Connor on Campus Ch. 03

* * Stan gets to know Darren, and Connor punishes Stan * *

Wrapped in Stan's arms, Darren drifts. In all the years he's dreamt of finding a boyfriend, of having sex, of having someone to care about him, what's happened in the last two days is doing his head in.

He'd always hoped his first time would be special, with someone he really liked—but with Connor, it's all happened so fast, it's like being run over by a bus.

Until meeting Connor, Darren hadn't thought he was good looking enough to catch the attention of someone that hot. And then once he was fired up, whether or not Connor liked him had become irrelevant.

And now, after being fucked by a man whose gaze alone raises goose bumps along Darren's arms, he has another guy who's way too good-looking to be interested in him spooning him.

Darren knows Stan doesn't care about him as much as his touch suggests he does; they've only just met. But Stan seems kind, and his touch is so gentle, his voice soothing. There's nothing mean in him, and in that, Darren knows they're alike—because there's nothing mean in Darren either. And knowing someone as strong and good-looking as Stan's just like him, makes Darren feel better about how much he wants to submit to Connor.

He shudders in Stanton's arms as he replays Connor fucking him, telling him to kneel, to suck, to swallow—and it's enough to rouse him again.

Stan stirs at his back, and the older boy's hand drifts down to close around Darren's thickening erection.

"So soon?" says Stan. "Just as well Connor decided not to cage you."

Darren shifts, and turns around in Stan's arms until he's facing the older boy. "What does that mean? 'Cage' me?"

Stan wishes he hadn't raised it now. Not only does he not want to explain, it reminds him that it's him who's now going to be made to suffer.

"Tell you what. Let's wash up and go get something to eat."

Anything to change the subject.

Stan gets off the bed and holds a hand out to Darren, pulling him to his feet. He puts his arms around the smaller boy and after a moment Darren puts his arms around Stan's neck and buries his head against the older boy's chest.

"You know, you don't have to ever come back if you don't want to," Stan whispers.

"I know," says Darren, his lips tickling against Stan's chest as he speaks. He looks up at Stan and his eyes are liquid, so blue in his otherwise ordinary face, that his eyes are all Stan sees.

"But then I'd never see you again? Would I?"

Smart kid. There's no way Connor would let Stan see Darren if he wasn't fucking the boy himself.

Stan shakes his head. "But still, if it gets too much..."

"You'll look after me." Darren smiles up at Stan. He's so confident the older boy will take care of him, Stan feels a stab of guilt. As much as he wants to make sure Connor doesn't damage this innocent kid's mind, Connor still owns his arse.

Stan can take Darren's punishments as long as Connor lets him, but eventually Connor'll grow bored. And when he does, Darren will be forced to submit, or Connor will tell him to never come back.

"Just... do as he says," says Stan, thinking of how uncomfortable the cock cage is that Connor keeps in his desk drawer. He's only been forced to wear it once, but once was more than enough. Apart from the humiliation, the weight and the sensation of the metal squeezing his dick was torture. Being around Connor already made him constantly horny, but having something clamped around his cock made him hyper-aware of it, and unable to get an erection, never mind touch himself.

He leads Darren into the bathroom and encourages the younger boy to squeeze into the glass box with him. It's close and it's steamy and hot, and soon their hard dicks are soapy and sliding against each other.

May as well make the most of my freedom while I have it, thinks Stan, as he tenderly kisses Darren, one hand massaging their slick cocks between them.

There's no room to do much more than press their bodies together, but both boys are content to soap each other, to be close. To take their release this way.

After they're clean, Stan takes Darren to one of the campus cafes for a coffee.

"I'm supposed to have a lecture now," says Darren, cradling his travel cup with both hands.

"What made you decide you wanted to be an architect?" asks Stan.

Darren laughs, his voice light. "I come from a long line of architects that stretches all the way back to Michelangelo."

"Really?" asks Stan, as he takes a sip of his coffee.

"No," Darren laughs again. "I don't know, I had to study something. Drawing all day seemed easier than most other things."

Stan snorts in amusement. "I guess that's one way to pick a career."

Darren looks down shyly at his coffee. "What are you studying?"

"Civil Engineering."

Darren glances up at him. "Is that hard?"

Stan shrugs and takes another sip of his coffee. "I don't know if hard is the right word. I don't think anything's hard if it's something that really appeals to you."

"It's what you really want to do?"

