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The House Rules
Will Mercer slept poorly that first night, staring at the cheap plaster ceiling above his dorm bed.
Every time Will closed his eyes, he saw the stifling basement of Phi Delta Mu again.
He saw it all: His fellow freshmen, huddled shirtless in the center of the room. The thick arcs of oil shooting obscenely from the upperclassmen's Super Soakers, coating his classmates' bodies. His own body stripped bare. The strobe light stuttering.
Bright. Dark. Bright. Dark.
He relived the chaos: Derek Collins -- rugby legend Derek Collins -- laughing under the flickering light, massive and chiseled. His green eyes wild with pleasure. His colossal bubble butt, firm underneath Will's fingers.
Will felt his cock stirring, hardening and brushing up against his Twin XL sheets. He tossed and turned. Breathing deep through his nose, he snaked his hand into his flannel pants and began his usual cure for insomnia.
He grabbed his 8-inch cock and began stroking.
It was his nightly ritual. But the visions in Will's head tonight were new ones. And best of all, they were real.
Eyes closed, Will remembered Derek's torso shining, his nipples large and pink. The smell of him, warm and musky and masculine. Derek's huge arms around Will’s shoulders as Will humped him, like a sordid dance. It was just for the challenge, Will would say. Just to pop the balloons.
Bright. Dark. Bright. Dark.
Then Will thought of Duncan. The mysterious man from the foyer of the frat house. The house dad.
Blond, steely, and rugged.
Duncan’s fingers squeezing Will's shoulder when they first met. Duncan smiling down at him through his beard, smelling like the sun. Duncan in the steamy basement, watching Will writhe nearly naked against his fellow pledges, watching Will hide his fat boner after he won the challenge.
Bright. Dark. Bright. Dark.
Will squeezed his eyes shut.
Of course. Of course he had to show up to one frat event and go crazy over the most obviously unavailable men. A straight rugby jock built like a statue. A sexy daddy with a chest full of golden hair.
Great.
The old mattress squeaked beneath him. He spit into his hand.
Faster. Will stroked faster, picturing Derek and Duncan together now, just for him, watching him. Two powerful specimens of manhood. Jock and daddy. One built like Hercules, thick and broad and bulging with muscle; the other like Achilles, bronze-skinned and lean, every line carved as if by a sculptor’s hand.
Will imagined Duncan bending Derek's body over his lap, just for him.
Duncan peeling down Derek's tight underwear.
Duncan spanking Derek's ass while Derek smirked back at Will, pleased.
Duncan jiggling Derek's thick, milky-white cheeks in Will's face.
The musk running up Will's nose.
Will couldn't help it.
He was getting close...
* * *
Little did Will know that, across campus, back inside Phi Delta Mu, in the largest single on the second floor, Carter Grace lay awake too.
Carter hadn't slept much either. In the next room, his vice president Jason had spent the night fucking some random girl. Carter had heard Jason's bedframe knock against the wall. He'd heard Jason's laugh, low and pleased with himself. Jason never had to be quiet.
Carter put in his earbuds and thought about Hunter again, looking at old videos on his phone.
Hunter Whitaker: Carter's former prep school classmate. His family friend. His first fuck.
The memory of Hunter's warm body beneath him made Carter flush hot with lust. The way Hunter moaned in his ear, the way Hunter squeezed Carter's ass as Carter pumped slowly inside him.
Carter huffed at the memory, reached for his lube, and slid his hand over his own 6-inch cock.
Carter remembered a dock at sunset last year. It was when Carter visited home in the spring, soon after Hunter's 18th birthday. Bare feet on warm wood. Hunter's shoulder against his. Hunter laughing into his neck, Hunter's hand gliding up Carter's shorts.
But that was a world ago.
Carter had avoided him for a year now. A whole year of acting like Hunter Whitaker was just another freshman.
And now, Hunter wanted to join the very frat that Carter ruled over like a golden prince?
Let him.
Carter flopped onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. Carter thought about seeing Hunter in the foyer yesterday, looking like he belonged already, his reddish hair catching the light, his smile all-too-disarming.
Carter pulsated his fist around his cockhead now, slick with precum.
Some of Carter's best memories were with Hunter -- before it all went to shit. Carter remembered the two of them comparing hairy bushes and rock-hard penises. Sharing secrets that could never see the light of day.
What was it they said? "You stroke me, and I'll stroke you?"
The hot, sticky memory of Hunter's full lips around Carter's cock. The way Hunter's eyes looked up at him, sparkling with pride.
