His College Room-Mate (Gay Themes)

by Small Penis


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This story contains adult sexual content and should not be read by those under 18, or considered minors in their country or locale. If you are under 18: CLICK HERE

These stories are the artistic expression of the authors who wrote them. The Small Dick Club strongly believes in freedom of speech, and the right of artists to be heard, especially if what they say pushes the boundaries of what is acceptable in society. If you think you won’t like the content of this post, then don’t read it. It’s that simple. The Small Dick Club wishes to advise readers that any similarities in these stories to actual or real people or events is purely coincidental and unintended. That any story marked as a ‘true story’ shouldn’t be taken literally, as we have no way to verify if stories submitted to us are true. The Small Dick Club takes no responsibility for the imaginations and literary creations of authors who post their stories here.
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Chris Donaldson by tazemebro

Chris looked at the door to room 119, wondering if his room-mate was already in there. No message board on the door yet, nothing but the retro-looking construction-paper name-tags taped up by the RA. Should he knock? No, it was his room too, and he was a sophomore, not a nervous freshman. Ok, he was a little nervous. The profile on Facebook had looked intimidating but exciting: a jock type, shaved head according to the more recent pics, in a fraternity, relationship status single. Chris opened the door carefully.

“Hey man, welcome home,” said a solid-looking guy standing on tiptoes, hanging a poster. He turned around and smiled, his expression easy-going, open, and very masculine. “I’m Justin.”

“Hey, Justin.” Chris walked over and shook hands. Firm grip, he thought, of course. Friendly brown eyes. Handsome roundish jock face, a few days’ stubble on his face and scalp, cute nose, really white teeth. Justin was wearing a yellow muscle T with “Hanson’s CrossFit” on it. His arms were impressive: very muscular, but with a small layer of baby fat that made the muscles rounded and juicy-looking rather than chiselled. He must be about 5’11”, Chris thought, a couple of inches taller than me. “I’m Chris.”

“Good to meet you, bro. I put some stuff on the walls already, I hope you don’t mind.” Chris looked around at the posters. Mostly MMA-type stuff, with a few of chicks with enormous tits fawning over the fighters. One was of a blonde bending over in cut-offs, head between her legs, pretending to sip from a beer bottle and winking. Is that how she prevents hiccups, Chris wondered. The first floor of Kroetzger Hall was high-ceilinged, and Justin had covered all but a quarter of the ample wall space. “I left you that part by the closets,” he grinned.

“Cool, cool.”

“Which bunk do you want? I didn’t pick yet.”

“I don’t mind, man, you got a preference?”

“Well, if it’s cool with you, I’ll take lower. I’ll have some real crazy late nights, it’ll be a little easier not to wake you if I’m not climbing up when I’m drunk.” Justin flashed Chris his friendly grin again.

“Sure, man, that’s fine. That mean I get the desk by the window?”

“Yeah, it’s all yours.” Justin looked pleased at his own generosity, and started arranging weights in his closet.

“Cool, cool, I’ll start getting my stuff.”

Straight as straight can be, Chris thought as he went out to his car. On Facebook, he hadn’t been able to tell; there was always room for optimism. After only a few minutes with Justin, he had concluded that there was no gay nut to crack, and started trying to wall off his attraction to his new room-mate, sustained over the internet for the two months since the university had assigned them to Kroetzger and each other. Just as well, he thought, it would have been messy if he had been persuadable. His dick started to get hard thinking of Justin’s muscle T, his manly arms and chest, and the sexy sides of his torso Chris had seen through the long slits in the shirt. Shit. Better get over this fast. He started unloading suitcases and boxes.

Chris had come out to himself during spring quarter of his freshman year. A six-month relationship with a smart, cute, but mousey girl had been going nowhere; he suspected she might be gay too. She hadn’t minded when he broke it off, and they were still friends. He had known he was attracted to men since forever, including guys old enough to be his dad, but thought for a while he could soldier on as straight, or at least bi. But after almost a year of college, grappling with the daily battle of keeping his hungry looks at guys’ crotches and asses, chests and arms, legs, hands, even sexy feet unnoticed, he was worn out. No more pretending, not to himself.

He had come out to one other person: Pat. She was the thirty-something co-owner of the rifle range where Chris’ dad took him most weekends for target practice. Chris’ dad was an ex-marine, and a moody, taciturn, but not unkind man. Chris’ lack of interest in sports and hunting had been a disappointment, but Chris did show an aptitude for target shooting, and enjoyed it, although not as much as his father. Chris got to know Pat when he would take breaks from the range while his dad was still going at it. She had been unfazed when he told her he was gay: it had been perfect. No “Oh my God! I’m so glad you figured that out”; no “I would never have guessed in a million years”; just, “Hm. Sure, I can see that. Don’t worry about me, I don’t give a damn, and neither will anyone else one you’re ready to tell them. Might want to wait a while on your dad. You’re gonna tell me if you start dating anyone, right?”

“Yeah,” Chris had blushed, pleased that she was both nonplussed and supportive. She was an independent exurban mom of two, and thoughtful. Chris always valued her advice; she was worldly enough to be a good guide, but not so much that he felt like she was a bad influence.

