Chester

He pursed his lips, staring. His gaze crawled from my hole to my cock and finally to my face.

"You aren't hard." He sounded annoyed, making a note on the stupid fucking screen. "I expected your refractory period to be better, Brad. You are a college athlete in peak condition."

"Why would I be hard? I'm not turned on by this, you sadist," I managed to spit.

Something malicious crossed Chester's face. "Oh, that's how you want to play this, then? Fine."

He bundled me onto my stomach and jerked my hips to the edge of the bed. Shouldering between my legs, he spread my cheeks apart.

I could feel his breath, tickling over my sensitive hole, and I shivered. This was so fucked up.

"You're not gay, so don't get turned on, Brad," he mocked. "We wouldn't want that, would we?"

I let out a filthy moan as he unleashed some bastardly combination of biting and sucking and nibbling over my thighs and butt and hole. Sometimes he used his tongue to spear inside and swirl. Sometimes his finger arrowed in on my prostate while he sucked on sensitive skin elsewhere.

It felt fucking amazing.

Chester kept at it, and soon enough, his fingers shoved between the mattress and my groin, checking my cock. I'd been inadvertently grinding into the bed, adding to the stimulation. I was hard. Again.

I flushed, blood rushing noisily in my ears as I tried to work up shame or embarrassment. They wouldn't muster, probably because I just wanted to get off again.

"Yeah," Chester said, gloating. "That's what I thought. You can bitch all about how you aren't gay, but I know how to make you feel good. How to make you want it."

He shoved my legs off his shoulders and climbed to his feet, positioning me on my back again like I was nothing more than a doll.

Chester grinned down at me. "By the end of this study, Brad, you're going to be able to come hands-free with just my cock inside you."

I didn't have anything to say to that. Couldn't have said anything, even if I wanted to.

Chester lubed up and eased back in, stretching me wide. I moaned and held myself open for him.

He hammered into me, setting a brutal pace. It wasn't as fast or consistent as the machine, but his dick was bigger and his thrusts never faltered.

Black magic, probably. He shouldn't be able to fuck like a stallion when he was that pudgy. That was not the body of a cardio god.

It took a while for him to come again. When I would get into my head about what was happening, I would start to get soft. Chester caught it every time, stroking my cock hard and fast in time with his thrusts until it perked back up. Never enough to get me off, just enough to get hard.

It happened three or four times until eventually, he erupted in my ass.

I was relieved, thinking that would be the end of it.

It wasn't.

Chester dragged me back to the chair, strapping me in. I tried to fight it, but I was no more effective than an annoying fly.

He positioned the dildo back into place, starting the machine at a steady clip. It didn't hurt anymore.

I arched and moaned, canting my hips to avoid the endless strumming of the dildo against my prostate.

"Ah, ah, ah, Brad," Chester sang. "No cheating." He yanked the strap over my hips, cinching it back down so the angle of the dildo perfectly punched across my prostate with each stroke.

I let out a wail, but Chester just laughed.

He let it play out for a long time, watching me carefully and documenting some kind of bullshit on his tablet every few minutes.

I dripped pre-cum and writhed to no avail, hating every second of his stupid experiment. The pure stimulation was insane, and I needed to come. Again. But I couldn't.

I didn't know how much time had passed. It was long enough that Chester had added more lube a few times and my ass was getting kind of sore. I felt like I was going to explode if I didn't get some kind of relief.

"Please," I mumbled through the gag. I wasn't even ashamed this time. I just wanted to come. "Please, please, please."

A finger brushed every so slightly across my jerking and twitching cock.

"You've done so well, Brad. This has been a great first session," Chester whispered in my ear.

His fingers locked into a cage around my dick, stroking hard and fast. "Come for me, Brad."

Cum jolted out of me in a mere dribble as I heaved against the straps. My vision got fuzzy and gray as I convulsed through waves of pleasure.

Chester didn't drag it out. He let go and turned off the machine.

The straps slid apart, and he lugged me down the hall and into the bathroom.

The shower started, and he dropped me inside, pulling the curtain closed after me. "Fifteen minutes, Brad. Clean yourself up and get out. If you haven't by then, I'll come check on you."

I huddled on the floor of the tub, pulling my knees up to my chest and dropping my face into them.

My ass throbbed, and my muscles wouldn't stop quivering.

But worst of all?

I felt drained--sated--and bonelessly relaxed in a way that had eluded me since coming to college.

Fuck.

I might have fallen asleep in the shower, and Chester must have kept his word, because I woke up in bed with my alarm going off.

It took me a minute to figure out what day and time it was. I hadn't turned the alarm on, so Chester must have. Practice. I had baseball practice soon.

I let out a groan, every part of me sore as I stumbled out of bed.

A peanut butter and jelly sandwich sat on a plate on my desk. Next to it, a bottle of blue Gatorade.

I ignored them both, not wanting to consume anything that Chester could have drugged again. Because he had. He'd drugged the beer somehow. Or maybe the pizza. Fuck. I wasn't sure.

Walking felt a little weird, but I knew I would get chewed out by Coach if I skipped practice. Thankfully, today would mostly be watching film and reviewing plays before the game against our conference rivals on Saturday.

I staggered to the closet and stuffed my gear into my bag. Things loosened up, so I wasn't moving as bad by the time I reached the door. I pulled up short, seeing the yellow sticky note plastered at eye level. Chester's neatly printed handwriting filled it.

Eat the sandwich, Brad. Replenish your electrolytes. They aren't drugged. I know you have practice. -C

My stomach growled.

Motherfucker.

I stomped back, snatching the sandwich off the plate and stuffing the Gatorade under my arm. I didn't have time to make something or get anything before practice.

I was out the door and halfway across campus before I ate it. The Gatorade didn't last much longer. Even if they were drugged, I'd pass out around people. He wasn't getting me again.

I was on a sports scholarship. If I scrimped a little, I could probably move back to the dorms. But fuck, it would be tight. I'd have to get a job, probably.

Worth it, though. That motherfucker was not getting his dick in me twice.