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]

How Jon Became the Life of the Party

Three blocks from the university’s epicenter stood Bergman Hall, an old building, built in 1887 as the university’s original hospital and medical school. When the university built its current, ever-expanding hospital and medical school two miles away in 1926, it converted the various rooms and open wards in the building into classrooms and offices. Over the decades, however, the different schools within the university that had used the building—e.g., the Psychology Department, the Education Department, and so on—had built their own newer, bigger facilities, leaving old Bergman Hall all but abandoned—now housing the offices of random Graduate Student T.A.s. At one point, one of the second-floor, open wards with its high, Victorian ceilings had been converted to a study hall—a long, open room with big, heavy, wooden tables on either side of a center aisle, ending at a long-unused fireplace. It was a quiet place, offering tall windows you could actually open in nice weather (or when the boiler was set too high). At some point, the Greeks had discovered the place, and, by word of mouth over the years, it had been more or less commandeered by the Greeks. (At least one would think so, considering the large number of students sitting at the long tables wearing sweatshirts bearing ΠKΣ, TKΣ, KKΓ, ZΠΒ, ΧΩ, and ΘΔΧ (and on and on) and considering how many of these students seemed to know each other, which, at a large university, is somewhat unusual.

At one of these tables, on this subzero, late Monday afternoon, Jon sat studying with his bros, Kevin and Chris, across the table. It’d been a weekend Jon wished had never occurred or, at the very least, one he could erase from his memory. It was obvious—so far—that Brad had kept the matter to himself, and Jon’s only hope was Anne getting back together with Brad, such that Brad would forget all about his threat. He’d watched the video clip several times now, making himself sick to his stomach …and his cock hard. Jon had never imagined sucking cock or taking it up the ass, though something gnawed at him.

The three boys planned to study at Bergman Hall until 5:30 p.m., when they’d break for dinner—Jon going back to his room, Kevin and Chris heading back to the PIΚΕ house. At 5:05, however, Jon’s phone dinged indicating a new text. He looked at his phone, and his heart sank—his fair cheeks blushing a dark pink. The message from Brad read, “Hey girl, I’m in my room, feeling horny. How about you? Are you somewhere, thinking of how great my big cock tastes?? (I couldn’t give a shit if you are.) My room. NOW.”

Chris was deep in his reading, but Kevin—always curious—was watching, noting the odd look of embarrassment on Jon’s handsome face. “What the fuck’s wrong? Tess send you a pic of her fingering her beaver? Let me see.” Jon quickly put the phone in his pocket, while Kevin continued, “Why won’t you let me fuck her, Jon?? I’d let you watch. Hell, I’d even let you hold my cock and guide it into her!” Chris laughed out loud, causing not so friendly stares from other tables.

Jon couldn’t look at either Kevin or Chris. Both had a way of seeing right through Jon, with their prying questions. Putting his books and papers in his backpack, Jon stammered, “It’s my mom. It’s about my grandma. I gotta go, so I can call her.” Standing, he put his coat on and looked across the table at Kevin. The look on the black-haired Adonis justified to Jon his avoidance of eye contact, as Kevin stared disbelievingly into Jon’s eyes—a sneer across his face. Flustered, Jon added, “Whatever, dude. We were close, okay?” Throwing his backpack over his shoulder, Jon turned and left.

Outside, walking in the bitterly cold wind, Jon shook—not from the cold but, rather, from terror. His mind was a blizzard of thoughts. He thought of Tess, who he hadn’t seen since Saturday night—her flu turning into a nasty sounding cold. God, how Jon wished he were heading to meet her. Subconsciously procrastinating, Jon decided to drop his things off at the boarding house, but no sooner was he climbing the stairs to his second-floor room than his phone dinged with another message from the university quarterback, “Where the FUCK are you?? Should I call Mason, Chris, or Kevin??” A third text was a video with Jon laying over Brad’s bed—his round ass covered in thick ropes of white cum and Brad pulling his cheeks apart to expose Jon’s cum-covered rosebud.

Jon took several deep breaths, staving off the sensation he was having of dry heaves, then climbed the remainder of the stairs to his room, where he quickly replied, “Dropped books off at room. On way now.” Jon ran most of the way to the PIΚΕ house—sometimes on sidewalks not yet scooped of their 13” snow covering—and made his way inside, not stopping to talk to frat bros, merely nodding and quickly making his way to the staircase, where he ran the two flights to Brad’s room, praying the whole way Brad hadn’t called or texted his friends.

Brad answered his door dressed only in a pair of nylon shorts and flip-flops—his huge cock sticking out the leg of the shorts. Slapping Jon upside the head hard, he shouted, “Next time, when I say ‘NOW’, I mean you come directly here! …no fucking off to your apartment or whatever hole you live in! Got it??”

“Yeah, I got it,” Jon mumbled. His teeth chattered uncontrollably—not a result of the cold outside but, rather, his nerves—as, on some level, despite his intention to reason with Brad, Jon knew the quarterback would most likely force him to do something against which he was raised nor had any desire. Jon was taken aback by this physiological manifestation of his fear—that is, his constantly clicking teeth—having never had such a reaction before. The blonde jock-stud managed to get out, “Y-y-you didn’t c-c-call my friends, d-d-did you?”

