Pledges: Gay Erotic Stories (14 page)

Day Six

Jody had fucked plenty of holes, all of them female until that afternoon when, following a full hour of having his hairy ass feasted upon, the slave offered up his in tribute to his master’s cock.

“Fuck me, Sir,” Max begged.

His pleas for Jody to breed him put his dick back to its fullest stiffness. With his right foot, the master toed the mastered back to his knees, and savored Max’s willingness to do such fuckedup things for him.

“Show me how badly you want it, plebe. Lick my feet.”

Of course, Max obliged. When Jody told him to worship his balls and then his pits, the slave did as instructed, showing extra enthusiasm.
He wanted it up his ass
, thought Jody.
Really, truly wanted it
.

He’d boned so many holes. Kicking back, his every need attended to, a smile crept across Jody’s face. Fucking Max could very well earn the top spot as the best fuck of his life.

“Get my dick wet first,” he said, reaching under the bed for a condom.
Max rolled it onto Jody’s length, that act intimate and exciting, too. Once the skin was clamped around his meat, he tossed Max onto his stomach, pushed the slave’s face into the pillow, and lined his dick between Max’s cheeks. For the first time, Jody noticed the choiceness of Max’s butt. Firm and athletic, furry down the center. He spit on his palm, lubed his knob and pushed. Max tensed, moaned.
“You like that, cocksucker?”
Max howled an affirmative into the pillow.
The pressure around Jody’s dick attempted to make him yelp, too. He soldiered forward. Max pushed back. The connection made, Jody’s cock slipped in. The contours of the room rippled out of cohesion. As the slave’s mouth had done so often in recent days, Max’s asshole sucked down on Jody’s length.
Grunting, Jody shoved in, only his nuts stopping him from going deeper. Then he pulled back so that only the head and maybe an inch of shaft remained lodged in the slave’s asshole, seized hold of Max’s hips and slammed in once more.
Fresh sweat poured down Jody’s face. They established a rhythm, and Jody forgot that the back of the head and the butt he was buried balls-deep in belonged to another dude. He also forgot that, at the beginning of this latest wrinkle, he’d cared about that one stark detail.
They fucked standing up.
They fucked with Max riding Jody from the top, what would have been reverse-cowgirl mirrored in any other previous hard screw in the same bed, only now reverse-cowboy in this exciting new paradigm.
They fucked.
All night.

Day Seven
Hell Week neared its end. Jody patted the bed. “Sir?” asked Max.
“None of that ‘Sir’ shit, now. Sit your ass. Please.”

Max sat beside Jody on the bed. Their eyes met. In that bottled gaze, Jody’s sapphire-blues captured the underclassman’s browns. For the first time, Jody smiled without a note of guilt.

“Okay, so I do get off on that ‘Sir’ shit.”
“Good,” said Max. “
Sir
.”
“Why?” Jody asked, ignoring the reawakened swell of his

cock the best he could. “That day you and the rest of the pledges got served your tails. Why were you smiling at me?”

Max drew in a deep breath, blinked. “Because I think you’re beautiful.”
“Beautiful?” Jody parroted.
“Let me rephrase that. Handsome. So fucking handsome, it’s almost impossible to look at you, like staring directly at the sun.”
Jody chuckled. “Are you for real?”
He saw by Max’s expression that he was serious.
“Do you think I would lick just any man’s feet? His ripe balls or sweaty asshole? Swallow that much of his load, or give him ownership of my mouth, my fuck-hole? Only for
you
, dude. You’re fucking magnificent.”
Jody listened but the words struck his ears in a disconnected fashion, as though he’d split into two personas, the old Jody and the new. For a sliver of a second, New Jody worried that Old would take charge; that after today, he would forget and forsake all that he’d learned about himself and the greater world explored within the four walls of his frat house bedroom.
Then, saying nothing, he cupped Max’s face between his hands and crushed their mouths together, silencing all doubt as their lips met in a kiss.

Rush Week, which began the Monday before the new semester started, was crazy, with every fraternity and sorority sponsoring tables in the student union building and hundreds of would-be pledges trooping like lemmings from one table to the next. I was one of the lemmings, doing my best to learn everything I could—which wasn’t much—about each fraternity and to learn when each house would be hosting smokers that week. I desired the Greek life, seeing it as a stepping-stone to the life I wanted for myself rather than the life I might face if I were forced to return home following college graduation. My family lived in the wrong small town, the poorest of a cluster of three that sent their children to a centrally located high school, and no amount of education, effort, or desire would change that if I returned. Only by whitewashing my upbringing and by making connections with the sons and daughters of the moneyed elite would I have any chance of breaking away from a past predetermined by the socioeconomic status consigned upon me at birth. That’s why I had studied hard and worked harder throughout high school, graduating with a GPA just shy of 4.0, and that only because the PE teacher hadn’t thought highly of those students usually picked last for team sports. I’d been able to choose between several universities, weighing financial aid packages designed to attract academic high achievers against the cachet of having a particular school’s name on my diploma, the probability of making life-long connections with the right people while attending the school, and the matriculation rates of my high school’s previous graduates at each university.