Chris was a good 19-year-old kid — a smart young man, very strong academically, and a confident person in many respects. In high school, he had been well-liked enough, certainly not picked on with any regularity, and was just now starting to outgrow his adolescent awkwardness into something other people found attractive. He had light blue eyes which shone when he smiled, something he did frequently. His short hair was dark blond, a little bleached from two weeks at the beach; he had grown a beard over the summer, and his facial hair had quite a bit of red in it. He was secretly proud of how full the beard and moustache were, and of how much hair he had on his chest, legs and pubes. Not enough to repel a guy, he hoped, but enough to prove the existence of a nice dose of testosterone that his small dick seemed to contradict. A virgin, he had never had another person confirm that he had a lot less between his legs than average, but he wasn’t dumb — he had seen guys in locker rooms, as well as porn online, and he knew that at four thin inches, he was definitely small. That thought made his erection subside.

Oh well, he thought for the thousandth time, maybe I’ll try one of those penis enlarger kits some day. He blushed at the thought of Justin discovering that particular secret. Maybe he wasn’t done growing yet; he could buy one at the end of the school year, if he still hadn’t improved. Chris had been very careful not to check out Justin’s package during their three-minute encounter, but suspected from the size and meatiness of his room-mate’s hands that he didn’t have anything to be embarrassed about.

Chris heaved three boxes into his arms easily in the late-afternoon September sun, and carried them in the dorm. He was a pretty strong guy for being unathletic; one of his P.E. teachers had quickly figured out that Chris was never going to flourish on the football field or the basketball court, and so he opened the weight room for Chris during the units he taught, allowing Chris to explore on his own. Chris was not nearly as muscled as Justin, but at 5’8″ and 145 pounds, was fit and well-proportioned.

Justin was chatting on his cell phone when Chris walked in again.

“Yup, just settling in, bro, you? . . . Nada, nada . . . yeah, I’m going over to the house to shoot some pool after dinner, see ya over there.”

Chris wondered which frat; the Facebook profile, strangely, hadn’t said. Another level of the “privacy” they were always touting, no doubt. He scanned Justin’s closet. No visible letters. It was the kind of thing he didn’t want to ask, that Justin would probably assume he already knew. He put the boxes down and eyed Justin’s desk. In the upper left corner of the cork-board above it, there was a small card; it looked like an invitation. Probably to last year’s pledge night. Sigma Alpha Epsilon. Oh, shit. They were hardcore on this campus. Chris’ glance slid over to Justin, who was finishing his call. Justin smiled again.

“One of the brothers. Most of the time I eat at the house, but I got a date tonight.” He winked. “You got a girlfriend?”

Damn, that was fast. We’ve known each other five minutes at most.

“No, man. Got an ex.” Justin gave him a commiserating look, and Chris bent down to unpack the first box. On his way, he took in Justin’s package, just to see what would be off-limits for the long year ahead. Mesh workout shorts revealed a pretty significant bulge, at least to Chris’ quick glance. He quickly focused on Justin’s feet. Fuck, they looked like size 12’s or even 13.

“Sorry, bro. Bet you fix that in no time. See ya later.”

Justin collected his keys and sauntered out. While the front of the shorts had left at least something to the imagination, the back did not — Justin’s ass was magnificent. Big and firm, the fabric stretched tight around each cheek as he took a step forward. Chris was sorry there were only six gluteal flexes to watch before Justin reached the door.

“Later.”

Chris sat down on the lower bunk — Justin’s bunk, he quickly realised — as soon as the door closed.

Shit. This is going to be fuckin’ rough, he thought. This guy is totally hot, a jock, which I love, probably has an even more awesome body than I can tell right now, and he’s even friendly. Or seems like it, anyway, SAE doesn’t usually take nice guys . . . they seem to be a pretty aggressive, douchey bunch. Hm. Chris’ dick was getting hard again as he thought of Justin’s meaty ass. He tugged his little member through his cargo shorts. Definitely no bulge in these, he thought wistfully. He closed his eyes, picturing Justin’s big arms, his biceps, the strong forearms . . . he rubbed his cock through the shorts.

Fortunately, Justin was audible in the hall before he re-entered the room, on his cell again. Chris had time to get up and get his hands back to unpacking, although not time to smooth out his butt print on the uncovered mattress.

“Yeah, no problem, you caught me right as I was leaving anyways. I was runnin’ outta here so fast I forgot to put on real clothes,” Justin was laughing into the phone. “You woulda sent me back.” Chris surreptitiously watched another grin cover Justin’s handsome face. Damn, he was one cute, likeable, dude. “Sure, we’re planning our rush stuff too . . . yeah, call me later. Bye.”

“That was fast.”

“Yeah, man,” Justin laughed, “this girl and I are both running around like crazy with rush crap. I even forgot to change my clothes, look at me.”

Yup, I’m sure gonna do that, Chris thought, and gave him what he hoped was a “bro-like” appraisal of his workout gear.

“Heh, I bet she’d like it.” Too much? Yeah, too much. FUCK! What did I say that for???

“Naw, man, she’s all girly, she doesn’t like going out unless I have a shirt with a collar on it. She hates being more dressed up than I am.”