Brad sneered and laughed at Jon’s nervousness, insulting him further, adding, “You’re pathetic, Swenson... No, I didn’t contact your bros and tell them what a fucking c-o-c-k-s-u-c-k-e-r you are …t-h-i-s time! …but go ahead and test me next time, though—I’m serious, dude!” Brad sneered, “Just see if I don’t send them one of these clips of you! …because, r-e-a-l-l-y, I don’t mind sharing you’re fucking a-w-e-s-o-m-e deep throating skills! And Kevin…Kevin has one of the biggest fucking mouths I know!” Brad paused before adding, “Actually, the more I think about it, the more I’m inclined to believe it’d help you out—out of the closet—and build your skills. You see?? I’m thoughtful that way! Don’t let anyone convince you I don’t think of others before my own interests!” Brad laughed at Jon’s humiliation and torment.

Still chattering, Jon saw his opportunity to try to reason with Brad. “S-s-so Brad… um…about that…I-I-I kind of wanted to talk to you… You’re mistaken. I-I-I’m not a fag, you see? I’ve got a girlfriend, and you’ve got a girlfriend. A-a-and Brad, I-I-I’m sorry about the confusion over Anne falling into my lap. I-I-It really wasn’t what you think you saw. It wasn’t, Brad! It rea—“

Brad cutting him off, yelling, “Listen, faggot! I don’t really care what you two were up to now!” Jon cringed at Brad’s yelling, knowing it could be heard by anyone next door or in the hall, but Brad’s tone shifted, recalling how good the blonde stud’s throat felt. “Y-e-a-h, I did Saturday night, but not now. See, Sweet Cheeks, you have a very r-a-r-e gift! NO gag reflex! …ZERO, baby!” Brad chuckled. “Y-e-a-h, fucking pretty boy, I should’ve guessed you were a cock-hound a l-o-n-g time ago! Isn’t always the ‘pretty’ ones who turn out to be fags?”

Jon tried interrupting, but Brad shoved him backward onto his bed. As he sat back upright, the blonde jock felt the dry lump forming in his throat along with tears in his eyes, as he bravely fought against the urge to cry that suddenly swept over him. “You’ve got it wrong!” Jon managed, the corners of his mouth pulling down as his emotions overwhelmed him. “I’m not gay, goddamn it!” Then he broke—the convulsive sobbing, coming from deep within him, blubbering repeated, “I’m not gay! I’m not gay!”

“You shut that shit up right now!” Brad yelled. “Anyone can walk right through that door, and what are you going to say??” When Jon continued crying, Brad hauled-off and slapped him again. “Get a fucking grip!” Then bending down in Jon’s face and grabbing a handful of his long, blonde hair, Brad growled, “Keep bawling, and you’ll be the house bitch, not just mine. Think! …and man-up for Christ’s sake!” The quarterback let go of Jon’s hair and leaned back up. He grabbed a pair of dirty briefs off the sofa and threw them in Jon’s face, muttering, “Clean your face and get a fucking grip!”

Grabbing his desk chair, Brad strutted over to the door and propped the chair under the knob. While Jon was trying to calm down and get himself under control, wiping his face unintentionally with both the front and back of the dirty briefs, Brad rummaged inside his closet, came back in the room, and got a can of Sprite from his fridge. Standing at his dresser with his back to Jon, the 6’ 4” quarterback dropped two, small bottles on the dresser’s top, opened the Sprite, and spiked it with GHB. Putting the GHB away, Brad took the soda to Jon and leaned against his desk, staring incredulously at the handsome jock. “My god, I’m going to take those as tears of joy! …like, you couldn’t wait to be alone with me again, could you?” Jon drank the soda, trying to ignore Brad’s comments.

Brad had hoped to break and humiliate the Nordic stud without the use of drugs and with the knowledge anyone could barge inside the room any moment …as his best friend, Taylor, so frequently did. However, the quarterback was horny, and it seemed Jon would need more time to accept his role as the quarterback’s cocksucker. Calmly and quietly, Brad resumed, “So, as you know, there are no locks on these doors. The only two things you’ve got going for you are the chair under the knob there and the thick walls of this old house. All the same, we’re going to need to use our 6” voices…that is, unless you wanna suck a lot of cocks tonight.” Brad chuckled. “You know, I’ve gotta say you’ve got me hard just seeing you like this, baby girl! Look it!” Brad pushed the flimsy nylon shorts off his hips, letting them fall down his beautiful, long legs and pool around his flip-flops. His huge, 13” cock flipped upward, standing hard and straight at a 120-degree angle—it’s head already glistening with excitement.

Jon looked away, drinking the soda, trying to pretend he hadn’t seen the giant cock he knew he’d soon be sucking. The more he drank, the more the young jock relaxed—having eaten nothing since breakfast. As he finished the Sprite, Jon noticed his peripheral vision was a little fuzzy—something he attributed to his crying jag—and he wiped his eyes again with the dirty briefs.

