Lick It Up

Peyton had heard him, the command uttered with authority. He looked up and saw the smug look, one that knew it had full control of the situation. Of course, Braxton had control. He always had control. The captain of the swim team, honor student, “Mr. Popular”, Peyton’s dormmate, and something else he was afraid to give name to.

Peyton let his eyes scan down the familiar body, one exposed to him so often he knew every curve, how every muscle was revealed under the smooth skin and the tattoos on the back and on one calf. He looked at the muscular chest, the flat stomach, the now flaccid cock still glistening wet from his spit, as he tasted Braxton’s cum in his mouth. Looking down at the floor between Braxton’s legs he saw the puddles of cum. It was his, sprayed over the floor as Braxton’s flooded his mouth. He couldn’t believe how hard he came, but he remembered how his orgasm rocked him as Braxton’s cum filled his mouth. He had shuddered with every ejaculation, while struggling to keep Braxton’s spurting cock in his mouth.

“I said lick it up,” Braxton uttered bringing Peyton’s eyes back up.

“What?” Peyton foolishly replied. He knew what Braxton wanted.

“Lick. It. Up.”

Peyton didn’t understand it. This hold Braxton had over him. He wanted to defy him, just this once, but he bent over getting on hands and knees. He looked at the puddles, then bent to the first one dragging his tongue through it. He tasted his own cum and felt grit from the floor. Then he licked up the next puddle, and the next, not stopping until he had cleaned up every one.

When he sat up, the taste of his own cum overpowering that of Braxton’s, he looked up, wondering how he came to this point. To be so submissive to him. To do what was asked, willingly, without question. His own cock stayed half hard and it bobbed up and down between his thighs as he waited for Braxton to say something. To give his next command.

“I’m going to get cleaned up; come scrub my back,” said Braxton, climbing to his feet and heading to the bathroom they shared with Juan and Marcus from next door. He was thankful Braxton locked the door this time, often leaving it unlocked as if he dared one of the guys to walk in on them. How often he had been on his knees sucking Braxton’s cock in the shower, he didn’t know, but far too often, he was anxiously watching that door, wondering when he would be discovered.

As he rubbed the muscular back, suds cascading down it, he thought about those first few days at the beginning of the semester, when he found himself sharing a room with a junior. He remembered the bravado coming from the room as he approached the open door, Braxton bragging about some girl he had met the night before, fucking her in the parking lot in the back of his SUV. Peyton knew he was going to have a hard time sharing a room with this person, even before laying eyes on him. He hoped for someone like himself, quiet, reserved, and if the stars would just fucking align for him one time, gay. But his hopes died with the realization he was sharing the room with a campus jock, one sitting in the room in nothing but gym shorts, revealing a body he would come to know, intimately.

Braxton played the straight jock perfectly, nothing said or done revealed any inclinations other those toward the opposite sex. But it had only took a couple of days to see a crack in this carefully crafted façade.

10 Weeks Earlier

It had been only six days, two after classes started, and already Peyton knew he was in trouble. His fantasies morphed to where they were about Braxton. Braxton parading around the room naked gave him a lot in which to work in their creation. It was like he was suffering Stockholm syndrome. Braxton threw out the words faggot and queer and cocksucker in such disparaging ways, it made Peyton terrified he would be found out, made worse by the fact he became aroused by Braxton, despite the homophobic bullshit.

Peyton had come back from classes to find Braxton standing naked in the middle of the room holding up two bikinis.

“What are you doing?” asked Peyton.

“Just trying to decide which to wear,” Braxton replied. He turned toward Peyton giving him a full-frontal view and held out the two bikinis. “The white one or the yellow one?”

“Won’t that white one go transparent when it gets wet?”

“Yeah, it could,” Braxton replied, his tone casual.

Peyton knew it was the allure, this exposure to others. He knew Braxton considered it a tease.

“The yellow one won’t be much better,” said Peyton, forcing himself to look away as he went to his desk to set his full backpack down.

“I know and the color looks good against my skin tone,” Braxton replied, tossing the white bikini on Peyton’s desk, “you can wear that one.”

“No thanks,” Peyton replied, trying to sound like one of Braxton’s friends, one of the jocks who didn’t take this shit seriously. He pushed the bikini to the edge of his desk while imagining his nose buried in the crotch.

“Afraid you can’t fill it out like I can?”

There it was another taunt. Even though Braxton was thicker, he knew he could hold his on otherwise and had been so tempted over the last couple of days to prove it. But he was more afraid of what would happen if he did. The likelihood of an erection he wouldn’t be able to will down. From the corner of his eye he saw Braxton slip the yellow bikini on, adjust his cock, then look in the mirror.

