Authors: Shane Allison
Tags: #erotic MM, #Romance MM
All rights reserved. Except for brief passages quoted in newspaper, magazine, radio, television, or online reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying or recording, or by information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Printed in the United States. Cover design: Scott Idleman/Blink Cover photograph: Digital Vision Text design: Frank Wiedemann
Trick or Treat, Smell My Feet
• T. Hitman
No Turning Back
• Rafaelito V. Sy
• Heidi Champa
It’s Not Hazing, It’s Brotherhood
• Ryan Field
Spank You, Sir, May I Have Another?
About the Authors
About the Editor
What happens when you take a plethora of college-aged boys and stick them in a house to live under one roof to drink, party and anything else your dirty mind can conjure up? A damn good start is what.
As I read over these hot new stories of pledge erotica, it took me back to my days of being a twentysomething, when I used school and studying as an excuse to be lazy, when
was scribbled in a box when being asked what one’s occupation was on a job application. I’ve been out of school for nine years now but having the luxury of living in a college town where there’s never a shortage of smoking-hot college boys, I am constantly reminded of what I’m missing, especially during rush week when an all-new crop of twinks set out to pledge their chosen frat.
Ah, I love the smell of fresh pledge meat in the morning. It makes me think about this blond frat boy I knew back in college. Mike was his name. It all started at this party he invited me to. Mike was my friend/fuckbuddy. We would mess around whenever his girl was out of town or hanging out with her homegirls. She didn’t have a clue. When she went to DC to complete her internship, Mike and I acted like fools. I think he fucked me in every corner and crevice of his tiny apartment. He was constantly blowing up my cell in need of some “sexual healing” as the late great Marvin Gaye once sang. Because Mike belonged to a frat, I was able to get into some of the best parties thrown by some of the best frats that housed the hottest brothers. On one particular night Mike dragged me to what he deemed one of the best parties that had gone down in collegiate history. I needed to stay home and study for a test, but Mike assured me that I wouldn’t regret attending. It was hard to say no to his young blue eyes. The fraternity that was throwing the party was one of the most sexually infamous houses on the campus. Mike told me that it would be running over with hot guys, from randy, punch-drunk athletes to other studs from nearby frats. Mike was right. And when I got to the party, sure enough, it was like I had died and gone to frat-boy heaven. I had never seen so much sweaty flesh and swinging erections.
While most of the partying was going on downstairs at the pool, I knew the real partying was happening in the upstairs bedrooms. Most of the rooms were locked and I would have given anything to have been a fly on the wall to know who was fucking and sucking who. I kept trying doors until I got to the last room at the end of the corridor where I heard the muffled sounds of sex behind its walls. I hoped I would gain access and sure enough, eureka! It was a frat-boy orgy in the making. I watched until my dick grew hard. There had to be ten to twelve guys in the room sucking and fucking each other. It all looked like something from a hot gay porn flick. One of the brothers demanded that I shut the door. I made out Mike’s face in the crowd of men who frantically waved me in to join the frisky bunch. Before I could say assholes and elbows I found myself getting plowed from both ends. And to think that I hesitated. By the time I rolled out of the “real” party, the one downstairs was veering into lukewarm mode. I walked back to my apartment that night sticky with sweat and with cum on my breath.
It’s memories of that tawdry semester that birthed the idea of the book you, faithful reader, hold in your hand. The writers in these pages have brought you the best in gay erotic frat-fucking.
Hot, sweaty sex ensues between a pledge and his handsome professor in Heidi Champa’s “Caught Red-Handed.” Ryan Field shows us that pledge sex is the best sex in “It’s Not Hazing, It’s Brotherhood.” There’s some major heat to the seat action going on in Logan Zachary’s “Spank You, Sir, May I Have Another?” The lines of gay and straight get blurred in Pepper Espinoza’s, “On Restriction.” Barry Lowe has got something for the most loyal of butt connoisseurs in “Spin the Bottom.” Two young pledges are put through a series of seedy challenges in Eric Del Carlo’s “Pecking Order.” Gregory L. Norris amazes with “Heaven Week.” Michael Bracken proves that you have to “give” some head to get ahead in “What a Rush.” There’s nothing like a good “hard” lesson in T. R. Verten’s “Through a Jagged Hole in a Thin Wall.” A dildo brings two buddies closer in Jay Starre’s “Best Buddies.” It’s frat-fucking at its best in Landon Dixon’s “Heavenly Hell Week.” Troy Storm will keep you wanting more in “Dumb Fuck.” Newcomer Rafaelito V. Sy turns up the heat in “No Turning Back,” while T. Hitman sizzles on the page in “Trick or Treat, Smell My Feet,” and veteran erotica scribe Rob Rosen returns with “Legacy.”
I hope these stories of passionate pledging will inspire you to do some comradely bonding of your own.
Oh, for god’s sake, Semanski, if you tell your pledge master you can be fucked in the ass until the fucking cows give butter, then you can’t logically expect him not to turn every fucking horny member of the fraternity loose on your gaping butthole! Much less your fellow pimply-faced sex-crazed pledges! Oh, shit.” The Faculty Fraternity Pledge Initiation Advisor dropped his head into his hand. “Arborville, clean that up.”