Still leaning against his desk, Brad began slowly jacking his huge cock, seductively saying, “Y-e-a-h… you sucked this baby like a fuckin’ porn star! …and you couldn’t get enough of it, running your hands over my ass like a starved cheerleader!” He paused, slowly rubbing up-and-down the hungry cock, “When you pledged a year and a half ago, I wasn’t here much, what with team doing so well and going to the Orange Bowl, but when I was here, I thought, ‘Man, that fucker’s quite the handsome jock-boy, but what’s with all the pretty hair?’ Then I saw your ass, and I thought, ‘Ho-ho-ho! Cunt or not, if he didn’t have those broad shoulders and muscles, I’d be all-up-in that! …tappin’ that sweet ass six ways to Sunday!’ What a fuckin’ idiot I am to have let those shoulders and muscles throw me off your scent, because, hands down, you are the best cocksucker ever …and I mean that, girl. I really do.”

Now, under the influence of the GHB, Jon was unaware he openly stared at the giant cock—hypnotized by Brad’s low voice and the cockhead’s weeping eye. Brad strutted toward the Nordic stud on the bed and leaned down, sticking the bottle of poppers under one of Jon’s nostrils while holding the other closed. “Close your mouth and breathe through your nose, Jon. No, close your mouth. Close your mouth and breathe through your nose. That’s it,” Brad purred. “Again. Again. That’s it. Breathe through your nose again, Jon. Good boy. Again. That’s it. One more time, Jon. That's a good boy.”

With Jon’s head reeling from the combination of GHB and poppers, Brad lifted the young stud’s chin in one hand and ran his fingers through the long, silky, blonde hair with the other. Looking up—across the quarterback’s ripped abs, over the amazing pecs, and finally, into Brad’s strikingly handsome face—Jon was in awe of the 6’ 4” stud …and in awe of the giant manhood. Adding to the effect of the drugs was Brad’s touch—his fingers running through Jon’s hair, his thumb stroking the blonde’s smooth cheek—and Jon was overwhelmed by a desire to reciprocate the touch…to feel this beautiful god…reaching up and rubbing his hand over the eight-pack abs. His nostrils flared, inhaling more of the quarterback’s naked scent, and Jon felt a certain warmth rising inside, a certain desire.

Brad broke the long silence, murmuring, “What a face… so fuckin’ handsome… Such beautiful, blue eyes…” After another long pause, Brad stopped holding Jon’s chin and stuck his finger inside the blonde stud’s open mouth—his pink lips naturally sealing around the invader, while he continued staring upward. For a few minutes, Brad slid his long finger slowly and hypnotically in-and-out Jon’s hot, wet, sucking mouth before finally withdrawing it, and, cupping the back Jon’s head, Brad pulled the handsome, Nordic face into his soft bush of light brown pubes.

“Breathe me in, baby…” Brad heard the blonde inhale, then felt him exhale—the warm, moist breath pushing against his groin. “Oh-h-h yeah… t-h-a-t’s it… breathe me in, Jon…” Brad purred.

Jon was so-o-o high he didn’t know who he was or where he was. All Jon knew was he had a sexual hunger for this person in whose pubes his face lay—the scent filling his brain—and…whose hard, round butt Jon’s hands now rubbed and groped. The straight, blonde stud began running his nose through Brad’s soft, dense pubes, dragging his open mouth and wet tongue along behind, paying homage to the superior man.

When Brad felt the blonde stud’s hands on the backs of his thighs, climbing upward and kneading his hard, round globes, and when he felt Jon’s hot, wet tongue on his groin, Brad realized he no longer needed to guide his new conquest. Staring down, Brad said in a low, seductive voice, “Lick my balls, baby,” and Jon dropped his face—his long, wet tongue reaching out from an open, hungry mouth. Sober, licking another dude’s balls would’ve been the last thing Jon would do, but under these mindless conditions, the blonde Adonis licked the big, bull-sized balls like a cheap whore—even drawing them in his mouth, washing them with his tongue. “Oh-h-h fuck y-e-a-h… t-h-a-t’s it… s-u-c-k those balls, girl…”

When his balls were dripping with Jon’s saliva, Brad held his meaty cockhead in his palm, holding his cock still, and huskily whispered, “Lick my big cock, babe,” and the blonde stud laid his long, wet tongue against the warm, silky skin at the base of Brad’s huge cock and—with his glittering, deep blue eyes staring upward—licked up the cock’s shaft, repeating the process over-and-over around its massive girth. Thick, white precum oozed from the eye of Brad’s cockhead, coating its underside, as Brad looked down, reveling in the knowledge he had this power over another dude—a straight, pussy-fucking dude.

“Y-e-a-h, now lick my big cockhead, pretty girl. Oh-h-h, fuck, that’s it, babe… Lick up a-l-l that sweet precum you’ve caused me to make.” In hands he himself had thrown and caught footballs, as a quarterback in high school, Jon grasped the base of the giant cock and swiped his tongue across the massive cockhead covered in white goo, taking Brad’s seed inside his belly. Jon did it again and again, licking around the 3” cockhead, hungry for the quarterback’s sweet precum …while green lights blinked on the tiny cameras, strategically placed, recording the blonde stud’s continued fall.

