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==ON CALL SLUT FOR THE FRAT BRO==
PREVIOUSLY:
As Carson stretched his beautiful body, he let out a loud fart, filling the room with a rank smell. He looked at me and giggled lewdly, breaking what had until then felt like an intimate moment between us.
"Thanks for the wake up call, bitch."
CHAPTER 3: Frat House Service
Thanksgiving was approaching, and like most undergrads I was heading home to see my family. I was excited to see them and my high school friends, but sad to have to spend even a long weekend away from Carson. A few days before break, he asked what my plans were, and when I told him, he said if there was any way I could come back to campus on the Saturday after the holiday instead of Sunday, to make it happen. He was staying on campus rather than flying all the way back to California for such a short trip, and wanted to take advantage of an empty frat house. I immediately boned up and said I'd see what I could do.
Am I a bad son for lying to my parents that I needed to be back to school early to work on a project? Probably, but the opportunity to service Carson in the Delta house was too good to pass up. I was taking the bus back and forth anyway, so it was no inconvenience to my parents, and as I'd quickly learned, the independence I'd grown to value at college made spending even a few days with my loving, doting family trying on my patience.
I told Carson I'd be back early Saturday afternoon, and his reply was swift and to the point.
"Text me when you're back in town. Gonna use you all day and night."
I could have cum from that text alone. Thanksgiving passed without incident and by Saturday morning I was so ready to leave I think my parents must have known something more than studying was up. The instant my bus rolled into the station, I texted Carson that I was back. He texted back right away.
"Drop off your shit and come over. Text me when here."
I made my way back to my dorm, which was creepy and quiet. I threw my bags on the floor, grabbed a backpack and a change of clothes (just in case), and practically sprinted across campus to frat row.
The Delta house loomed over the street silent and empty; with no students around it seemed almost haunted. Carson hadn't said where to go exactly, so I just walked up to the front door and texted him that I was there. A few minutes passed and finally the door opened. There he was, my god and master, in the flesh, wearing nothing but a flimsy pair of basketball shorts. I gaped.
"Come on in, bitch. I've been waiting," he said, bounding into the house and up a huge circular staircase. As I followed I took a quick glance around, having never been inside this house. It was similar to other frat houses I'd been in, though bigger, the downstairs mostly a series of rooms for partying, bedrooms upstairs. The floor was sticky and it smelled like a combination of testosterone, sweat, piss, and stale beer. For a mansion, it was pretty run-down inside, but I guess that's what you get when a few dozen 18 to 22 year-old bros live together for the express purpose of partying.
I followed Carson upstairs and down a hallway, toward the back of the house. He was only a sophomore, so as a low man on the totem pole he shared a lesser room with his buddy Matt, a fellow hockey player. A deep dive into social media had led me to learn about the other dudes in Carson's frat. Not all of them had such pristine, locked-down profiles as my master.
His room was a pig sty. It was bigger than a dorm room, with both beds lofted above a couch, a Lay-Z-Boy, and a couple of desks. A thin plywood wall separated the beds in the loft, which gave me a little insight into Carson's comfort with public sex. Across from the seating area was a big TV with a bunch of gaming consoles, wires and cords everywhere. Between the couch and recliner was a minifridge.
Dirty clothes, beer cans, Solo cups, empty food wrappers: shit was everywhere. Both boys' giant hockey bags sat near the ladders up to their beds, the ripe smell of sweat perfuming the room. I expected frat boys to be slobs, but this was next level.
Carson flopped down in the recliner, grabbed a controller from the pile and fired up Smash Bros. I stood in the doorway, salivating over his shirtless form, unsure what to do. He looked up from the game briefly and said "get to work bitch," waving his hand around the room.
My jaw must have dropped to the filthy floor. This is what he wanted me to come back early from Thanksgiving break for? To clean his room? I was willing to put up with a lot of humiliation, I had come to learn, to be close to this perfect specimen of manhood, but this was a bridge too far.
Then I glanced at Carson, saw him absently adjust his package while playing his video game, and forgot all about my complaints.
I began to come up with a plan of attack. First, I needed to get rid of the trash. Then I could focus on the dirty clothes. Then maybe if there was a vacuum cleaner anywhere in the house I could make the carpet visible under all the filth.
