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A Thanksgiving to Remember:
Lambda Alpha Beta - part 3.
A new life at Vance House.
• A social media bedtime story.
Lying in his warm king-sized bed in his new frat dorm, the 21-year-old college freshman flicked through his phone a few minutes before 1 AM. Three notifications glowed, but only two of them mattered to him. Liam instantly skipped the first few messages.
They were from his cousin, Eric Moore. The mere sight of the name brought a spike of annoyance. Liam had cut all ties with the antagonistic Moore-Johnson clan, and Eric should have known exactly why: he had been present at Liam’s parents’ house on Christmas morning when Liam came out.
“He should know better than to contact me,” Liam thought, letting the resentment settle in.
As he scrolled down, a text from the young Mexican man Dave Garcia flashed onto the screen. It wasn’t just a text – it was an erotic selfie. Dave, eyes half-lidded, was lying on Zane Tyrone’s bed, and the rest of the picture taken over his shoulder told the whole story.
The big black quarterback was in full flow. A conquering grimace on his face. His eyes closed, and he screamed through gritted teeth. The dimples in his cheek told Liam that Zane was enjoying himself. Buried deep between the Mexican goal posts, scoring an intensely wild field goal. He was clearly emptying his plump Wilson-sized Footballs of everything they contained. And Dave was loving it.
Liam examined the picture, his jaw dropping as the details clicked into place. The two men were nude and drenched in sweat, their bodies telling the story of a session that had been going on for quite some time. This was no casual experiment; it was the real deal.
He couldn’t believe what he was seeing: Dave Garcia, the 5-foot-4 Mexican, and the powerhouse bully Zane Tyrone, locked together in the warmest of embraces. Moore should have guessed, but the speed of it caught him off guard – he’d only introduced them just before Christmas.
A slow smile spread across Liam’s face as he studied the photo. He found himself wondering who had truly conquered whom.
Lee texted Garcia a blush emoji followed by an eggplant, waterdrops, and peach emoji. Asking the Mexican:
“Enjoyed that, did you?”
“We sure did. Bred the tortilla 3x. Dave is cleaning up right now. ^Z.”
“Zane? Man, be careful.”
“He was really nice and took me slowly. Stop worrying! In-Zaney’s ass is next, wanna see? - Dave.”
“Love to, but you misunderstand, Buddy. Delete any and all pictures and this text after you’re done. At some point, the wrong peeps will find out. Enjoy the evening, though.”
Liam replied. Adding a black heart and middle finger emoji.
Apparently, Liam was not the only one getting it hard and heavy today. He wished he were as outgoing as Garcia at his age. But his opinionated family would NEVER have allowed thoughts like that. Let alone the actual deed with a black, muscled hunk like Colton Ryder. And speak of the devil, Colt had also messaged Liam.
“Heard yo’ linked up with Hammer and Ron. Ships passing in the night? Or the startin’ of something new? Enjoy my old room. Also, check the attic access. Call me if ya need the lowdown. Rub one out for me. Miss yo’ tight hole.”
Liam, inspired by Garcia’s selfie, pushed down the bedcovers and exposed his dick. Taking a short video of him stroking hard and talking dirty for his Master under his portrait on the kinky leather cushions of his massive new bed. He was amazed that he managed to rub one out after all the events of this evening.
Moore sent the explicit video to Colton. Explaining the thrilling look of the skinhead Kaiser. The fucking excitement of J.R. Daniels, and his first deed as President, ‘Helping’ Manlove to unload his anxiety mere minutes ago.
Colt instantly called the college freshman back. Moore had a million questions. And Ryder had all the answers. But he was curious how Liam would win over the Alphas. Warning the new President that he needed to crush the low-level resistance quick and hard.
The man started laughing loudly when he heard what Liam had planned for them and offered the Board’s help. Giving those so-called Alphas a taste of their own medicine. Ryder took the bad news that the last President really had turned the ritual room into a gym and the cafe into a sports bar well enough.
“Ain’t nothin’ Grant can’t handle, straight up. Chill, get some rest, and start bulkin’ up on that protein, them vits, and them eggs, man.” Colt’s familiar street talk hit Liam with a pleasant familiarity. “Poke some from me. The way yo’ move, you must be runnin’ yo’ tank on E, faggot? The way you be rollin’.”
“A’ight, man, pull up with the Board on Friday evening and handle that shit yourself, you nasty-ass thug. Let’s gang bang the crap out of their resistance. You gotta show those basic Alpha twinks what dat big black cock is fo’! But I call dips. Night-night motherfucker!” replied Liam hotly.
“A’ight, see ya Friday then, Lee. Love yo’.”
• Cousin Eric’s message.
Liam scrolled back up past the black heart and middle finger emoji he’d sent to Dave Garcia. He tapped the unopened message thread from Eric Moore. His cousin was one of the few people in the Moore-Johnson clan Liam had truly connected with growing up, despite their four-year age gap.
– Eric Moore (11:58 PM)
“Hey, Lee. A belated Merry Christmas. Look, I get it, man. I was at the house. Saw the look on everyone’s faces. Your Mom kept crying in the kitchen after you left. But seriously, Lee? You hired two guys in leather gear to ‘set the stage?’ Honestly, incredible commitment. Bravo. Totally worked. I’m proud of you for having the guts to finally cut them off. The family needed a kick in the teeth. Just be careful not to string them along too long with this ‘coming out’ thing. Call me when you get tired of the charade. See you, bruv.”
Liam felt a cold wave of fury wash over the remnants of his excitement. The actor, Eric, had read the whole thing wrong. He actually thought the coming out was staged. Moore typed back immediately, his fingers flying over the screen.
– Liam Moore (01:08 PM)
“Don’t call it a charade, Eric. I really am gay. And I certainly didn’t hire anyone. I am not an actor like you. Those ‘leather men’ were my Master, Colt Ryder, and his fiancée. You remember Blake? Colt is his older brother, and my first. Tell this to anyone, and we will never speak again! Stop messaging me. I’m blocking you now. And save the acting advice for your next audition.”
He hit send, then navigated to Eric’s contact details, selected ‘Block this Caller,’ and threw his phone onto the mattress, the residual anger making his hands tremble. He didn’t want to think about his family or Eric anymore. The only thing that mattered was Friday and the look on the Alphas’ faces.
• Getting stuck in.