Caressing Jon’s long, soft hair and getting deeper in the boy’s head, Brad cooed, “Rub my thighs and butt, beautiful… Make love to me, girl…. Make love to your man…” When Jon took the fat, glistening cockhead inside his warm mouth—sealing his lips on its crown, rolling his wet tongue around the gooey thing—Brad gasped and sighed at the exquisite feeling. “Oh-h-h y-e-a-h, pretty baby… fuckin’ s-u-c-k on that cock…” Jon followed suit, alternating between rolling his tongue and suckling on the juicy cockhead, craving the thick goo belching-forth from its eye. “Your whole purpose in life now is to please me, girl …to make yourself w-o-r-t-h-y of me. You fuckin’ n-e-e-d my seed inside you. Don’t you, pretty girl?”

Holding the giant cock in one hand, while kneading Brad’s hard glutes with the other, the former quarterback and first baseman opened his beautiful eyes and looked upward at ‘his man’, nodding in complete agreement. Brad stuck the little, brown bottle of poppers under Jon’s nose again, and the blonde jock cocked his jaw, sucking three more inches of cock inside his mouth and throat. “Make love to that cock, babe… It’s all yours…” With a total of 6” of cock inside his warm, wet oral cavity, Jon’s throat began squeezing the cockhead now making its home there, while his hand slid from the hard glute it had been kneading to the big bull-balls hanging between Brad’s legs, gently squeezing and rubbing the pair. Where had Jon learned this talent?? With Brad repeatedly using feminine terminology, a drugged-up Jon had placed himself in the position of the numerous girls, who’d performed their magic on him—bobbing and twisting on the juicy cock, greedy for its seed …or had this talent come naturally to Jon? After all, he had no gag-reflex …and he had that awesome hard, round ass. Then Jon’s fingers slid behind Brad’s balls and across his taint—the blonde jock-stud’s long, middle finger sliding down inside the narrow valley between the quarterback’s tight glutes and onto his little rosebud, rubbing circles around it with the pad of his finger. Yeah…Jon was a natural.

The second Jon’s finger slid between Brad’s hard glutes, rubbing circles over his little rosebud, the quarterback’s hard cock began throbbing and jerking, uncontrollably. He’d planned for a more prolonged engagement, with a much deeper penetration of the blonde Adonis’ throat, but Jon’s natural talent—unknown to the young man himself—had decided the course of this evening’s events. “Oh-h-h FUCK!! Fuck you, you goddamned motherfucker!! Suck that fuckin’ cock!!” Brad yelled—his giant cock shooting volley-after-volley of rich, white cum down Jon’s hot, squeezing throat.

When Jon felt the first volley hit the back of his throat, he pulled up on the cock, leaving its massive head between his pink lips, inside his mouth. He tasted good, and Jon wanted more—much more. He jacked the shaft of the wonderful cock, sucking its cockhead while rubbing his tongue along its underside—intoxicated by Brad’s musk and in love with his cock. Jon swallowed…and swallowed, but he couldn’t keep up with all Brad’s offering. The white goo ran from the corners of his mouth and around the big cock, dripping in long, ropey strands from Jon’s chin. Brad’s big hands grabbed great clumps of Jon’s hair, holding him on the end of his cock. “Oh, fuck, yeah!! Suck that cock, bitch! Yeah, suck it!”

Just then, the doorknob jiggled repeatedly with someone trying to open it. “What the fuck, bro?? You in there jacking off?? I’m ready for dinner. Let’s go!” It was Brad’s best friend, Taylor Harris, the university’s star running back—and a young-Tom Brady lookalike. “What the fuck you got the door jammed, bitch?? Let me in!” Taylor yelled, continuing to rattle Brad’s doorknob.

“Goddamn it!! Chill, motherfucker!! Jesus Christ!!” Brad yelled in response, pissed as all-hell. He tried stepping back, but Jon—who was quite strong himself—held onto Brad’s glutes, still sucking the now-sensitive cockhead, hungry for every last bit of the addictive cum. Brad grabbed Jon’s shoulders and forcefully pushed the blonde jock back, yanking his cock from Jon’s greedy mouth. “Enough!” Brad whispered, and picking up a dirty sock, he threw it at the handsome stud on the bed, whispering harshly, “Wipe your fucking face!” Walking back to his desk, Brad put the lid on the poppers and set them down. He’d stepped into his nylon shorts and was pulling them up his long legs, when Taylor yelled again, pounding on the door. Brad bellowed, “Goddamn you!! Give me a goddamn minute!!” He stepped into his flip-flops and strutted to the door, pulling the chair away, with the door swinging immediately wide open.

Taylor started inside Brad’s room but froze. Seeing Brad inside his room half-dressed was nothing unusual, but seeing Jon here was completely unexpected. “Close the goddamned door or leave—I don’t care which, but don’t just stand there with the door open!” Brad yelled.

