Pledges: Gay Erotic Stories (4 page)

I have a confession to make. Forewarned on my impending initiation, I’d taken steps to increase the size of the entrance to my guts. Dorian warned me not to go too far as I’d lose that tight virginal quality that the frat was looking for. “Perhaps just enough that it lessens the pain, so you can take an average sized dick. I’d love to help you, babe, but it’s against the rules and if I’m caught then it’s…” He smacked his head with his open palm in a close approximation of running into a brick wall. I got the point. The smallest vibrator at the adult shop near the campus had to fit the bill. Once I learned where my prostate was it actually became a real pleasure having something up my ass as I jerked off.
Why the fuck hadn’t God given chicks dicks? I still had a lot to learn.
After two of the students around the table had lubed my ass, probing my anal canal until I was leaking precum, I was spun around to the next two, and so it continued until they’d all had a turn.
Ah! So that’s how it worked.
I didn’t have long to wait. Weston stood and the guys around the table solemnly swore an oath to uphold the values of the fraternity, which seemed to have a heavy concentration on helping other alumni with cocksucking and ass-fucking. Then the formalities were over and the fun was about to begin.
My back was to Weston, my face at the crotch level of a young blond frat member with an average-sized cut cock. He wouldn’t be difficult to accommodate although a sideways glance told me some of the other brothers were packing.
“As the president of this fraternity, it is only right that I go first. Are we all agreed?” Weston announced.
There was mumbled assent. I heard the tear of a foil condom wrapper before I felt the sting of an open palm slapping my asscheek, followed by an outsize cock ramming into my rear. I roared with pain, but my mouth was soon stopped by the blond frat brother’s cock ramming into my gob. A burst of applause greeted the beginning of my defilement. I was about to grit my teeth in the face of my anal onslaught, but that would have taken the knob off Blondie’s prick.
So this was what turned fags on? After the initial burning sensation in my ass ring and the fact that I felt like I needed to take a dump, I got used to the feeling of fullness in my back passage, and once the invading cock began scraping my prostate I wanted the prick to stay inside me forever. Is that why sex with Dolores was so lackluster—I was a fag? I shrugged mentally. Time to think about that when my initiation was over. For now an ambitious straight boy needed to do what a fag does to get accepted.
I relaxed into the anal and oral attacks to the extent that I began pinching my sphincter muscles around Weston’s prick and managed to take the blond’s cock down my throat without gagging too much by regulating my breathing.
Weston huffed and puffed over me, slamming my ass as if attempting to punish me while the blond boy stroked my hair as he made love to my mouth. Quite a difference, although I must admit to liking both variations.
The frat president didn’t last long, juddering as he blew a load inside me, holding his body tight against my ass as he poured the last of his cum inside the rubber envelope around his prick. He pulled out, dropping the full condom on the table beside him.
“Who’s next?” he called.
Later I discovered the rules of the game meant that the student doing anal had right of precedence. As soon as he blew, the inductee was spun around until he stopped in front of the next ass-fucker. The guy in my mouth lost his place whether he’d come or not. It was no big deal as everyone would have a go at my ass if they so desired. I counted nine of them. My lucky number.
The internal section of the coffee table spun like crazy, making me dizzy as I watched cocks large and small whizz by, until I came to a halt in front of and behind a new pair of cocks that plundered my mouth and ass with no letup.
By the midway point I was shouting, “Give me that frat-boy cock. Slam my ass hard. Fill my ass with your juice.”
My mouth felt like I’d been sucking paste all afternoon and my ass was gaping so I could feel warm air against my hole. Still, it wasn’t unpleasant and I suspected by the end of my “trial” I’d be positively reveling in my sexual humiliation, if only because it meant I’d become part of the hottest frat on campus.
That’s what kept me going through thick, thin, long, short, stubby, cut, uncut; fast comers, slow comers and all the other variations until I fell exhausted on the table surrounded by a bucket load of condoms that oozed frat-boy spunk. My own spooge, shot twice without any help from my own hand, spattered the cushions. The applause as I was helped to my very wobbly feet, the backslapping and the chorus of congratulations could mean only one thing. I was accepted. I had a bunch of frat brothers for my life at college and my life in the big bad world. No one, but no one, was gonna be bigger and badder than me. I was gonna be so successful it would knock the shit right outta your sphincter. I would do what I had to do to get there.