And now: Carter slapped his dick onto his abs. His remaining hand played with his trimmed blond bush -- then moved down, further down, toward his puckered hole.
Carter arched his hips higher and clenched his glutes.
"Babe..." Carter whispered the familiar words into his memory, his eyes shut as he rode the wave closer to the edge: "I want it."
But no one could know. Because Hunter Whitaker was Carter's secret.
And so was the sticky nut that Carter was about to bust in Hunter's honor.
* * *
Will Mercer and Carter Grace: Neither boy knew the other was awake.
Neither knew that all across campus -- across Frat Row and across Westmore’s dorms and apartments -- dozens of young men were doing the same filthy thing in the thin blue hour before sunrise.
Dozens of undergrads, holding in their breaths. Whimpering. Clenching their toes.
Keeping themselves quiet as they blasted thick, white loads across their chest -- thinking of women, thinking of men -- knocked out by the blinding pleasure that comes from submitting, then from release.
The following morning, Will awoke early to the chirping melody of birdsong. He couldn't afford to oversleep today.
He unlocked his phone and, for the eighth time, re-read the email that had arrived late last night.
"Congrats, freshie. You've advanced to Day 2 of rushing Phi Delta Mu. Still want to be a Baby Bro? Report to the house by 10 a.m. Don't be late."
Will looked at the names of the other freshmen who received the email. He recognized several.
Derek Collins, Hunter Whitaker, and his co-winner last night: Benjy Ramirez.
Will smiled softly upon reading Benjy's name. They both did better than they'd expected. They'd survived so far.
Will found Benjy's account on Instagram and sent him a DM.
>> @will.mercer: Hey... So I can't believe we both made it... :)
>> @benjyreads: omg me neither! feel like i'm in too deep now lol
>> @will.mercer: Wanna head over together?
>> @benjyreads: oh yes pls, meet u at the west quad in 30
After a quick shower, Will met up with Benjy just after 8 a.m., and they started the march to Frat Row. They were too excited to wait.
Campus at that hour was strange and nearly empty. The lawns were still shiny with dew, and the palm trees' silhouettes stood black against a brightening sky. For a few minutes the whole world smelled washed clean.
Will was dressed in a soft gray T-shirt and khaki shorts, with nicer undies than yesterday just in case.
Benjy wore jeans despite the heat and a brick-red button-down, and of course, the blue cast on his forearm. His curly hair was damp and styled extra carefully.
“Honestly, I was surprised,” Benjy said, then laughed, pushing his glasses up with his thumb. “I thought they accidentally sent that email to everyone.”
"Guess winning yesterday actually meant something," Will responded.
"My girlfriend wouldn't have believed it," Benjy said, then corrected himself: "I mean, my ex-girlfriend, I guess."
"Ex?"
"Yeah, we, um, broke up just before college," Benjy said softly. "Anyway, she never would've pegged me as a frat guy."
Will chuckled. "How about your parents?"
Benjy bristled.
“Eh. Well, my dad's happy about it.”
“Yeah?”
“He says frats build character or something. I think he just likes the idea of my having guy friends for a change." Benjy spoke lightly, but the last few words had an old bruise under them. “So here I am. Doing tough guy stuff," he shrugged with irony.
Will looked at Benjy's cast.
“Doin' great so far.”
Benjy smiled at that, shy and quick.
By the time the boys reached Frat Row, the sun had cleared the roofs. Phi Delta Mu looked quieter than it had the day before. No music yet. No crowd. Sprinklers ticked over the lawn. The brick house just sat sleepily behind its columns, as if last night’s chaos had been a dream it barely remembered.
On the porch, the door stood open. And inside, the foyer smelled like coffee. Will and Benjy stepped in cautiously, as if the house might punish them for arriving so early.
The dozens of framed photographs along the staircase wall looked different in the morning light. Less decorative. More watchful.
Will slowed.
Rows of men in suits stared out from behind glass. Some photographs were black and white. Others were newer, glossy and bright.
Then Will saw the photo of the current board. They sported matching green ties, but their smiles were all unique.
A polished green plaque beneath the photo read:
CARTER GRACE — PRESIDENT
JASON VEGA — VICE PRESIDENT
MARCUS BROOKS — PLEDGE CHAIR
ETHAN PARK — PLEDGE CHAIR
“So that's Carter,” Benjy said softly, looking at the blond boy in the photo with the square jaw and practiced smile.
Will nodded.
“President,” he added.