Taylor stepped further inside the room and closed the door, taking-in the scene before him. Jon sat on the bed—his hair wildly disheveled, the area around his mouth red, and his eyes dilated, looking as high and he, indeed, was. “What’s he doing here?” Taylor asked.

Already inside his closet and pulling a t-shirt over his head, Brad’s response was muffled, “Jon was just trying to explain why he was sucking Anne’s tits while fingering her pussy Saturday night. Weren’t you, Jon?” High as a kite, Jon just sat there with his mouth open, staring at nothing in particular.

Taylor sauntered over to the desk, intending to lean against it, however, seeing the poppers sitting out in the open, the 6’ 2”, 185 lb. stud picked the little, brown bottle up and strode over to the bed, sitting down next to Jon. Inside the closet with his back to the other two, Brad was busy buttoning a shirt, getting ready to go downstairs for the house dinner. Taylor unscrewed the lid and took two hits from the poppers, taunting Brad, “Oh-h-h, he was, was he??” The young-Tom Brady lookalike chuckled, “He looks like maybe he was showing you what A-n-n-e did after he sucked her tits and fingered her cunt. Is that right, buddy?” Taylor picked a piece of lint—from the sock—off Jon’s cheek, then held one of Jon’s nostrils, whispering, “Inhale. Again.”

Buttoning his jeans, Brad began answering his friend, turning to come back in the room, “Jon just wanted to apol—” He stopped short, seeing Taylor holding the bottle of poppers to Jon’s cute, slightly upturned nose. Brad pretty much figured his best bro would realize what had been happening in the room; he’d just hoped to keep his new bitch to himself for a little while before introducing Taylor to the action. You see, Brad and Taylor were practically joined at the hip: they did everything together—from football, to PIΚΕ, to, occasionally, even select babes, and, though Brad would be loathed to admit it, he didn’t mind seeing Taylor’s amazing ass in opportunity he could. The rest of the running back was pretty easy on the eyes also. Standing 6’ 2”, weighing 185 lbs., Taylor—with his uncanny resemblance to a young version of Tom Brady—had an incredible athlete’s body, with broad shoulders, ripped abs, and a narrow waist. Also having straight, neck-length, dark blonde hair, tucked behind his ears, blue eyes, and dimples, Taylor had a long line of babes craving his illusive attention. So, yeah, Brad was cool sharing with Taylor! It would just give him more jack-off material, watching (and recording) these two, hot studs going at it.

Brad chuckled, “You don’t miss much, do you, buddy?”

“Well, I think it was pretty, fucking obvious—chair under the doorknob, answering the door nude, and leaving poppers out, with blondie looking spaced-out and red-faced… not to mention his swollen lips and messed-up hair. Don’t take much, bro!” Taylor laughed. “I’m not smart like you, but I’m not retarded either. So, how has pretty-boy been your cocksucker and how did that happen??”

“Just since Saturday night,” Brad began.

“Bullshit!” Taylor cut him off.

“No, I’m serious, bro!” Brad defended.

“How’d it happen? Blondie come begging you for your ginormous cock??” Taylor was hungry for the lascivious details.

“Well, I’d like to say ‘yes’, but it wasn’t so…voluntary—a little G, a little E… But! I hasten to add, Jon, here, is a natural, aren’t you, Jon?” When Jon just sat there, staring off at nothing in particular, Brad repeated, “A-r-e-n’t you, Jon??” To which, the young jock-stud slowly shook his head ‘no’. “Well, he is. He’s a bit fucked-up right now, adjusting to his new role and all.”

When Taylor stood and began stripping, Brad tried convincing him to wait until after dinner, but the running back was having none of it, “You’ve got yours, so let’s go. Well, not this time, bro! Don’t worry, it won’t take long. I’ve had my eye on this beauty since he rushed!”

With its use of the word ‘beauty’ in reference to Jon, Taylor’s last sentence sounded pretty, fucking gay to Brad, who seriously hated fags. He wasn’t opposed to using their mouths—when a willing cunt wasn’t around—but Brad found their sexuality repulsive—putting another dude’s cock in your mouth or, worse yet, up your shit hole. Brad decided Taylor must’ve meant he’d figured Jon for a fag from the start, wanting to face-fuck him since then, because the idea of Taylor Harris being a fucking queer was laughable. The dude plowed pussy with the best of them, and Taylor’s current girlfriend was hot-as-fuck.

Now nude, the handsome running back pushed Jon back on the bed, turning him around to lay lengthwise in the center of the bed. “Get me a dirty towel …unless you’d rather sleep in my cum,” Taylor laughed, making Jon take two more hits from the poppers, while taking two himself.

“No fucking way!” Brad muttered, putting the chair under the doorknob again and digging a dirty towel from his laundry basket.

