Pledges: Gay Erotic Stories (11 page)

Hey, bro. You in here?”
Devon poked his head out from behind the shower curtain,
wiping the water from his face. “Hey, what’s up?”
Brad held up a twelve-pack of Pabst Blue Ribbon. “I brought
you some beer, dude.”
“Beer?” Devon stepped back under the spray. “You know
I’m on restriction. That means no drinking, no pot, no girls,
nothing. And you know they’ll find out. They always do,
somehow.” Either spies or cameras. Or both. Devon really
wouldn’t be surprised, given the number of times he’d been
called out on what he’d thought was private business. “They won’t find out if you drink in here. Move over.” Devon had no choice but to step out of the way for his frat
brother. For one thing, Brad wasn’t just another frat brother—
he was Devon’s Big Brother, his mentor and the person who
had Devon’s unyielding loyalty. For another thing, Brad was
big enough that he could simply knock Devon on his ass. Plus, he’d been on restriction for a week, and his mouth was watering
for one of those beers.
“So have you learned your lesson?”
One of the first things Devon learned in the frat was proper
shower etiquette in a cramped stall. He stepped out of the
spray, and he kept his eyes up and straight ahead, careful to
avoid the fag look.
“Yeah, sure.”
“I hope you sound more convincing when the council asks
you that question.”
Devon smiled. “My GPA will be back to a four-point-oh
before the end of the quarter, and then they’ll have to take me
off restriction. No matter what they think about it.” “You fell below a C average. How are you going to get it to
a four-point-oh?” Brad sounded more curious than skeptical.
He’d already learned his lesson when it came to Devon—once
he decided he wanted something, he would have it. One way or
the other. The end result would never be in question, only the
means to get there.
“Blow jobs. That was my backup plan all along.” “Blow jobs? Don’t you have any female professors?” “Nope.”
“Chug that beer.”
Devon obediently dropped his head back, opened his throat,
and drained the can. Brad plucked it out of his palm and
replaced it with a full can. “That one, too.”
The second one went down as easily as the first. The flush
across his skin was instant, heat rising to meet the steam rolling
over his arms and shoulders. The contrast of the ice-cold beer
in his throat and stomach was both painful and pleasant, but
he couldn’t let on. If Brad wanted him to down all twelve beers
under the relentless water and steam, he would do it. Even if he risked growing dizzy, vomiting, and hitting his head on the
way down.
“So you’re just going to offer your instructors BJs? That
sounds risky.”
“It is, and that’s why I’m not doing that. I’ve been giving
them BJs since September. Now I’m going to make all that hard
work count for something.”
Brad laughed and popped open a third can. “Then why did
you let your grades drop so low?”
“I thought I could use a bit of a break.” Devon smiled around
the can before taking another deep swallow. “But if anybody
asks, I’ve learned my lesson.”
“No, but you will.”
Devon’s eyebrows came together. “What? Are you going to
paddle me?”
“No, that wouldn’t teach you anything. You’d enjoy it too
much.”
Devon grinned and polished off the can in his hand. It was
unfortunate that Brad knew him so well. He’d enjoy
anything
Brad gave him, from a good paddling to a hand job to a hard
fuck. And everything in between. Unfortunately, Brad wasn’t
gay. This didn’t mean anything to Devon, except that he’d have
to work a little harder, but it meant a lot to Brad.
“Is the beer my punishment? You’re going to need more
than twelve.”
Brad chuckled. “No. Wash my back.”
With pleasure
. Devon finished his beer, tossed the can over
the top of the curtain and lathered his hands with soap. No
way was he going to use a washcloth if Brad was going to give
him the opportunity to massage his broad shoulders and tight
muscles.
“No homo, bro.”
“I know. Or you’ll punch my lights out.”
“If you’re lucky, that’s all I’d do to you.”
“Big talk.”
“You know I can back it. How many times have I kicked
your ass?”
“I’m not sure, but I can tell you how many times I let you
win.”
“Right. The day I can’t beat you is the day I let you fuck
me.”
Devon reeled from the declaration, suddenly too drunk to
even process the words. He was joking. He
had
to be joking
because Brad would never say anything like that and
mean
it,
would he? Or was this a test? Did he expect Devon to laugh it
off, say he was just joking? There were too many dangers, too
many unknown variables to respond to and he didn’t have the
luxury of not responding at all.
