The Guys in the Suite

Thomas Carver

This short story involves MMMM sex with strong themes of domination, humiliation, and fetish activity, which are among my list of favorite things.  If you enjoy it, you may also enjoy the stories I have available on Amazon, I can be reached at [email protected], and I love to hear from readers. 

I should have known better.

I played pool with Jake down in the lobby the night before, and he'd invited me to the end of the hall, the suite, to watch the game with his roommates.  Easy to be flattered: the golden boy with the build of a body spray commercial wanting to hang out with the skinny English major. 

Our dorm had a suite at either end, three guys instead of two, but a separate bathroom.  You had to be a big man to get a suite, an upperclassman for one thing, but even then it helped to know people. Or to have Jake's bright white smile and easy confidence.

I knew the other two guys, from around the dorm.  Seth was the stoner, or at least, that's how he looked, with his scruff of blond chin fuzz and slight build, a permanent gangster sneer that looked pretty out of place on a white suburban skate punk, even if he did have a shaved head.  And then there was Mike, the first string quarterback, tall and lithe and hard-muscled, always with his shirt off, showing that tattoo on his chest of a snake ready to strike. 

He was bare chested now, when they welcomed me into the room. 

"You guys know Teddy."

"Ted," I said.

Seth gave me the gangster nod, nose in the air.  "Sup, Teddy."

The three of them together filled the couch.  The pregame was already going on the surprisingly large TV.  I had a dinky little flatscreen, in my room, but they'd gone all out.  Of course, they had a bit more room, two lofted beds and one on the ground, a small couch -- a loveseat, I'd call it, but never around them -- that they occupied every inch of, Seth in the middle, the two football players, Mike and Jake, on the ends. 

There wasn't anywhere for me to sit.  "Sorry, man," Jake said, "no chairs."

There was actually an office chair up against the desk in the back, but I didn't make an issue of it.  "I can sit on the floor.  I don't mind."

We watched the game for a while over the white noise of an electric fan blowing humid air around.  The dorms didn't have air conditioning and it was incredibly hot, the last great gasp of summer heat in September. 

Seth kicked his ratty running shoes off and rubbed together feet clad in ankle-high blue running socks, almost black on the bottoms. 

Mike held his nose.  "Dude, you fucking stink."

"Yeah," Seth said, complacent.  "I sure do."

"What do you think, Teddy?" Jake asked.  "How does our boy Seth's feet smell?"

"Can't really smell 'em from here," I lied.  Their sweaty vinegar stink filled the room.

"Maybe you should get closer, then," Seth said, but before I could figure out what he meant by that, the game came back on.

We watched until halftime, and they watched the cheerleaders with great intensity.  "Look at the tits on her."

"I wanna fuck that one."

"I wanna fuck any of 'em."

"What about you, Teddy?" Jake asked again, always the one to bring me in on the conversation.  I'd gotten used to Seth's feet a bit, and figured this is just what guys were like when they were alone, a little gross, a little mean.  It was better than being alone.

"I'd fuck that one," I said.

They laughed, and I didn't know why.

The game wound down and it became very obvious that Dallas was going to win, and the guys lost interest.  Now the conversation turned to sports, oneupmanship, bragging.  And then it became physical.  Apparently both Jake and Seth used to wrestle, or maybe still did.  They tried out moves on each other on the carpet, and I sat, feeling horny and scared and as fascinated as if that tattoo of a snake on Mike's chest was a hypnotic cobra rather than a striking rattlesnake.

"You know," Mike said, when the other two lay back on the floor, catching their breath, "there's this thing like Tinder."  He played with his phone.  He'd been doing that all evening.  "But it's for fags.  I got it just for fun.  Fucking with fags is funny." 

They rejoined him on the couch, looking over his shoulder.  "Sick shit," Seth said.  "This one says he's into licking feet."

"That one's into watersports.  Like, what, polo?" Jake asked.

Seth laughed.  "Piss."

"Fucked up."

"Fags," Mike informed us, "are all fucked up perverts.  They'll do anything."

"Get that one who's into feet up here," Jake said.  "He can lick Seth's feet clean, do us all a favor."