Taylor draped the towel over a pillow, lifted Jon’s head, and stuck the pillow underneath, climbing on the bed afterward and straddling the blonde jock-stud’s head. The young Tom Brady lookalike playfully slapped Jon’s pale, innocent-looking face several times with his hard, straight, 8” cock. High on the G and the poppers, Jon was anything but innocent in actions, sticking his pink tongue out trying to catch the beautiful slab of meat. “Oh, y-e-a-h! You’re h-u-n-g-r-y for it, aren’t you??” With Jon’s eyes focused on his cock, Taylor grabbed the young man’s face in one hand, holding it still, while continuing to slap it with his meat. “N-o-o-o, look at me, not my cock. No, look at me! Ah-h-h, that’s it! Oh, yeah! I’ve been dreaming of fuckin’ this pretty mouth since I saw you at Rush!” Jon tried leaning up for the cock again—his mouth open and tongue out—but Taylor held his face down. “Do you want my cock, Jon? I’m not letting you up unless you tell me—one way or the other.”

Jon tried leaning up for the cock again but was held still. “Yeah… yeah, I want your cock,” Jon panted.

“Are you just saying that, because that’s what you think I want to hear?” Taylor taunted.

“No, I want your cock,” Jon panted again.

Disbelieving the handsome blonde stud, Taylor squinted his eyes, grilling Jon, “For how long? How long have you had the hots for me??”

Brad spoke up, bellowing, “Who the fuck cares?? I’m hungry! Fuck his mouth and be done with it already!”

“Alright, Daddy’s hungry,” Taylor comically confided to Jon, “and I’m horny, so we gotta be quick—t-h-i-s time.” Due to being high on the poppers himself, the hotter-than-fuck running back was much more verbal than usual. Dropping down on his hands well-over Jon’s head, Taylor’s hard, meaty cock hung in the air directly over Jon’s open mouth—its glistening head grazing the blonde stud’s wet, swollen lips. “Open wide, sexy!” Taylor taunted, lowering himself into Jon’s very hungry mouth. As Jon’s lips sealed over the perfect, missile-shaped cockhead and his tongue rubbed against its underside, Taylor gasped, “Oh-h-h, FUCK! What a mouth!! I fuckin’ LOVE this dude’s mouth, bro!!”

“Sh-h-h, keep it down,” Brad warned, sitting on the sofa, enjoying the show. Popping the buttons on his Diesel jeans, he pushed them down to his knees along with his briefs and began jacking his huge cock. “You know, you’d have a much better experience with his unnatural talents, turning around. The kid can deep-throat a horse!”

“Well, you should know, considering how big your monster is!” Taylor laughed, turning around. From the sofa, against the same wall as the headboard, Brad now had an unobstructed view of Taylor’s a-m-a-z-i-n-g, hard, round ass…not to mention the dude’s perfect cock and balls. Taylor’s long legs stretched out on the bed—his big, muscular thighs framing Jon’s head tucked neatly between—while his little, pink rosebud pursed its tiny lips as though it were blowing kisses …or so Brad imagined, as he sat slowly jacking his big cock, licking his dry lips—his breath shallow and ragged, imagining the similarity of his best bro’s smooth rosebud to Anne’s shaved cunt.

From the other end of the bed—that which Brad had little view, the site was equally hot: had Jon been undressed, Taylor’s face would have hovered directly over Jon’s cock, but, as it was, the younger jock’s cock lay hidden beneath his jeans, hard, oozing thick precum into his soft, dense bush of ash blonde pubes. Resting on his forearms above the golden stud’s meat, Taylor’s head reeled from the poppers and the incredible sensations Jon’s throat provided, as he continued hiking his round ass up-and-down, pumping his long cock between Jon’s wet lips. Then Taylor felt them: Jon’s muscular arms stretched upward, wrapping themselves around the small of his back—his hands searching, rubbing the tops of his hard globes. This was better than fucking any girl—even his hotter-than-fuck, current girlfriend, Taylor thought, as he rotated his ass for the boy, discovering the added sensation of Jon’s spasming, gripping throat.

With Jon’s hands roaming the small of his back, Taylor raised his hard, round butt and began fucking the young stud’s mouth in earnest. The young, blonde Adonis moaned deeply around the cock—Taylor’s thick, white precum coating his swollen lips and running down the sides of his face. Brad sat silently—his hand covered in thick precum—wanting nothing more than to jump on the bed and fuck the shit out of his best bro. Meanwhile, the thing for which Jon was clueless began to work its magic. While his magnificent throat squeezed and milked Taylor’s beautiful cock, Jon’s body heat quietly dispersed his scent—his mysterious pheromones—along with that of his sweet, oozing precum, into the air, slowly casting a spell over the handsome running back whose face hovered mere inches above … just like it did to the poor pledge forced to kneel with his face between Jon’s legs at the party. After a few minutes inhaling the sweet scent, Taylor succumbed, dropping his face onto the crotch of Jon’s jeans, moaning, rotating his ass—his big balls covering Jon’s eyes as he ground his hard, thick meat into the younger stud’s throat. Taylor was someone he wouldn’t have recognized, sliding his large hands under the top of Jon’s thighs, lifting them, while he rubbed his face deep into the blonde stud’s crotch—his crazed moaning muffled in part by the jeans. High on poppers Jon-scent, the Tom Brady lookalike moaned huskily into the younger stud’s jeans, “Fuck me, you mother-fucker… Oh-h-h, fuck me…”—all the time digging his nose under the blonde boy’s hard cock as if to free it. Yeah, just like the poor pledge the other night, Taylor’s uncontrolled mind wanted Jon’s balls in his mouth. He wanted to lick up Jon’s taint, pry those big globes apart, and sink his tongue deep inside the boy’s cunt. Moaning mindless into Jon’s crotch, Taylor’s cock jerked, as he fell over the edge, blasting his thick, white cum inside the younger stud’s stomach—their DNA mixing and becoming one inside the blonde Adonis.