But first, I had a debt to pay. I might be a ruthless bastard, but I know when I owe someone. Dorian plowed my ass with the finesse my frat brothers lacked because of their youth and experience. He was a good man to have on my side because, among other things, he showed me I liked having cock in my ass for pleasure as well as aspiration.

I posted a personal ad in the usual campus LGBT venues.
Strict Greek Daddy will ensure you study all through finals. Blond/ blue, 6’5”, 220, hung. Potential sons call for interview. Bring class schedule.

As usual, there weren’t many calls the first week of the semester. Everybody was out partying and raising hell. But after twenty years of teaching college, I knew what would happen around the end of the second week, when the first assignments came back with big red Fs on them.

My rush week started with the phone ringing 24/7. I have a Victorian mansion a few blocks off campus, at the end of fraternity row. My home is huge—it’s on the historical registry, and unlike some of the unsupervised houses down the street, completely restored. It has a large, fenced lawn that keeps prying eyes away from the family of young men I choose to live with me.
The contract is always for a full year. My new sons pledge to live by my rules, rent free in exchange for chores. I agree to provide them with tutoring help and the structure they need to study. For the duration, I’m their Daddy, and they’re one anothers’ brothers.
I also make them tell me their hottest fantasies, why they answered the ad and where they see our dicks fitting into the picture. But whatever we negotiate for sex, submitting to my discipline is mandatory.
I’m a firm believer in corporal punishment for young men. Before signing the contract, each of my potential sons drops his pants and goes over Daddy’s knee for a long session with my bare hand. That way there are no misunderstandings about how things are going to go later on, though there will be lots of sore butts and hot fuck scenes before finals are over.
By the beginning of October, I had eight young men ensconced in my home, diligently studying and doing their assigned tasks. A couple were working part-time for extra spending cash. As usual, everybody was pretty relaxed and laid back. I like living in a family setting, and I want my boys to feel comfortable.
This year was especially nice, as my “sons” all had the toned young bodies that make a Dad proud. But I’m real serious about the discipline. The pledges in this family study and they behave. Or they answer to me.
The first punishment spanking always causes uproar. Until then, my boys are testing me, seeing what the boundaries really are. Eventually, one of them pushes too far and ends up howling while I tend to his butt. Then everybody figures out that I mean what I say and things settle down to the usual uproar of a house full of horny young men.
This year, a cute, dark-haired kid named Michael earned the first trip to my den. Michael’s about five nine, with a naturally defined body that had no problem with my mandatory gym program in the weight room out back. He was a chemistry major, a transfer student with an underachieving 2.4 GPA that he’d earned through three years of pure laziness. But he was one smart kid. His big green eyes and killer smile could fool damn near anybody when he was trying to look innocent.
Michael was also old enough to legally be a total bar slut. He’d come close to breaking my 11:00 p.m. school-night curfew more than once the first week he was there. Since he was still doing his homework, I didn’t press the issue, although I mentioned his behavior to him a couple of times. Michael just grinned, wiggling his tight little butt at me as he pointed to 10:58 on the kitchen clock. So I stepped back and waited for him to screw up. He wasn’t the first who’d tried that routine. I knew eventually his grades would slip if he didn’t stop partying every night.
I got the call from his calculus professor Friday night, about an hour after Michael had left for the club. Jeff Larson and I had been friends since grad school. We had a standing agreement for him to let me know when any of my sons started to slip academically. The call was pretty short. Michael had shown up a half hour late for class, obviously hungover, and had failed a pop quiz with flying colors. I thanked Jeff, then went into the den and got it ready for the discussion Michael and I were going to have the minute he got home.
I kept the door open. As Michael’s brothers wandered in— alone or with dates—I sat in my reading chair with my feet up on the footstool and a glass of tea by my side. There were lots of nervous glances as the boys surreptitiously looked in at the large armchair I had moved into the middle of the room. Michael’s strap lay prominently across the back.
Each year, I have a special strap made for each boy. This one was two inches wide, heavy yet supple black harness leather. It was the strap Michael had said he’d always fantasized about. However, he’d never been disciplined physically before. Fantasy and reality were about to collide up close and personal right across his ass—no doubt much more intensely than he’d envisioned.
Curfew on weekends is 2:00 a.m. At 1:59, Michael came strutting in the door. His usual jokes were cut short by his brothers’ looks. Michael peered in the door of the office. His eyes got huge.
I put down my book and motioned him into the room. “Shut the door behind you, Michael,” I said quietly. “You and I are going to have a talk.”