The junior classman assigned to tape the investigations of fraternity hazing irregularities nodded sagely. “Totally, Mr. Dayner.” The kid was noted for doing the most amazing things with his laptop and had more than once saved Dayner’s very verbose and profane ass. Dayner was convinced the kid was headed for a singularly satisfying career with the C.I.A.
His attention was drawn back to the sniveling, buggered pledge. “But I didn’t know it was going to hurt so fu—so much,
, Mr. Dayner.”
The freshman’s watery blues struck a slight cause for sympathy from the sorely put-upon Faculty Fraternity Pledge Initiation Advisor, but not by much. Dayner rolled his own cold orbs. “Jesus, Semanski, don’t tell me that butt of yours was a virgin hole? How could you be such a total dumb fuck?”
He knew damn well how desperate pledges were to make the grade with
fraternity. Animal House had nothing on its rep. Party time and sexcapades were the interfraternal hashtags. If you didn’t get laid at least twice a week, you weren’t considered man enough to hack the fun times.
“I checked all those gay websites,” the miserable pledge muttered. “Gay guys are always getting boned. It didn’t seem so bad. What’s-his-name took it okay in that fight movie.”
“Gay fucking guys live to be plugged in the rear, Semanski! And it was a movie! Movie stars don’t get poled! At least not on camera! Think, for god’s sake! YouTube? Duh!” Dayner let out an exhausted sigh. “Crap. Arborville?”
The young man hovering over the recording laptop grinned. “We may have to do a little extra dubbing on that one, Mr. D.”
Dayner shook his head. His powerful, muscular frame hoisted itself to emerge from behind his desk and pace the small office. “The doc says you’ll be fine, Semanski. I’ll tell Proctor to keep the guys off you for the rest of the initiation period.” It was the fraternity Pledge Captain’s ass he should have been verbally searing, he thought morosely. Proctor was going to be his fucking nemesis before this season’s pledge initiation period was over, and, god help the whole campus, they still had another three weeks for it to run.
“Look, kid,” Daynor said, slapping the young man companionably on his broad shoulder, “you did right by not making this a big mother deal. I appreciate that. Our beloved alma mater appreciates that. You went to the doc. You didn’t make a fuss. The doc gives me a discreet little call. You and I, we had this discreet little talk. In a while your ass is gonna be beautiful again, if not its old virgin self. You’re moving right along, Semanski. The fraternity is not going to get a reprimand. I’m sure your guys will look kindly on how delicately you handled the whole situation. We all thank you.” Dayner stuck out his big hand.
The kid was almost in full flow mode. “You’re not gonna…? Oh, jeez, Mr. Dayner, you’re as awesome as some of the guys… I mean…” He bit his full lower lip as he grabbed the faculty advisor’s hand and pumped it vigorously.
The kid was a juicy pile of muscle-bound hormones, Dayner had to admit. If he had leaned that way, he could see why the frat dudes had leapt at the slightest sign the kid’s ass was theirs to lock and load. He imagined the creamy pucker beckoning and felt a slight twinge in the nether regions himself. Damn, he needed to get laid. All this gushing freshman testosterone sucking up his nostrils was beginning to fry the sex centers of his brain.
Proctor was the asshole whose butt needed creaming, he groused to himself as he ushered the grateful, babbling Semanski from the office and hitched a thumb for Arborville to pack up his equipment and get the hell out.
Proctor was what, a junior now, like Dayner’s techie demon, and getting too damn fucking sure of himself. It was his job to keep his frat guys in line. He and the frat advisor had had a couple of previous run-ins at pledge time. What the fuck was it last year with charging the pledges to fuck a dozen willing cheerleaders within twenty-four hours? How many freshman dicks had almost dropped off? How many gay dudes had suddenly come down with mono?
Dayner shut the door, having given the departing Arborville an appreciative shrug, and dropped into the well-worn office chair behind his desk.
He slapped his ancient corded mouse on the scarred tabletop and the seasons-old university-supplied computer struggled to life. Dayner leaned in and clicked through to the student roster. Yeah, it was time for him and the junior Pledge Captain to have another little man-to-kid tête-à-tête about freshman buttholes. His dick twitched again. He spread his muscular thighs and readjusted his thickening bone, grateful to note the everexhausting fight for the rights of dumbass, oversexed freshmen male-chiles had not totally shrunken his manly assets. He definitely needed some pussy. And soon.
“Sorry, sir, but I will not take that responsibility.”
Within the hour Proctor had appeared at the Faculty Advisor’s door and now sat across from him, the junior’s lean frame rigid with indignation. “We ask our pledges direct questions in order to guide our pledging trials and expect the answers to be truthful. How are we to proceed otherwise?”
Dayner cut his eyes toward the laptop pointed at Proctor. The kid was even better looking than he had been a couple of years ago, even with his grim, determined look. He had really manned up lately. Not that he was unmanly to begin with, but he had fleshed out, settled into his frame and seemed more solid. More…resistant. More assured. Dayner liked the kid’s assurance. Strip him and he bet the kid was a hot little mother…uh…
Shutting the laptop with finality, the faculty advisor cut the recording. He shrugged at the Pledge Captain’s questioning frown.
“I’m not good with these things and my tech guy is in class. They’ll just have to take our word for what’s said here.” He moved to sit on the front of the desk, arms crossed, looking down at Proctor, who looked even better from this perspective. Extremely…approachable.