Chris was relieved that Justin hadn’t read anything into his comment; his good nature seemed to be more and more genuine.

“Well, sorry about that. I’m gonna finish unpacking and shit.”

“Yeah, good deal. I’m gonna chill here for a while, too.”

Justin sat at his desk and flipped open his laptop. Chris went back to his car for more boxes, figuring he get it all loaded in first, and then unpack it. He didn’t have that much stuff. After his final trip, Justin pulled a glass and a bottle of Knob Creek from his closet shelf. He poured himself what looked like a double; Chris didn’t drink the hard stuff much, only beer and sometimes wine. Bourbon seemed unexpectedly sophisticated for a frat jock, he thought. Interesting.

“Sorry man, shoulda asked. You want one?”

“Uh . . . well, maybe. What is it, 5:30?”

Justin looked at his phone. “Yeah, just about. I like a nice one before dinner. A lot of the brothers do. You drink bourbon, right?”

“I guess I have once,” Chris smiled.

Justin raised his eyebrows.

“Well then, we’re gonna have to get you schooled, young man.” Justin fetched another glass and poured a hefty dose into it. “I’m gonna put an ice-cube in mine, it’s hot out. You want one?”

Chris sipped the Knob Creek. Shit, he thought, this is strong. He wasn’t sure if he liked it. “Yeah, I’ll take an ice-cube or two, please.”

Justin laughed good-naturedly. “Here ya go. Don’t mind me, I’m just playing C.O.D.” He put headphones on and concentrated on the game and his drink. Chris sipped carefully at his, grateful he wasn’t being watched, and his timid consumption commented on. He unpacked quickly — clothes, books, laptop, other electronics, chargers, bedding, a few personal mementoes. He put the picture of his family on his desk at the right angle so that they wouldn’t be able to see him on the top bunk when he jacked off. He had already mentally noted Justin’s regular dinner absence as a major bonus. As he was making his bed, and when he was sure Justin couldn’t possibly see, he tucked a small plastic jar of Vaseline under his pillow. Old-fashioned, he knew, but he liked long sessions, and that shit lasted. Also, it felt great when he slid a finger slicked up with it in his hole as he stroked.

Even though Chris was drinking slowly, by the time he had the basics done, he was pretty lit. Justin, on the other hand, seemed barely affected.

“Cool man, gonna have another. You want one?”

“I’m not done with this one yet,” Chris answered sheepishly.

Justin chuckled. “You’ll learn.”

Unsure what to do next, and too buzzed to sort his desk and shelves out more thoroughly, Chris took his laptop up on his bunk, and balanced his glass on one of the bedposts. He idly looked through his email, drinking in Justin’s muscled back and shoulders. No hair anywhere, Chris thought. I haven’t seen his chest yet, though. I bet he shaves it. His legs are pretty hairy, though. The bourbon hit him harder, and he dozed off.

*****

Chris woke with a start to an empty room. Fuck, that drink was strong, he thought. What time is it? He pulled his phone out of his front shorts pocket. It read 8:18. Jesus, I must have passed out. What was IN that fuckin’ glass? Damn.

He sat up, groggy. The bourbon was still active in his system — he wasn’t a practised drinker, and its effects were long-lasting. He slipped off the bunk and landed, stumbling. What the fuck am I doing? First night with a new room-mate, I pass out after half a glass of bourbon. Yeah, I’m gonna have a hard time living that one down. He smiled ruefully. Well, at least we’ve established from the beginning that we inhabit different worlds. Careful management will mean we don’t have to intersect too much, and that way what I’m sure will be my constant boners over him shouldn’t be too hard to hide.

Chris adjusted his shorts; he was springing another one just thinking of his room-mate, even thinking of avoiding his room-mate. He groaned, steadied himself against the bed, and realised he was starving. The food service was already closed, and although it was a Friday night, and a bunch of nearby restaurants would be open, he didn’t feel like eating out if he was alone. There were a few people he could call, but he wasn’t very close to them, and they had probably already eaten. He silently cursed himself for resisting making any close friends his freshman year, for fear he might reveal too much to them. He had a couple of circles he hung out with, but no confidants; they had all formed those bonds with others, perceiving that he was unreachable once you got past a certain level of social intercourse. As in high school, he was liked well enough, but had no best friend, or anyone approaching it. Usually, he thought himself happier this way. Tonight, it was a bummer. He flipped open the take-out catalogue that had been in the room, left by the RA no doubt. He ordered a pizza, and surfed the web while he waited.

Lulled by the security of Justin’s after-dinner pool game at the SAE house, which was half a mile away, Chris opened one of his favourite porn sites. He unzipped his pants, and tugged his bikini briefs below his small nuts. His hard-on jumped out eagerly. He clicked on a video of a cute white boy sucking an older white guy’s huge cock. The boy was on his knees, expertly deep throating what must have been eight-inches. The man was grunting in obvious pleasure, his handsome face contorted, mouth open, eyes closed. The younger man looked up at him admiringly, and bobbed up and down faster . . . and faster . . . The older guy had a chest full of dark curly hair, and looked Greek; the younger guy was smooth and blond, and was REALLY getting into sucking this big dick. Chris started tugging his little dick. No lube yet, pizza would be here before he wanted to shoot. Just enjoy it . . .

