One Sub Stud Ch. 02

Chris made a difficult, but deliberate choice not to feel self-conscious about it. No, they were not the same. But they seemed to like him. And they definitely accepted him. Even though he was gay. No one alluded to it, of course, but his painful conversations with Tag over the last two years had made it clear that the big bear knew. And Jeff . . . really, was there anything Jeff didn't know? And still, it was all ok.

Chris finished his steak, drained his third beer, let out an incoherent yell of joy. The other three yelled in approving imitation. They all laughed. It was now quite cold outside, and they huddled over the little table, shoulder touching shoulder for warmth. They were on their island, unscrutinized, unconcerned.

"Is that a hand?" Tag mumbled, the drunkest of the three. He had the highest tolerance, and he was continually pushing it.

Chris blushed, confused . . . and brought his own hands as casually as he could to the tabletop, proving his innocence.

"Seriously, bro, who's feeling my leg up? That you?"

Justin hooted, used to this silliness. This is what male affection should be – fun, ridiculous, and definitely not romantic or gay.

"Woodard, I'm gonna kick your ass if you go any higher, bro."

"Aw damn, so fresh, Woodard," Justin yelled, getting charged.

"You're just so damn sexy, brah," Jeff purred.

They all laughed.

Tag leaned his substantial bulk into Jeff, and began to push him off his chair; the lankier boy held his ground with startlingly strong legs dug into the deck, until he slipped to the floor. He dodged quickly, though, so that Tag's own momentum brought him to meet the wood with a deep thud.

"Fuck," Tag mumbled, "Imma set you straight one of these days."

They all laughed again, and Chris wondered if there was a hidden meaning there . . . but once up, Jeff gathered the paper plates, brushing off the moment.

Chris had been bemused to learn that the roommates had no real dishes; meals in the group house had the feel of a perpetual cookout. As it happened, only Jeff (and Chris) knew how to use anything besides a grill, and it was just so much easier to throw away the plates rather than wash them.

Chris moved to help Jeff with the tidying, but the blond athlete shrugged him away.

"You have unpacking to do. We'll get a system of chores worked out soon," he added, looking meaningfully at Justin and Tag.

"What is this, man, communishm," Tag grumbled semi-coherently, but heaved his bulk off the floor and trundled off agreeably to the living room, where he was soon killing zombies with great noise and gusto. Chris nodded vaguely at the others, and crept down the back stairs, willing himself not to look at Justin for direction.

Once he got to his new room, he took out his phone, expecting a text. When none came, he paused for a minute to take stock of the evening so far; encouraged, he took advantage of the lull to fetch the six-pack of enemas he had concealed underneath some extra sheets. He trotted to the bathroom, slipped the plastic tip into his tight, hairy pucker, and douched hurriedly, wanting to be prepared for any contingency – like a good submissive should. But after ten minutes there was still no text, and no low, growly voice surprising him from behind.

Huh. Well, there's lots more to do down here, he thought, and turned on all the lamps. Let's get these books taken care of.

He left the door carefully ajar so that he'd hear his Dom on the stairs. At first, he continued to pay close attention to all the sounds coming down from the kitchen, and the occasional thump as Tag got agitated with his Xbox360, but soon he became absorbed with his task. Sorting, alphabetizing . . . Chris was an avid reader, and had accumulated quite a library. He had also taken this moving opportunity to essentially clean out his presence in his dad's house. A lot of crap from his childhood had landed in a dumpster, and he had brought only the most important stuff with him. Once he had decided to live with the guys, he had aggressively committed to it. This was a big leap away from his comfort zone, and a complete rupture from Mark. Might as well make it a comprehensive shift.

And this way, he'd be all ready to move again at the end of the year, when Justin and he found a great apartment in New York together, blocks away from what was sure to be the jock's great corner office in a financial firm . . . Chris stroked his short beard with pleasure and anticipation as he let the fantasy play out.

It was two hours before the peculiar sound of a heavy, muscular person trying to tread softly emanated from the staircase. The fuzzy corners of Chris' mouth crinkled with amusement.

Justin slowly opened the door. It creaked as he tried to close it quietly.

"A little WD-40 and some Styrofoam, and we'll be all set," he said, his brown eyes glinting in the glare. "There's too much light down here, Chrissy."