Taylor lay with sweaty face buried in Jon’s jeans, panting, dreaming how he’d love to fuck this boy—fuck that! he’d marry him—feeling Jon’s breath huff from his nose and over his big balls. He rolled off the young hunk and laid on his back, trying to catch his breath. Jon’s red cheeks were covered in the thick, white froth that had backed-up around Taylor’s cock and slid across them, down into his beautiful, blonde hair forming mats of drying cum, but his jeans were also a mess, having cum himself, filling his pubes and soaking the crotch of his jeans. Panting, the young jock scolded himself for going commando that day; having not done laundry lately, he was out of clean underwear. ‘I should’ve put on a dirty pair. Now, I’ll walk out of here with wet jeans,’ the blonde stud thought—although he should’ve been wondering why he came in the first place!

“Well, fuck this! Now, I’m going to have to change again!” Brad complained, having shot cum across his shirt. As he got up to go to the closet again, he ordered the other two, “Get up and get dressed! Now! We’re late for dinner, and I’m hungry!” Of course, Jon had his clothes on—albeit they were quite wrinkled…and now stained. He sat up, dazed—his head whirling in confusion. He stood but nearly dropped to the floor, feeling light-headed and weak-kneed. The blonde jock didn’t make it far, plopping down on the sofa, sitting right on a puddle of Brad’s cum. Pulling his jeans and briefs off, Brad noticed a dirty hand towel. He grabbed it, opened a bottle of water, and soaked it, throwing it in Jon’s lap and telling him, “Wipe your face and neck, faggot! You disgust me!” Turning to Taylor, he added, “And get your motherfucking ass up, bro! Now!” Brad was definitely in a foul mood, for some unknown reason.

Jon shuddered, hearing the word ‘faggot’ directed at him, but he was relieved at being able to clean his face. Not unsurprisingly, his throat was quite sore, so he picked up the unfinished Sprite and drank the remainder, while Taylor hauled himself out of the bed and began dressing. When he finished putting his clothes back on, Taylor strutted to the mirror and smoothed his hair down, tucking it behind his ears and admiring his beauty. Having finished dressing as well, Brad pulled the chair from the door and held it open, “Come on! Let’s go! Get his coat on. He ain’t staying the night here!”

Taylor went to the sofa, helping Jon up and smoothing down his shirt as best he could. “Just a goddamned minute, bitch! We gotta get Princess here presentable.” He got the coat on Jon and began trying to smooth his hair down—which, by now, was totally fucked-up—when Brad stormed across the room and jerked Jon over to the door.

“Fuck that!” Brad barked. “I don’t care how he looks! Now, come on, dude!! I’m fuckin’ hungry!”

“Fine! Sometimes you can be a real asshole, you know??” Then, as Taylor sauntered to the door, he laughed, looking at Jon, “You look just like a cheerleader who spent the night getting ploughed. That’s what you look like, you know? Hell, your eyes are even glazed and dilated!” Then, the big running back tweaked Jon’s nipple through his shirt, laughing more and causing the fair-skinned jock to blush red in shame. “Look it, Brad! The sweet baby girl even blushes!” Fortunately for Jon, no one was in the hallway to hear his debasement. “Lighten up, will you? I’m just giving you a hard time. You and I are gonna become g-r-e-a-t friends, Jon-Jon!! I can call you that, can’t I?” Outside Brad’s door, Taylor draped his heavy arm over Jon’s shoulders and pulled his face into his chest, “You sweet stud, you mean the w-o-r-l-d to Brad and me! We don’t kiss and tell.” Then, bending down, he whispered seductively in Jon’s ear, squeezing the boy’s hard, plump butt, “Girl, you come knock on my door a-n-y time! I’ll let you ride my big, ole cock. That sounds fun, doesn’t it?” With the additional GHB from the soda, Jon was limp in Taylor’s arms, unable to focus or speak through the molestation, as the bigger dude licked his fat tongue up the length of Jon’s neck and into his ear, darting in and around the little orifice. “I want you b-a-d-l-y, dude,” Taylor quietly whispered.

Once again, Brad growled, shoving the two others forward, “Okay, enough of the faggy shit! Straighten up, both of you! Let’s get downstairs before all the food is gone, goddamn it!”

“Okay, boss! Whatever you say…as always,” Taylor flipped. Letting go of Jon’s hard globes, the football stud stuck his arm around Jon’s back and under his arm, holding the younger jock-stud steady and helping him down two flights of stairs to the main hall.