Stan nods, and excitement enters his voice. "Yeah. I've always had this dream of designing affordable social housing so that everyone in Britain will have somewhere to live—preferably without creating more concrete slums. Integrating green areas, using sustainable building materials, and incorporating better methods of providing energy, like the new solar tiles Tesla's developing..." Stan trails off, embarrassed by his own passion.

"Wow, you actually have a dream," says Darren, impressed, and not a little intimidated.

Stan checks his phone. "Actually, I'm supposed to be catching up with my project group in about half an hour."

"Oh. Am I holding you up?" The kid's eyes are wide and distressed.

"No." Stan slides a hand across the table, and Darren blushes and glances away as Stan takes his hand. "No, I want to be here."

Darren's blush intensifies and Stan can feel him shaking. He realises it's too much, and starts to take his hand back, but Darren grabs his wrist. The younger boy's face is bright red, his eyes cast down towards the floor.

Stan takes his hand again, and they sit like that for as long as it takes for Darren's shaking to subside.

Finally, the younger boy finds the courage to turn his eyes back to the table. His eyes fix to Stan's larger hand wrapped around his own.

"What about Connor?"

"He's doing a major in theatre and performance."

"No," says Darren. " I mean... if you like me... does that mean...?"

Stan squeezes Darren's hand. "Yes, I like you. But he needs me."

Darren tugs his hand away from Stan's. "He doesn't seem as if he needs anyone."

"Everyone needs someone," says Stan.

Darren looks down at his hands. "Then why is he so..."

"Cruel?" Stan asks.

Darren nods.

Stan picks up his coffee and takes a sip while he considers his answer. It's not that he doesn't know, he's just not sure how much he should tell the kid.

"Ask yourself this," he says eventually. "Why did you come back? I can't imagine he was any kinder the first time you met him."

Darren considers this, his coffee cooling, undrunk.

"I don't know."

Stan lifts his eyebrows and lets them fall again. "When you do, you'll have your answer."

* * * * *

It's nearly six when Connor gets back to his shared dorm room to find Stan subdued, lying on his bed reading. It's the first time in months his roommate hasn't been waiting for him, gagging for his attention.

Their room's immaculate. Stan's even made Connor's bed, on the right hand side of the room from Connor's current perspective, and Connor's script exercises have been tidied into a folder. There's a small bar of chocolate sitting on top of that folder. His favourite.

Connor shuts the door and takes off his coat. "What's wrong?"

Stan glances up. The second he does, he's lost.

It's not just the hard planes of Connor's face or his indigo-ink eyes. Not just his wind-tousled black hair, or the way he stalks into the room as if he's a cat come back from the hunt.

It's the presence the moves with him. If Stan were blindfolded and Connor was silent, Stan would still feel that presence. A prickling along his arms, a tension in his groin, a crawling at the back of his neck.

He freezes in place, the book in his hands forgotten, as Connor walks over to the bed. The other boy reaches for Stan's book and takes it from his hands. He puts it on the nightstand, then sits on the side of Stan's bed to take off his shoes.

"It's cold out there." Connor's tone's conversational, but Stan feels an undercurrent of threat. Stan's offered to take Darren's punishment, and Connor really, really wanted to punish the kid. And now Stan's going to suffer. Willingly suffer.

Just the knowledge he's going to let Connor do whatever he wants to him gives Stan a tightness in his jeans.

Connor turns to Stan as he unbuttons his shirt. "What did you do after I left this morning?"

Stan gives him a small smile, guessing Connor knows he had coffee with Darren.

"I had a full day."

"I'll bet you did," said Connor.

Connor's smile in return shows the points of his canines. He's one of those people whose canines are longer than the rest of their teeth, and since Stan's shared a room with him, he's started noticing it in other people. Avril Lavigne. Ricky Jervais. Jake Gyllenhaal.

Connor's canines remind Stan of a graceful jungle carnivore's, an analogy that fits Connor perfectly.

Connor pulls off his shirt, and Stan's gaze is drawn to the other boy's lean, pale torso.

"Why... why did you do it?" Connor asks.

Stan knows Connor's asking why he agreed to take Darren's punishment. He shuffles up against the headboard and clasps his hands between his bent knees to stop himself reaching for the other boy.

"I like him. He's sweet. And he des—"

Connor cocks his head. "He deserves what, exactly?"

"Kindness," says Stan.