The jock took charge of the room with easy confidence, shutting off a lamp here, a lamp there, dimming the vibe from studious to sexy. He gave a cursory look at the bookshelves and the furniture arrangement, and grunted approvingly.

"Looks good so far, boy."

"Thank you, Sir." Chris was a little surprised – was this going to be an inspection? Hoping to say a real hello first, he positioned himself for a kiss, but Justin instead sauntered over to his closet. He perused Chris' shirts. The boy was nonplussed; Justin had never taken an interest in his wardrobe before.

"Nice, boy," Justin said, coming to the blue pinstripe suit.

"That's from you, Sir. You got that for me."

"Oh really? Is this what you got for your birthday? Sweet. You have good taste, boy."

"I sure do, Sir," Chris said, sidling over and running a hand over Justin's generous pecs.

"Ah – not yet, boy," Justin said, but with a smile. He walked the perimeter of the room in his athletic socks, looking curiously at Chris' décor. "You're gonna get this set up all nice, boy, you understand me? A nice private haven for you and me to enjoy."
"Yes, Sir."

Justin checked out the enclave by the fireplace.

"Nice chair, Chrissy."

"It's my dad's Sir. I'll probably read there."

"Mm hmm. And blow your Sir when he sits in it, right boy?"

"Yes, Sir!" Chris practically ran to the leather seat to kneel in front of it, but Justin rose with a smirk.

"So impatient, boy! Calm down. You'll get Sir's cock." He was obviously enjoying stretching this out, and adjusted his ample package in his green mesh Under Armour shorts. He wandered over to Chris' dresser, and opened the drawers one by one, finishing with the underwear. He held up a pair of soft boxers. "You sleep in these, right pussyboy?"

"Yes, Sir."

"But you have what . . . six pairs?"

"Yes, Sir."

"You can have one." Justin put the rest in a pile on the floor. "And boxer briefs? C'mon, Chrissy, subs don't wear those." They joined the pile of boxers.

"Yes, Sir," Chris replied, his small dick starting to swell.

"These you can keep," Justin said, holding up a pair of white no-fly briefs. "The black ones . . . no. Only the white ones."

That was only two pairs, but Chris didn't protest. He'd wear his underwear for a week at a time, or wash the same two pairs until they fell apart, for the chance to serve Justin daily until they graduated . . . or hopefully forever.

"And what the fuck is this . . .? A thong?" Justin held up a red undergarment by his thick pinky. Chris blushed.

"Yes, Sir."

"When the fuck did you get this, boy?"

"Long time ago, Sir. My freshman year. Just wanted to experiment."

"I see." Justin was skeptical, but was in too good a mood to spoil it. Just as long as they hadn't been worn for whoever had fucked Chris the first time.

Aw, fuck it, even if he had bought a thong for that asshole, it only showed what a fucking loser the guy was, dressing his boy up in girly clothes. Fuck that. Chris was turning into a hot little man, and that's what Justin wanted as his property: a real masculine fuckboy, not some force-feminized twat. If I wanted that kind of a cunt, Justin thought, I'd get a real one, like all those bitches in high school. Naw. I want this little furry-chested firecracker.

"Yeah, no more of that, Chrissy. You're a submissive male. You're my slut. You're my pussyboy, but you're not a chick. This goes, too."

"Yes, Sir." Chris felt radiant – he considered that a real compliment, and an affirmation of what he was becoming: more submissive, but paradoxically more masculine at the same time.

"The jocks you can keep, of course, boy. You'll need special permission to wear them, though." There were two jockstraps in the drawer, one white and one black. "You're gonna wear the white briefs unless I say otherwise, and you'll only wash them when I tell you."

"In fact, why don't I just leave you with the one pair." Justin tossed the second pair and the jocks on top of the pile, swept it all up in his meaty paws, and turned to face his boy.

"Strip."

Chris complied immediately, his little boner bounding in front of him as workout shorts, red t-shirt, ankle socks and boxer briefs (oops!) fell to the floor. Justin reached down for the last pair of underpants.

"Kneel there in front of the leather chair, and don't move until I come back."