Tuesday afternoon, we lemmings trooped from house to house along fraternity row—a several-block-long stretch of mansions converted to fraternity houses, sorority houses, and other university-centric establishments—working our way from the largest, most ornate houses closest to campus to the smaller, less appealing houses farther away. Though there were many other considerations for desiring membership in a particular fraternity, proximity to campus was one of the most obvious status symbols, and membership in one of the four fraternities and two sororities housed within the first block of fraternity row was highly desired by those who placed status at the top of their list. Most of the members of the close-by fraternities were handsome, moneyed, overachievers whose successes postgraduation more often came from family connections than their own hard work.

I had the look and the grades, but I didn’t have the money. What I did have was a bit of inside knowledge about the president of one of the top four fraternities, a guy who graduated from my high school three years before me and was beginning his senior year at the university as I was beginning my freshman year. Kyle Dennison didn’t remember me, but I had no reason to think he would. I’d grown several inches, my acne had cleared up and I’d learned to dress appropriately by studying men’s fashion magazines and trolling resale shops. I found myself face-to-face with him at the third smoker of the afternoon, having already visited two other fraternities where I had taken house tours, shot pool, played foosball, eaten snacks, and practiced my pitch. I wanted fraternity members to remember me as interested but not desperate, and by the time I was face-to-face with Kyle, I felt confident that I had my pitch perfected.

I introduced myself with my middle name—Marshall— rather than my first name, a name not often given to boys and all the more memorable because my parents had saddled me with it to please a long-dead great-grandfather. My last name— Smith—was so generic I needn’t ever bother hiding it.

Kyle shook my outstretched hand, welcomed me to the frat house, and told me about some of the charity work and community service projects they were planning for the year, making the fraternity sound as if it were populated by angelic cherubs rather than the spoiled rich kids I knew them to be. As I shook his hand, I told Kyle how delighted I was to meet him, how much I had enjoyed meeting the other members, and how pleased I was to learn of their community involvement. I didn’t tell him that his touch was sending blood rushing to my crotch and that it took mental images of slaughtered livestock to prevent myself from having an erection.