Connor's smile is cold and wide. Those canines.

"Well. I'm glad you like him. He can learn how to behave properly from you. You are such a beautifully obedient little bitch, aren't you Stanton?"

Stan keeps his eyes on his hands. He can feel, rather than hear, the jealousy in Connor's voice, like the subsonic rumble of an earthquake before it hits.

Still in his jeans, Connor climbs onto the bed and sits back on his heels in front of Stan. He puts his hands on Stan's drawn-up knees, and his touch sends electricity sparking straight to Stan's groin.

"Do you want to know what your punishment is?" Connor asks, his voice full of dark joy.

Stan looks into the other boy's eyes and wishes it wasn't like this. Wishes his body didn't react like this to the glittering darkness inside his troubled lover.

"Stan?" Connor prompts, and his voice is rich with mocking now, as he squeezes Stan's knees. "Do you want to know what I'm going to do to you?"

Stan's breathing grows louder as his heart speeds up. His gaze locks to Connor's, his mind racing, not with thoughts of punishment, but thoughts of Connor's hands sliding down his taut quads to the waist of his jeans, to—

"I'm going to fuck you," says Connor, enunciating the words as clearly as possible. "I'm going to fuck you until you beg me to let you come."

Stan swallows as Connor runs his hands not down Stan's glutes, but down his shins, the other boy's long fingers closing around Stan's naked ankles. His fingers are cool against Stan's skin.

"But first, we're going to need the restraints."

The Restraints. That's how Stan hears those words. The dreaded Restraints. As much as Stan adores Connor and craves his attention, this is the one thing that makes him truly question the sanity of indulging his sadistic roommate.

Connor only pulls out The Restraints when Stan pisses him off. And then, what a fucking performance he puts on.

Connor tugs on Stan's ankles, pulling the other boy's legs flat to the bed. He moves between Stan's legs, pushing them wide, and shuffles in closer on his knees.

He drapes his arms over Stan's shoulders. "And you are going to take it all, like the little bitch you are."

Those glittering eyes, the colour of a dusking sky just before it turns black.

"And you're not going to cum. Not tonight. Not tomorrow night. Not until that sweet little boyfriend of yours offers to take your place."

Stan's heart sinks. He doesn't want this. Hates the cock cage, and doesn't want Darren to know he's being punished, never mind have the younger boy feel responsible for his release. But he doesn't argue.

What is it about Connor that Stan can't fight him? As if he didn't know.

Connor tilts his head. "Are you ready?"

Stan's helpless under Connor's gaze, his whole body taut with tension. He nods.

"Then get your arse naked and get ready for me."

Connor climbs off the bed and heads for the bathroom, leaving Stan with a semi and a speeding pulse.

But even though he knows what's coming, Stan can't help feel a twinge of sadness at why Connor needs to do this. Knows Connor's been set off by jealousy, nothing more. He's a predator made, not a predator born.

Stan pulls off his clothes and lies on his stomach on the bed, his head resting on his arms. As he waits for Connor to finish in the shower, he wonders how this night will end.

By the time Connor comes back, Stan's already entering the zone. It's the place he goes when he submits to Connor's worst impulses, an acceptance of what's to come.

He's never thought about it consciously, but there's a process he goes through. Connor always gives him time to prepare, and in that time Stan's mind drops down, down from who he is, to a primal physical self that no longer has an ego, or a sense of identity.

Firstly, he accepts Connor's dominance, and he releases the urge to fight back. This is the first stage of his drop, and it makes him feel calm, almost zen.

Next he accepts there will be no satisfying sexual release. This is the hardest for him to do, since everything Connor will do to him will leave him hard and weeping with frustration. But if he's not prepared for it, it'll make it so much worse. And so, he lets go of his hunger.

Lastly, he accepts the pain. It's never much, more discomfort than anything, and it's never more than he can handle. But with any pain comes nervousness, and if he's afraid of what might come, it'll make it so much worse.

By the time Connor comes back, smelling freshly of soap with his hair damp, Stan's ready. He rolls onto his back and presents himself to Connor, his body relaxed, his gaze warm and calm.

Connor smiles. It's taken him months to get Stan to this point, but it's so, so deeply satisfying to see the other boy's complete surrender to him.

Stan's pulled out the restraints and left them on the bed, and Connor picks them up. Stan holds out his left wrist, and Connor fastens the leather cuff around his wrist. Connor gestures to him, and Stan presents his right wrist.