As the man got closer, he put his hands gently on the cocksucker’s head, pumping, now thrusting into the younger dude’s mouth. The sucker obediently held still while the older dude started to thrust more quickly, shallowly, and then . . .

AUGGHHHHH!!!!!

The top came all over the boy’s face. The boy smiled up admiringly as the older man rubbed his head in thanks, a big smile on his face. The video ended. None too soon . . . there was a knock on the door.

“Coming!” Chris zipped up and tabbed to the New York Times website.

He opened the door, and an older Hispanic man asked, “Are you Donaldson?”

“Yeah, come on in.” Chris pulled out his wallet and paid, took the pizza, and thanked the deliveryman. Too bad he wasn’t young and hot, Chris thought. Or at least hot. Older and hot is nice, too, duh! You’re dizzy, drunk and confused, just get something in your stomach.

Chris laughed at himself and started in on the pizza. He tabbed back to the porn site and clicked on another video, still of oral sex, this one featuring two young bearded studs. As always, he imagined himself the sucker. He longed to feel the pressure of a cock on his lips for the first time, to feel his mouth slowly and gently penetrated . . . the top would be patient and considerate, asking him if he was ok, telling him what a good job he was doing, slowly upping the tempo while massaging and stroking Chris’ head as he sucked. . . no pressure, only joy. Explosions of creamy goodness. Fuuucccccck.

Chris clicked on video after video, and ate half the pizza. He turned away to put the rest in Justin’s fridge. If he doesn’t mind sharing his liquor, he thought, he won’t mind sharing some fridge space. There were only eight bottles of beer inside . . . good, plenty of room. Chris turned back to the laptop, and hit pause. He considered his options. Just about 9:00. He had no idea what Justin’s schedule would be; he guessed that his room-mate would be out until at least 11, but you never knew. Better safe than sorry. Chris closed the browser on the laptop, picked up a hand towel from the closet, and got into the top bunk fully clothed, pulling the sheet and comforter up after him. Warm, yes, but better safe than sorry. Should he lock the door? No. Too obvious, and potentially even more embarrassing.

He slipped his shorts and underwear down to mid-thigh, and reached up under his head for the Vaseline. He took a little bit out with the index finger of his left hand, put the lid on, and slipped it back into its hiding place. His thin penis was stiff and throbbing. He lubed it up gently and slowly. Ahhhhhhh, that’s nice. He stroked it, thinking of Justin’s face. No. Think of the dudes you were watching online. There you go.

Chris settled into a hot first blowjob fantasy with the hairy Greek porn model he had seen first. Slowing pulling down the Daddy-god’s underwear. Sniffing and licking over the whole crotch, nuts and shaft. Smiling shyly up at the swarthy man, who nodded his approval. Then carefully, gently, for the very first time, putting the head of a real man’s penis in his actual mouth. Chris rubbed harder. Oh fuuccckk. This is going to be so awesome when I finally do it. Chris fapped harder, still under the covers, and raised his knees up, as if he instinctively knew that someday that would be how he would please a lover. Faster and faster he stroked, picturing . . .

NO, NO, NO, NOT Justin. STOP IT.

Slow down.

Back to Mr. Greek Daddy-god. Chris smiled. Now he was able to deep throat, magically. He looked up to see Mr. Greek Daddy-god’s eyes brimming with lust and appreciation. Faster . . . faster . . .

The sound of the doorknob turning jolted Chris out of his fantasy. He abruptly lowered his knees, turned to the wall, and brought the towel to his greasy hand. SHIT, SHIT, SHIT, SHIT, SHIT, SHIT!!!!!!!

“Hey bro, sorry, figured you’d be awake by now,” Justin said loudly, banging the door against the wall. “Sorry, man, didn’t mean to do that.” He shut the door with exaggerated care and solicitude. Chris finished wiping off his hand, with as little actual discernible motion as possible, and tried to make one natural movement of pulling up his shorts and rolling over.

“Hey, no worries. I must have dozed off, yeah? Back so soon?” Chris was trying to play it off like he thought it was still only an hour after Justin had left, but it didn’t fly.

“Dude, have you been out since I left? It’s 9:30, I left almost four hours ago!”

“No fuckin’ way, I’ve been asleep that long? You’re shitting me.”

“No, man, I left a little after you passed out around 5:30. Man, you’re a lightweight.” Justin grinned, but his face had become more brittle. His eyes were harder, and his smile more set; his skin was a shade paler than when he had left. He was drunk. “You eaten anything? You must be hungry, man.”

Justin opened the fridge to get a beer, and saw the pizza box.

“Oh, you did eat then,” he said in a puzzled tone. “So you weren’t asleep this whole time. What, did you pour yourself another while I was gone?”

Justin smiled again, but there was less humour in his eyes than before. Chris became apologetic. “No, c’mon, what do you think I am? I’m not gonna drink your shit unless you invite me, man.” He smiled, he hoped winningly. He had noticed the change in Justin.

“Shit?”

There was an awkward pause.

“Knob Creek is some fucking expensive bourbon, man.”

“Dude, easy. Just a figure of speech. That’s probably why it knocked me out, cause it was so good.”