Moore awoke at 6 AM. Having battled and tamed several nightmares, he had a clear picture in his mind of how he was going to tackle the mess in the Vance House cellar.
Liam dressed quickly in an old sweatshirt and cargo pants. When he reached the central kitchen, the space was empty, save for James, the Frat’s CFO. Daniels was sipping a black coffee, fully dressed and looking sharp.
“Morning, President,” James greeted him jovially. “No chef today. She called out sick, claiming a stomach bug. Looks like the Alphas will be eating cold cereal.”
“Morning, James. Not a problem. I can rustle up something for them. Look, I need access to the cellar now, but I need to keep it quiet. Where’s the real entrance?” Liam asked.
James set his mug down, the two new rulers of Lambda Alpha Beta exchanging a silent, knowing look.
“Follow me, Lee.”
James led him toward a reading nook off the Grand Lounge. He stopped at a tall, built-in bookcase overflowing with dusty academic texts. James pulled on the spine of a thick, leather-bound volume: The Obedient Slave: A Compendium.
With a low, quiet grinding of gears and a smooth hydraulic hiss, the heavy bookcase swiftly pulled away from the wall. The movement was silent and precise. It quickly opened into a hidden doorway, revealing a dark, narrow landing and an industrial steel staircase. The air that rushed out smelled of sweat and gym socks.
James motioned with his head. “After you, President. This used to be such a nice getaway. Honestly, I prefer the glory holes around campus.”
“Oh. Really? You’ve got to tell me about them sometime,” Liam whispered back, descending the stairs. “I do like to suck me some sneaky anonymous dick.”
James followed with a dirty grin. Once they were both on the landing, he yanked a thick, braided hemp cord dangling just inside the opening. With a soft, muffled thump, the bookcase slid back into place, sealing them into the dimly lit secret passage.
They reached the bottom, where the darkness gave way to a brightly lit room choked with weight racks and assorted equipment. A massive TV was tuned to a perpetual sports channel, the flickering light reflecting off the chrome. The faint, sour smell of stale protein powder, dirty towels, and cheap beer hung heavy in the stagnant air.
“Jesus,” James muttered, running a hand over a dusty rowing machine. “Petrov actually turned our temple into a sweat lodge.”
Liam had never been a gym fan. While he was no weakling – blessed with firm pecs and the faint outline of a six-pack – pumping iron wasn’t his thing. However, when they reached the back and found the tacky, makeshift sports bar, Liam’s grin widened. This was more his speed.
Liam reached under the bar’s counter and pulled out a heavy amber bottle with a Cyrillic label. He rattled the bright orange capsules inside. “Trenbolone-V,” Liam read, squinting at the Russian text.
“Petrov was pushing those on everyone,” James said, his voice laced with worry.
Liam looked at James. “Do these even work, you reckon?”
“Heck yeah. They’ll give you the muscles of a bull in two weeks,” James replied darkly. “But overdo it, and they’ll turn your blood to sludge and make your heart explode by thirty.”
At these words, Liam felt a flash of disgust at himself for even momentarily thinking he could cheat the system with a few pills.
“Petrov didn’t want gay brothers; he wanted monsters,” James continued, oblivious to Liam’s inner turmoil. “Hard, obedient monsters.” He gestured to a nearby, pharmacy-grade stash hidden behind the liquor bottles.
“Look there... Viagra by the bottle-full. Man, that asshole was a dealer.” James gestured to a nearby, pharmacy-grade stash hidden behind the liquor bottles.
Liam chuckled, catching James’ eye. He pocketed a sealed bottle of the blue pills. “I’ll stick to Leroy’s advice on building muscle. I’d rather keep a healthy heart. But with these blue beauties? At least I’m guaranteed to stay hard.”
James smirked back, following Liam’s lead. He grabbed a bottle for himself. “To staying power,” he toasted with the plastic jar before sliding it into his pocket with a grin.
Lee quickly explained his plan: they needed help moving the bulk of the gym equipment back up to the first floor. He wanted to free up the cellar so the Dungeon could be used as a safe haven once again. Giving the gay Brotherhood a secure place to act out and dig in. This was easier said than done, and it required a few strong brothers.
Liam proposed enlisting the help of the Housing Director, Grant Kaiser, Adrian O’Connell, and Benjamin Manlove. Daniels suggested adding Leroy Brown, Miles Schultz, and Wesley Bell to the group. Swearing they could be trusted completely. The muscle hunks had quietly questioned James about Liam’s motives, and seemed pleasantly surprised by what Daniels had told them.
Liam grabbed his phone and sent a short, coded text to the six men: “URGENT: LIAM MOORE, Meet James and me in the basement now. Wear work clothes. Bring gloves. Confidential!”
Liam kept playing his cards close to his chest; the three new additions did not need to know the entire story yet. They would understand the actual reason for this early-morning labor tomorrow evening.
A bigger surprise was the swift arrival of Adrian O’Connell. As if he had anticipated Liam’s text. The man was kitted out for heavy lifting, a lumbar support slung over his shoulder and gloves in hand. Adrian had known about Liam’s idea since yesterday, yet had apparently kept this critical knowledge entirely to himself, which only added to the mystery. Still, Liam was surprised that O’Connell was going along so willingly with the sudden call. Moore figured ‘Ass’ was feeling guilty about the changes he and the former President had made.
It turned out these six helpers shared a common trait. They were bulky, dominant men, ideally suited for the back-breaking work ahead. They arrived before the rest of the house woke up. James dashed back up the stairs to lock the bookcase behind them.
Liam clapped his hands once, his voice low and serious. “Listen up, guys. The work we do now stays here. If anyone asks, we are only moving the gym equipment back where it belongs. This is non-negotiable. Got it?” Six heads nodded in immediate, silent agreement.
The eight guys efficiently moved the gym equipment out onto the terrace and via the swimming pool back up to the original workout room on the ground floor. The initial work was done before breakfast. Leaving a blank slate to rebuild.
• The renovation: day and night.
Liam snuck into the Vance House kitchen and began preparing a hearty winter breakfast for the Frats. They were a bit surprised to see Moore rather than Helga Pots, the lesbian Vance House Cook, doling out their food. He took James, Grant, and Adrian back down to start the renovations.
The rest of the moving crew was given a strict instruction: intercept any questioning brothers and keep them busy by setting up, cleaning, and aligning the weight equipment. With the help of Grant, James, and Adrian, the necessary muscle was provided to keep the renovation of the Dungeon going.