Connor pulls Stan's arms over the other boy's head and fastens them to Stan's headboard. Deprived of his hands, Stan just gives Connor his calm gaze, his hazel eyes amber against the darkness of his pupils, bleeding out to olive green.

Connor stands by the bed and runs a hand down Stanton's chest. The other boy's so fit now, it's all Connor can do to hold himself back just fucking him as he would any other night.

But a guy who looks like Stanton is a difficult pet to hold onto. It's not a relationship, it's ownership, and if Connor doesn't enforce that, he knows Stan will find someone who will.

And so now he has to show Stan that he still owns him.

As he stares down at Stan, he thinks of the way Stan looks at Darren, Connor's newest pet, and the hunger to punish his lover gives Connor a jolt of focus that heightens his senses. Everything in him wakes, the way it does at the taste of fresh mint.

Connor moves to his desk drawer and takes out a blindfold.

A flicker of concern appears in Stan's eyes as Connor brings it back to the bed. Wearing a blindfold means Stan won't be able to use his eyes to beg Connor to stop, and he'll have to vocalise; something he finds deeply humiliating.

Connor grins as he puts the blindfold on Stan, grins at the shudder that runs through his lover as he's left in darkness.

Now Connor takes a gag from his desk drawer. Stan's not going to like this, but maybe he'll think twice before giving Connor's pets unsanctioned praise in the future.

Stan twists uncomfortably as Connor prises his mouth open with two fingers. A moment later a rubber penis head's forced into his mouth, and the gag's fastened behind his head.

Stan lets out an involuntary noise of complaint and tugs against his restraints. He's not had anything like this in his mouth before, and it tastes of silicone, forces his jaw open while he tries to get the taste off his tongue.

Connor's mouth is by his ear.

"Ssssh. I'm not done yet. Save it till it really hurts."

Stan lies in his enforced darkness, his focus on the vile taste in his mouth and the uncomfortable feeling of his jaw prised apart, while he listens to Connor move around the room. There's a sound of water running into a glass in their small en suite, and then the sound of something heavy being dropped into that glass.

He has no idea what's going on, as Connor sets the glass onto the nightstand with a dull clunk.

Connor sits on the side of the bed and his hands roam across Stan's chest.

"You know he's mine, don't you?" says Connor. "And you know, you're mine."

Stan nods his head vigorously, hoping Connor will go easier on him with whatever new torture he has planned if he appears contrite.

Connor climbs onto the bed and kisses his way down Stan's body, his hair and cheek brushing Stan's now solid and rising cock, his lips moving against the juncture where Stan's thigh meets his groin, nuzzling against the underside of Stan's shaved balls, but not touching his swollen hardness.

It's cruel to be so close but refuse to take Stan into his mouth, and Connor takes his time, making sure Stan's truly hard and twitching before he gets off the bed and fetches a pillow to put under Stan's hips.

Stan's tense with nervousness as he wonders what's coming next, and he jumps as he feels a leather restraint being strapped around his left ankle. Like the gag, this has never happened before, and he has no idea where it's going.

Connor does the same with Stan's right ankle, and then Stan's left to lie there listening to Connor move between the head of the bed and his ankles.

Then Connor pushes Stan's legs back, and fastens the cuff on his left ankle to a rope attached to the headboard, pulling his leg wide and back, then does the same to his right, so he's completely exposed.

There's no way to fight Connor now, deprived of any body movement, his voice and his sight.

Connor gets off the bed, and his mint-fresh breath stirs against Stanton's cheek as the other boy whispers to him: "I'd have gone so much easier on Darren."

Connor kisses Stan's cheek, and then Stan hears metal against glass and the slosh of water. He lies, his body tight with fear, waiting for his punishment.

Satisfied Stan's obvious nervousness, Connor pulls the stainless steel butt plug out of the glass of cold water on the nightstand and dries it, before coating it liberally with lube. It's larger than anything he's ever used on Stan before, but after being fucked regularly, Connor figures the other boy should be able to take it.

He moves back between Stan's legs, and runs his long fingers over Stanton's exposed, shaved arsehole, coating him with lube from the underside of his heavy, swollen testicles, to the base of his crack.

"You should see the size of it," he says to Stan, as he caresses the boy's most intimate, exposed place. "Do cry out if you need to. I won't think any less of you."