"The cool thing," Mike said, and they all traded smirks, "is that it gives you an idea how far away they are."

"What do you think, Teddy?  You think we should get one of these faggots up here and make him lick Seth's feet?"

I licked my lips.  My heart thumped, and my balls had drawn up.  I knew what app they were on.  I was on that app, and it'd peg my location to within a mile.  "I -- don't know.  I mean, you guys aren't gay . . . "  I realized how it sounded as soon as I said it.  At least my face wasn't in any of the pictures I'd posted.  They wouldn't know it was me.

"I bet we could make him do more than that," Seth said. "Piss on him, make him -- I don't know what."

"Suck our dicks," Mike rumbled. 

"Isn't that gay?" I said.  "Getting your dick sucked by -- a guy?"

"Ain't as gay as this faggot," he said.  "Listen: 'Total bottom, like to be dominated, up for anything.'" 

That sounded familiar, and I didn't miss Seth's smirk.  Jake didn't even hide it; he just burst into laughter.  "What does he list as his favorite ways to be a faggot?" he asked, finally. "Or whatever."

"Let's see."  He scrolled down.  "Anal, receiving. Blowjobs, getting.  Bondage.  Feet."  He looked up.  "There you go, Seth, perfect for you."  Then he went on.  "Rimming, whatever that is.  And, yeah, there it is, Watersports."

"Rimming," Seth is, "is licking assholes."

"I like how they call it a sport," Jake said.  "Like they train for getting pissed on or something."

"Could you imagine if we were faggots, in practice, all pissing on each other?"

Jake leaned over Seth, stuck out his tongue, and wiggled in Mike's face.  "Oh, man, piss on my tongue, man."

Mike stood and gripped his crotch.  "Okay, faggot, open wide."

"Fuck you."  Jake leaned back, laughing. 

"Fuck you, if you're gonna pretend to be a faggot, you gotta go through with it."  But he sat down.  "Hey, there are pictures," he said.

I said nothing.  Maybe my silence was more damning than if I joined in the homoerotic teasing.  If I'd done that, pretended I wanted Mike's piss, would the night have ended differently?  But no, I realized, because more and more I recognized this as what it was: theater.  You don't spend years acting in school plays without seeing amateur acting and recognizing it for what it is.

"Let's see," Jake said, and they passed around the phone.  They handed it to me, and I glanced at it, handed it back.

"Skinny little fuck," Mike said.

"Yeah, oh, hey," Jake said, making a fake discovery. "He's got a big mole on his shoulder."

"That is big.  Hard to miss that, heading to the showers in a towel, yeah?"

"Yeah, that'd be hard to miss."

"Hey," Seth said, as if getting an idea.  "Don't you have a mole like that, Teddy?"

I shook my head, not trusting my voice.

"I think he does," Jake said.  "I've seen him heading to the showers and I swear I saw a mole like that on his shoulder.  I thought, what is that, an extra fucking nipple?  But no, it's just a fag mark."

They laughed.

"Yeah," Mike said.  "Fagvertising."

Seth got up.  "Come on, Teddy boy, why don't you take off your shirt, show us your fag mark?"

I stood, but my feet were asleep.  "I should go."

"No, not until we have some fucking fun."  And Seth shot forward and took me down, easily.  Even if my feet hadn't been asleep, he would have had no problem laying me down on my back so fast he knocked the breath out of me.  Jake got his fingers under the hem of my shirt, and they lifted it up, over my face.

"There is it," Mike said.  I felt his finger press the mole on my shoulder.  "That's our skinny little faggot.  This is the fag button.  You press it and the fag comes on."

"Or you come on the fag," Seth said, and everyone laughed.  Everyone but me.

I struggled, the shirt stretched over my face, and eventually wiggled out of it and back into the light.  Seth had me by my legs, Jake by my wrists.  He let go just long enough to get the shirt off of my arms, and I tried to swing out and hit him.

His smile disappeared.  He gathered up my wrists in a single grinding fist.  The other he raised in from my face.  His voice was cold, dry, like a night desert wind.  "I will fuck you up, you hit me again," he said.  "You fucking faggot."

I stopped struggling. 

"Don't hurt me," I said.  "I could yell."

