This story is entirely a work of fiction. If you enjoyed what you read feel free to let the author know at thebrokentower@gmail.com. Enjoy.
Brandon was getting on my fucking nerves. You have to understand, at the time, I was a senior in college, in the closet, trying to finish up the year in style without getting any more slack from my buddies about my on-and-off again bitchy girlfriend. The year was almost over now, and I would soon be away from UConn and all its hard guy acts of bravado. Nearly twice in the past months I had been caught in awkward situations, where my 'friends' and also fellow teammates had been given a bit more room than I was used to about my sexuality. I had been perusing hotornot.com on my comp and an asshole from the dorm next door, Brian, who's favorite hobby in life was interrupting at the wrong times came in and started giving me shit about looking at both sexes. I played it off coolly and calmly. I was making fun of the losers and rejects. I was a moderator for the site. And if this didn't seem like a big deal, there's no way I can impress on you just how much everything in my social group relied upon a strict no-sense homophobic anti-gay ultra-masculine front.
None of us were as straight as we seemed. Then again, no sane individual could be. As for myself, however, an athlete who was minoring in music theory - everyone was just waiting to see how Derek (that's me) would turn out to be the expected fairy. At nearly six foot, in trim shape and perfect athletic abilities, you could assume I would be no mark for 'homo.' But, I had suffered from a certain type of good looks the male community didn't really appreciate. I was pretty, not handsome. Girls were supposed to be pretty, not guys. And to make matters worse, my roommate, Brandon, was out and right gorgeous and the ultra pretty-boy.
Now you have to understand. None of the guys bothered him. He didn't play sports so much, but he had money and brought all the girls around. As goodlooking as I was made out to be, and I had had my share of pussy and fleeting hook-ups that had left me desparate and despairing, all a gross fake and exaggerated cover-up, Brandon, well, Brandon hadn't so much as touched a girl. By all the chicks we knew were obsessed with him and dying to get in his pants. It was sort of assumed that he was untouchable, and the guys, who I believed all were secretly jonesing after his sleek small bubble-boy ass, were kinda relieved that he wasn't taking away from their selections. Not to mention, any girl that had trapped little spoiled Brandon in a relationship would have to undergo a lot of scrutiny. We all bought into this image of Brandon as not for girls, somehow, that didn't make him a pansy or a faggot, but simply, no one was good enough for him. That was his rant. We all willingly bought into it and excused him from the same bullshit we flung at each other. Everyone was accused of being a faggot, weak, soft - but not Brandon, he was coddled and adored. We'd fling shit behind his back, the guys, but that happened more so that it seemed none of us were in awe of him while secretly, and I was at least, I could feel we all were.
He was short, about 5'7", classically Italian features, dark skin, black-cropped hair, a pair of eyes that could cut real quick with their mixture of aloofness and disdain. His mouth was tight. His cheekbones were high and narrow. His nose seemed like the shaft of an arrow. Everything about the kid reaked of too much beauty, precision and downright prettiness. It was gross and mesmerizing. This was all compensated for by the fact he had two streaks. There was Brandon who never really spoke too much, and there was Brandon who was a cruel little basatard.
He had been my roommate for two-years now, and while I was doing my best to seem straighter than straight, and he didn't really care to do much but be himself, things were really starting to irritate me. He'd starting by prying into me and my girlfriend's problems, all nice and calm. But as the weeks passed and the relationship deteriorated, Brandon kept on the jokes.
"That slut is fucking someone else." He'd say. "She wants a bigger cock."
It didn't really piss me off, and in a way, I was used to Brandon's style of negative affection. The only way he chose to address a sensitive issue without being hush-hush and quiet and sulky was to make it light. But beneath all his devious humor, there was always - it seemed to me - a lurking come-on. And it was pissing me off.
