My Place in the Frat- Chapter 1
All characters and events are fictional. All relationships, including those involving domination and submission, need to be consensual and safe.
It feels weird to start this story anywhere other than the beginning, so that's what I'll do. My name's Billy and I'm a 6'1", lanky-ass gay kid., and this story starts when most boys turn into men: college. At 18, I really had no idea what to expect for college. It would be my first time living alone, and in my mind, college was a chance to start fresh. Late in high school, I decided to come out to some friends and family but was still largely in the closet. I figured college was my chance to live life as an openly gay man and be respected for it. At least the first part of my wish came true.
That summer, I got a notification that my roommate was some guy named Joe. He was a football player back in his Texas hometown and was huge into sports. "Great," I figured, "another straight asshole that will probably make some homophobic comments and move after the first semester." He messaged me first to introduce himself and ask what we each were bringing to the dorm. As we got talking, he actually didn't seem so bad. I felt like he was treating me like "one of the guys." Hell, we might turn out to be buddies.
Our college was in Montana. I wasn't thrilled about being in a red state, but I knew that this school had a reputable English program. The last weeks of my summer flew by and August 20 really snuck up on me. My family pulled up to my dorm building and, within a few hours, I had my entire life packed into half of a tiny room. My parents left and I decided I'd take my first opportunity to let loose: I unpacked my speaker and started blasting some Britney. It felt so freeing, letting my feminine side out, confident that today I would start living life as my authentic self.
"Nice music, man." My stomach dropped. The voiceÑdeep and cocky, the kind of voice that belongs to someone who's just a little flirtatious with every conversationÑcame from behind. I turned around and saw my roommate standing in the doorway. I had seen pictures of Joe online and new he was a football player, but I wasn't prepared. He was a couple inches taller than me still, but much wider set. He wasn't chubby, just big-boned, and his presence sort of commanded the room. He was a guy that was clearly sculpted by testosterone (not really something I could relate to).
"Oh ha ha, thanks. It's just shuffling on some pop playlist, I don't even know what this song is," I quickly replied, lying through my teeth. I'm not sure why, but I didn't think Joe would be thrilled if our first interaction was him finding out I was gay. It hadn't come out in the messages this summer, and I figured there would be a better time to disclose it. "I don't have premium, so I just have to choose playlists and let it shuffle through. I have to deal with ads too." Here I was, spinning unnecessary details of a lie to cover my tracks. How did I actually expect to live as an openly gay man if I couldn't come out to this guy I barely knew?
"No worries man. My sister loves Britney so it didn't bother meÑjust funny timing is all." I breathed a sigh of relief. He continued, "So my plan is to move my stuff in, but I could use some help. My family couldn't help today so it's just me and I have ton of stuff in my car. Can you lend a hand?"
"Yeah, of course," I said, only half-enthusiastically since I'd moved all my own stuff in that day. But this man was asking for my help, and something about our interaction made me feel like it was my duty to help him.
We walked down to his car and he popped his trunk. It was packed with pretty much everything you'd expect a straight dude to bring to college: tacky booze merch, posters of half-naked women, and a shit ton of sports equipment. Box by box, I walked up Joe's stuff behind him. On the stairs, I noticed how thick his ass was. The kind that football pants highlighted best: big, not effeminate or showy, but one that still drew my eyes every time it came into view. That's the thing about men and their assesÑthey didn't think twice about it or how people saw it. To them, it's just an ass, used for sitting and about one other thing.
"Almost done," Joe said, snapping me back to reality. "Just my football gear."
"Ah, I'll let you get that," I conceded. There was something too personal about carrying his football gear, and I was afraid even having him see me with it would tip my hand. "Probably reeks anyway."
"Aww c'mon man, it'll be just like after a big game," he joked. He clearly thought I knew that world and had experienced the masculine energy that dominated after a football game. Who was I to ruin that image?
As I approached his trunk, I went to grab the shoulder pads and jersey, but Joe grabbed those first. All that was left was a small box with his cleats, socks, and jocks in them. He didn't make a joke or even acknowledge it, so it felt weird for me to acknowledge it. I grabbed the box and immediately realized how right I had been: this reeked. The smell of man feet and crotch wafted upward, and I quickly experienced more of my roommate than I had expected. It was a pungent, masculine smell and it made me weak in the knees. I couldn't show it to Joe, though.
Back in our room, I threw this box of fag-gold into a corner. He unpacked for the next few hours, putting the posters of naked women right over his bed. "This will really set the mood when I bring guys back," I thought to myself with a chuckle.