Justin laughed insincere. “It is good. But if it knocked you out, did you order a pizza in your sleep?”

“No dude, come on. I ordered it, ate half of it, and went back to bed. No big deal.”

Justin smiled slowly, the light coming back into his eyes. He’s really not that bright, Chris thought, shifting again to feign the stretching that he hoped covered the buttoning and zipping of his shorts.

“Hey, I get it man. Sorry, I’m still a little buzzed from the house. Little slow here.” Justin grinned, and his eyes were halfway convincing that they were engaged in the smile. “And don’t worry about it. My shit is your shit.”

Chris stiffened. It was obvious that Justin was still insulted. An insulted drunk was going to be tough. Better go for a walk, let him check the level of the bourbon in the closet and count the bottles in the fridge. In an hour, he’d be fine. Or asleep. No use getting off on the wrong foot the first day.

“Hey, thanks man. Listen, I’m going to go for a walk to wake up a little bit, check out the rest of the dorm, see if anyone is around. I’ll catch you later.”

Chris threw off the covers, having carefully replaced the plastic jar under his pillow. His clothes were mussed, but that was natural if he had been sleeping. Confident in his subterfuge, he slid down, and walked to the closet to find his flips. He put them on, and made for the door. Justin was standing in front of it and flipped the lock.

“Huh? I’m just going out, man, see you in a while.” Chris reached out for the door handle, but Justin grabbed it first.

There was another awkward pause as Chris and Justin stared at each other. Unable to maintain eye contact, Chris looked at the door, and said, “What’s the deal? Is something wrong?”

Justin continued to stare at him silently.

“Dude, if it’s about calling your bourbon ‘shit’, I really didn’t mean that literally,” Chris said, laughing as easily as he could through his nerves.

Justin took his hand off the handle, but before Chris could grab it, his hot, shaved-head room-mate took a step toward him. Not wanting to make physical contact, Chris stepped back. He felt his dick getting hard. NO, NO, NO!!!!! Stop it!!! He screamed at himself.

Justin advanced again, and Chris retreated. One step. Two steps. Soon they were against the window, near Chris’ desk. Justin opened his mouth, and Chris wondered what he was finally going to say. His room-mate said nothing, and instead burped loudly into Chris’ face. It smelled like onion and hamburger. Chris turned his face away in disgust, his dick wilting. Thank God for that, he thought.

“Dude, what the fuck???” Chris sputtered.

Justin smiled amiably, and put his meaty hand on Chris’ left shoulder. Chris expected a joke or a laugh. Instead, he heard,

“Kneel.”

“What?”

“KNEEL!!”

“Are you fucking drunk, man?” Obviously, he was, Chris could smell the booze clearly now that he was so close, even over the onions. He tried to slide away to his right and get beyond Justin to the door. It was only a few steps, but Justin’s powerful arm pushed Chris to his knees.

“What the fuck is this?” Chris yelled.

Justin looked down at him, smiling. Amiably had not been the right word. Contemptuously would have been more accurate.

“Cocksucker.”

It was a simple statement. Not a question, not a comment, just a statement of fact. Chris knew deep inside that he had not even been able to go a day without being found out. He was scared, but decided to try to bluff it out.

“WHAT? Dude, I’m not gonna blow you, what kind of fuckin’ pervert are…”

CRACK!

Chris raised his hand to his left cheek in a daze, the initial sting now turning into a strong ache.

“Shut up, pussy.”

Justin planted his left hand on top of Chris’ head, and with his right reached over to his own desk and turned on his iPod, cranking up the volume.

“Put your hand down.”

Chris, stupefied, did not respond, and Justin yanked his kneeling room-mate’s hand back away from his face, down to his side.

“If I give you a correction, you take it, you do not resist, you do not complain.”

“Jesus Christ, man, what the fuck is . . .”

Chris was unable to block the second stinging face slap, this one a backhand to the right side of his face, which hurt even more than the first. His eyes watered.

“LISTEN.”

Chris lowered his eyes and stopped trying to talk. He figured he would manage not to cry, that was the least of his dignity he could preserve. The crappy sounds of white-boy Hip-Hop blared from the iPod.

“It took me about two seconds to figure you out, Donaldson. Chrissy, that’s what I oughtta call you. Only real men go by their last names, not faggots. I thought you were normal when you walked in, but then I caught you checkin’ out my junk and then tellin’ me my girl was gonna like the look of me in my workout gear . . . like YOU did, you fag. How fucking obvious was that?” Chris’ dick was beginning to harden again, despite his fear and his orders to his genitals to stop.

“You’re drunk, man,” Chris argued feebly, knowing it was true, and also knowing what would follow.

CRACK!

CRACK!

Chris’ eyes were watering now in earnest. The pain in his face was intense — he hoped he wasn’t going to be going to class on Monday with bruises on his cheeks.

“What do you want out of me, man? I’m not gay.”

A rough hand lifted Chris’ chin. He averted his eyes.

“LOOK at me, you cunt!”

Chris looked briefly into Justin’s eyes, and then away. Sensing the upraised hand, he flinched and looked back in Justin’s eyes. There was no trace of friendliness there now.