For the rest of the day and deep into the following morning, the four men toiled in a frenzy. The sound of drilling and hammering reached up from the depths as paint fumes quickly thickened the air. They ripped down the white-washed ceiling tiles and laid dark rubber flooring. The new ceiling and walls were painted a dark matte black with red and gold accents. Fluorescent strip lights were replaced with warm-yellow spotlights and hidden red LED accents.
The ritual temple was being reborn, looking even more sinister than it had during Colton’s reign. The room’s centerpiece, a circular red leather bed with hooks and belts, stood in front of an altar, flanked by wall sconces and a painting of a demonic leather creature – Adrian’s handiwork. One or more pledges could be initiated here. Giving their body, soul, and loyalty to λ α β and the Brotherhood. The transformation was absolute and brutal.
The central main space got set up as a multi-zone pleasure Dungeon. Grant Kaiser had saved the old sex furniture from Petrov’s purge. The men hauled the heavy-duty equipment back inside from the garages. Hanging some racks on the wall for tools, wips, and paddles. Brightening the space with red accents and gold-illuminated erotic art. They quickly built a few private sex rooms. Even adding a grungy watersports urinal, complete with gloryholes, next to the bar area.
The Saint Andrew’s Cross, a massive wooden stockade, and several heavy-duty leather slings stood like monuments to absolute control. These, alongside thick, leather-topped fuck benches, transformed the area into a zone where the lines between pleasure and endurance were intentionally blurred.
In a secluded corner, Liam and Grant welded together a series of zinc-plated jail cells using salvaged rusty security gates. Liam had modeled the idea after the large ‘Dog Kennels’ he’d seen at the Quartermaster’s Lockup.
These were the perfect holding pens, designed so Tops could park their Subs securely while they retreated to the bar. It gave the men a chance to enjoy a cigar and a drink in peace, knowing exactly where their property awaited them.
Meanwhile, Andrew and James brought the obnoxiously bright sports bar back to earth. They created a darkened, gritty biker watering hole, replacing the plastic chairs with leather barstools and a small stage with a gleaming stripper pole. Some old leather sofas provided the love seats. A few gaming tables were added to entice the intellectuals. Strip Poker, anyone?
Only some black gym equipment and large mirrors were left in the main hall and the bar, a reminder that the double-duty tools hadn’t completely vanished, merely found a new focus.
Liam converted an old, brown leather vaulting buck with adjustable wooden legs into a BDSM sawhorse bondage bench. Adding some knee and elbow rests and hooks to tie someone down. He had gotten the inspiration from the fuck bench at the Quartermaster’s Lockup. Grant smirked dirty at Liam.
“Thanks for building me my favorite chair, boss.”
“Yeah, better lube up good. This thing will see some heavy action, I bet.”
The work was relentless. Their fuel was cheap: energy drinks, ramen, and scorched hot pockets. Sleep was just as hollow. They took staggered power naps in the reinstalled slings or huddled together on discarded rubber mattresses in the Dungeon.
Soon, word circulated. The four most dominant men in the house were secretly barricaded in the basement. The Petrov loyalists grew restless. They began pounding on the locked, hidden entry door. Liam, covered in sweat and paint, simply waved them away with a curt, Presidential dismissal.
“The area is temporarily restricted,” he stated calmly. “You’ll see the finished product tomorrow evening.”
President Moore’s tone brooked no argument.
• The warning.
When the bulk of the work was done in the early morning of the 30th, Liam was finally ready to relax. The new President took a long-overdue shower around 9 AM, baffled that no one had tried to get in his pants the day before. This visceral, masculine heat was the polar opposite of the Moore household – a place where ‘family holidays’ meant a cold shoulder and criticisms. As new as he was to being gay, these delightful encounters had become his primary source of pleasure and warmth.
He was doing some shoulder stretches under the hot water to loosen his aching back muscles when a loud knock shook his apartment door.
With a towel hastily wrapped around his waist, he walked to the door, finding Leroy Brown there. Leroy was anxiously looking over his shoulder, as if he had stolen something and urgently needed to hide the evidence.
The muscular dark stud pushed his way past Liam, kicking the door shut behind him and clicking the deadbolt without asking. When Leroy turned back, he found Liam scowling dangerously, dripping soapsuds onto the floor.
“President Moore, I need to talk to you. Alone. Now!” Leroy’s voice was a low, distressed rumble.
“Can’t it wait, Leroy? I was taking a hot shower. My back hurts from all the work in the cellar. I am glad that’s over.” Liam leaned against the doorframe, trying to block the bulky hunk from entering his apartment. Liam had overheard the other men call the bodybuilder ‘Diesel’. The President was trying to look relaxed despite the alarm in Leroy’s eyes.
“No, sir. This is serious. It’s about the Alphas. Ethan Kim and Henry Johnson are plotting against you, man. I’ve overheard them. They... They are more dangerous than Petrov. Dangerous doesn’t even start to describe them,” Leroy said in one staggered breath.
His dark brown eyes flitted down Liam’s wet body and settled on the bump hidden beneath the fluffy white towel. “Sorry, but this is really pressing. But damn, bro. You really look good. More like a bottom than a top without the leather, though. And maybe some more muscles would fit you,” Leroy said, stroking the back of his hand over Liam’s naked torso.
Liam smiled at the sudden shift. He put the side of his hand under Leroy’s chin and gently lifted his head. “Eyes up here, Brown. One problem at a time. You’re not bad looking either. I do like a hot black bodybuilder stud. Once you go black, you never go back, right?” Liam’s tone shifted to a possessive growl. “And sure, I wouldn’t mind bottoming for you, ‘Diesel’. You remind me of Colton. Hope you’re not as girthy as him, though. Ryder is intense, man.”
Liam grinned, stepping aside to invite the black muscle hunk deeper into the room. “Come on in and dump a load... Umm... I mean, take a load off... Well, shit, you know what I mean.”
Leroy certainly knew what Liam meant. He hooked his massive arm around Liam’s shoulder and gripped the back of his head. Forcing it to tilt, he planted his dark lips on Moore’s pink flesh. An immediate, searing heat filled the sunlit room, engulfing the two men and charging the electric atmosphere between them. As if New Year’s sparklers had been lit and refused to go out.
