Dude, You Had My Cock In Your Mouth!

The following story is fictional. As such, it is not based on any real events, people, places, or fraternity chapters. My stories contain graphic sexual content, violence, offensive language, and sex with minors--none of which I condone. You must be eighteen and located where it’s legal to read such stories.

In real life, be respectful of others and never engage in anything even vaguely non-consensual. Use protection and don’t take party drugs.

Thank you for reading.

author – [email protected]

Hangovers Are a Fuckin’ Bitch

A little past 8 a.m., someone was crouched over Jon, shaking him awake. As his consciousness began crawling out from the dream he was having, Jon found himself staring up at the weathered face of Chet, the old man who cleaned the house. “Go home, clean up, and sleep it off, boy,” the man said flatly. Over the past 12 years cleaning this frat house, Chet had seen everything, and what he saw this morning certainly didn’t surprise the old man, who stood and walked to the bathroom to begin cleaning the mess in there.

‘What the fuck!’ Jon thought. It took a few moments for him to realize he was laying in the hallway outside Brad’s room, wearing nothing but his jeans …which were just barely on his hips and completely open—his cock and ash blonde pubes exposed to the world. His shoes and the rest of his clothes stood in a pile nearby, and on the door above him read a handwritten sign, saying, “Best cocksucker for miles!” with an arrow pointing down. ‘Oh my god, no’ Jon thought, stunned and bewildered—his head still spinning with the drugs in his system. He had images of a penis—not yet recalling the events of just a handful of hours previous—but there was no time to think about this now. Now, Jon needed to get dressed and get out of there. He grabbed his shirt from the pile and stood—wobbly on his legs with eyes going in-and-out of focus. His brain seemed incredibly ‘dense’, as Jon was having difficulty with the simplest of tasks. He managed getting his clothes on, except his briefs which he stuffed in his pocket, ripping the sign off the door and shoving it in his other pocket. Jon was fortunate, at least, that it was early on a Sunday morning: aside from Chet, everyone else was still passed out in their rooms, on sofas, and even on the floor of the cloakroom, where he found his coat and hustled out of the PIΚΕ house.

In the overcast, frozen morning, Jon trudged his way home through snow-covered sidewalks yet to be scooped—the bitter wind snapping his brain a bit from the haze in which it found itself, being replaced by a certain unease and the beginnings of panic, as select images from the preceding night briefly flashed across his memory. By the time, he’d climbed the stairs to his second-floor room, Jon was so nervous his hands shook, as he fumbled with the keys. Yeah, he’d been a little ‘nervous’ before some football and baseball games, but otherwise, Jon was an easy-going dude—calm and cool.

All this ended, when Jon unlocked his door and looked in the mirror above his dresser. He had dried, flaky white patches on his forehead, the sides of his face, and his neck, and his neck-length, blonde hair contained ugly mats of Brad’s dried cum. Other images from the preceding night flashed in his mind, and Jon quickly stripped, now in full-panic mode. He took the mirror off the wall, set it on the floor, stood above it, and pulled his beautiful globes apart. Time stood still, and, for a long minute, Jon couldn’t breathe. The narrow crevice between his smooth, round glutes was caked in the dried, white stuff. The backs of his balls were caked with it …and so was his private place. While his breath caught tight in his lungs unable to escape, Jon recalled episode of pain during the night and was (errantly) convinced Brad had also taken his manhood away. For the first time, since his appendix ruptured at age 12, Jon began crying—not just crying, sobbing. He staggered to his bed, crumbled down on it, and covered himself with the comforter. Inconsolable, he curled into a fetal position—tears and snot running over his stunningly handsome face onto the bedding below.