“You’re gonna service my cock just like you want to, faggot. You’re gonna do it any time and every time I ask you to.” Chris’ hard-on surged, despite his terror.

“It’s that simple. Got any questions?”

Chris looked down, and sensed the upswing of Justin’s arm once more.

“NO!” he yelled. Clearly this was going to be a speak-when-spoken-to, answer-every-question-promptly type deal.

“Alright. Open wide.”

Chris couldn’t believe what he was hearing. On the one hand, his erection was out of control at the thought of getting to see, much less touch Justin’s dick within six hours of having met him. On the other, he had never sucked cock, and the size of Justin’s feet, hands and bulge had intimidated him thoroughly. Since he’d been on his knees, he had not looked at Justin’s package. Now he did. Justin had changed out of his earlier gym gear. He had put on a grey-shirt, which he was now stripping off, and camo shorts. Chris looked up at Justin’s chest. It was everything he had hoped and dreamed. Developed, rounded, muscular without being a body-builder, Justin had a fantastic chest and very respectable abs. No 8-pack, but his belly was firm and solid. Chris had guessed right: Justin shaved his chest, and his stomach too. There was no hair above the enticing line of his camo shorts, just the shadow of stubble in a triangle between his pecs and in a thin line running down the middle of his abdomen. Chris drank in the sight of Justin’s flexed arms as he took his shirt off, and the dark and thick burst of armpit hair.

Chris’ erection was undeniable now, tenting in its own small way the loose front of his cargo shorts. His head still spinning from the slaps, he began to notice another strange odour. Not a belch, this time, but something muskier and danker.

Oh fuck, he thought, is that his fucking NUTS I smell?

Justin, fully in command, flexed his arms for Chris.

“You like these guns, you dumb ho?” The wiry hair seemed to writhe under each pit as he clenched his biceps.

Mercifully, Chris’ brain, gut and dick were all now on the same page. They thought Justin was unbelievably hot, and were not going to argue with the drunk frat stud.

“Yeah, man, you got some awesome guns.”

Justin’s hand reared back again, and then he smiled. “We’ll work on proper address later, bitch. Now. Get to work.” He thrust his pelvis forward.

Again, Chris’ nostrils were assaulted with a strong whiff of something that could only be a rutting male. Granted, he’d never been an athlete, but he knew the smell of a randy guy, from himself and from gym class. His tiny dick dribbled a bit of precum. He was at a loss. Take down the shorts? Put his mouth on the clothed crotch of his tormentor?

“NOW, FAGGOT!!”

“Dude, I’ve never done this!” Chris sputtered, and instinctively put his hands in front of his face to shield the inevitable blow. He sank on his haunches and fell back against the wall, under the window. He heard the sounds of the cheap dorm blinds being lowered.

He smelled the alcohol and sensed Justin changing position as his room-mate brought his face close.

“Bullshit,” he heard in a low, clear voice.

“I’m serious, man, please . . .!” Chris whimpered.

“Stop fuckin’ around!”

Chris slumped to the floor in a foetal position, eyes closed and hands still protecting his head.

“I’m serious, Justin, I’ve never done this. I just figured out I was gay a few months ago, I never did anything about it except look at dudes. I’m sorry, man, can’t we just forget this?”

Chris was desperate for a way out, and figured a moment of sympathy, a glimpse of the easy-going Justin he had seen earlier would allow him time to sprint to the door, run upstairs to the RA, and beg for a new room assignment, or at least to sleep on the RA’s floor for a night. Justin gave something between a growl and a chuckle. “Then this is your lucky night, bitch-boy.”

Chris felt the hand under his chin again, no gentler than before, raising his head up. Justin’s grip tightened, and Chris was dragged up by his head to his former kneeling position. He opened his eyes, and saw Justin sneering at him. Chris’ face was positioned directly in front of Justin’s crotch, and he was again hit by a whiff of musk.

“Unbutton my shorts, fag.”

Chris looked pleadingly at his room-mate, but knew that the hard glint in Justin’s eye was incontrovertible. His hands moved quickly to unbutton Justin’s waistband, and his tiny dick had another spasm.

“Unzip it.”

Chris unzipped Justin’s fly, and without being asked, lowered his room-mate’s shorts to the floor. Justin raised his right leg, and Chris unhooked his right foot. He did the same with the left. There was his studly room-mate, no shirt, no shorts, clad in only red plaid boxers, white ankle socks, and size 12 running shoes.

Justin’s left hand gripped the back of Chris’ head, and brought his face forward to his groin. Chris had stopped resisting, and was oozing precum from his trapped four inch penis in a continuous flow. Chris reached with his face instinctively for the obvious outline of Justin’s massive cock, but Justin’s hand guided him lower, so that his nose hit Justin’s large nuts.

“Lick my balls through my shorts, faggot.”

Chris obediently stuck his tongue out and licked the warm red fabric over Justin’s testicles, and it was clear to him that the formidable but intoxicating scent he had noticed earlier was indeed emanating from them.

“Treat ’em nice, fag.”

Oh, fuck it, Chris thought, and lapped tenderly and lovingly at his room-mate’s clothed balls. He was in heaven, and he knew it. This wasn’t how he had fantasised his first time, but it was still incredible. He felt Justin’s meat stiffen above his nose, and he became anxious to see it, taste it, and see if it smelled as good as his nuts. His tongue worked more eagerly, and he threw his whole being into licking Justin’s boxers.