"Sir..." I began.
"What, fag?"
"Do you know where I can find cleaning supplies?"
"Fuck if I know. Maybe the kitchen?" He didn't even look up from his game.
Assuming that gave me license to leave the room, I headed downstairs and looked for the kitchen. The walls were lined with photo composites of each year's brotherhood. At the base of the stairs was last year's, Carson's own slightly younger face smiling at the camera with his signature cocky knowingness. I gave a cursory scan across the other brothers and saw plenty I'd happily service, but none, to my eyes, as hot as Him.
Past what was probably once a dining room, now devoted to a series of beer pong tables, I found the kitchen. It was surprisingly clean. I later learned the house had a full-time cook who, holidays aside, came in and made three meals a day. This was her domain. Off the kitchen was a large pantry full of dried goods, boxes of mac 'n' cheese and cereal, packages of ramen, jars of salsa, and every snack food known to man. There was also a shelf of cleaning supplies and garbage bags. I grabbed what I thought I needed.
Carson was still deep in his game, an open can of Natty Ice resting precariously on the armrest. I began picking up trash around the room, finding it practically everywhere I looked. At the foot of the couch I found a used condom, the remains of a load still inside. I picked it up gingerly, a combination of disgust and jealousy flowing over me. I wasn't sure whether to hope it was Carson's or Matt's.
These boys were disgusting, but I focused on Carson and being the good bitch I knew he wanted. At one point, to get to the other side of the room I had to cross between Carson and the TV, and when I heard the game pause I knew instantly I'd made a grave mistake.
"Faggot!" Carson bellowed, standing up from his chair, towering over me.
"Yes, sir?"
"When you walk past me, I can't see the TV. How am I supposed to play my game when I can't see the TV? Huh?"
"I'm so sorry sir! I was just trying to clean like you wanted!"
"Not good enough, bitch. You should know by now to crawl in my presence," he growled.
I didn't know that I was supposed to be crawling, but I instinctively dropped to my knees and began kissing his bare feet, groveling and apologizing profusely.
He let me do that for a minute, saying nothing. Then he kicked me away.
"Stay down there, head on the ground. You need to be punished."
Carson walked out of the room. I pushed my face into the grimy carpet. I heard him stomping downstairs, endured several minutes of silence, and when he finally returned in his hands was a long wooden paddle with the frat's letters burned into its surface. My stomach dropped.
"Look at me bitch," he said, grinning down at me. "When pledges fuck up, they get the paddle, and since you're not even close to a pledge, it seems to me you should get twice as much. How many swats do you think you deserve?"
My mind was racing. I knew if I guessed too low he'd punish me even more for being a wimp, but if I guessed too high I'd be dooming myself.
"Ten, sir?"
He chuckled. "Twenty it is, faggot."
Fear gripped me. Here was a huge, muscular, practically professional athlete, about to paddle my ass twenty times with a piece of wood probably meant for rowing a canoe. I'd never been so much as spanked during sex.
"Hands and knees, you little bitch. Don't look back. Count after each one."
I pulled myself up and almost immediately felt my jeans and underwear pulled down roughly. The air felt cool on my naked ass and then SMACK. A sharp jolt of pain coursed through my entire body and I let out a loud yelp and said "one."
"What else do you say bitch?" Carson snarled at me. Of course I knew what he meant.
"Thank you sir, may I please have another?" I shouted through gritted teeth.
The paddle came whipping back at my bare ass, the only warning a swift blast of air preceding its impact. SMACK. The sharpness was turning into a lingering burning sensation.
"Two. Thank you sir, may I please have another?"
"Good faggot." SMACK.
"Three! Thank you sir, may I please have another?"
The pain was already excruciating, my ass stinging worse with each successive hit. It felt like it was on fire. Tears ran down my face and all I could do to keep from openly sobbing was to grind my teeth and try to anticipate the next paddle. Four, five, six turned into seventeen, eighteen, then nineteen. Somehow, I made it to the end.
SMACK.
"Twenty!" I managed to squeak out. "Thank you sir, may I please have another?"