Everynight I was fantasizing about shoving my cock - which was plenty large for my size - in the little shithead's mouth. Making him moan and scream as my balls slapped up against his richboy mouth. I could, or at least I dreamed and lusted in my imagination, that Brandon was too high-strung and needy not to be a bottom. He needed a bigger guy, a more out-and-out male (like me?) to show him who was boss and what nature had intended him for. His physique was ruthlessly muscled but slender. And I would even tease him about his eating disorder. I mean the kid never ate bad food, never touched a single potato chip or cookie or one fucking snack. One time someone left some ice cream in our refridgerator as a prank, and he went through it all and flipped out on a few of the guys for doing what he felt was sabatogue.
If anyone had reacted like that, they would have been smacked to the floor like a little sissy and beaten up past recognition. Only girls cared about figure and calories in such a way. But Brandon, he made his own rules. He was beautiful and acted however he wanted in opposition to the ape-mentality. It was why I especially hated him and loved him, in a way. He was doing whatever he wanted, and while he could earn our spite, we all dreamed of his looks and his approval.
But his jokes were getting worse. How can I explain it? One night I had a huge phone conversation fight with her and Brandon walked in the room and quietly worked at his desk. I couldn't change my temper or tone, knowing he might use it again me, all my care over a chick, but half wanting him to.
Afterwards, I hung up in a fury and just laid in bed. He didn't say anything much except mumbling "Don't worry man."
Then he questioned, "So what's it this time?"
"I don't know. She's just a vicious bitch." I was seething. I hadn't been laid in two weeks with all my girlfriend problems, and while I knew I liked guys I found the release of my load a necessary blowing off of steam that masturbating just no longer could afford me.
"Derek, just calm down." Brandon got up from his desk and walked towards the center of the room, he was putting his books away and now folding some laundry from his bed and putting away in his dresser. He had changed into simply his white wife-beater that hugged his dark-olive skin, a fucking perfect torso if I had ever seen one, and a pair of over-sized mesh gym shorts.
As he gave me advice, taking his clean clothes from his bed (he was the top bedbunk above mine) and bringing them over to the dresser across the room, I kept watching in amazement as his body would bend and flex and move. His arms would stretch to the bed above mine, as his hip and chest and legs were stationed right near me, in the lower bunk. Then he'd move back, play around with the clothes, folding them against his neck and chin and tying them his wrists and tiny fingers, while half-gazing at me and trying to give the 'pep talk.'
"God, so when was the last time you screwed? When I was away at BU?"
"No, we were still fighting then."
"Man, that was last weekend. How long have you been without her pretty little mouth?" He wasn't even conscious of how much I was staring at his mouth, his pretty little mouth. It was ok for him to talk this way. He was trying to sound like one of the guys. I was just getting hornier.
"I know," I said, half-grudingly. "It sucks. I'm dating a fluzy and I'm not even getting ass out of it."
"So what's her deal? Why is she starting all this bullshit to make you jealous?"
"I don't know, Brandon. But I'm done with her. I just wish I had someone, something. I can't concentrate for finals with all this pent-up aggression. I've got the worst case of blueballs ever man."
He kept laughing, as he bended over to put his clothes away and I coudld see the mesh shorts hang a little too dangerously below his waist for a second, so I could almost imagine seeking the upper tip of the crack of his ass. "Well what do you want?" As he asked all I could imagine was the mesh shorts would fall off, and dark brown buttocks would just be bare and ready for me. I'd go over there, throw him up against the dresser, shove his face forward, and start railing him in the ass. God, that kid was just begging to be fucked and fucked hard. His body was so catlike and feminine, it slinked as it moved and it just needed the right dick to get the job done.
"Hel-lo? Derek? You phasing out on me?"
"Ugh, what, what did I say?" I mumbled embarassedly, but trusted he couldn't know what I was thinking.
"You didn't say anything." He walked back over to the bed, and as his face was obscured by the top bunk, I could stare at his chest. He kept speaking, and grabbed his crotch. "Just tell her to suck it, man. 'You can suck on my dick or leave, bitch,' that's what you should tell her."
"Ah, come on, man, you know Karen doesn't give me head."
"What?! ... O, right, she's a neck-down kinda girl. You told me."