There was silence behind him in the kitchen. He exchanged one more nervous glance with his brothers. Then he swallowed hard, nodding as he did as I’d told him to, flexing his shoulders and exuding the youthful false bravado I knew he was going to lose almost as fast as he was going to lose his pants. But he still leaned against the bookcase and gave me a big, innocent smile.
“Yes, Dad?”
Now punishment is only part of the discipline I use on my boys. Affection is the other half. Michael had said he wanted me to stretch his asshole over my dick after his whippings. That was fine by me. Spanking a boy’s butt always gives me a raging hardon. My dick was filling now, just from my looking at Michael’s jeans hugging his smooth, round ass. I got even hotter watching his eyes flick back and forth between the condoms and lube on the table and the strap on the back of the armchair.
But punishment comes first. I’d had enough of Michael’s dissembling.
I stayed seated, slowly taking a drink of my tea. “Anything you want to tell me about, son?”
I give my boys a chance to confess. The penalty if they don’t is three hot licks on the backs of their thighs in addition to whatever else they’re getting. It’s spelled out in the contract. But it was too early in the year for Michael to have learned that lesson yet.
“Nothing much going on,” he hedged. “A lot of hunks at the bar tonight. I spent the last three hours with a jazz musician— trumpet player with great lips.” He grinned, flashing those sparkling green eyes at me with his best puppy-dog look.
I gave him a few more seconds, then I sighed and stood up.
“Son,” I said, letting my displeasure show in the hard tones of my voice. “I got a call from your calculus teacher today.” A guilty look crept over Michael’s face. He started to open his mouth, but I waved him to silence. “You had your chance,” I said sharply. “Now I have to believe what Professor Larson told me—you were late to class, hungover and you failed a quiz.”
“I can explain,” Michael stammered.
“Can you?” I snapped. I could see the wheels turning behind those sultry eyes. He was getting worried. The acrid smell of his sweat was making my cock twitch.
It didn’t take him long to figure out that I wasn’t going to buy excuses. I figured his next move would be to go for the prodigal son approach.
Sure enough, he looked down at the floor and carefully traced the pattern in the carpet with the toe of his shoe. “I’m real sorry, Dad. What Professor Larson said is true. It won’t happen again.”
I nodded, calmly taking another drink of my tea. “Any extenuating circumstances I need to know about?”
Michael looked up at me quickly, a flash of hope in his eyes. But I was getting irritated with his crap, and I let my face show it. I could see when he decided to give up the acting. I’m a helluva lot bigger than he is. I’ve been told I look even bigger when I’m pissed. His gaze traveled over me on its way back down to the floor. I heard his quick gasp as he saw the way my cock bulged against the buttons of my jeans.
His own dick was responding as well. Michael took a deep breath and looked away. “No excuses, Sir.”
I nodded once and stood up. Michael froze as I walked over to the back of the chair and picked up the strap.
“Over the chair, boy.”
“What?” He flattened his back against the bookcase. “I said I was sorry!”
Michael had said he wanted it hard and fast, wanted somebody to take control and
make
him behave in spite of his habitual manipulations. He was going to get what he wanted.
“You’ve got to the count of ten to get naked, boy,” I snapped, my eyes boring into him as I doubled the strap. “One.”
“Aw, c’mon, man…”
“Two.” I let the folded end of the thick leather fall from my hand, where it swung ominously beside my thigh.
“Dad, please…” Michael fiddled with his belt, but he didn’t unbuckle it.
I was getting pissed. “Three.” I cracked the belt up against my palm. “Boy, if I reach ten and you have so much as a sock on, you will rue the day you were born!”
Smartass or not, Michael was bright enough to know when he’d gone too far. His muffled “Shit!” caught in his shirt as he yanked it over his head, then he was swaying against the bookcase, working his feet out of his shoes while the clothes flew through the air. My cock strained against my jeans as I watched his muscles ripple beneath his skin. His firm, young butt was every bit as gorgeous naked as I’d remembered.
He was still tripping over a pants leg when I said, “Ten!” I reached out and grabbed a bare shoulder. Then I spun him around and shoved him over the back of the chair.
“Hang on to the cushion, boy,” I growled as I kicked his legs apart. “If those hands come back up, I’ll whip them, too! You understand?”
“Yes, Sir,” he choked, his voice muffled in the heavy leather of the chair.