“Well, he looks the part,” Will said.
They moved into the living room at the back of the house, which looked sophisticated for a frat. Leather couches, deep green curtains, and a wide set of windows looking out over the back lawn.
Behind the windows, the yard sloped down toward a line of hedges. Farther behind those hedges was the Pacific Ocean.
At first the two boys sat in silence.
Then, with a click, the door to the backyard opened just beside them.
Wet footsteps slapped the tile.
It was Duncan.
And Will’s chest dropped at the sight.
Duncan, the house dad, was fully shirtless.
Better than shirtless. He wore a black wetsuit peeled down to his hips -- low on his hips -- exposing the top of his natural bush.
A thick, dense, hairy bush.
His torso was bare, bronzed, and wet from the sea, slick and gleaming.
Salt water dripped from the ends of his sandy hair and over his bulging pecs.
Across his chest, golden hair was flattened into darkened streaks of fur.
Then a thin treasure trail plunged and expanded into his pubes.
He held a surfboard under one arm like it weighed nothing.
And just beneath the zipper that was pulled down to his crotch was an unmistakable, girthy, skintight bulge.
Will was torn between staring and hiding.
Duncan stopped when he saw them.
“Early birds,” he said simply.
Will opened his mouth but nothing came out.
Benjy, thankfully, managed words: “We were told not to be late.”
“Smart.” Duncan propped the board against the wall and reached for a towel from a hook.
He rubbed the towel over his hair, down his chest, and then -- lifting his arms -- into each bushy armpit.
Will tried to look elsewhere.
Duncan noticed.
Of course Duncan noticed.
He smiled anyway and winked at Will.
Duncan didn't cover himself quickly. That was the worst part for Will. He let the silence stretch, let Will decide where to put his eyes.
“You boys sleep well?” Duncan asked.
“No,” Will said too fast.
Duncan chuckled. “That’s normal.”
“It is?”
“After The First Sweat? Sure.”
“The what?”
Duncan slapped the towel around his neck and leaned one hand on the wall.
“The basement thing. Balloons. Oil. Dumbest tradition in California. But it's ours. And it helps us figure out who's in. And who's out.”
Before either of them could ask more, Duncan lifted a hand to say bye, nodded, and disappeared deeper into the house, the wetsuit riding scandalously low on his tapered back.
Will exhaled only after Duncan was gone.
Benjy was looking at him.
“What?”
Benjy said nothing.
“What?” Will repeated.
“You were staring.”
Will felt heat climb his neck. “No, I wasn’t.”
Benjy’s smile didn't change.
“I mean,” Will said, then stopped. “Okay. Maybe.”
“It’s fine.”
“Is it though?”
“Why wouldn't it be?” Benjy’s voice had gone softer, almost careful.
Will looked up.
“I don’t know,” Will said. “I don't wanna seem weird.”
Benjy laughed but said nothing.
Will hesitated, then decided to trust.
“I like guys," Will admitted. "In case that wasn’t obvious after yesterday.”
Benjy pushed his glasses up with his thumb. “Well, it wasn't not-obvious. Not to me”
Will winced. “Great.”
The house creaked around them.
Benjy looked as if there were something else he might say. His eyes dropped briefly to Will’s mouth, then away.
But before the silence could become anything more between the two, they heard a group of other freshmen enter the foyer. As good a cue as any.
The two of them, now friends, stood up to join them.
Within minutes, the house had filled with freshmen, though not as many as yesterday. Will estimated about thirty.
The redhead, Hunter, was leaning back on one of the couches in a linen shirt and pastel shorts.
Derek was there too, grinning broadly in a sleeveless Westmore College Rugby shirt and running shorts. He spotted Will and Benjy and waved from a towering height.
“Hey-hey! It’s the winners!”
Will smiled, both mortified and pleased.
He pretended he hadn’t fallen asleep the night before thinking about Derek’s muscle ass gaped open.
Then Marcus, one of the pledge chairs, climbed onto a coffee table, flanked by Carter, Jason, and Ethan.
“Yo, fresh meat!" Marcus said. "Congrats, boys. You’ve survived the first cut.”
A few people whooped.
“Next challenge is about all the legends of Phi-D-M. You’ll work in pairs, follow clues, find stuff around the house. Some answers are obvious. Some require not being a dumbass.”
Ethan handed out envelopes containing clues. Alliances formed quickly.
Will and Benjy paired off. Hunter joined Derek.