We went out to dinner that night with some people from our floor, and a couple of the older guys invited us to come play Madden in their room. Hoping to make some friends, I agreed, and Joe and I showed up to their room around 7. The three guys all knew a lot about Madden; I mostly kept quiet and nodded along, hoping nobody would notice that I knew very little about this game. I had played enough video games to fake my way through it, albeit horribly, and Joe and I ended up losing to the older guys.
"Well, I'll make sure Billy here practices a ton so that he doesn't lose games for us in the future," said Joe laughing and putting his hand on my shoulder.
"Yeah guys, come around any time," added one of the older boys.
Joe and I went back to our room and I started putting on my sleep shorts when Joe said, "Hey, you think you're going to bed? We have to practice this if we're gonna win next time!"
"Oh shit, I didn't think you were serious," I laughed, hoping he'd give it up.
"Dead serious. You think a high school football star is just going to let his Madden game slip that easily?" Joe looked me right in the eyes when he said this. He wasn't laughing.
"Alright Joe, we can play another game or two. Let me put on some music. Anything you like in particular?" I asked.
"Just a dad-rock playlist is good." I found some 80s mix and put it on my speaker, and we started to play. It was actually kind of fun: we listened to some rock music and joked about some of the people on the floor. Joe would do a bit of trash-talking about my game every now and then, but it didn't feel mean-spirited. More like a big brother teasing his little brother, but still with an air of protectiveness.
We were about thirty minutes into the game and Joe was kicking my ass. He paused it during one of the plays.
"You know what's weird? I haven't heard one commercial this entire time." I wasn't sure what Joe meant by this.
"Hm?" I asked, still focused on my next play.
"When I came in today you said you didn't have premium, but I haven't heard a single commercial. It seems like you really do have premium. Which means you were blasting Britney on purpose and lied to me."
I dropped my controller. It was over.
"Okay, so Britney is a bit of a guilty pleasure for me," I confessed, hoping he would let it slide.
"That's cool man, I knew a few gay kids in high school. Your secret's safe with me," he said.
I didn't know how to respond. "Oh, I'm not reallyÉ"
"Shut up," Joe cut me off. "There is one thing I'm not cool with, and that's people not owning up to who they are and what they want."
"I understand Joe," I said. I don't know why, but I had suddenly taken a very submissive tone with him.
"Good. I don't want you to feel like you can't be you around me. I know what boys like you want and I'm okay with it. In fact, since I'm one of the "good" straight guys, I want to help you out. How'd you like to blow me?"
"Joe, I don't know. Don't you think that's a bad way to start off as friends?" I asked.
"Billy, I don't want you to get the wrong impression. You and I can't be friends now. I'm what you faggots call an `alpha,' and it's not appropriate for an alpha to be friends with a faggot." The sudden shift in language took me aback, but I knew it wasn't my place anymore to correct it. I nodded and let him go on.
"Good, you're learning to listen. So let me rephrase this so your little brain will understand. You're going to blow me, because you want to, and I'm willing to let you right now. Get on your knees."
Something took over in me, and I got off my chair and onto my knees. I sort of shuffled over to him and looked down, ashamed but ready for what was next.
"Eyes up here. You should know that men like eye contact when they're being served." I raised my eyes to meet his. I felt so vulnerable, like an object to him that he had complete power over. But I was also excited and wanted to get his cock in my mouth as soon as possible.
"Better. I'm going to finish this game. You were losing anyway and never really stood a chance, and this setup is way more natural. I'm a dude who plays video games, and you're a little queer whose purpose is sucking off dudes like me. You haven't earned that yet though, so just shove that little faggot nose in my crotch for now."
He lifted up from the chair enough to pull down his jeans, revealing his weathered boxers. Such a typical guy. I kept my eyes on him and slowly brought my head closer to his package. It wasn't fast enough clearly, and Joe grabbed the back of my head and shoved his balls under my nose.
"Smell those boy. That's what a real man smells like, and that's where you will learn to be happiest. These nuts are some real baby makers and I know you fags love that shit. Get a good whiff of your man. Learn who owns you." Joe was increasingly degrading with every sentence, but I didn't dare talk back now. I didn't dare jeopardize what I was about to do.
"Mhhm do you like that baby? Eyes up here, remember," prompted Joe. I obliged, sniffing his balls though his boxers and looking him in the eye. I must have looked pathetic to him, but I couldn't stop myself. I inhaled deeply and shook my ass a little, getting more into my role.
"Ooo, looks like the faggot does like that. Calm down girl, I'll give you what you want eventually, but you have to show me that you've earned it," he said. I gave a deep, audible whiff and another wiggle of my ass to show that I understood. "Now, your mouth. Show your man how much you want him in you so he can decide if your mouth is worthy of the real thing."