Jon’s mind raced. There had been the sign on Brad’s door: did Brad intend on ruining him?? What had he done to Brad?? Oh yes, there’d been the incident with Anne. If Brad ruined his rep, not only would he be expelled from the frat, but every other frat on campus would also hear about Jon—what with Brad being so famous and Greeks being so interconnected. There was also Tess: she had a temper and would feel humiliated. If she found out, every sorority girl on campus would soon know Jon was a fag. With a few others from his hometown at the university, there was even a slight possibility word would get back home. Jon would be forced to go to school elsewhere, and how on earth would he justify this to his parents?? All was lost. He blamed himself. He’d let this happen. He’d ruined himself …and his manhood. He would never be the same again.

Jon’s mind simply wouldn’t stop. He remembered he still had some codeine from last summer’s wisdom teeth removal, so Jon climbed out of bed long enough to take two of these pills, returning to the warmth and temporary safety he found underneath his comforter. Eventually, Jon drifted off to sleep, waking several hours later to the ringing of his cellphone. He let it go to voicemail and laid in bed, now awake and worrying again. Finally, after nearly an hour, Jon reluctantly once again climbed from bed, retrieving his cell, and crawling back in bed with it. It was now 4:30 p.m.

The call had been from one of his best friends in PIΚΕ, Chris Flynn, a very handsome dude, standing 6’ 1”, weighing 165 lbs., and having gray eyes, dark auburn hair, and dimples that made the babes wet their panties. Yeah, Chris was a hottie, with broad shoulders and a ripped set of abs to boot. His message was jovial, interjected with laughter: “Hey, where the fuck are you?? Kevin and I are here at Bergman Hall, studying—been here since 2. Are you still in bed? Hung over??” Then in a hushed voice, Chris whispered, “Hey, you want us to come over and fuck your hot, blonde pussy out of bed?? I got a big ole, hard cock with your name on it, buddy! You say the word, and I’m up in that big booty of yours!” Chris and Kevin laughed, then Chris continued, “Seriously, where are you? Come study with us, and later, we’ll get some dinner. Call me.”

A day ago, Jon would’ve laughed at the message, but today, his stomach sank, envisioning Chris’ hot body, fucking him doggy-style in his own bed. He tried blocking it—only resulting in adding Kevin’s hot body to the image, with that stud’s big cock sliding in-and-out of mouth, while Chris fucked him doggy-style. Jon began weeping …as his cock stiffened. ‘You are so fucked, dude! What the fuck is going on with me?? What the fuck has happened??’ Jon wondered over-and-over again.

Jon had text messages too. The one from Tess at 12:10 p.m. read, “Hey, I’m feeling a little better—not as bad as yesterday but still pretty cruddy. You’d better stay away, or you’ll catch it too…despite what you think. Call me when you have a chance and tell me about the party.”

There was also a text from another best bros and fellow PIΚΕ, Kevin Striklin. Jon couldn’t help reflecting on Kevin’s hot, muscular body. The dude stood 6’ 2” and weighed 170 lbs., and besides his broad shoulders and incredible abs, Kevin had the bluest eyes Jon had ever seen. Put all that together with Kevin’s shiny black, straight, medium-length hair and dimples for days, and you had an image of a real Adonis. Immediately, Jon reassured himself he was only imagining what girls must see. Then, of course, the image from earlier—of Kevin feeding Jon his cock—returned, with the Nordic jock trying to block it again. ‘Have I thought these things before?’ Jon worried, second-guessing his masculinity. Focusing on the text from Kevin, again, it read, “Get your cunt to Bergman Hall! We’ve got studying to do, bitch! Maybe later, I’ll shove your pretty face against the wall and fuck that sweet, blonde pussy of yours! My big cock’s hard just thinking about it!” Their friendship was a bit odd, with Kevin always dominating quiet, cool, Jon. Had Kevin not been such a stud—fucking his way through the Kappa house, you’d almost think Kevin was a bit territorial with Jon, grabbing the blonde’s hard, round glutes, guiding Jon around with his hand in the small of the blonde jock’s back, and—notably—making decisions on Jon’s behalf. The curious thing is why Jon let Kevin do these things, never raising a fuss or saying anything. Kevin was Jon’s leader.