Standing in the dining hall, waiting in line for their food—Brad in front with Taylor following, holding Jon steady beside him—Kevin and Chris walked up. Kevin reached out and grabbed a handful of Jon’s inviting buttocks, causing Jon’s knees to buckle. Had Taylor not had been holding him up, he’d have crumpled to the floor. “What the fuck! Knock it off, shit-for-brains!” Taylor yelled, turning around, holding Jon up from behind—his cock lengthening again, rubbing against Jon’s amazing ass.

“You say the sweetest things, stud,” Kevin shot back in a sultry, seductive voice. “I’d have grabbed your ass first, were it not that you’d have dropped hot-stuff.” Then, he shot his friend a glaring look, “What the fuck is wrong with you, cunt-face? Why the fuck do you look like you just got out of bed…having slept in your clothes?? And what’s wrong with your eyes??”

Chris jumped-in, “I don’t know… I kind of like the look. It’s kind of a ‘come fuck me up the ass’ look, don’t you think?” He groped his big cock, adding, “Jon-Jon, do you want Daddy’s fat cock up your sweet, little cunt-hole??”

Looking the three dudes over—Brad, Taylor, and Jon—Kevin settled his gaze on Jon, resuming his line of questioning, “This is a fucked-up scene! First of all, since when do you hangout with these two?? And why do you look like fuck?? I thought you said you had to leave Bergman Hall to call your mom??”

“Hey, he d-i-d call his mom, fuck-face!” Taylor spoke up, trying to provide Jon some cover. “And you forget I was his pledge father! He came to see me!”

Kevin snapped his fingers an inch from Jon’s face, eliciting only a slight jerk. “Did you smoke him up or something? And what the fuck’s all over the front of his shirt??” Glaring at Taylor, he added, “Y-o-u-r eyes are dilated too! What the fuck’s going on here?” Kevin grilled.

“He’s drunk. It’s fuckin’ toothpaste, dude. We tried brushing his teeth, ‘cause his breath smelled so bad afterward,” Taylor lied, annoyed by the interrogation.

Chris leaned in, sniffing Jon’s hair, face, and coat. “I don’t smell toothpaste …but I don’t smell weed or booze either,” the sexy, dark auburn-haired jock speculated. “It’s something else—besides his normal, sweet, cunt-of-the-valley scent, I mean,” Chris hastened to clarify, inciting all to chuckle, except Brad. Holding Jon’s chin, he lifted his friend’s head, patting his friend’s cheek, “Look at me, Jon… That’s it…” The handsome jock stuck his nose close to Jon’s lips, sniffing. Letting go of Jon’s chin, Chris leaned up and stepped back, saying nothing—only sneering and giving Taylor a knowing look behind Kevin’s back.

“What did you smell?” Kevin asked.

“Nothin’,” Chris replied.

“Bullshit!” Kevin stated, grabbing a fistful of Jon’s hair to hold his head up.

“Hey, hey, hey!!” Taylor yelled, alarmed by Kevin’s aggressive, hurtful action. “Watch it!”

Finally, Brad stepped forward, getting up in Kevin’s face, “Have you got a problem?”

Cocky Kevin—a high school football stud himself—didn’t back away, glaring back into Brad’s eyes. “No problem. I just wanna know what you did to my buddy here.”

“He was feeling down after his call with his mother. We gave him a little happy pill, you might say. Any more questions?” Brad challenged.

“What kind of ‘happy pill’, B-r-a-d?” Kevin pressed.

“Why don’t you come to my room after dinner, and I’ll show you,” Brad whispered, smiling lecherously.

Chris stepped in, pulling Kevin back a couple of steps, “I don’t think he wants to know that badly, Brad.”

Brad scoffed and went back in front of Taylor in the dinner line.

Taylor was suddenly pissed by the whole situation. As a university football star and a Senior, he was unaccustomed to anyone treating he and Brad in any manner except rolling on the ground, groveling. Who the fuck was Kevin to stand up and mouth-off to Brad, the President of PIΚΕ, in front of a roomful of PIΚΕs?? And who was Chris to sneer like that at him, so condescendingly?? Angry, Taylor shoved Jon into Chris’ arms, saying, “Here! Y-o-u take care of him! Get him out of here n-o-w before I say anything else. Get him home, and give him lots of water, cunt-face!” When Kevin turned to help Chris, Taylor grabbed his arm. “Not you, shit-for-brains! You’re having dinner with us, so you can get on a table and apologizeprofusely to Brad, the President of this frat, and to the frat itself!” Then whispering, he added, “We can’t let the w-h-o-l-e frat see what you did and not apologize, now, can we?”

* * * * * * * *

Chris helped Jon out the front door into the bitter cold of the evening air—it’s bite helping to wake the blonde stud a little. With his arm wrapped around Jon’s back and under his arm, they walked along the scooped sidewalk toward Jon’s room. “It’s colder than f-u-c-k out here, buddy! Don’t ya think??” Chris exclaimed, adding, “but when we get to your place, you’ll warm me up real good, won’t you?”