“Get yourself something to eat,” he said, before moving on to glad-hand another potential pledge.
Unlike some of the lesser fraternities that served little more than chips and dip, Kyle’s fraternity, and the others nearest the university, put on a big spread. The highlights at Kyle’s house included shrimp cocktail and a chef carving thin slices of roast beef. I snacked, exchanged polite conversation with a variety of active members and then moved on to the next house, remaining just long enough at each to make an impression but not so long that I might wear out my welcome the way some of the less sophisticated freshmen did.
That night I returned to fraternity row for the parties, once again making certain I was seen by the decision makers at several fraternities, but not embarrassing myself by drinking excessively or participating in juvenile antics. During a brief conversation with Kyle, I mentioned my plan to major in business just as he was majoring in business, laughed at his joke about English majors, and lightly rested my fingers on his forearm just long enough for him to react, pulling away before anyone else noticed. I knew his gaze followed me when I walked away, and I wondered if I might have been too subtle.
There were more smokers Wednesday afternoon, so I finished visiting the fraternities, ensuring that I left a good impression at a few of the lesser houses in case my plan to pledge Kyle’s fraternity somehow failed. That night I remained in my dorm room between eight and ten p.m., when lemming-like rushees like me were expected to welcome active members of various fraternities into their rooms for a little Q&A. Active members from five fraternities visited me and asked about my background, my interests, and my goals for college and beyond. I aced their questions and responded with a few of my own, sending each group of actives on their way satisfied with their visit, but I paced nervously as ten p.m. approached and actives from Kyle’s fraternity had yet to knock on my door.
I was about to give up hope when they finally arrived at two minutes past.
“Sorry we’re late,” Kyle apologized as I ushered the three of them into my dorm room. “It’s been a long night.”
My room wasn’t designed to accommodate large groups, so Denny and Chad sat in the only two chairs while Kyle and I sat on my bed, an arrangement I orchestrated in order to put certain thoughts in Kyle’s mind.
They asked many of the same questions as the other fraternities, and my answers were nearly identical. The only variation was Kyle’s reaction when I named my hometown, a place so insignificant that no one but residents of the tri-town area knew of it, and I saw the recognition in Kyle’s eyes. For the next several minutes, as Denny and Chad continued their questioning, Kyle studied me closely, perhaps trying to determine if he should know me or know of me.
They seemed satisfied with my answers when they finally stood to leave at twenty past ten, and I stepped with them to the door. Denny and Chad exited first and I put my hand on the small of Kyle’s back, out of sight of the other two members of his fraternity, my fingers grazing the upper swell of his tight buttocks. He stiffened at the touch but did not otherwise react as my hand slid lower before I pulled it away.
“We’re having an invitational tomorrow night,” Chad said. “You should come.”
As Kyle turned to face me, I stared into his pale blue eyes. “Should I?” I asked. “Should I come?”
After he nodded, I promised I would.
I didn’t attend any of the Thursday smokers and arrived fashionably late to the party at Kyle’s fraternity house. A dozen or so other rushees had arrived before me and a few more arrived after, so I knew the process of winnowing candidates was in full swing. I mingled, moving from group to group, discussing the things young men discuss when they gather together. I soon learned which professors to avoid, which bars were lax about checking IDs, and which Tri-Delt never seemed to draw her curtains before changing clothes. I couldn’t care less about naked Tri-Delts, but I feigned interest when Chad described the size of her breasts.
Kyle caught me alone in the dining room as I was refilling my glass from the crystal punch bowl. “I should know your people.”
“You do,” I admitted.
“We should have been in school together.”
“We were.”
“Why don’t I know you?”
“You never looked at me twice,” I said, “but I know about you. I saw you and Steven Harper in the Harper’s stock pond the summer before you came here.”
Kyle’s eyes widened, but before he could respond, Denny stumbled into the dining room. He’d been drinking, spiking his punch with Jack Daniel’s, and apparently couldn’t hold his liquor. Kyle grabbed Denny’s arm and guided him into the bathroom. While they were busy, I made appropriate farewells and slipped out of the party. Then I walked down fraternity row to one of the two other invitationals at which I was expected. After staying only long enough to ensure that I left a positive impression at each of the two invitationals I visited after leaving Kyle’s fraternity house, I managed to turn in for the night at a reasonable hour.
The next morning Kyle caught me outside my room returning from the dormitory’s communal shower with just a towel around my waist. He invited himself in and sat on the bed next to me.
“It’s not looking good,” Kyle said. He rested one hand on my knee. “There are some other guys we’re looking at real
hard
.”
“I’m certain you are,” I responded, realizing that the inside information he was giving me—whether true or not—was a bit of dirty rushing. Fortunately, I could play dirty, too. “As hard as you looked at Steven Harper when you two went skinnydipping.”
“So you know what I want, Beverly,” Kyle said as he slipped his hand under the towel. He had done his homework overnight, learning the name my family had bestowed on me that had forced me to defend myself against all manner of taunting and misunderstandings during my formative years.
I said, “I’m surprised no one else does.”
He shrugged. “I’ll marry a Tri-Delt, have two kids and keep a friend or two on the side.”
“Like Harper?”
“He’s history,” Kyle explained. His fingers found my freshly washed scrotum and he cupped my balls in his hand. “He was a fling, nothing more.”
My cock stiffened as he massaged my balls, and the towel tented in my lap. Kyle wrapped his fist around my cock and jerked me off, his strokes hard and fast, and before I could stop myself, I came. As my sexual effluent soaked the towel, Kyle drew his hand away. I stood and peeled off the towel, used it to wipe away the last few drops of cum, and tossed it on the floor.