Liam lost his fluffy towel and the will to resist. The hot kiss became extraordinarily intense. Diesel’s groping hand had Liam hard in a heartbeat. When the powerlifter let go, he didn’t step back; instead, he hoisted Liam bodily off the floor with one arm. With a massive hand hooked under a buttock and thick fingers digging deep into Liam’s wet crease, the Sophomore marched the Freshman toward the bed. Moore hung on for dear life as their breathing turned heavy, their tongues tangled around each other.
Moore didn’t know how Brown had managed it, but in one fluid motion, the man flung him onto his stomach. At the same time, Diesel had exposed his beautifully proportioned cock. Liam looked directly at the weeping, dark-skinned head and decided to scoot forward. He tasted the sweet pre-cum with a delicate kiss before working his lips around the swelling crown.
The moment Liam’s tongue joined the party, Diesel’s knees buckled. He had to plant both hands on the back of Liam’s head just to steady himself. Moore really had a good teacher in Colton Ryder – the nasty thug had taught him exactly how to please a black man.
• The distraction.
Diesel forgot the urgency of his warning, letting Liam gobble up the delightful bricked-dick. Once Moore’s tongue slipped between his bottom teeth and Leroy’s shaft to tickle his balls, Brown took over. He plunged the 9 incher into Liam’s throat. Face-fucking his brain out. Moore just let it happen. Wondering if he would ever be allowed to breathe again.
But the Alpha top stayed in total control. He knew how to treat a guy right. Leroy wasn’t as girthy as Colton Ryder, but damn, they were carved from the same brutal log. And that is what Liam loved about those black power fuckers. When Brown pulled out to give Moore the opportunity to suck his plump nuts, Liam quickly asked, “So... What about Kim and Johnson?”
Brown stepped back in surprise at the President’s question while the Freshman was servicing his Mahogany Treetrunk so nicely.
“Don’t you dare step away from me, Brown. I’ll suck, you talk. You can multitask, can’t you? And once you’re done, can you give my back a massage, Diesel?”
The muscle hunk kicked off his shoes and jumped on the bed behind Liam. Giving the man a well-deserved firm massage while he explained.
“Right, you are. Shit, you’re hot. Can I fuck you bare? Do you need lube?”
“Go ahead, stick it to me, Diesel. Spit lube will do. But what is going on?”
As Leroy scooted forward, the head found its way past the outer baffles. Liam screamed as he got stretched open. Brown pulled back and applied some extra spit on his dick and down the crack.
Taking a run at it, he forced half the length inside in one go. Giving Moore something to really scream about. The rough bastard clapped a hand over Liam’s mouth to muffle the scream of delight and lay on top of the still-wet back. Giving the President a reassuring kiss as he penetrated his guts completely. Not mean, but really challenging nevertheless.
“Okay... Nice tight ass, man. Not many guys like it like this. You okay, Bro?”
“Fine, just give me a moment. And tell me what I am facing, apart from your black babies,” joked Liam over his shoulder. Giving Brown a slobbering kiss on his cheek.
“Oh, right... Well, Kim and Johnson want you gone. And they were talking about organising a revolt against you. Fuck... Shit... Ooh... Man, stop bucking your ass up. You want to make me bust a load in there? Or what?”
“If that’s what it takes. Just pump me a little faster. I can deal with their resistance. I think I got most of the Frat convinced anyway. Yeah... Hell... Now we are getting somewhere... Give me that nut... Slam it in me, Brown... Shit... Yeah... I can feel it... Open me up for tonight’s main event... Oh hell, yeah!... Breed me.”
Moore felt the muscle hunk stop the pound and fill his aching guts with stream after stream of hot liquid. Brown’s throbbing black balls slammed against the white cheeks as he unloaded aggressively. Keeping Liam in an unmovable embrace. Liam extricated an arm and hooked it over Leroy’s neck. Giving the muscular stud time to come down from the adrenaline high.
“Ya ass made this nigger very happy, Boss. We should have recorded this for my OnlyFans page,” grunted Leroy Brown.
Liam was a little surprised that Leroy said it. But the man calling him ‘Boss’ shook him even more.
“You said it... Not me. I would not call you something like that.”
“Humm?... Well, honestly. I would not mind if you did. Just not in public.”
“Fair enough, Diesel. And I don’t mind you calling me Boss... President sounds so formal. And about that video stuff... If that’s your career path, go talk to Grant Kaiser. He told me he produces high-end porn. And the money isn’t bad either.”
“Fuck?... Fo’ real?! I might try that. Thanks, man. But what about the resistance?”
“We will break them tonight. Colton and the Vance Board are joining us, too. I hope you got my back, though. Now, can you slide that monster out and take a quick wash? We have to do this again sometime, though. But then, in a proper setting and dressed in some kinky leather.”
Brown’s lip twisted in a God-almighty dirty grin. This aggressive Alpha top liked that idea very much.
“One more for team Moore,” Liam thought.
“I need to roll back the changes Petrov and his men made. Thanks for the warning, Diesel... Great fuck. I enjoyed this.”
Liam gave the man a kiss and pointed him to the shower. As Diesel got back from a quick wash and a piss, he walked over to the President.
“I like the path you are taking this Frat down, Boss... I love to screw around in Leather. Thanks for listening, see ya around, Liam.”
Liam smiled, “Careful what you wish for, Bro. I am not going anywhere. Drop by if you... Umm... need a hand, mouth, heck, or my ass... I am not picky.”
Liam walked the man to the door and gave him a swift hug and a warm kiss. Leroy gave a final, satisfied toothy grin and pulled the door shut behind him. The sudden quiet of the room was heavy, smelling of sweat, leather, and ambition.
• Turning back the time.
The heat of the sexual encounter – the raw, physical loyalty of Diesel – was the high-octane fuel Liam needed. But as the shower steam cleared, the clock took over.
“The fun is over, he told himself, staring at his reflection. Now, we end the war.”
Liam knew he could flip this house, even the holdouts like Kim and Johnson. He dressed with surgical precision: a butch pair of 501s in leather, a crisp button-up with a leather tie, and a navy-blue woolen school blazer. It was his new ‘Leather Office-look’ – professional enough to command a boardroom, but dark enough to control a dungeon. He buffed his pointed ankle boots until they shone like glass. For the first time, he didn’t see a lucky freshman in the mirror. He saw President Moore.