The first clues were stupid enough to be humiliating and funny. One sent them to the porch, where a brother made them kneel before a mural with the house motto, chanting "Thank you, thank you, thank you" while he sprayed whipped cream into their mouths.
Another made them retrieve a used green jockstrap from the dining room chandelier. Something about an old frat tradition. Will had to stand on a chair to grab it while Benjy steadied him tightly by the waist. Will wondered whose ballmusk he had the pleasure of handling.
By the third clue, they had fallen behind.
Derek and Hunter moved through the house like they didn’t even need clues. Like they were on the insider's track.
Benjy unfolded their next riddle.
“‘Where brothers rise and eagles soar, seek the lion’s telltale roar.’”
They stared at the clue.
“Uh, rise and soar,” Benjy said. “So… up?”
Will glanced toward the ceiling.
The first floor roared around them: freshmen shouting, brothers laughing, music thumping from somewhere in the back of the house.
Benjy looked toward the staircase.
“Second floor?" Will wondered.
"Or outside?” Benjy asked. "Are we even allowed upstairs?”
Will pointed at the clue. “It doesn’t say we aren’t.”
That was enough.
They climbed upstairs.
The second-floor hallway was quieter, the noise below softened to a distant hum. Sunlight fell through tall windows onto doors left half-open, showing messy bedrooms, unmade beds, and dirty laundry. The smell was unmistakable. This house was all men.
“Maybe we should go back,” Benjy whispered.
“Or maybe we keep going,” Will said, pointing.
At the end of the hall, a narrower staircase led higher.
“That can’t be right,” Benjy said.
Neither of them moved.
Then Will took one careful step forward. Benjy sighed and followed.
The third floor felt older. The floorboards were darker, the ceiling lower in places, the air warmer and dustier. Most of the doors were shut. The laughter downstairs felt far away now, like something happening in another house entirely.
They moved carefully down the hall.
One door caught their attention.
It was plain except for a flat green plaque at eye level. Engraved into it was a golden symbol Will didn’t recognize: an upward arrow rising from the center of an angular M, with a circle crossing through the arrow’s middle.
“What the hell is that?” Benjy asked.
Will leaned closer.
"Some ancient rune?"
"Sure, cuz that makes sense," Benjy said flippantly
“Wait,” Will whispered. “I think it’s Phi-D-M.”
Benjy frowned. “How?”
“The tip of the arrow’s the triangle for Delta. The M is Mu. The circle with the line through it is Phi. Phi Delta Mu.”
Benjy looked sideways at him with a crooked smile.
“Wow. And I thought I was a nerd.”
“Shut up,” Will said.
Then, together, they reached for the doorknob.
The door opened inward.
Will didn't know what he was expecting. But what lay behind the door was not it.
For a second, neither of them moved.
Then curiosity did what courage could not.
They stepped inside.
It was a large room, tiled from floor to ceiling in deep glossy green. The tiles on the wall shimmered as if wet, and there was a simple door on the other side. The room was dry, but the air smelled musty and damp.
A floor-length mirror covered one wall from end to end. Along the other walls, small hooks jutted out in rows, and narrow shelves held unlit candles at different heights, their wax melted into old pale ridges.
There was also a faintly sweet smell that grew stronger as the two boys walked inside.
Almond oil.
Several large metal vats stood stacked in one corner.
The same oil from the basement. The same oil that they were soaked in before slipping and sliding their bodies against each other last night.
At the center of the room was a low tiled platform, square and slightly raised from the floor with a large drain in the center.
Above it, set into the ceiling, was a massive square showerhead at least four feet across with dozens of tiny silicone nozzles.
Beside the showerhead hung a long chain, dark with age.
Some large hooks were screwed into the ceiling.
And on either side of the showerhead, two skylights looked up into the bright California morning, the sunshine cutting stark pockets of light into the darkness.
“What the hell,” Benjy whispered.
Will walked farther in.
His reflection moved beside him in the mirror. Pale face. Wide eyes.
“What is this?” Benjy asked, his voice echoing inside.
Will didn't answer.
It looked like a spa designed by a cult.
Will stared at the platform.
He imagined that men had showered there together. Or worse.
The image came so vividly that for a moment Will almost saw it in the mirror: bare shoulders slick with oil, hands braced on green tile, heads tipped back under the great square showerhead. A brother laughing. Another shivering. Someone pulling the chain. Water hammering down.
Then, shamefully, the vision darkened. Will couldn't resist.
Now he pictured Benjy on the platform, glasses gone, curls wet and dark against his forehead.