Kyle leaned back on the bed, rested on his elbows and watched me clean myself. I could see the bulge in his chinos, his cock straining for release, and I accommodated his needs by unzipping his fly. I knew what I would see when I helped him remove his pants and tossed them aside, but I had never seen his long, thick erection so close. When I’d first noticed Kyle fucking Steven Harper at the Harper pond, I’d watched them through the scope of my hunting rifle, and each subsequent time, once I’d determined their twice-weekly assignations, I’d watched them through my father’s binoculars. By then I knew, but had not acted upon, my own sexual desires, and that summer was the first time I realized exactly what it was that aroused me.
Kyle’s cock rose from a closely trimmed triangle of blond pubic hair, the purplish head crowned with a glistening bead of precum. I knelt beside the bed, positioned myself between Kyle’s widespread thighs and took the head of his cock in my mouth. I sucked away the drop of precum and then slowly drew the length of his stiff shaft into my oral cavity.
I couldn’t quite take it all in before I drew back and caught my teeth on his spongy glans. As I took his cock into my mouth a second time and then a third, Kyle sat up. He put his hands on either side of my head and held it as he moved his hips forward and back, fucking my face. The faster and harder he thrust his cock into my mouth, the farther he rose from the bed, until he was on his feet in an awkward crouch, his ball sac slapping my chin, his short pubic hair scratching my lips, his breath coming in ragged gasps. I felt Kyle tense as he thrust forward one last time, and then his cock erupted within my mouth, sending wad after thick wad of hot cum against the back of my throat. I couldn’t swallow fast enough and some of it dribbled from the corners of my mouth, dripping onto the wadded-up towel at my knees.
When Kyle finished coming in my mouth, he pulled away and sat back on the bed, his wet cock a slowly shrinking reminder of what we’d just done. I wiped my mouth and chin with the towel and neither of us spoke until Kyle reached for his chinos. “I’ll talk to the other actives tonight,” he said. “I’ll put in a good word. That’s all I can promise.”
After he dressed, Kyle invited me to that night’s closed party at the frat house, my last opportunity to impress the actives and secure a bid. I knew I already had Kyle’s vote, and I knew as president of the chapter he would have plenty of influence on the other members, but I still had to play the game as if I didn’t share Kyle’s secret.
That night I arrived at the frat house a few minutes after the closed party began, neither the first nor the last rushee to arrive, and I soon learned that the field of rushees had been narrowed to nine. Once again, I handled myself well, offended no one, and left at the end of the evening with hearty handshakes from Denny, Chad and several of the other actives.
All the campus fraternities and sororities spent Saturday selecting which rushees to bid the following day. For some Greek organizations, the choices were simple, for others the decisions were difficult and took hours of deliberation. I had no idea what kind of deliberations went on at Kyle’s house, but when I returned to my room Sunday afternoon after chapel, I found two bids awaiting me. The first came from one of the lesser fraternities located near the far end of fraternity row, an organization that would be quite pleased to have me join because the average I.Q. of the house would raise seven points just by my presence. The second, from Kyle’s fraternity, was accompanied by a private dinner invitation for later that evening.
I smiled. I had exactly what I wanted.
But I wondered if I could get more, and I was still wondering when I met Kyle at a dimly lit hotel restaurant downtown. Over lobster tails, he congratulated me on my bid and suggested we further celebrate after dinner. I let him know I shared the same thought, and I was not surprised when I learned he had already rented a room.
Once we had the door locked behind us, Kyle wasn’t shy. He backed me against a wall and kissed me. Our tongues met and his tasted of lobster and baked Alaska and coffee. As our kiss lengthened and deepened, his fingers fumbled open the buttons, buckle and zipper that kept my clothes on, and he soon had me naked and sprawled facedown on the king-size bed. After he peeled off his own clothes, Kyle grabbed a brand-new tube of lube from the nightstand, squeezed some into his hand and massaged it into my asscrack. I rose up on all fours, positioning my knees near the edge of the bed. After a moment, he pressed the tip of one lube-slickened finger against my sphincter and I slowly opened to the pressure. He slathered more lube into my asscrack as he slid his finger in and out, and soon he was able to slide a second finger into me.
“Quit teasing me,” I whispered hoarsely, and he replaced his fingers with the head of his cock.
I pushed back as he grabbed my hips and pushed forward, and soon the entire length of Kyle’s cock was buried in my ass. I didn’t tell him, because the less information he had about me the better, but he was my first, and I reveled in every stroke as he drew back and pushed forward. He fucked me hard and he fucked me fast and he came with a roar as he fired hot cum up my ass, collapsed on top of me and flattened me against the bed. I had to pleasure myself when he caught his breath and rolled off of me, but I didn’t care.
He watched me jerk off and waited until I finished before he said anything. “I expect you to keep our arrangement quiet. Can you do that?”
I thought for a moment, even though I already knew what I planned to say. “I might need a little help keeping up appearances,” I said. “I wouldn’t want to diminish the fraternity’s image by ever appearing less than my best.”
“I think that can be arranged,” Kyle said. “I’ve already talked to my father about our situation. You should expect to receive a very healthy scholarship from the bank back home. It’ll get you through the year. Spend it wisely because after that, you’re on your own.”
We fucked twice more that evening, once in bed and again in the shower when we were supposed to be cleaning up. Then, because we had driven separate cars, I left him at the hotel and returned to my dorm room, where I slept soundly for the first time since Rush Week began.
Monday was the semester’s first day of class, which kept me busy either in class or in the bookstore buying the outrageously expensive pile of books I needed that semester, and Tuesday, the first day rushees were allowed to pledge, I officially pledged Kyle’s fraternity, one of only five to have received bids.
By then I had already started listening closely to my fraternity brothers, hoping to find someone to replace Kyle’s friendship and generosity after he graduated at the end of the year. After all, it isn’t just who you know, sometimes it’s
what
you know about who you know that allows you to get ahead.