It was at this moment that he stopped what he was doing and sat down next to me on the bed, I was half-way sitting up at this time. His voice got lower and he just looked at me half-disinterestedly and asked if I ever really tried getting her to give me head. The truth was I didn't want her touching my dick and had never really bothered. We hadn't had full out sex, and occasionally when she wanted, I preferred to give her head then worry about making things awkward if I was just too unable to get it up for her. But Brandon, insisted, going on about this story about his cousin and how he heard his cousin figured out how to force a girl to give head. It was all bogus. And nonsense. But, Brandon was sitting there in his little meek shirt, and his tan was intoxicating, and the smell of his feint sweat was driving me wild, and his tight-ass was sitting on my bed. I was trying not to writhe. He went on, and I listened.
"Yeah, man, I'm serious. It's true. You should've tried to do."
"Explain this crazy-ass method of your friggin' cousin again."
"Alright, watch. Pretend I'm your girlfriend, ok," my mind was fluttering as he shuffled next to me and reached and grabbed my hands, I was on auto-pilot and muttering to myself in confusion, overwhelmed, "and you want to try to convince me. All you do, here, take this hand, here, no, this one, okay, listening?"
"...ugh, yeah, yeah."
"Pretend you're like rubbing my shoulders, and bullshitting or talking and you know we're gonna have sex."
My eight-inch dick was ready to bulge out of my jeans. This was painful. Brandon was a mastermind of manufacturing this dick-tease scenarios which always lead to peripheral or all out unnecessary body-contact. Somehow I was feeling him up so he could teach me a lesson about my girls giving head? And this from a guy who had no record of ever even hooking up with a girl once! I was going crazy. I was angry, horny and ready to pop a vein in my neck and dick. So I continued rubbing his shoulders and feeling his muscles. I had to give it to him, he was in shape and hard for his little frame. I wanted to push him to the bed and just have my way. I'd bite his neck, finger his ass, a whole flutter and fury of things I had only imagined in wet dreams was going through my head.
"Then you're talking to her, romancing her, telling her you're gonna fuck and be sweet, all that shit..."
"Yeah, yeah..." I was practically whimpering from all the tension and sex in the air, on my breath, and this stupid little drama we were acting out.
"Then you slowly want to raise your hand up to her head, not grabbing her hair, well, I don't have hair, but you know, massaging her hair, letting her think you're the soft, silent type, and just slowly forcing her towards you. She's relaxed, maybe had a few drinks."
"And then I kinda start directing her?" His head was turning as my hand cradled the back of his shaved, clean-cut scalp. His eyes were piercing me, and his upper-lip was almost shivering with how much he must have been enjoying humilating me. Giving me lessons. The little son of the bitch.
"Well she's not just gonna go down on you right away like that."
"O this is bullshit, man." I tried not to raise my voice to loud, I didn't want to seem like I was going to let my hands go off of him.
"No man, you slowly just want to pull her towards you. Like begin my pulling her head towards your stomach and then just ask her to open up your shorts. For fun.... not that I'm going near your two-inch dick."
We both chuckled and I could feel the electricity churning through my hands, my heartbeat was racing and my breath was stumbling out of my mouth. Everything looked foggy and weighted out of my eyes. I could see his pretty face, there wasn't too much light in the room but it wasn't dark either. I had to act fast, even though any second I knew guys were going to come in the room to watch the big basketball game on my computer.
"No, no, I'll show you how I'd do it." I immediately grabbed Brandon with my both my hands and turned him around on the bed, moving over while I pinned him down and wrestled with him. We were both laughing and cursing one another underneath our breath. It was fun and meant to be stupid but there was just too much sexually build-up and need. I could feel myself slowly going over the line, touching him and manhandling. Worst of all I knew it could be a set up just to humiliate me and call me a fag and out me to the rest of the guys.
I tossed him on his back on my bed and saddle my legs over him, between his waist and chest. I held his arms down and shifted my weight closer to his face. "This is how you get a girl to do what you want." Now we were both cracking up and laughing.
"Yeah, pal, it's called raped."
"No, no, it isn't, Brandon." I had to do something to make sure this wasn't seeming so serious, I so just kept pretending with my voice. I was sounding as sarcastic and mocking as possible. "Not if she wants it. I mean you understand, most girls are your size. Just as vunerable."