Carson chuckled behind me, and to my great relief I heard him drop the paddle. Not having been given permission to move, I stayed on all fours. I felt his big hands on my ass cheeks, heat coming off them like embers. I heard a low whistle.
"Damn, boy!" he laughed. "This ass is RED!"
He gave my right cheek a light smack, enough to make me let out a little yip. Then I felt him rub his package against my ass, his dick clearly hard under his shorts. For a moment I wondered if he was gonna fuck me. We'd never talked about anal sex, and between having had my ass paddled halfway to death and Carson's considerable size, I began to worry.
Carson had other ideas, though. Taking either side of my hips, he quickly rolled me over so I was lying on my back, my bare butt painfully resting on the carpet. I saw him step around me until he was hovering over my head facing my feet. He'd whipped his shorts off and before I knew it that massive tool I loved so much was punching at my lips. I opened my mouth and found myself quickly at the end of a rapid, violent throatfuck.
This was a new position for us, and the angle actually made it easier for Carson to slide his full length into my throat. But while the angle was good for him, having his balls and taint resting on my face made it almost impossible for me to breathe through my nose. I sputtered and gagged, throat slime flowing out of my mouth and over my face.
In a panic, I reached up and tried to push him off, but Carson snarled, grabbed both my wrists, and held them to the floor while he pistoned in and out of my mouth in a pushup position. At least with his hips elevated with each thrust I could breathe a little.
Carson's assault on my throat continued for several minutes and I did all I could not to pass out. I found that if I craned my neck back, I could both take him as deep as he wanted and breathe a little easier. After a while, I felt him pull himself all the way out, only to have his dick replaced with his nuts, wet with my own throat slime. My teabagging lasted only a few seconds though, as I felt my frat stud scoot forward and was greeted, for the first time, with his pink asshole winking at my face.
"Get your tongue in there, bitch!" I heard from above me. "Lick my fucking shithole!"
I stuck my tongue into Carson's tight shitter, doing my best to eat out his pert, nearly hairless ass. He was ripe but clean, thank God. I could taste a buildup of sweat but thankfully no shit. As I lapped at him, he pushed himself further down onto my face, smothering me with his muscular ass. I tried to get my tongue as far up his asshole as the angle would allow.
"Fuck yeah. Faggot toilet paper cleaning my asshole. Eat that big hockey ass, you worthless little bitch!"
I could tell he was beating his meat by the way his balls bounced on my chin, and sure enough a few more minutes of rimming gave way to Carson's dick shoved right back down my throat, a couple of vigorous thrusts and a grunt telling me me was unloading his big balls straight into my stomach.
Carson laid there for a long moment and then pulled out of my mouth, standing up only to flop back down in his recliner bare ass naked. I heard him unpause his game where he'd left it.
I was spent. I glanced down at my own crotch, barely encased by my jeans after they were pulled down over my ass. A huge wet spot spread around my fly.
I had cum in my pants.
A big toe smacked me on the side of my head. Looking over, Carson had an expectant look in his eye.
"Back to work."
Begrudgingly, I sat up and briefly surveyed my body. My ass was still on fire as I pulled my jeans back up over my cheeks, and my neck ached from the full-on assault my face had just taken. Still, as I continued to tidy up Carson's room, taking care to crouch down and crawl across the floor whenever I needed to cross his path, I found myself incredibly turned on at what had just happened. What was it about being used, abused even, by this man that had made me, a heretofore normal, seemingly well-adjusted guy, cum in his pants without so much as being touched?
These thoughts passed through my head as I finished gathering all the trash from the room, which I lugged downstairs and out the back door to a dumpster already teeming with empty cardboard beer cases. Then I began to gather up his laundry, dirty gym clothes covering practically every corner of the floor and closet. Underneath a mountain of dirty clothes in the closet I found a laundry basket and a bottle of Tide. Before I went in search of the laundry room, I made a small throat clearing sound.
"Sir?"
"What, bitch?" Carson again didn't look up from his game.
"Do you want me to wash your hockey gear?"
"Nah," he grunted.
I took the basket of dirty clothes downstairs and looked for a washer and dryer. There didn't seem to be anything on the ground floor, but I found a set of stairs down to the basement so I tried my luck down there. Flipping a light switch, I saw I was in a whole new environment.