“Thatta girl.” The front of Justin’s boxers were now sopping wet, and his eyes began to glaze over with pleasure. Abruptly, he pulled away. The look of disappointment on Chris’ face was immediate and undeniable. Justin laughed. He turned around, and pulled his boxers down.

“I know you want my dick, faggot, and I’ll let you pretend it’s your first one. But you gotta kiss my ass before I give it to you. Pucker up, babe.”

He bent over, anticipating more resistance and whining. But to his surprise, Chris leaned in and gave each muscled, awe-inspiring, lightly haired cheek a big, wet smack, with a little bit of tongue poking through his lips on each one. Holy fuck, this dude is compliant, Justin thought. He toyed for an instant with the idea of making Chris rim him, and then decided to save it — he really wanted to get off soon, and it was obvious this cunt wasn’t a virgin, at least not orally, no matter what he said. Otherwise, he’d never have kissed ass so willingly. Justin could smell his own nuts; he knew he wasn’t fresh anywhere, and if his room-mate was a first time rimmer, there’d be crying for sure. He spun around, his dick fully hard, and grabbed both sides of Chris’ head.

Chris sucked in his breath in surprise. Justin was easily eight inches long, as thick as a can of Edge shaving gel, veiny, and uncut. Holy Fuck. Acrid crotch sweat, precum, recent urine, and ball musk all combined in a whirlwind of scents that nearly made Chris faint from horniness. He had never known he would be so into a man’s natural odours, but what the fuck, new quarter, new discoveries. Uncut made him nervous as hell and turned him on completely. He had no idea how to suck a dick in real life, much less a hooded one, but he was going to try. Like his online fantasies, he hoped Justin would be patient and slow, understanding that it was his first time.

No such luck. Justin grabbed Chris’ jaw, tugged down, and pinched his nose shut. Then he thrust his enormous, uncut dick as far into Chris’ mouth as he could, releasing both hands for an instant, and then clamping them down again on the back of Chris’ head. Chris couldn’t breathe, and started to panic. Justin thrust a bit, in and out, and Chris started to gag, his eyes immediately flooding with water. Justin pulled back until only the head of his cock was in Chris’ mouth.

“Bitch! I know you can do better than that! And if you can’t I’m gonna learn ya like I’m gonna learn ya to hold your liquor.” Chris tried to sputter in protest, but knew he had nowhere to go. This was a far cry from the first blowjob of his fantasy. He felt Justin’s dick push into his mouth again, a bit slower, but no less insistent. He opened as wide as he could, and tried to endure.

“NO FUCKIN’ TEETH, YA DUMB PIECE OF SHIT!!!” Justin yelled, and Chris desperately tried to rectify the problem.

After a dozen more relentless thrusts into his mouth, he figured out that he needed to curl his upper lip over his upper teeth, and stick his tongue out far beyond his lower ones, so that only lips, gums and tongue would encounter the monster cock that never gave him an instant’s respite. This also meant he had to open his smallish mouth that much further to accommodate Justin’s large girth. “Tha’s what I’m talkin’ bout,” Justin grunted, as he thrust, now more easily, in and out of Chris’ slobbering orifice.

Drool oozed down the poor kid’s face, and his eyes were now bloodshot and watering continuously. Justin loved every part of it, knowing that he was conquering a new piece of meat, and it slowly dawned on him that in fact, he may have lucked into a total virgin after all. “AAUUUGGGHHHHHHH,” Chris gagged, and nearly vomited; Justin, realising that his room-mate had been telling the truth, pulled out again so that only his head was in the fag’s mouth, and gave him a few seconds to recover.

Chris widened his mouth around Justin’s gigantic tool, and sucked in some air. Justin smirked. This kid learns fast, he thought, and then plunged in again with no remorse. “AAUUGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH,” Chris gagged again, but Justin loved “Gag the Fag” videos, and was not about to be put off by a little mess that he would make his roommate clean up anyway.

Chris, to his credit, held on to his insides. He felt completely assaulted and humiliated, and his little dick had wilted to half-mast (a sorry sight indeed), but he wanted to prove he was not a wuss, and that he could succeed. He remembered a piece of porn he had once read, and tried to open the back of his throat as much as he could; then, every time Justin’s cock slammed in, he swallowed vigorously.

It didn’t mean that Justin’s head went any further down, but he sure felt it, and it was fucking awesome.

“YEAH! Do it like that, pussyboy!” Justin pumped harder and faster now, with no regard for his room-mate’s well-being. Chris, learning on the fly, felt his jaw stretch past what he had thought was the breaking point, and his face started to go numb. All he could think of was, breathe when you can, swallow like crazy when he gets in deep.

Chris gagged intermittently, but never came quite as close to hurling again. He was in it to win it. He started to get hard again.

“FUCK YEAH, you crazy bitch, you are MINE!!”

Justin pumped in and out, ever faster. Chris held his mouth as still as possible, his little cock now oozing. Justin’s grip tightened on Chris’ skull.

