On Call Slut for the Frat Bro

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.

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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