"Yeah, you could yell," Seth said.  He pulled off one of his stinking socks and stuffed it into my mouth.  I tried to get it out, but he put a hand over it, holding it in.  It tasted of salt and musty sweat, and I gagged behind it. 

Mike sat on my chest, an oppressive weight, a nightmare made flesh.  "Okay," he said, studying his phone.  "So we're gonna give you a real fun night.  Everything on your list, I think."

I squirmed but they were too strong.  My cock betrayed me, stiffening in my pants. 

"Come on, man," Jake said, leaning that all-American face next to mine so close his breath heated my skin.  "You know you want this shit.  Here's your chance."

I stopped struggling.  I grunted against Seth's sock, drying my tongue.  He took his hand away and pulled the sock from between my teeth.  I moistened my mouth. 

"Okay," I said.  "Okay, but don't tell anyone."

"You're the one who advertised on the goddamned internet," Mike said. 

Seth pushed his foot against my face.  "Suck my toes," he said.

I ran my tongue over the rough, hard skin of his big toe.  He had a callous on the side, and dirt between the toes.  I licked it up. It gritted between my teeth.  I sucked his big toe, and he tottered above me.  "Let me sit down," he said.

He positioned himself on the couch, the other two guys on either side, and I lay on my stomach, worshipping his foot.  I'd seen videos of this, more than seen them.  I'd jerked off to them, imagining myself in this position, servicing cruel young straight men.  I lapped at the soft sole, the hard callouses.  I gnawed on the heel, sucked the toes.  I even worked some black gunk out from under the toenails and swallowed it.  There was a strange contentment to the experience, a kind of zen.  They joked and laughed over me, but after a while they settled down and it was just the rhythm of their three interlocking breaths, my eager gasps and slurps.

Mike and Jake kicked off their shoes too, and I pulled off their socks one at a time.  Mike's feet were enormous, and covered my whole head from forehead to neck.  I lay on my back and pulled them over my face, buried under them, feeling content, humiliated, worthless and pleased.  I licked and he giggled and pulled his feet away.  It was an incongruous sound coming from such a man.  "Damn it, tickles," he said.

"Do me," Jake said, sticking his foot out.

His were smaller than Mike's, but bigger than mine and Seth's. They didn't stink nearly as bad as Seth's either, which was almost disappointing.  But I licked them until they were slick with my spit.

He rubbed them dry on my face.  I lay back, catching my breath, and he leaned over.  That whitebread face, those expensive teeth and perfect hair hovered over me.  A white bead of spit gathered at his lips and dropped down onto mine.  Then another.  "You're gross," he said.

"Yes, sir."

That set Seth howling.  "He called you 'sir.'"

"He'll call us all 'sir,'" Mike said.  "Better."

"What's next on the list?" Jake asked. 

"Watersports or rimming.  Anyone got to piss?"

"Nah," Seth said, "not yet, but my ass itches. Don't think I cleaned it too well last time I took a dump."

"Who needs toilet paper when you got a faggot, right, fag?" Mike said, leaning over me again, letting another bead of spit fall in my face.  This one I caught on my tongue. 

Sucking their feet was innocent, if dirty.  Licking their asses, though . . .  I wasn't sure I wanted to do that.  Especially if, as Seth said, he wasn't that clean back there.  And I saw no reason to doubt it, having experienced the hygiene of his feet first hand.  Or first tongue.

I was about to find out, because Seth was standing over me and pulling down the elastic of his nylon track pants and not-too-clean boxers underneath. 

His cheeks were round and firm, and the only hair was a dusting of light blond fuzz.  He bent over, and I didn't wait for coaxing or violence: I buried my face deep in the crack, lapped at the tangle of thicker hair nested there.  I went in blind, not wanting to know what I'd be licking up, but in reality it was a little cleaner than I expected, although not nearly as clean as I fantasized.  I'd made that list in that stupid, pointless ad just as a lark, listing everything I'd ever fantasized about, no matter how kinky.  I'd figured maybe I could attract someone, somewhere, who might want to have sex with a slim college guy.  Now here I was, living out the full list, whether I liked it or not.