“SUUUUCCCKKK ITTT, FAGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

Justin’s feral glare, and his imposing cock, hardened as far as they could go. Chris’ hands were braced against Justin’s muscular thighs, and he felt them tense. Chris steeled himself for a wanted-but-unwanted invasion of his mouth with hot sperm. Instead, he gasped as Justin pulled out.

Chris sucked in welcome air in deep breaths, and then began to choke as Justin spewed his enormous load all over Chris’ face. Spurt after spurt flew into the air, all over Chris’ hair, eyes, mouth, nose and beard. Chris choked when he inhaled some of Justin’s load while trying to catch his breath; relieved that he had survived, he reached down to his own puny cock and began to stroke it. A flash of light made him open his eyes.

Grinning, Justin was holding up his iPhone to Chris’ cum-splattered face. Another flash, of Chris, flabbergasted, holding his own small, erect cock.

“What the fuck was that for,” Chris gasped, his dick shrinking in his humiliation.

“Don’t make me slap you again, cunt,” Justin said, grinning as he had when they had first met. “This is to make sure you don’t fuck with me. I know how gay guys are. You’re gonna service my dick whenever, wherever, and however I want. These pics stay with me, and maybe with a few of the brothers. But if you argue with me or fail to satisfy me, they’re goin’ out on Twitter. And Facebook. And to your parents. And friends.”

Chris weighed the implications of this. Even assuming Justin hadn’t planned this in advance, and didn’t have all the information he suggested he did, it would be a matter of a few minutes to find it online. Chris had to concede defeat, at least for now. He nodded.

“Look at me, faggot.”

Chris looked up.

“We can do this easy, or we can do this hard. Hard means I beat the shit out of you until you have no will left. Easy means you follow my orders with a smile, and I give you some fringe benefits, like access to my shit.”

Chris cringed. Justin smiled.

“Yeah, I mean my booze. And other stuff you might enjoy down the road.” Justin’s face became serious again.

“Easy or hard, cunt? I need a verbal commitment.”

Chris hung his head. “Easy,” he whispered.

“What? I didn’t hear you.”

Chris raised his head to look his room-mate in the eye.

“Easy,” he said, quietly but firmly.

Justin gazed at his new fag’s cum-spattered, humiliated face for a full minute before he broke into an easy grin. “Ok, fag, go clean yourself up.”

Chris, confused, stood up and reached for the hand towel he had tucked away in his bed earlier, but remembered it was soiled. He went to his closet for a wash cloth. Before he could wipe his face, Justin grabbed his arm and opened the door.

“Grab a bar of soap, too, fag, you need to use water.”

His heart plunging into his stomach, Chris grabbed the soap box from his toiletries, and ran down the hall to the bathroom, as Justin laughed behind him. He burst open the door of the suite’s lavatory, and nearly sobbed in relief that no one else was there. He washed his face thoroughly, but could not quite remove the smell of Justin’s nuts and pube sweat from his nostrils. He ran back to room 119 again. Justin was lounging on the now made-up lower bunk, hands behind his head, forested armpits in view, boxers back up, looking amused.

“Did you like that, fag?”

Chris looked down. “Yeah,” he muttered.

Justin laughed.

“Bet you’re horny now, faggot.”

Chris decided to go for broke, and knelt.

“Yes Sir, Justin, I’m really horny. I’m going to jack off now, please, Sir.”

Justin laughed again.

“You were jerkin’ off when I walked in, douche-brain. Weren’t ya?” He smiled cockily.

“No I wasn’t.”

“Oh really? In bed sleeping, huh? What was this for, faggot?” Justin reached behind his head and drew out Chris’ little tub of Vaseline. “Isn’t this yours?”

Chris wanted to die.

“Who uses Vaseline to jack off with except a fag, with a little boy dick,” Justin teased. He put the tub back behind his head and sat up, serious again. “You don’t get to shoot your little pee-pee again without my permission, faggot. And I’m not giving it tonight. You get into your little jammies and get your ass up into your bunk, pussy. You can ask me for permission again tomorrow.”

Chris reached for his dick in desperation. “But I didn’t actually…”

Justin leaned forward and grabbed his arm, his right hand raised menacingly. “Your face is already red enough, pussy. Do you really want me to mark it?”

Defeated, Chris shook his head. “Use your words, sweetie.”

“No,” Chris said.

“No, you won’t use your words, faggot?” Justin’s arm rose again.

“NO! I don’t want you to mark my face, sir!” Chris yelled hastily.

“Good cunt. Get into bed.”

Chris put on the sweatpants and t-shirt that served as pajamas for him, and crawled into the upper bunk. Justin turned off the iPod, and the main lights. He left his own reading lamp on.

“I’m going to stay up for a few, pussyboy. See you in the morning. Don’t talk to me unless I address you, ok?” Justin picked up his ipad and became instantly absorbed. Chris rolled over on his stomach and gently ground his hard dick into the mattress before he realised Justin would notice it. He whimpered and gave up.

May as well sleep, he thought.

As Chris drifted off, he had an awful thought. Despite his sore face, raw throat, utter humiliation and regret that his first gay sexual experience had not been as he had hoped, he was devastated by a far greater problem. He was in love.

The End.

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