The ceiling of the basement was low and lined with a few naked light bulbs. All around, where the wall met the ceiling, a strip of LED lights glowed red. The floor was concrete and there were a few drains in the center. It was surprisingly organized. Folding chairs, folded up, lined one wall, a series of plastic storage containers another. In the corner a jumble of sawhorses and rectangular wooden frames the size of doors were pushed together. On the longest wall, the Delta letters were painted in huge red letters, and hanging around them were dozens of paddles like the one Carson had used on my ass, each slightly different.
To one side was a doorway leading to what looked like a home gym full of weightlifting equipment. I crossed the room to the other end and found a fork leading deeper either way into the basement. Down one end were a series of doors, and when I opened the first few I saw small rooms with bare twin mattresses on the floor. I assumed these were either for hazing, sex, or both, but not wanting to keep Carson waiting I didn't linger. The other way down the hall, next to the boilers, I found the laundry room, and next to it a truly disgusting bathroom with just a toilet, sink, and shower stall with no curtain or door.
I quickly sorted Carson's laundry into colors and whites. It was mostly athletic clothes and underwear, along with a few button-down shirts and worn-out khakis. As I finished sorting and put the clothes in the washers, I found what had been a white jockstrap, now yellowed from use. Curiosity overcame me and I snuck a whiff. The smell of Carson's nuts, one of my favorite smells in the world, overwhelmed my senses, and without thinking I slid them into my pocket.
When I got back to his room, Carson was still naked in the recliner, but the game was paused and he was doing something on his phone. Seeing me returned, he picked up his beer can and shook it at me.
"Another beer, bitch."
I opened the minifridge and found it stocked with nothing but Natty Ice and a few Gatorades. I grabbed a beer, cracked it open and handed it to him. Not knowing what else to do, I got on my knees and waited, admiring his incredible body and that godlike cock.
Carson looked over at me and chuckled.
"You're drooling, fag. You want one?" He indicated his beer.
"Sure, sir. Thank you."
I went to open the minifridge but he stood up and stopped me with a hand on my shoulder.
"No, no. Faggots don't get to drink real men's beer. Hold this."
Carson handed me his empty and positioned it under his soft dick. Taking it in one hand, he rested his head on the opening and within a few seconds a stream of yellow piss was whizzing forth into the can.
I could feel the heat of the piss through the aluminum. It went on for some time, and I was worried he would overfill the can and I'd have to clean it up, but as the can was nearly full his stream died down. After he was finished, Carson shook his dick in my face, a few drops falling onto my forehead.
The deed done, he sat back down in his recliner and grabbed his own beer again. Holding it up to me, he gave me a wink and a mischievous smile.
"Cheers, bitch."
We clinked cans and I apprehensively took my first sip of recycled beer. Carson watched me, grinning to himself. Something about the piss being in another container, and not coming straight from the tap, made it less sexy and more gross, but I did my best to swallow it without grimacing. I didn't want another punishment.
The next couple of hours passed in a similar fashion. As I did his laundry and nursed his beer piss, Carson continued to find little ways to humiliate me for his own entertainment. He used me as a footstool for a while as he played video games. He had me lick and kiss his feet while he talked to his older brother on the phone. When his laundry was done and folded, he had me go on a wild goose chase throughout the house for a vacuum cleaner. When I vacuumed his room, he disappeared, but when I turned it off I heard him calling to me from down the hall. I found him in a bathroom, sitting on the toilet, taking a shit. The bathroom stunk to high heaven. The look of horror on my face made him laugh uproariously.
"You should see your face!" he said between cackles. "Don't worry, faggot. I'm not gonna make you wipe my ass. But I am out of toilet paper. Go check Jake's bathroom on the third floor. All the way in the back."
I hadn't been to the third floor, but I'd surmised that's where the more senior frat brothers had their single rooms. Jake Thorn was the frat president, captain of the lacrosse team, and based on my social media research, an absolute unit. Had I jerked off to his Instagram? What do you think?