Bastard, Peyton thought, not daring to say it aloud. He turned to see Braxton slipping on gym shorts and a tank top, glad to see him finally getting ready to leave.

“How long will practice last?” Peyton asked as he eased down in his desk chair trying to sound like he didn’t care. But he did care. He wanted Braxton out of the room so he could get on his bed, or maybe in the shower and jerk off. He was aching to dump a load, especially after seeing Braxton naked once again.

“I don’t know. Why? Will you miss me?”

“Fuck no. I’m having a party while you’re gone and need to know when to clear everyone out.”

He could be a smart ass too. He watched Braxton grab up his keys and student ID and slip out. He waited for a minute, tugging at the front of his jeans, cock already getting hard. Then the clothes had to come off. Everything. He carelessly tossed his shirt on the floor, followed by his jeans and boxers. Naked, he stood in front of the mirror as Braxton had done, looking at his cock as it got thicker, longer. He slowly stroked it increasing his aroused state.

On the bed, he stroked faster, feeling his arousal increase. He threw his head back with eyes closed, and imagined it was Braxton touching him. It was Braxton’s hand on his cock. When he moved his other hand down between his thighs, it was Braxton touching him there. He didn’t hear the key in the lock, or the door swing open. He didn’t hear Braxton come into the room, then slow, stifling a laugh. Braxton had stood still watching one hand stroke cock and the other down between thighs pumping a finger into his ass.

Braxton waited until the perfect moment, when Peyton was arcing his back, pushing upward, stroking faster and faster.

“What are you doing?” asked Braxton in his most casual voice.

“What?!” Peyton exclaimed, sitting up, trying to conceal his spurting cock. Cum sprayed his chest, then hit him under the chin. As he sat up, leaned forward, cum spattered his stomach then glazed his hand.

“Sorry, I should have knocked,” said Braxton, bursting out in laughter.

“It’s not funny…asshole!”

“Yeah, it is, but relax. I’m not going to say anything…hell everyone does it.”

“Fuck off, Braxton,” Peyton exclaimed as he climbed to his feet, hands over his flaccid cock.

“Come on, don’t be mad. I’ll let you watch me.”

“No thanks,” Peyton replied in a flat blunt tone just before he slammed the bathroom door closed.

Listening at the door, Peyton waited until he heard Braxton leave, then turned on the shower and got in once it was warm. He rubbed cum from his skin and soaped up. As he did, he let his mind drift to the idea of Braxton letting him watch. The very notion aroused him and soon his cock was hard again. He stroked it with his soapy hand, savoring the feel of it. He put his other arm on the tile wall and rested his head against it as he stroked his cock faster and faster. He felt foolish getting hard again so soon, and because he was imagining it was with Braxton. How could he let that jock bastard get such control over him? But he couldn’t hold back, stroking his cock until it was damn near painful, then he sprayed the wall with his second load.

Two days later, when Braxton circled around their room like some hunter looking for its prey, Peyton found himself alone for an afternoon. He finally felt like he could relax. He even left the door open to the corridor so he could speak to the other guys and hear their chatter and exclamations, especially in Ryan’s room where video gaming had been going on since shortly after lunch. Pushed back in his chair, feet propped on the desk’s edge, he was reading for pleasure. There was no comprehension of turning pages, no awareness of how far into the book he was getting. Only a story unfolding in his imagination.

Then there was movement in the doorway, and Peyton looked up to see Braxton coming into the room, closing the door behind him. His hair was wet from practice, and he wore baggy gym shorts and tank top. Peyton knew with one glance there was nothing on underneath the shorts. It was so obvious he wondered what others had thought if they crossed paths with Braxton. He looked back at his book, trying to continue reading, but found himself reading the same sentence over and over, never once comprehending what it meant. He saw Braxton from the corner of his eye, then the gym shorts and tank top land in the hamper on the opposite wall, then the sound of Braxton settling on his bed.

Peyton put his feet down and turned straight at his desk, bent over the novel trying desperately to focus on it. There was no sound from Braxton, not of movement nor some lame comment. How long the silence lasted, Peyton didn’t know, but it was far too long.

“Hey, Peyton?”

“Yes,” Peyton replied, keeping his eyes on the page.

“You want to watch?”

Does Peyton turn around, or does he ignore Braxton? If he turns, then what? Will Braxton let him watch? Will Peyton allow himself the guilty pleasure?

Look for the next chapter which loads tomorrow.