He sat at his desk, fingers flying across the keys. He wasn’t just writing a memo; he was drafting a manifesto. Liam distilled his vision into six lethal strikes:
- The Petrov Era is Dead: λ α β has a proud history, but the last two years were a lie. You were taught to be ashamed of being gay. That ends today.
- Embrace the Skin: We are Leather Alpha Beta. We don’t hide our culture. We wear it.
- Survival of the Bold: We’re reverting to the original Vance Bylaws. We’re lifting the veil – pride colors go up outside. We grow the numbers, or we have to double the dues. Your choice.
- The Sanctuary: The basement is for Brothers only. Keep your flings in your rooms; keep the “straight” world at a motel.
- The Code of Consent: We are not Petrov. We treat everyone with respect. We ask. We don’t take.
- The Path to Mastery: We start as bottoms; we work to become Masters. Through study, sweat, and leather, we honor the Oath.
Liam printed thirty copies. They weren’t just rulebooks; they were the weapons he’d use to execute his vision.
• A tense lunch.
As Liam walked toward the dining hall, his heart hammered a rhythm against his ribs that his confident posture didn’t betray. “Don’t fuck this up,” he kept whispering to himself.
The eighteen-man crew was already seated. The air was thick with the smell of Helga’s cooking and a heavy, vibrating silence. Where Liam’s plate usually sat, a custom metal tabletop lectern now stood, the Greek letters λ α β laser-cut into the steel.
Liam nodded to the cook, Helga Pots, and shared a sharp, nervous look with Grant Kaiser. His inner circle was ready. His right-hand man, James ‘Rob’ Daniels, sat tall in leather jeans and a blue-leather-and-creamy-wool SHU varsity jacket. In contrast, stocky Pledge Ben Manlove sat shivering in a borrowed leather polo, looking like a rabbit in a den of hungry wolves.
Then there was Diesel. Leroy had gone full-throttle: denim pants paired with a chrome-studded, punk-leather jacket that made him look absolutely imposing – a dark, jagged mountain of muscle. Liam flashed him a quick, knowing smile.
As far as Moore could see, only two men lacked the embrace of something in leather. Ethan ‘Dimsung’ Kim and Henry ‘HD’ Johnson sat in their preppy sweaters, looking like relics of a dead era. “Stuck-up bastards,” Liam thought. “I bet they’re wearing leather jocks or cockstraps under those college khakis.”
Liam stepped behind the lectern and slammed the stack of rulebooks down. The sound echoed like a gunshot through the hall’s speakers.
“Afternoon, Lambda Alpha Beta. For those who don’t know me, my name is Liam Owen Wyatt Moore, I am 21, and your new Pres…”
“Boring!” Ethan ‘Dimsung’ Kim heckled, not even looking up from his water.
“…And the Vance Foundation Board has appointed me your new President—” Liam got interrupted again. This time by Henry ‘HD’ Johnson.
“Liar!” Johnson shouted, slamming his fist on the table. “Things were fine under Petrov! We don’t need a Freshman telling us what to do – or what to wear!”
“I’ve seen the changes Petrov made,” Liam shot back, his voice cutting through the noise. “He made you fear your own identity. He made you hide being gay because he wasn’t one of us!”
Suddenly, Adrian O’Connell – the Sergeant-at-Arms and Petrov’s former lover – stood up. His face was a mask of raw Irish fury.
“Shut the fuck up!” Adrian roared. While his eyes were locked onto Liam, the sheer venom in his voice wasn’t directed at the President; it was a desperate demand for the floor.
The room went ice-cold. For a split second, Liam felt the floor fall away. He’d worked side-by-side with Adrian all day in the ritual room; he thought they were brothers in this. But as the silence stretched, the direction of Adrian’s rage shifted. He whirled toward Johnson, his finger shaking as he pointed.
“Shut up, Henry! You don’t know half of it!” Adrian repeated, his voice cracking. Adrian’s shoulders suddenly slumped, his mask of bravado shattering into raw, visible shame. He wasn’t attacking Liam; he was defending the new order.
“It’s okay, Brother,” Liam said softly, his voice steady as he reclaimed control of the room. “Stand up. Tell them the truth.”
• Adrian’s tale.
“Oliver Petrov didn’t just leave us,” Adrian rasped, his voice trembling. “He was arrested. The bastard got four times 12 years for violent, predatory acts against five women! He only pretended to be one of us so he could hide in this house – he used his pretend gayness as a shield. But the judge saw right through that!”
A collective gasp rippled through the hall, followed by a wave of confused murmurs. “Why didn’t we hear about this?!” someone shouted. “Bullshit! It wasn’t even front page news!”
“That’s because the SHU College and the local police buried the assault scandal in a deep, dark hole,” Adrian spat, his voice bitter.
“The administration didn’t want a violent scandal on the front page, and the cops were happy to keep it quiet as long as Petrov went away. There was only one small blurb in the back of the local paper – it didn’t even name him. They called it an ‘isolated incident at a private institution.’ But tell that to those women. They put a lid on the truth to protect the school’s image, leaving us to rot under his rules.”
“Look, he hated the gay stuff and our leather culture,” Adrian continued, tears welling in his eyes. “He destroyed the basement because he hated seeing us empowered. He re-wrote the laws to keep us weak and afraid. President Moore isn’t a usurper. He’s the only one trying to set us free.”
Adrian sat down, burying his face in his hands. The silence that followed was deafening. Kim and Johnson sat frozen, the color draining from their faces as they looked at each other in sheer, horrified disbelief. They hadn’t been in on the secret either; they had just been Petrov’s puppets.
The brothers turned as one, their glares shifting from Liam to the now-cowering Kim and Johnson. The truth didn’t just hurt; it incinerated the old regime.
Liam stood tall. “I am your President. I’m sorry you didn’t get to elect me, but—”
“That’s ‘cause we finally found y’all a better one... a True Master and a Teach.” A voice like grinding tectonic plates boomed from the doorway. Liam spun around. Standing there was a wall of a powerful black man, flanked by five distinguished suits from the Foundation.
“Master Colton!” James Daniels cried out, bolting to his feet. “And the Board, too! Welcome back, Sirs!”
Liam watched as the entire room underwent a terrifying, beautiful transformation. Every brother stood up in unison. They bowed their heads. Their legs spread slightly, fingers intertwining as if to cup their balls in a synchronized, ancient posture of total submission.