“You better be careful what you say around me,” Devon
said lightly. He stared at his hands, moving in slow, tight
circles across Brad’s perfect, clean back. He didn’t need to keep
rubbing, but his limbs refused to listen to the frantic
abort,
abort, abort
siren ringing through his head.
“I always know exactly what I’m saying around you. I know
you better than anybody else, Devon, and I never forget who
I’m talking to. Don’t forget my legs.”
“Right, your legs,” Devon murmured numbly.
This was happening. He was buzzed, soaping up his big
brother, and hard as a
rock
. How could he not be with Brad’s
ass in his face? His muscles flexed every time Devon ran his
hands up and down the long, nicely shaped limbs. This close,
there was no mistaking that Brad was a jock, and no mistaking
why he was one of the most celebrated athletes at the university. His legs were perfect, like he’d been genetically engineered to be the world’s fastest man, and his entire body flexed with
lean intent.
“I want to be squeaky clean, little bro. Every inch.” “Let me get a washcloth.”
“No. I didn’t say you could stop.”
And now Devon realized that Brad was pulling rank, and
whatever freedom he had when Brad first came through the
door was gone now. If he refused to do anything Brad said, and
Brad reported him, he would be disciplined severely for insubordination. But two could play at that game. Devon could be as
distant and unattached as Brad could be controlling and cruel. He washed Brad’s buttocks with as much impersonal coolness as he could summon, but it was hard to make the situation completely unsexy when he had his fingers between Brad’s
rounded cheeks and his own cock was dripping salty precum.
But washing the soft skin behind his balls was the worst. It
would be so easy to cross Brad’s invisible line—one tiny gesture;
one flick of his finger should do it. He’d probably get a broken
nose for it, but that might be a fair price to pay.
“Good work. Here, have another beer.”
Now that Devon realized what was at stake, he wanted
to decline. He definitely didn’t need more alcohol. The water
seemed hotter than ever, the booze sloshing in his stomach
while his body tried to regulate his temperature. His earlier
headiness wasn’t helped by the fact that all of his blood had
rushed to his cock. He was probably lucky he hadn’t fainted as
soon as Brad gave him wood.
But he couldn’t refuse a direct order.
Any
direct order. Even
the ones that seemed detrimental to his own personal welfare.
He didn’t need this to be added to his already far too thick
permanent record. He couldn’t afford that; it was already going
to take some serious scamming to get his number of offenses reduced. So he chugged the offered beer, forgetting whether it
was his fifth or his sixth.
“Good, now the front.”
If he’d had any doubts before about what was going on here,
the softly spoken command clarified everything. With Brad
facing him, there was no way to hide his boner, or the naked
appreciation in his eyes every time he looked at Brad’s muscled,
slick body. Devon wouldn’t have believed it possible, but Brad
found a punishment that actually hurt.
His pecs and arms were firm, with absolutely no give when
Devon pressed with the pads of his fingers, like an unripened fruit. He towered over Devon’s five-ten frame, so staring
straight ahead meant staring directly at Brad’s beautiful chest.
His cock jerked every time he dragged his hands over the center
of Brad’s torso, the rigid flesh throbbing for attention. He silently worked his way down Brad’s body, trying not to
linger over the ridges of his stomach, the jut of his hips or the
perfect cut of his thigh. Water splashed over the soap almost
as quickly as Devon applied it, catching the suds and whisking
them away, exposing the golden hue of Brad’s skin. He was
covered in the sun, cloaked in a memory of its heat, and water
droplets left long trails over his thighs and abdomen, marking
the perfect paths for Devon to follow with his mouth. “Don’t forget my package.”
He can’t be serious
.
But a glance at his face confirmed that he was very serious. He
was also limp and clearly not interested in the magic Devon could
work with his hands. One word—one
breath
—and he would be
showing Brad all the ways he knew to bring a grown man to his
knees. Honestly, it was more than a little disheartening to realize
he had so little effect on the other man. And it was embarrassing
to reveal how little control he had over himself.
He poured more soap into the palm of his hand and painted
his shaft and balls with the voluminous suds. Devon tried not to
apply too much pressure, tried not to show too much interest,
tried to pretend his cock wasn’t slapping against his stomach
each time he dragged his palm from the tip to the base. He
dragged his hands in the creases of Brad’s thighs, dipped his
fingers behind his heavy balls and tried to keep an air of professionalism as he washed Brad’s sac.