But I did like it.  The skin wasn't terribly smooth, gritty with shreds of toilet paper and -- other stuff, too, I imagined.  I licked at it anyway, tasting salt and bitter, and my cock climbed down the thigh of my jeans, pressing awkwardly.  I adjusted it, and that drew Mike's attention.

"He's fucking getting off on this," the big football player said.  "He's playing with himself."

"Knock it off, faggot," Jake said.  That midwestern picture of all-American goodness liked calling me a faggot, I realized.  And why wouldn't he?  I kind of liked it when he did, now that I was fairly sure I wasn't going to end up with my ass kicked.

Seth pulled his ass away from my eager lips.  "That feels fucking weird as hell," he said.  "Gonna go wipe up his spit off my shitter."

"Bring back a couple beers," Mike said.

"After you wash your hands," Jake added, and they laughed.

They drank their beers, taking a break from torturing me, while they made fun of other ads on that gay hookup app.  Then after a while, Jake said, "Okay, fagboy, time to make yourself useful. I gotta go break the seal."

He stood and I thought for a moment he might take his dick out and make me drink his piss right here, but he went into their private bathroom, came back with his beer bottle.  He handed it to me.  It was warm.  "Drink it all, right here."

I put it to my lips.  It smelled faintly of ammonia, but mostly of beer.  I tipped it back, and salty, foamy liquid poured past my lips, thicker than water, warm.  I swallowed, and reflexively tried to cough it back up.  But I held it down, drank another briny swallow, and another.  I emptied the bottle and handed it back.

It was a mistake drinking it that fast.  I burped, and tasted piss in my mouth.  My stomach gurgled, not sure whether to accept or reject it, but my cock knew.  Every slight movement of my body sent a thrill through it.  Every touch of my clothing was torture in its intensity, and my nipples crinkled hard and tender under their gaze. 

"I think he just came," Seth said.

"Okay," Mike said.  "My turn."  And he stood, and took out his soft cock.  Even soft, it was thick and long, and it gave it a couple pulls.  "Open," he said.

I kneeled in front of him and opened my mouth, and when the stream finally came out he was laughing along with the other guys so hard that he couldn't keep it aimed in my mouth.  It splashed on my face, my chest.  I got most of it, nearly all of it, in my mouth, and when my mouth filled and I had to swallow, some splashed over me.

"He got piss on the rug," Seth said.

"Yeah, not the first fucking time someone's pissed on this rug."

"I was drunk," Seth said, his voice a high-pitched and well-rehearsed defense.

Mike shook his thick cock off in my mouth and put it away.  "Next thing on the list," he said.  He checked the phone.  "Anal."

"I don't want to buttfuck no dude," Seth said.

"Yeah, that's too gay," Jake said.  I don't know where he drew his imaginary line.

"It's on the list, though," Mike said, tapping the side of his phone.  "Okay, faggot, assume the position."

"I've never had anal," I said.  In truth, I'd never done any of this.  I was still a virgin.  And I guessed I still technically was, until one of them put their cock in me. 

"Not what I asked you, cunt face.  Bend over."

I did, knowing this wasn't the right position for anal sex.  "Do you have lube?" I asked.

They just laughed, a cruel chorus of derision.  Mike stalked up behind me and yanked my pants down hard, without undoing the belt or unzipping them, and they scraped my hard-on painfully.  He clasped both buttcheeks, spread them wide, hocked deeply in his throat, and launched spit to trickle wetly down to my hole.

Then something cold and hard pushed against the hole.  Not a cock. A beer bottle, I realized.

"Relax," he said, "Relax or I kick it in."

I tried to relax, tried to be a good hole for him.  He pushed the neck of the bottle past the sphincter, aching, stretching, and then pushed it in further.  The neck flared out, and stretched my hole. "This what you like, faggot?" he asked, fucking my hole in and out with the bottle.

I moaned.  It didn't feel good; it felt horrid, like humiliation made purely physical.  I pushed back against the bottle, making it hurt more.  "Yeah," I said, "yeah."

Seth walked around to stand in front of me, hooked the elastic of his track pants under his balls, and pushed his long, pale cock up against my face.  I chased it with my lips while they laughed down at me, and finally caught it.  My first blowjob.  I sucked his slender cock into my throat, where it hardened.  He was rubbery, not quite hard.  This wasn't doing much for him.  I tried harder, tried to be a better cocksucker. 