Liam stood frozen behind his lectern. He had never seen this move before. It was so damned submissive. Even the Alpha Tops showed their respect to these six men. Beside him, the Freshman, Ben Manlove, looked like he was about to faint. He was the only other guy who had no clue what was going on.
The King had returned to the roost, but he was looking straight at Liam with an approving, predatory glint in his eye.
• The plan.
President Moore gestured for the Board to sit among the Brothers, a silent power move that integrated the leadership with the house. Helga Pots hurried into the kitchen to find six more plates and cutlery sets while Liam signaled for the Brothers to be seated.
“In lieu of electing a new President,” he said, “... I’ve decided we will initiate Pledge Benjamin Manlove tonight. I’ve asked the Board to take the reins of the ceremony, seeing as the procedure is new to me as well.”
A collective shudder of anticipation rippled through the dining room. It had been over a year since a new pledge had been added to the Brotherhood – their dwindling numbers were proof of the rot of the previous era. Liam announced that they will have to elect a Rush Chair and a Pledge Master to get their numbers back to 32. Just so they could keep the Dues at the current level. The men were visibly eager to see the secrets of the remodeled basement, too.
“There is, however, a problem,” Liam announced, “... λ α β has more Subs than Doms to complete tonight’s ritual. Therefore, you will be re-sorted onto the ‘Ladder of Ascent.’ You may find yourselves moved up or down a few rungs. Not all Tops are at the level they claim to be, and several Bottoms have progressed beyond where they are now. Tonight at 20:00 hours, the door to the Underworld opens again, and I expect you all to dress appropriately.”
“Do you have any idea how expensive leather gear is?” ‘Dimsung’ Kim growled, his face twisted in anger. “I’m not spending a fortune just to fulfill your fucking fantasies.”
“True, Ethan, a full leather kit is an investment. Not for my pleasure, but for your own status,” Liam countered calmly, his voice steady. “But you can get creative with a few dollars. There is a Moto store in town for cheap fingerless gloves, and a pet shop for a spiked dog collar. I bet even Home Depot has a dozen things you could convert into bondage gear with a little imagination.”
Liam gestured to Kim’s hands. “Pick up a box of black industrial nitrile gloves if you don’t want to shell out for leather ones yet. They look just as mean under the right lights. Hit a thrift store for a faux-leather jacket. Even you, Brother Kim, could wear a Korean leather blazer to classes without getting odd looks.”
Liam took a deep breath, his gaze sweeping the room. “Go shopping, guys. I want to see cockrings, wristbands, or harnesses on the Bottoms. And you, Alphas? Dress like you mean it. There’s a leather tailor on 5th and Hooper – Mr. Pete’s Leather – who handles the kinky stuff. Every self-respecting man should own at least one leather jacket. Don’t break your budget, but dress in line with your progression. Combine the lessons of the university with the lessons of λ α β. That is our purpose: to dominate through knowledge, courage, and growth.”
Liam then turned his focus to the nervous twink sitting next to him. “Manlove, stand up,” he commanded. Benjamin stood, his legs slightly shaky.
“Pledge Manlove, you’ve seen this Fraternity. Are you willing to take the Oath and become our brother, for now and all eternity? Are you willing to do whatever we ask? To keep our secrets and serve your brothers’ every need?”
Benjamin looked proudly around the room, his voice surprisingly firm. “Yes, Sir. I am willing. I want to take the Oath. If the brothers find me suitable, I will serve.”
Liam gripped Benjamin’s nape, a possessive seal of approval. The Scally lad looked good in the borrowed leather polo. The brothers slammed their fists on the table in acknowledgment.
“Miss Pots, you may serve lunch,” Liam announced. “This afternoon I’ll be shopping for some pride materials. We hoist the colors before dinner, and tonight, gentlemen, we initiate our friend into our Brotherhood. Mr. Kaiser, please hand out the new Code of Conduct. Bon appétit, men.”
A pleasant, energized murmur erupted in the hall. Liam exchanged a look with the Board’s CEO, Trenton Whitaker, and Colton Ryder. Both men were grinning. They had expected excellence from Moore, but he was delivering a revolution.
• Hoisting the colors.
Liam went straight to Nemo’s and Mr. Pete’s Leather after lunch. He bought several high-quality Pride flags and an outdoor lighting kit. At the break of dusk, with the winter air biting at his cheeks, Moore stood before the house’s tall flagpole. The Brotherhood gathered on the porch, watching in a silence that was half-awe and half-anxiety as Liam hoisted their colors and flipped the switch.
The rainbow-colored LEDs wrapped like a Christmas tree around the pole flashed to life, casting a sparkling, multicolored spectacle across the snow-dusted lawn. They all knew this was the right thing to do, yet a collective shiver ran through them that had nothing to do with the temperature. Vance House had not been this openly gay for decades.
Their long-standing self-censorship had served as a shield, but as their colors snapped in the wind, they realized the ‘Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell’ era had been a slow poison. This wasn’t just a call for new recruits; it was a claim to the space they had rightfully occupied since 1904.
Behind the scenes, the revolution was even more intense. Throughout the afternoon, the six Board members had interviewed all eighteen men, sorting them onto the “Ladder of Ascent.”
After a light dinner, the men gathered in the opulent Grand Lounge, dressed in the roles the Board had assigned them. The atmosphere had shifted; the air was thick with the scent of woodsmoke, expensive leather, and raw nerves.
• Unveiling of the mark.
From above the massive fireplace, the stern, leather-clad portrait of Peter Vance and his father looked down from its place of honor. Flanking the hearth, Grant Kaiser had installed two golden flag standards. Liam stepped into the firelight, his movements fluid and confident, and hung the Gay Pride flag on the left and the Leather Pride flag on the right.
The vibrant colors reclaimed the vintage wood-paneled room. Liam stood by the hearth, the firelight dancing off the heavy black leather he now wore – a suit that marked him not as a student, but as a leader. He looked at the eighteen men – some already in their new gear, others still clinging to their college clothes – and felt the weight of the sorting list in his pocket.
“Guys, it’s time to get ready,” Liam said, his voice echoing through the expectant room. “No one is forced to participate in the initiation ritual tonight. But I know for a fact you don’t want to miss the party afterward.”
A few nasty grins broke out in the crowd. The tension began to thaw.
