples, which are amazingly sensitive, with the stretched thumb and pinky of my left hand and my right hand finds its way to my cock. Hard, I am clearly a "grower" and my balls now seem more in proportion. And all mine - and I can pleasure it like no other. (And I am good at pleasuring others.)
I am back on my knees in the pantry, taking my redhead's prick in my mouth, all the way to the thick base, so my nose is buried in his red bush. His erect penis fits nicely into my trained mouth and I am able to hold him all the way in and, with swallowing-type motions, can massage the plump head of his prick while keeping the suction on full force. Slowly I move my head off and back on him, slightly turning my head side-to-side to stimulate all of him. Even though he remains silent, I know I am getting to him and my sole purpose becomes pleasuring this stranger.
My nipples swell in response to my expert manipulation, while my cock almost bursts after just a few twisting strokes. I have to let that bad boy rest, so I focus both hands on my nipples for several minutes of self-stimulation – which, as always, leads to self-torture. I take myself past comfort and have to rein my thoughts into staying in the pantry and not going to other, hotter encounters – both real and imagined. I must get the most out of my redhead first.
When I reach my tit torture threshold, my left hand grabs my ball sac and starts to pull it up. The fingers of my right hand find my clenched asshole. While most might be protective of a potential ass assault, my response to any probing finger remotely near my anus is to relax and enjoy. My index finger slides in comfortably and I begin to rock my pelvis so that each forward thrust takes more of my finger up my ass and each backward move puts more tension on my already stretched ball sac. I don't have enough hands and this simply will not satisfy my current level of horny. Hurriedly, I get up, slip on the pair of shorts that are on top of my clothes basket, pull the wet t-shirt over my head, and run to the common room barefoot. I need my redhead.
He is right where I left him.