Devon licked his lips. He knew Brad noticed, figured Brad
knew exactly what it meant and exactly what was on his
mind.
“Nobody has to know.” His mouth moved on its own.
“Nobody will know. Like the beer.” And it must have been the
beer that prompted such a foolish declaration. But he couldn’t
take it back now, and he risked briefly meeting Brad’s hooded
eyes.
“Nobody has to know what?”
“If I suck your cock.”
“No.”
Devon gently squeezed Brad’s shaft and moved closer.
Another step had Brad crowded against the shower’s back wall.
Brad might have been taller and an Adonis among men, but
Devon wasn’t a slouch. Despite Brad’s earlier taunting, Devon
was more than physically equipped to kick Brad’s ass. “Yes.” He shifted his hips, grinding his cock against Brad’s
thigh. “I’ll make it so good; you’ll be begging me not to stop.” “Back off, Devon. I’m warning you.”
“Or you’ll what?” Maybe it was all the beer in his system,
or maybe he was just feeling bold because Brad hadn’t already
decked him. Either way, he moved even closer, pressing as
much of his body as possible against the wall of muscle that
was Brad’s chest. “Hit me?”
Devon never would have tried that with all of his faculties
intact, but he was far past the point of caring, not to mention
the point of knowing better. And it was worth it, anyway. The
second he pressed his mouth to Brad’s and learned that his lips
were far, far softer than Devon ever thought possible, he knew
the kiss was worth any punishment.
He might have gotten away with a small, curious caress. He
might have gotten away with a slightly prolonged touch if he
apologized immediately and looked genuinely contrite at his
actions. But any chance he might have had at that was dashed
when he slipped his tongue between Brad’s lips and wiggled the
tip against his teeth, hoping for greater access.
One second, he had mouth, chest, and dick pressed to Brad’s
heated body, and in the next second, he was airborne with just
enough sense to bend his head forward before he hit the tile
floor, narrowly avoiding smacking the back of his skull into
the toilet.
“What the fuck, dude?”
Brad smirked at him from the shower, water dripping down
his face. “You wanted to see what I would do if you kissed me,
right?”
“What did you like more? The kiss or throwing me around?”
Devon nodded at Brad’s growing erection. “Something got to
you.” He pushed himself to his knees. “Let me take care of
that.”
“Devon…”
Neither of them bothered to shut off the water, and it sprayed
all over the room, wetting the floor, the walls and Devon even
though he knelt on the bathroom floor. Brad could just reach
over and turn it off, but he didn’t move, didn’t look away from
Devon. Devon watched him just as intently, determined not to
get another surprise blow.
“What are you worried about? Do you think you’ll like it
too much?” Devon taunted. “You’re not a fag, right?” “Shut up.”
Devon looked up, licked his bottom lip with a slow swipe of
his tongue, making sure he held Brad’s attention. “Make me if
you don’t like what I have to say.”
Brad gripped him by the back of his head and yanked him
forward, pressing Devon’s face to his burgeoning cock. Devon
inhaled, filling his nostrils with the delicious smell of Brad’s
skin—the scent that couldn’t be washed away or disguised with
soap. His musk of arousal and sweat and precome and
man
.
Of course Brad would smell better than anybody else in recent
memory. Devon wanted to be marked by that scent. He wanted
to smell it on his own skin and clothes.
“Open your mouth.”
Devon didn’t need to be told. The only thing that could be
better than basking in his scent would be coating his tongue
with the taste of Brad’s skin. He opened his mouth wide for
Brad’s impressive length, letting it slide over his tongue and
swallowing it down. Normally, he liked to take his time, work
up to deep-throating, but time wasn’t a luxury he had, and he
didn’t want to make Brad impatient. When he felt the tip of
Brad’s cock nudge the back of his throat, he relaxed the muscles
and let it fill the narrow passage.
“That’s it. Oh, yes. Oh, you’re good at this, aren’t you? Fuck
yes…fuck…” Brad spoke with each thrust of his hips, holding
the back of Devon’s head to keep his mouth wrapped around
the base of his shaft. “I’m going to pump you full of cum. Do