“Before you go, I have something for you. I made a deal with Mr. Pete’s Leather, and he’s put together some new λ α β leather swagger for us.”
Liam began handing out adjustable leather wrist wallets. They were high-quality, rugged pieces. On the credit card flap, the tailor had embossed the new logo: the Greek symbol for Lambda at the peak, with Alpha and Beta flanking the legs on the line below. It looked like a modern sigil – a brand for the new era. Apparently, Moore had hit a home run with the latest house loyalty gear; it even came with a 15% discount card for future purchases of $150 or more.
While the others admired the craftsmanship, Henry ‘HD’ Johnson couldn’t help but grumble. He stared at the discount card with a look of pure annoyance. “Damn,” he muttered loudly enough for those nearby to hear. “If I’d known this was coming, I wouldn’t have dropped full price on my new chaps this afternoon!”
Moore ignored the stab in the dark and finally turned to the six members of the Board. He presented each of them with a larger, more ceremonial version mounted on an oak heraldic shield. The embossed leather gleamed under the lounge lights, and the gold-plated plaque above it read:
Vance Foundation, Lambda Alpha Beta,
Sterling Harbor University – Since 1904.
Director Trenton Whitaker ran a thumb over the leather, a look of genuine pride on his face. The message was clear: The Fraternity was back, the history was honored, and Liam Moore was the man holding the keys.
President Moore showed the Brotherhood and the Board 3 similarly impressive brass plaques that needed to be mounted next to the fences and beside the heavy oak door into Vance House.
• The descent to the Underworld.
Liam Moore had discussed the procedure with Colton Ryder and Trenton Whitaker. They knew their roles in the new ceremony. Liam was to sort the men on the ‘Ladder of Ascent’ according to the ranks assigned by the Board. There were twelve tiers in all. Liam noted his own high placement, standing alongside Masters like Leroy Brown and James Daniels.
Once the sorting was complete, Pledge Ben Manlove would be bound to the ritual bed to take the Oath. Once the Vow was successfully absolved, he would begin his journey up the rungs of the Ladder. In λ α β, the possibilities for advancement were endless.
Everyone started as a Pup. The only brothers lower than that were the true Sluts. Those with ambition could climb from Sub to Top, or Sir and beyond. The true power of the fraternity lay with the Alphas and Masters. However, the Ladder didn’t end at graduation. Once a man had carved his path in the outside world, he could be summoned to the Vance Foundation Board – ascending to the ranks of Bull, Sire, or the ultimate authority: Overlord.
Just before 8 PM, the brothers converged. They sauntered down the carved main staircase toward the Grand Lounge. Seasoned Alphas moved in full leather. Subservient Brothers followed in mere harnesses and jocks. Their presence was a sea of creaking leather, denim, or latex. The heavy boots hammered against the polished oak floor. Moore was pleased they stripped away their preppy college identities and gave themselves a much more powerful, butch appearance.
They gathered near the reading nook, eyes fixed on the secret entrance to the Underworld. Once, this place had been their playground – a hidden space for carnal release and casual Brotherhood. But tonight, the air felt different.
They exchanged nervous, wide-eyed grins. The camaraderie was still there, but it was edged with a sharp, sexual tension. It had been over a year since the Foundation had sanctioned an initiation of this magnitude.
As the hidden door swung open, the descent began. The scent of woodsmoke and old books gave way to the impressive look of the rebuilt ritual room. Boisterous chatter died out, replaced by the rhythmic thud of boots on steel steps. The men followed Bull Colton Ryder downstairs. Their eyes grew wide at the transformation. Petrov’s workout room was gone. In its place was a fully utilized dungeon: a gloryhole watersports space, heavy equipment, and even zinc-plated jail cells.
As the men explored, they found the gritty leather biker bar to the right and the ritual room to the left. The space felt ancient, erotic, and full of forbidden pleasures. Liam heard gasps of shock mixed with undeniable excitement. The Underworld hadn’t just been restored; it had been reclaimed by something far more ancient and absolute.
• The ritual sorting.
Standing on the threshold of the ritual room was Bull Colton Ryder. The imposing muscle-hunk was clad in hooded ceremonial robes, his silence more demanding than any shout. He stood guard, ensuring the men could watch but not yet enter. The room was a physical manifestation of their new reality.
Grant and Colton had taken Liam’s ‘Ladder of Ascent’ and run with it. With Adrian’s help, they had transformed the Altar, installing a literal, physical twelve-rung ladder against a backdrop of occult imagery. The Altar was bedecked with bright red candles, dildos, whips, and paddles. This beautiful, brutal addition brought Liam’s metaphor to life.
On the rubber-tiled floor, they had painted a golden Dodecagram. The twelve-pointed star was bisected by ‘Inner’ and ‘Outer’ rings. These circles dictated status: Alphas stood near the walls; Betas stood near the initiation table. On this floor, your title wasn’t what you claimed to be; it was where your body was ordered to stand.
In the center sat a circular, red leather bondage bed – the hub of the initiation. The five-foot table featured hooks and black belts to strap initiates down. A firm triangular cushion was positioned to keep the Pledge ‘Ass up, Face down.’ For efficiency, the area between the legs was cut out, allowing the Ritual Master to perform his duty unimpeded.
The Sergeant-at-Arms called their names, his voice echoing off the freshly painted walls. As each brother took his place on the golden lines, the room’s energy shifted. The ‘Outer Tier’ – the dominant shield-brothers of the fraternity – filled first.
Masters Leroy Brown and James Daniels took their places near the Altar. Liam Moore stood next to James. Even Ethan Kim was surprised to find himself in the outer circle, despite being demoted from Alpha to Top. But as the names of the known Alphas dwindled, a cold sweat broke out among the remaining men. They watched the ‘Inner Ring’ begin to fill with the Subs and Pups.
When Liam announced that several former Alphas were to take their place as Bottoms on the ‘Inner Ring,’ the air turned sour with shame and hidden desire. They were no longer leaders; they were the foundation’s new bedrock.
Predictably, Henry Johnson protested the loudest. “YOU DID THIS DELIBERATELY!” he roared. “You’re not a president, Moore. You’re a tyrant!” He looked expectantly at Ethan Kim, but Kim simply shook his head.