He pulled out, massaging his own cock, and Jake replaced him. Jake's was as hard as a baseball bat.  He filled my mouth and gathered double handfuls of my hair, guiding me up and down, right to the point of gagging.

Mike let go of the bottle and it slipped out of my ass.  "Here," he said, "squat on it so it stays in."  He pushed it back in, too fast, and I squatted down on it to keep it from falling out while I sucked Jake. 

"You're into this," Seth said to Jake, accusing him maybe.

"A mouth is a mouth, man."

"I don't know.  Tits are tits."

"My turn," Mike said, and Jake pulled out, shining with my spit.  Mike's cock was thicker and when he pushed it between my lips, I had to stretch to take it all in and avoid teeth. 

They took turns, and each of them had a different way they liked it.  Seth liked it slow and lazy, teasing his semi-hard flesh with my tongue.  Jake wanted control, guiding my head up and down his cock with his hands.  And Mike just liked to watch his cock stretch my throat when he pushed it as deep as it would go, ignoring my coughing and gagging.  And the whole time, that beer bottle was shoved partway up my ass.  My legs were getting tired, and I was afraid I'd sit on it, full weight, and drive it so deep I'd have to go to the emergency room to get it taken out. 

Then Jake grabbed my head and forced it down on his cock.  "Just like that," he said, "just like that."  I wasn't doing much, just holding him with my lips and tongue while he fucked my face, but then he hissed in a deep breath and a salty wad poured into my mouth and down my throat.  I swallowed reflexively, my first load of cum.

Jake pulled me off and pulled up his pants.  He retreated to the couch, watching the action and joining in the laughing as Seth made me lick the wrinkled sack of his balls, and Mike stretched the skin of his scrotum to cover the whole bottom half of my face.  "He's got a mask of balls," he said, and that set them off for some reason I didn't understand. 

Mike was the next to come, pushing so deep in my throat I coughed and choked on it, and some came out my nose, burning.  It still tasted a bit of his piss.

I sucked Seth for a long time before he finally said, "I just can't come standing up."

They made room for him on the couch, and he sat.  I knelt between his legs, and the beer bottle fell out of my asshole, but no one commented.  At least now I could concentrate a little better, I thought, but then Seth pressed his foot roughly against my crotch. He bore down, grinding my cock and balls, while I sucked him.

And now he got hard.  Hurting me made him hard.  "Fuck," he said.  "Okay, okay.  Fuck."

He put one of his hands on the top of my head, pushed me down, and leaned forward.  He'd put his shoes back on, and the soles ground rough against my tender cock.  "Grab his arms," he said, "pull 'em behind his back."

Jake complied, and now I was helpless, fucked in the face.  Jake pushed his foot between my legs, flicking my balls with the toe of his shoe.  Between them, they ground my cock together against dirty shoes, just as Seth hardened and thickened.  His skin grew slick and warm, and his balls tightened. 

The prickly tang of semen hit me.  I swallowed quick, and all their cum was mingling in my stomach.

They let me go, as explosively and suddenly as Seth had grabbed me, at the beginning of this.  "Get dressed," Jake said, and flashed me that smile.

I did as he said.  I always would, I knew, for the rest of my time in this dorm.  I'd always do what he, what they, said.  My cock was sore, my balls throbbing sickly deep into my gut.  But I got dressed. And I waited.

"What are you waiting for?" Mike said.

"Can I go?  Are you guys done with me?"

They traded amused glances.  "For now," Jake said, finally.  He stretched, his hard muscled arms over behind his head. 

"Hey," Mike said.  "You lock your dorm door at night?"

"Yeah," I said.

"Not anymore you don't.  Maybe one of us'll stop by.  Or someone else.  You never know who might need a faggot.  Foot wash. Toiletpaper.  You never know."

"Yes, sir," I said.

And they laughed again at that, and their laughter followed me out into the hall, and down the hall to my room, and behind my door where I tortured my own sore cock to an overwhelming orgasm that lashed my body with shame and pleasure and humiliation.



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