I found Jake's room at the far end of the hallway. It couldn't have been more different from Carson's. Tidy, clean, but still with a masculine, boyish scent, probably a lingering mist of Axe body spray. Everything was in its place. A king-sized bed was neatly made. His spacious bathroom was as clean as my mom kept ours at home. I saw a roll on the toilet paper holder, but not wanting to cause trouble I looked for spare rolls. The cabinet under the sink was lined on one side with toilet paper rolls, but when I grabbed a couple from the top, something in the back of the cabinet caught my eye. I moved things around and was greeted by a set of dildos and butt plugs, each bigger than the next. The smallest was maybe a little smaller than my own hard dick, but the largest was bigger than my forearm.
For a few seconds I marveled at my discovery. Was Jake Thorn, stud among studs, gay? I couldn't believe it. I was about to snoop some more when I remembered Carson sitting on the shitter, waiting for me. Not wanting to know what my punishment would be in that particular situation, I quickly moved things back into place and hurried back downstairs. I found Carson still sitting on the toilet, happily texting away on his phone. I handed him the TP, received a grunt of thanks, and went back to his room.
Compared to how I'd first discovered it, Carson's room was unrecognizable. There was still some messiness on Matt's side, which I thought for purposes of discretion best not to touch, but otherwise it was as spotless as a room in a frat house could be. I'd organized his dresser and put his clean clothes away, vacuumed up what must have been months of filth, cleared out all the trash, and even changed the grimy sheets on his bed.
When Carson returned, still nude, he surveyed the room and gave me a satisfied nod. He rummaged through his newly organized drawers, found some gym shorts and threw them on commando.
"I'm gonna lift downstairs for a bit. You can chill here. Order us a couple of pizzas from Luigi's. Sausage and peppers on one, and whatever you want on the other."
He left for the gym and left me alone in his room. I called Luigi's, a local delivery spot popular with students, and ordered two large pies, one with sausage and peppers and one extra cheese. The operator said 45 minutes. I put the pizzas on my dad's credit card, hoping he wouldn't notice.
For the first time all day, I had time to myself to think. Serving Carson had been a nonstop rollercoaster ride, and I hadn't had a moment to consider how I felt about it. In my heart, and more so in my dick, I knew it was worth it. Yes, he'd pushed my limits in ways I hadn't expected. If you'd told me just a few weeks ago that I'd be happily drinking a dude's piss, letting him paddle my ass, and cleaning his room for him, I would have told you to fuck right off. But if you'd shown me Carson, and told me I would be able to so much as look at him naked, much less suck his dick and eat his ass--well then I'd probably understand.
I tried to chill on the couch, but my ass was still sore from the beating it had taken, so instead I casually snooped. I'd seen most of the room as I'd cleaned, but I hadn't had the opportunity to really look around with Carson there. I didn't find anything out of the ordinary, just normal dude stuff. The nightstand between their lofted beds held a big box of Magnum condoms and a bottle of lube, but otherwise I found nothing of interest. Carson's roommate, Matt, was something of a mystery to me. All I knew about him was that he was a dark-skinned black guy, and he played on the hockey team with my master. Matt's dresser, which I hadn't touched, held a few picture frames, including one of him at a beach shirtless. It didn't escape my notice that he too had a ripped, sexy body, and what looked like quite the package in his board shorts.
The doorbell rang, and I went downstairs to grab the pizza. The pies smelled amazing, and I realized I hadn't eaten since breakfast. I put them on one of the beer pong tables and headed down to the basement to let Carson know the food was here.
When I turned the corner into the frat's gym, I was greeted by a sight I'll never forget.
Carson was lying on an inclined bench doing dumbbell presses. The weights he was using were huge; I probably couldn't press one of them with both hands. His muscles rippled as he repped out, sweat dripping down his chest. His pits, which I'd never really noticed, each had a thatch of dark blonde hair, matted with sweat, and his abs flexed with each rep. His face was a model of concentration, not so different from the look in his eyes I'd grown to love as he approached climax in my throat.
Kanye was blasting out of a Bluetooth speaker on the floor. My hunger shifted from pizza to Carson. I didn't want to interrupt, and I was transfixed by watching this beast of a man pushing himself to the limit. Eventually he finished his set and dropped the dumbbells to the floor with two loud thuds. He sat there breathing hard for a second and then lifted his gaze, noticing me.
"Like what you see, fag?" he huffed between deep breaths.