I was in back of him, so he couldn’t see me rubbing my cock through my jeans. Things were going just the way he’d described in his fantasy. It was a hot scene, though I didn’t think he’d counted on being this scared. The thigh swats he was going to get hadn’t been part of his scenario either, but he was about to learn I was deadly serious about the discipline part of our relationship. I’d gladly warm his butt for sex any time he wanted. But after tonight, he was going to understand that a punishment whipping in this family was serious business. And it was done my way.
I rubbed his ass a few times, feeling the velvety softness of his unblemished skin. From this angle, his asshole was completely exposed. That little brown pucker was so cute; I couldn’t resist one quick feel. I spit on my finger and touched it to the wrinkled skin. Michael jumped, but he held his position.
“You have a beautiful asshole, son,” I said, caressing up the soft curves of his cheeks. “I’m going to enjoy fucking it later.” I picked up the strap and dragged it gently over that flawless skin. He flinched, and I smiled. “But first we’re going to attend to your butt.”
I slapped him lightly, barely enough to sting. He jumped hard.
“Yell all you want to, son.” I deliberately kept my voice low and conversational. Michael needed to learn that punishment was an ordinary occurrence around here. “Don’t worry about your brothers hearing you. They’ll be just as loud when they get whipped. And eventually they all will, believe me.”
A frisson of fear shivered up his back. Damn, he looked good. Precum leaked into my jeans. I stood back and raised the strap.
“Son, you will always be on time to class!”
A second later, the
crack
of the strap echoed in the quiet room, followed almost immediately by Michael’s startled, “OUCH!”
He arched forward into the chair as a wide pink line appeared across the crest of both asscheeks. I ignored him and swung again, harder this time, concentrating on the right cheek. Again, on the left. The blush spread quickly as he strained to hold his position. Three more cracks echoed, the new stripes forming even rows, top to bottom, though this time the quiet was broken by Michael’s loud and steady litany of “Ow! Ow! OW!”
I didn’t respond. Instead, I methodically burned his backside with a steady rhythm of stinging, hot pain—a half dozen more, bringing up the color and heat, whipping him until every inch of his ass was a nice, cherry red and he was yelling for all he was worth into the back of that chair. My dick was getting as hot as his ass looked.
Michael went into the negotiating phase real fast. “I’ll be good, Dad! I promise! Please!” His words ran together between his yells. Man, I love whipping a demonstrative boy! Michael writhed all over the back of that chair. And my dick was in heaven.
When I stopped, Michael collapsed forward, trying not to sob as tears ran down his face. I leaned over him, inhaling the smell of his fear sweat where it poured down his back, running my hand over the heat of his butt. My palm was warm where it cupped his cheeks. I licked a finger and touched it to his sphincter. Michael’s hole was loosening from the beating. He moaned and arched toward my hand, ignoring the pain in his butt. I smiled, knowing that as much as I enjoyed fingering his pucker, as much as he was reveling in my touch, his backside would soon have his full attention again.
Michael started to lift up onto his hands, moving his legs together. But I poked my fingertip none-too-gently into him and leaned my weight on his back to hold him down.
“Not yet, son,” I growled.
Michael froze. I stood back up, smiling in anticipation as my finger went back to stretching his asshole while the hand holding the strap again rubbed his well-warmed cheeks. “That was for being late to class. We’re still going to deal with the rest of what you did.”
His whole body went rigid. “M-more?”
A long, drawn-out strapping for each offense had been part of Michael’s fantasy, but that was before he’d tasted leather on his butt. Now there was a touch of panic in his voice. I shoved my hand under him. His cock was as hard as rock and the chair back was wet with his precum. I wrapped my fingers around the hot flesh and squeezed, smiling to myself as he moaned.
“You will
not
let your drinking interfere with your schoolwork.” More dampness oozed against my hand. “Tell me when you’re ready.”
It took him a minute to speak up, but I’m a patient man. Michael was learning a whole lot more about family than he was about school at the moment. I gave him the time he needed. He ground against my hand for a moment. Eventually, he took a deep breath and repositioned himself over the chair again.
“I’m ready, Sir.”
Without a word, I stepped back and swung. Michael gasped so hard he barely had air to screech. But this time, I didn’t want him talking. All the breath he had went toward yelling as I painted four more dark red stripes on his deeply colored butt. I heard the tears in his voice as he howled into the back of the chair.
I don’t know that Michael’s fantasy had included this much pain and crying and loss of control. But I think for the first time, he realized that the contract was a two-way deal that included my fantasy of raising some useful members of society.