I opened my mouth and started munching, licking, and suckling on his package through his boxers. The fabric was the only thing between me and his manhood, and I hated the fabric for it. It took everything in my power not to rip off those boxers and grab the real thing in my mouth, but I knew Joe had not given permission. I kept up the action on his crotch, looking up at him and showing him how grateful I was to taste even the sweat through his underwear.
"That's it, show me what a slutty little bitch you are. Show Daddy how happy you are to smell and taste him, and how grateful you are to have a man to give you orders. To show you your place." He would look down at me every now and then, but mostly he would play his game and spit derogatory words at me. He called me a faggot, queer, bitch, slut, and girl, among other things, but none of them felt uncalled for. To him, I wanted to be all those things, and I would start by showing his crotch the respect it deserved.
"Okay bitch, I think that mouth is ready for the real thing." He whipped out his cock and I couldn't contain my drool. It was probably 8 inches and thick, a real man's tool, and I instinctively brought it to my nose and took a whiff.
"What a cockwhore, smelling your man without permission." Slap. His cock whipped across my check and I knew that I had done something wrong.
"I'm sorry, Joe." Another slap.
"Sir, or Daddy. Never Joe; we are not friends, remember?" Joe reminded me with a sneer.
"Yes, sir," I replied. "May I please suck it, sir?" I asked, begging.
"You may, but no teeth and you better show me how much you want it," Joe warned. I knew he was serious.
I took the head into my mouth and suckled on it a bit, feeling natural in my place before this man. I wanted to be soft and receptive for Joe; he was a man who had needs and it was my responsibility to make him feel like a king. To give him what he deserved and nothing less. Pretty soon, the head wasn't enough for me, and I took the whole thing into my mouth. His pubes brushed up against my face, but he didn't seem self-conscious about it. He was the man after all, and the hair was a reminder that this service was for his pleasure, not mine.
Up and down I bobbed on his cock, every now and then giving a wiggle of my ass to show Joe how much I wanted him with my whole body. Joe would snicker every time I did this, seeing his slut shamelessly put on a show for her man. Shit, "her." I was even starting to think of myself as the feminine one in the relationship.
After a while, I would switch up the pace. I started to slow down and go full deep-throat on his cock, and when I was at his base I'd look up to him. When he did look down from his game, he would smile, and that encouraged me to keep going. I only wanted to make him keep smiling, and if being a little slut would do it, then I'd oblige.
Heavy breathing. Shifting in his chair. I noticed that Joe's mood was changing and he was focusing less on his game. He hit pause and grabbed my head, taking full control.
"Okay baby, you're about to get what you want most. Are you ready?"
I looked up at him with his cock in my mouth and did a quick nod. My words weren't necessary right now, and his cock was the most important thing in that moment. And I don't really think my answer mattered that much to him anyway.
"That's a good girl. Swallow every drop of Daddy's load or you'll learn the hard way." I kept up my sucking and he pulled me in close. I felt his muscles tense, felt him shove my head hard against his pubes, and felt a pumping in his cock. Soon, my throat was filled with his seed and I felt it filling up my mouth.
"Fuck yeah baby, take them. Daddy's gift to you." I didn't dare open my mouth in fear of spilling a drop. When Joe finished, he pulled his cock out and wiped it against my nose and cheeks. I swallowed the load.
A swift slap to the face with his hand. "I told you to swallow but I didn't tell you when. You should have savored that, faggot," said Joe, correcting my behavior.
"I'm so sorry, sir." I felt awful. "It won't happen again."
Joe agreed. "You're damn right it won't. Now, I'm done with you queer. Don't forget that you're only useful when I need you, otherwise you would do well to stay out of my way. I still expect you to treat me like an alpha though, which means, from now on, you'll bring me meals when I want them and do my laundry without me reminding you. And to motivate you, I'll show you want dirty laundry means for you.
He stood up and walked over to the box I had carried in earlier. He pulled out an old jock that hadn't been washed since his last game. He brought it over to me and pulled it over my head, with the crotch covering my nose.
"You're going to sleep like this. If you wake up with that off, you'll be sorry. And if you think about touching your little fag body to the smell of your man, think againÑthis is to teach you a lesson, not reward you. If you forget to do my laundry, you'll find yourself in this position: tormented by my junk, but unable to get relief. Now, off to bed for you slut." And with a slap on my ass, Joe left me to crawl into bed with his jock on my face and a boner that I couldn't touch.
Stay tuned for Part 2. Feedback, positive or constructive, welcome at billytheslutwriter@gmail.com.