Jon texted Tess, saying, “Sorry. Bad party. Did shots and am paying for it, bigtime. Will call you tonight. Glad you’re feeling a bit better. Love you, Tess.” Jon turned the phone off and closed his eyes, and soon—with the effects of the codeine taking hold again—Jon slept for another four hours, waking at 8:40 p.m.

When Jon woke this time, he had a voice message from Kevin …and a text from Brad. Jon panicked—his heart beating wildly, as he opened the text, which read, “Hey COCKSUCKER! How are you doing today?? Seriously, you gave me the *best* blowjob I’ve ever had! I’m not kidding!!! Take a look at your porn star performance. Sure hope it doesn’t get out! Imagine how many PIΚΕ cocks you’ll have down your throat if it does?? …but maybe you’d like that, huh? So, here’s the deal… I call or text: you come. You drop *everything*. The rest of the semester, you’re my bitch…my cumdump. Why? Because you’re so goddamned good!!! Take a look.” Jon’s panic attack worsened, as he clicked on the video. There he was …his mouth stretched so wide, bobbing and twisting on Brad’s humongous cock. How had he done that?? …get something so fucking huge in his mouth and throat?? And Jon was kneading Brad’s big glutes, like some cock-hungry whore! It was gross…with ropes of precum, snot, and tears flowing off his chin! The blonde jock began crying at the grand finale …where his face was covered in the thick, white ropes of cum—his mouth open and tongue out, trying to catch Brad’s seed. It was sickening, and Jon sobbed uncontrollably. So… this was how it would be until Brad graduated in May: the blonde jock-boy would be Brad’s faggot. Jon began dry-heaving.

After laying quietly in bed another 30 minutes or so, Jon grabbed the phone to listen to Kevin’s message. “Hey, bro, we’re at Pizza Oven eating the best, fucking pizza ever!” Then Kevin switched tones, using his most seductive voice—the tone he regularly used on so many sorority girls, “Don’t you wish you were here …on the floor …between my legs, sucking my big, ole cock.” Laughter erupted in the background, as Kevin continued, “Y-e-a-h, babe, I’ll bet you’d like that, huh?? …having my big, ole cock between your pretty lips …rubbing my big balls …slobbering on my cock …and best of all, sucking my babies down your belly.” Jon heard Chris in the background, announcing, “I get him after you!” And as though he’d said nothing queer, Kevin ended, light-heartedly saying, “Anyway, call us, bro!” Before today, all the graphic, jocular, faggy stuff Kevin and Chris dished-out never bothered Jon—it never really even ‘registered’ with him. Why would it? Jon always had girlfriends, he played football and baseball, he worked-out, he had a dirt bike back home—things straight boys do. Yeah, he ‘got’ that some people thought he was good-looking, but he didn’t think he was anything exceptional—although, in fact, he most certainly was. And, yeah, he knew had hard, round glutes that seemed to draw attention from both sexes, but they were like his blue eyes: he had no control over what nature had given him. In truth, he was greatly embarrassed by the attention his hard buttocks seemed to draw …during football practice, in the dugout, and most especially, in the locker room and shower …but Jon endured it, ignoring it as best he could. Now, however… now that he’d seen himself sucking cock—whoring himself on a cock, Jon’s mind unwilling received his bros’ graphic messages, as he closed his eyes and slid his hand under the comforter…across his solid six-pack…and around his hard, 8” cock—envisioning himself on the dirty floor of Pizza Oven, rubbing Kevin’s muscular thighs, and sucking his big cock—just like he’d whored himself on Brad’s huge cock. Then, the unwanted fantasy took an even worse turn: Jon was on his knees in the aisle of Pizza Oven, whoring himself on Kevin’s big cock, while Chris fucked him doggy-style and girls watched-on. Tears slipped out Jon’s closed eyelids, rolling over his temples and into his silky, blonde hair, as he fingered his taint, jacked his big cock, and began firing load-after-load of hot, white cum across his abs and pecs.

As he swallowed another codeine, the message ‘I am so fucked’ looped continuously through Jon’s brain.