Before Liam could respond, Colton Ryder bellowed, “Johnson, you are straight-up out of line! If you don’t want to be here, then man up or get to steppin’. President Moore didn’t sort your sorry ass; the Board did. And since you wanna act like a bitch, I’m demoting you to Pup. You’re starting from the bottom. Actually... No! Hand over that λ α β sigil shield right now and clear your shit out of our house!”
Henry Johnson angrily threw his leather wrist wallet at Liam’s face and stomped out. James Daniels followed him to ensure the Oath of Secrecy was respected. Liam looked over his shocked brothers, his gaze lingering on the restless men.
“Lambda Alpha Beta is not just a playground,” he stated, his voice dropping to a commanding resonance. “This is your forge. The Dodecagram shows you exactly where you stand – not just in this room, but in the world. If you are sorted into the ‘Inner Ring’ today, do not see it as a sentence. See it as the opportunity to master your own ego.”
He stepped toward the initiation bed. “The ‘Ladder of Ascent’ is your career path. To dominate a boardroom, you must first learn to dominate your own impulses. Whether you leave these halls for Law, Business, or Politics, you will leave knowing how to command authority – or how to use your position to manipulate it.”
Liam looked at Bull Ryder and the Masters, who nodded slowly. “We do not sort you to humiliate you. We sort you so you can grow. Every man here has the potential to climb this Ladder, but only if he survives the truth of his current rank.”
With the sorting finished, five Vance Foundation Board members, in floor-length ceremonial hooded robes, guided Pledge Benjamin Manlove down. The English Scally was collared and chained between them. Leading the procession was Overlord Trenton Whitaker.
At 56, Whitaker moved with the quiet confidence of a man who didn’t need to raise his voice; his presence was a vacuum that pulled the oxygen from the room. As Liam knew, the predator was a force to be reckoned with. His massive, heavy build was built for endurance, and he was a known master of the whip. If he did not get what he wanted, his wrath was immediate and absolute.
At a sharp nod from Overlord Whitaker, the four hooded Board members moved with practiced precision. They unclipped the chains from Ben’s collar and guided him toward the red leather bondage bed. The Scally Pledge looked small against the figures in their heavy robes. They didn’t speak; they didn’t need to. They simply forced him onto the triangular cushion, shoving his chest down until his hips were elevated in the air.
Liam’s butch leather polo shirt and necktie contrasted nicely with the threadbare denim cut-offs Ben was wearing.
Ben’s breath hitched as the black leather straps were pulled tight around his wrists, neck, and ankles, ratcheting against the steel hooks of the table. The “Ass Up, Face Down” position was an absolute humiliation. With his legs spread wide over the cut-out section of the bed, he was left completely exposed to the room. The Board members stepped back into the shadows of the Dodecagram, leaving the Pledge trembling and displayed like an offering.
• The ritual Master.
The Alpha, Liam Moore, took his allotted place next to Master Daniels. At the Altar, Bull Colton Ryder stepped forward. He cast aside the front of his floor-length hooded robes, freeing his massive, heavy nine-inch ebony dong for all to see.
Pledge Benjamin Manlove gulped. He had never seen a weapon that dangerously large before. A visible shudder rippled through the Inner and Outer circles of the Dodecagram, too. It was clear that most of the brothers were just as intimidated by that thing. It appeared that only James and Liam had close-up encounters with the Mahogany baseball bat.
Pleased with their reaction, Colt gripped himself with a gloved hand. He stroked the full length a few times. The rhythmic, sloppy slurping of his spit-lubed leather glove was the only sound that broke the absolute silence. The heavy material still strained against his firm grip on the shaft. Bull Colton Ryder let the sound menacingly echo through the room before he finally spoke:
“Pledge Manlove, you stand now, bound to the Altar of our dual truth, having seen the Gates to Freedom and the Shadow that guards them. Remember that our chapter is built on two pillars: the visible structure of Vance House for gay men, and the unseen foundation of absolute secrecy in Leather, Alpha, Beta – λ α β – that secures us from the world. You are expected to begin your collection of the sacred Leather, which shall serve to guide your focus, uphold your beliefs, and symbolically strip you of all other limiting, earthly bounds. Your life and your future are now the property of this Brotherhood. Like in life, you start at the bottom and work your way up to the top through hard work and dedication. Speak these words, not merely with your voice, but with the surrender of your soul.”
• The Oath.
Pledge Benjamin Manlove answered by reciting loud and clear, with the learnt by heart Vow:
“Before the Shadow and the assembled Masters, I, the leather-bound initiate, Ben Manlove, do solemnly swear my life, my ambition, and my very desire to the principles of Lambda Alpha Beta. I pledge unquestioning obedience to the will of the Brotherhood, accepting my role as a servant to the collective growth of our λ α β chapter. I vow to keep the secrets of the Vance House and the rituals performed within its depths – specifically my identity and my preferences – guarded from all non-Brothers, under the binding power of the Leather.
I shall never bring an outsider into our sacred spaces, nor shall I ever compel another to serve or act against their own affirmed will. Should I betray this Oath through talk, trespass, or malice, I accept this final judgment: I will be cast out, stripped of all favor, and the full weight of the Brotherhood’s influence will be brought to bear upon my future career, ensuring the permanent and total financial ruin of my life and name. I submit now, without hesitation, for the promise of the enduring power of the Brotherhood.
Take my body, so I can give my soul.”
• The reply.
“We will take your body, Brother! Now until our souls part ways!” roared the brothers in unison.
Liam walked menacingly around the circular bondage bed. His rock-hard cock was bouncing from thigh to thigh on his leather pants.
“Take me like a man, or I’ll make you scream like a bitch,” he grunted down at the bound soul.
Standing in the cut-out of the bed, between Manlove’s knees, he reached down and ripped Ben’s jeans open at the ass seam, the sound of tearing denim punctuating the Pledge’s sharp gasp. He panted out a longing, desperate “Yes, Sir, I do,” when Liam asked if he wanted to be taken in front of his Brothers.
As Liam penetrated the initiate without remorse, the room erupted into a chaos of whoops and hollers. The corporate masks had fallen; the descent was complete. And for Benjamin Manlove, this was just the start of a very long night.
⁕ Would you want to join their Fraternity?
• Continued in part 7 •
Thank you for reading this story.
Please give it a 👍 Like or a Comment if you are inclined to do so.
And if your hands are not too dirty from all the spilled cum! 😋
© StrykerJ - Christmas 2025