I nodded, so overcome by attraction that I couldn't speak. He stood up and put the weights back on the rack, wiping his face with a towel and throwing it over his shoulder. He padded up to me and got right in my face.
"Pizza here?" Carson asked. "You must be hungry."
His sweat smelled so fucking good.
I nodded again, and managed to croak out a meager "yes sir."
He laughed, and lifted up an arm. He grabbed me by the back of my head and forced my face into his pit. I lapped at it like a dog in heat, tasting that delicious sweat against his skin and the hair of his armpit. After a few seconds on one side he switched me to the other. The scent was like a drug to me. I could feel his bicep on one side of my face, his hard pec on the other. My dick was rock solid in my jeans, but he only gave me a taste. Suddenly, he was gone, walking back up the basement stairs.
Carson grabbed both pizza boxes and took them up to his room. I followed like a puppy. He took the sausage and peppers pie and flopped back down on the recliner, taking a huge bite of the first slice he tore out, the box on his lap. He was, of course, still covered in sweat, and I began to realize why even after a thorough cleaning the room retained a musky smell.
"Beer me, bitch," he said through a mouth full of pizza. I opened the minifridge and handed him a beer, and still chewing he told me to take one too. A real one this time.
For a few minutes we sat in silence chowing down. Hungry as fuck, I wanted to house half a pie to myself, but knowing that my throat was likely still in play I kept it to 2 slices of cheese. Carson ate like the stud he was, polishing off 5 slices and 2 beers in short order while playing around on his phone. I wondered how he was in such good shape with this diet.
Once he'd had his fill, Carson let out a huge burp, set his beer down, and fixed his gaze on me.
"So bitch," he said. "How we doing?"
Unsure and stammering, I said "The pizza's good, sir."
Carson chuckled. "No, I mean with this situation. You havin' fun?"
"Yes sir!" I surprised even myself with my enthusiasm.
"Good. Don't get a big head about it, but so far you're the most obedient fag I've ever used."
Wow, I thought sarcastically, what a compliment. A pregnant moment passed between us. My curiosity got the best of me.
"May I ask...?" I began. Looking over at my frat god, he seemed blissed out, and gave me a curious look. "How many fags have you used?"
"Bro," Carson said seriously. "Look at me. I'm not trying to toot my own horn here, but we both know I'm a stud. Gay dudes like you can't fucking help yourselves around me. I learned early on in high school I could get what I wanted from gay guys, especially the really submissive ones like you. So I did. First it was just shit like homework and helping with chicks, but then this one fag convinced me to let him blow me, and I realized that some things dudes are just better for."
I nodded. I hadn't expected Carson to open up like this, but I wasn't going to stop him.
"Every girlfriend I've ever had was such a fucking hassle, you know? Like, sometimes I just wanna get my nut, not listen to you talk about what Christie said about Lauren or whatever the fuck."
He looked over at me. The dynamic had changed somehow, and while I knew at any moment the dominant may come back out, I could also tell he felt at ease talking about himself and justifying his actions in this way. As the beneficiary of them, I wasn't about to stop him.
"I mean, you're scrawny but you're not a bad looking dude. I'm sure you've had your own drama with other gay guys, right?"
"Not really, sir." I considered how open to be. "I've never had a boyfriend. My sexual experiences so far have all been pretty casual. I hooked up with the same guy my whole senior year but it was just sex."
Carson shrugged. "Sometimes I think that's the best situation. Just sex. No emotions. No offense, but if I could find a girl I could treat like you, this would be over ASAP."
He considered for a moment and then let out a chuckle. "Well, maybe not over, but you wouldn't be getting my loads nearly as often."
"I get it sir," I said. "Don't worry, I'm not catching feelings."
He favored me with a smile, and pushed the pizza box off his lap.
"Good, faggot. You're a good dude, but the less feelings here the better. I'm gonna grab a shower."
Carson stood up, dropped his gym shorts, and strode out of the room. For the 50th time that day, I didn't know what to do. But then he came back, still naked and sweaty, and tossed a small box at me. It was a Fleet enema. I looked up at him, surprised.
"Find a bathroom and clean yourself out. I'm tearing up that ass next."
Fuck.