"Yeah but most girls aren't going to be force-fed a small dick, man."
I was so fucking tired of his mocking my dick-size! Was it really a challenge? Did he have to have the balls to make a joke when I had him in a position where my boner was about to flop out of my shorts and land right on his shitty-attitude face? I could have done whatever I wanted with sheer force now, and the charge of all the erotic proximity and sweat and talk was making me tremble in fear of myself, of my desires, of how much I wanted Brandon Corso to be my little bitch. "If you keep that talk up I'm gonna take it out and practice on you, bitch."
"O, right, Mr. Sensitive. All your girl troubles and being pussy-whipped and passive in the sack with that Karen bitch and you're going to sound like you're Mr. Boss." We were both cracking up but there was an edge of a threat or ultimatum in his voice and I was growing desparate. What the fuck was I going to do? I couldn't stand it any longer. I needed to figure some way out of this, no matter what now, I was doomed. I had a raging boner and the boy of my dreams within inches of being my willing-or-unwilling mouth-recepticle for some hot cum that I was dying to fling off my ever increasing cock.
Both of my hands pushed his outspread arms harder to the mattress so he was helpless to move. "You doubt me, punk?'
"I'm sure she did!" He laughed in his little petulant half-whine.
That was it. I had it. Fuck caution. Fuck being straight. Fuck the cover-up. I was going to be a monster. I had enough. I held his one arm as tight as I could and with the other moved towards my crotch and unzipped my pants and grabbed a held of my aching throbbing hard-on and pulled it out. Before he could say shit, I took my dick which was screaming for some air and slapped it against his clean shaven face.
"What! Fuck man, stop it. Get that shit out of here. Are you fucking gay? What the fuck--" but before he could continue I took my other hand and opened up his mouth, and steered my monster dick right into his squeeling bitch of a nice, hot tight mouth. At first I was afraid he was going to bite down or kick me in the back with his knees. He didn't bite. I had to keep juggling my arms to keep his arms restrained, which was no easy task. He was smaller, and I weighed a heck of a lot more than him. I had more muscle, more mass and more force. I also was in the primo-dominant position. He wrestled and put up a fight, not saying anything so much as trying to move his way out, to break free. I was having none of it.
I took my huge cock and starting slapping him in the mouth. I knew where I wanted in. Some of his warm saliva was still hanging off my aching cock from the few seconds it had barely managed to enter his mouth. But I needed back in, having my cock out in the room was like revealing my whole big secret, all of my sex and heated vunerability and desire. I needed to hide it. I needed to cram it up his mouth. We were both panting and struggling still, but eventually, his lips had to break open to break more, so he could catch his breath.
It was at this time that Brandon was going to become a cocksucker, whether he thought he wanted to or not. I learned my whole body forward so that my crotch was propped up against his face and shoved aching huge pulsating cock right down his wriggling mouth. The resistance was lessening as he knew there was no way out. I had the entire weight of my body bearing down on his mouth with my eightinch dick slamming into him. His mouth was opened and exposed and I was pummeling him, just jackhammering it like in a porno video in and out of his mouth, and he had no choice but to swallow it, and let it go in, and I was speaking as low in volume and forceful as possible. Grunting, sighing, sweating, leaning my cock in and out of his hot tight mouth, in and out, like a piston or a blade or a plunging train down a tight hot track.
With my hands leaning against the wall of the bunk, I learned forward just enough so my left hand could flick off the light as I continued my assault. I kept slamming my weight in, forcing and shoving my cock in his mouth. He was whimpering and couldnt make much but muffled noises. But I could hear his body start to surrender, he was melting under the press and force of my body. Soon he was sucking and sucking and his tongue was moving wildly, he knew he wanted it. I kept just whispering in panic "quick, quick, suck it, suck it." Before I knew it his hands were playing with his mesh shorts until they were exposing his prick and I could tell he was beating his meat as fast as he could.
In a matter of minutes the biggest load and best orgasm of my life was pumping into his mouth and I sighed and sighed and sighed and just crumpled on top of him and shifted over to the side in relief.