Duncan behind him. Derek watching.
Will blinked hard.
The room returned. And his heart was beating too fast.
Benjy nearly touched one of the candles, then jerked his hand back as if it could have burned him.
“We should leave,” he said.
“You wanted to come in too,” Will said quietly.
“That was before the ritual sex dungeon.”
“A dungeon would be in the basement," Will said dryly.
Benjy stared at him.
“Okay, okay,” Will said. “Point taken.”
Suddenly, a sound came from the hallway behind them.
Both boys froze.
An older student stepped out into the hallway from another room wearing nothing but a towel around his hips.
He was broad-shouldered and wet from a shower. His chest was dense with dark hair.
Will was hit with fear first. Then, horribly, the old familiar tug of wanting to look.
For half a second, the stranger looked just as surprised to see Will and Benjy through the open door as they were to see him.
Then his expression hardened and his eyes narrowed.
“What the fuck are you doing here?”
Benjy made a tiny sound. Will’s heart slammed against his ribs.
“We’re sorry,” Will stammered. “We were doing the -- uh, the scavenger hunt. There was a clue.”
The man stalked closer, one hand resting on the towel around his hips. Treacherously close to where the knot was tucked.
Will tried his best not to look down.
“This room’s supposed to be locked,” the man said.
There was a touch of menace in his voice.
“We didn’t know,” Benjy said quickly.
"Oh?" the man turned to Benjy, leaning one hand on the doorframe. "You sure you wanna know?"
"Sorry?"
“Get out.”
The boys left and scurried down the hallway without a word. The smell of almond oil remained stuck in Will's nose.
“If anyone asks, you didn’t see this room,” the man called after them. “You're not ready for this shit, boys.”
At the top of the stairs, the noise from the house rushed back at them.
From the ground floor, Marcus’s voice rang up through the stairwell.
“Aaand we have our winners! Derek Collins and Hunter Whitaker! In record time no less. Nice job, guys! Just one challenge left."
A ragged cheer followed.
Will and Benjy had lost.
Still, Benjy let out a breath of relief as they crept down the stairs.
Will tried to do the same.
Then he saw Duncan on the floor below.
Duncan stood near the second-floor landing, his damp hair pushed back from his face. He had changed into jeans and a white T-shirt, but the shirt still clung tightly to his chest where his skin hadn’t dried.
He was looking directly up at Will as they descended. With suspicion.
Duncan’s eyes moved once, slowly, up to the ceiling.
Will’s stomach tightened.
He knows.
Benjy elbowed Will's side.
“Come on,” he whispered, and they walked past Duncan with a silent nod and continued to the ground floor.
But downstairs in the foyer, something caught Will's eye inside the trophy case beside the stairs.
He stopped.
“Benj…”
Benjy followed his gaze.
Inside the case were silver cups, old plaques, framed photographs. And a long wooden paddle painted deep green.
The paddle's handle was wrapped in worn brown leather. The flat wooden blade had been stamped in gold with a cryptic symbol -- the same symbol from the door upstairs.
A large circle with an arrow through it, rising from an angular M.
Phi. Delta. Mu.
Beneath the symbol, in block letters, the paddle read:
"Never forget
THE HOUSE RULES
Est. 1990"
That was over twenty years ago.
Will leaned closer to the glass. The buzz of the crowd in the next room dissolved in his ears.
Behind the paddle, half-hidden by glare, was an old photograph.
At first it looked like any other house photo: five young Phi-D-M brothers, grinning at the camera.
Then Will recognized the tile behind them in the photo. Deep glossy green.
He saw the bare torsos. The wet hair. The shine on their chests.
They were all shirtless -- or maybe even naked outside the frame. Three of them knelt on the square platform, laughing with their arms around each other's shoulders. Two men stood behind them seriously, each with a hand planted on the kneeling men's shoulders. The taller of the men held the green paddle, resting across his naked hip and covering his dick.
Will’s breath went shallow.
The man with the paddle looked familiar. Younger, of course. No beard. Less rugged somehow, his jaw smoother, his grin almost reckless. But the long golden hair was unmistakable. So was the broad chest. The sun-made body. The easy, dangerous confidence.
Will looked from the photograph to the foot of the stairs.
Duncan had just come downstairs and was still watching him.
And now Will knew why.
--TO BE CONTINUED--
[Author's Note: Thanks for reading! Hope you've enjoyed the mystery and the worldbuilding. From here on out, the story will only get hotter and heavier.]
To get in touch with the author, send them an email.