In the brief time we'd known each other, Carson had sure pushed my limits. He'd taken what he wanted. He'd made me do things I'd never thought I'd do, especially with an ostensibly straight guy. But it honestly never crossed my mind that he'd want to fuck me.
I turned the box over in my hands. I'd taught myself through the internet, like any good baby gay, how to prep myself for bottoming. I'd done it before, and in my limited experience I'd avoided any embarrassing backdoor situations. But I'd only been fucked by one dick which, though not small, was nothing compared to Carson's.
Not knowing where else to go, I took the Fleet back upstairs and found my way back to Jake's private bathroom. If I was gonna douche in a frat house, it would at least be in the cleanest bathroom. I did my business, twice to be sure, and gingerly made my way back down to Carson's room.
He was sitting in his chair, a small tray in his lap, rolling a joint. He looked up and grinned, horny and expectant.
"You smoke? Season starts next week for me. Last chance for a while." he said, licking the paper.
"Yes sir. Not much, but I have."
Carson nodded absently. He finished the joint and set the tray aside. Grabbing a bottle of Jack from the dresser, he took a pull and offered it to me. I tilted the bottle up and took a big swig myself, proud that I didn't cough.
He almost looked impressed. Then he stepped out of his gym shorts and sat in his chair, like a king, nodding towards his crotch.
"Get me hard."
I got on my hands and knees and crawled over. Carson's dick hung heavily over his balls, slightly to my left. I leaned in and slipped the head into my mouth and lightly suckled. Above me I heard a lighter click and a sharp inhale as he started up the joint. The smell of weed filled the room as I took him further into my mouth. His dick began to fill out and he released a long sigh after his first hit. I began to bob my head, sucking him in earnest, his dick nearly all the way boned up. After a few strokes he pulled me up by the chin. I thought he was gonna spit in my face, but instead he held the joint to my lips. I took a small drag and exhaled, coughing once. He held the joint to my lips again and I pulled in more, holding in the smoke. As soon as I exhaled, he pushed me back down onto his cock.
I sucked Carson for a few minutes as he smoked the joint. He offered me another hit before he cashed it. It was by far the most gentle blowjob I'd ever given him. Despite nutting hard down my throat just a few hours before, his dick betrayed no signs of fatigue. His eyes were hooded, blissed out, but his grip on my head was strong as always.
My anxiety about the impending invasion, meanwhile, was dissolving in the haze of weed and whiskey. I was feeling great.
Carson pushed me all the way down onto his dick, but because he'd been so gentle this far I was able to breathe through my nose and even lap at his nuts a little. Then he abruptly pulled me up, stood up, and padded over to his nightstand. He turned around and looked at me.
"Take off your clothes and get on all fours."
I stripped as fast as I could, tossing my shoes and clothes across the room. I got on all fours on the floor, the carpet not exactly appetizing but slightly cleaner because of my earlier efforts, pushing my ass up in an attempt to look sexy. I looked back and saw Carson grabbing a Magnum and the bottle of lube.
What came over me next, I'll never know. Whether it was my innate desire to please, my own curiosity, or the sense that if I'd gone this far, I might as well go all the way, something clicked and before I knew it I was blurting out the words.
"You don't need the condom, sir. I'm on PreP."
It was true. Practically the moment I'd stepped on campus I'd gone to Health Services to get a Truvada prescription, taking it religiously every morning in the hopes that some college stud would do exactly what Carson was about to do to me. But I'd never actually been fucked bare. Maybe I figured, after all these new experiences, why not another?
For the first time since I'd known him, Carson seemed shocked: slack-jawed and dumbfounded. He stared at me for a second, then a big smile crept across his face, he tossed the condom away and practically lept behind me.
I felt him smack his dick against my ass a few times. I heard the snap of the lube bottle cap, a squirt, and then cool liquid dripping down my hole. His big fingers spread the lube up and down me, and then I felt one slip in, shuddering slightly at the intrusion. He fingered me expertly for a few seconds before withdrawing. Two fingers entered me, stretching out my hole, and I heard him exhale softly.
I risked a glance back and saw a look of intense concentration on Carson's face. To call it lustful would be an understatement, and I blushed with pride. I stroked myself lightly, careful not to be too obvious, and whispered.
"Start slow please, sir."
He gave me ass a light smack, which still stung from the paddling.
"Not my first rodeo, chief."
I noted briefly that he'd called me chief, not bitch or faggot, but banished the thought as soon as I felt his dick pushing against my hole. It might as well have been a fist, it felt so thick, my asshole stinging in pain, but I gritted my teeth, pressed my forehead against the floor, and pushed out like I knew I should. Suddenly, I felt the head pop in.
"Fuuuuuuck you're tight." In Carson's voice I heard pure sex, the sound of a man enjoying what belonged to him. He lingered just inside me for a moment as I took a few deep breaths, trying to acclimate myself to his size.
Then he began to fuck me.
Slowly at first, but with increasing depth and insistence, Carson pumped his massive cock in and out of my ass.
My senses were overwhelmed. It felt like I was shitting a brick, but the grip of his giant hands on my hips reminded me that this was a real man, pushing his dick into me, over and over, for his own pleasure.
Then, after a few minutes of gentle pumping, my ass slowly but surely adjusting to his size, Carson pushed all the way in.
Fuck.
Fuck me.
FUCK ME.
I knew hitting the prostate was supposed to feel good.
I didn't know it would be this good.
I must have moaned, because I heard him laugh, and just as soon as I'd felt him hit my spot he withdrew almost all the way, then plunged all the way back in.
I think I blacked out.
If I did, I didn't care. Because as soon as I came to my senses I realized this is what I was made for.
I was made for studs like Carson, big-dicked frat gods, to use my ass for their pleasure.
Because fuck--it felt so right.
I let the waves of pleasure wash over me. I felt Carson's hands gripping my hips like a vice as he picked up the pace. I heard him grunting and muttering behind me, and it took all my concentration to hear what he was saying over the fuck I was being thrown.
"Fuck fuck fuck. This ass is incredible. Take this dick, bitch. Take my big fat cock. Fuck, your ass is tight. Why haven't I fucked you before? Fuck. You like that big Delta cock? You like being my little fag bitch? Fuck. I can't believe you let me rawdog you! FUCK! I'm gonna breed your faggot ass every. Fucking. Day. This ass is mine now. You like being my bitch? Fuck!"
Carson was pounding me like his life depended on it, but it felt like mine did. I needed his dick to beat up my prostate over and over. Every time he pulled out I felt empty. Every time he pushed in I saw God. A stream of nonsense issued from my mouth as he used my ass to get himself off.
Suddenly I felt Carson push his hand into my shoulder and drive my chest into the carpet. I arched my back. His dick pistoned in and out of me at light speed. My own dick was leaking like a faucet. I couldn't even touch it, knowing I'd cum instantly. Carson shouted out a series of FUCKs, one after another, as he rearranged my guts.
With a few final deep thrusts, pushing me off my elbows and fully onto the floor, he let out a wild moan and unloaded deep in my ass. I felt blast after blast of cum coating my insides, his body twitching with pleasure as he laid his weight on me, breeding me, making me fully his.
We stayed there for a minute. Carson continued to twitch inside me. I realized that for the second time that day I'd cum without touching myself, this time from a combo of prostate stimulation and the friction of the carpet. The sound of our heavy breathing filled the room. Carson laid on me for a few more seconds, then slowly pulled out with a pop, laughing to himself.
But then I heard another sound. A slow clap from the doorway. I turned my head as best I could and looked up.
There was Jake Thorn, the frat president, standing in the door. A shit-eating grin spread across his face. Clapping like he'd won the lottery.
I panicked.
Shit.
I'd ruined Carson's life.
I'd ruined my life.
I was about to get the shit kicked out of me.
Then Carson stood up, walked over to Jake, his hard dick still wet with cum, and with a huge "BRO!" gave him that handshake-hug combo straight guys always do, both of them smiling at each other.
Jake looked down at me, hunger in his eyes.
"So, little bro, this is the bitch you were telling me about."
TO BE CONTINUED...
UP NEXT: If Teddy thought Carson had been using him hard, wait until he meets frat president Jake...
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed the story, have feedback, or have ideas for future chapters, I'd love to hear from you: elliottpatterson02@gmail.com