Justin mounted the back stairs two at a time. He darted down the hall to his room, and put all the unapproved underwear in a used carryout bag. The two jocks and the pair of white briefs he put in his own underwear drawer, chuckling at how much smaller they were than his. He grabbed a small, rectangular box from the back of the same drawer, and tiptoed back down the hall.

Jeff smiled to himself in his room, hearing Justin try to pass unnoticed. He'd been here two months now – and Jeff knew every creak of every floorboard. And so it begins, he thought, happy for them both.

Justin eased his way down the stairs as silently as he could. Safe at the bottom, he burst back into Chris' room.

Aw damn, what a view. Fuckin' hot little fucker. And he's all mine now. All-the-fuck mine.

Justin crossed the room slowly, examining Chris' body with his dark, deep eyes. His boy was stark naked, on his knees, his arms raised and fingers locked behind his dark-blond head. The hair on his lean chest made a beautiful natural pattern; untrimmed, it swirled over each firm pec and down to a thin treasure trail which spread out again in the manliest red-brown pubes. What jutted out from them was less than manly.

But it's so fuckin' cute, Justin thought. That tiny useless dick, pokin' out like it wants to get in something . . . but we all know what really makes it hard is the thought of serving, and that it craves abuse. Fuck! Look at that boy, head down in subservient posture – and all I asked him to do was kneel and stay. Damn that bitch knows its place. Which is why . . .

"Good job, Chrissy. You're a good boy."

"Thank you, Sir!" Chris beamed, his dick bouncing.

The jock sat in the big brown leather chair.

"C'mere, roomie. I got something for ya."

Chris shuffled forward on his knees, hands still behind his head.

"You can put your arms down, boy. Relax."

Chris lowered his hands to his sides.

"Look at me, boy." Justin was still a little drunk, and speaking in his lowest, sexiest tone. Chris looked up. There was a box in Justin's hands.

"So I got this for you a while ago, Chrissy, but I didn't want to give it to you until I was sure we were gonna be . . . gonna be ok with each other."

Chris blinked, not wanting to go back to that awful spring.

"I almost gave it to you on your birthday, but it was too soon. I wanted to make sure we were gonna live together again."

Chris nodded, his mouth too dry all of a sudden to say 'Yes, Sir'.

"Take it."

Chris took the shallow box.

"Open it."

Chris lifted the black lid. There was tissue paper inside; he parted the folds. He saw a thin strip of leather – was it a necklace? He took it out of the box.

It was. Or rather, it was a choker, made of black, braided leather, with an engraved, cylindrical silver ornament flanked by two small silver beads threaded onto the middle. The design on the ornament looked vaguely Celtic. There was a silver hook and eye to fasten it. Chris held it, very surprised. Justin took the box from him and set it on the floor; then he put his own big paws around Chris' slim hands.

"So I found this last spring in a really cool, artsy store. It wasn't a jewelry store, or some kind of kinky sex store, it was just this cool place I walked into because somehow the vibe of it reminded me of you. And I was wanting you bad then, and wanting to have what we had when we were roommates two years ago. I wanted a boy. My boy. And I saw this thing, and I thought, that's perfect for Chris. Because it's like a collar, but special and not obvious. It's leather, you know, so that's right for a boy's collar, and the little silver thing is like a little cock and two little balls, like yours, and they're strung up on the collar and offered up. To a Sir. To me.

"So I wanna put this on you, Chris, and take ownership of you. You're my boy. I'm your Sir. There are gonna be a lot of rules for you this year, and a lot of hot times, and we're gonna go where we weren't able to go before. And you're gonna wear this every day, all the time, and it's gonna remind you each and every moment that you belong to me.

"It's gonna remind you of what the rules are, and what I expect of you, and what you owe me, and what you're gonna do for me. And no one's gonna know what it is except the two of us. And it's our secret, our pact. Our promise.

"I'm your Sir, and you're gonna obey me, always. And you're my boy, and I'm gonna punish you when you deserve it, and reward you when you earn it, and . . . protect you when you need it."

Chris' heart was so full, he didn't know if he'd be able to keep the tears back. This . . . this so far exceeded his expectations for tonight. Holy fuck. Was this really Justin? The jock he craved, but had also feared?

"Yes, Sir!" Chris shot forth in a low voice. "Fuck YES, Sir! I will obey you, I will submit to your punishments, I will hope for your rewards, and I will make you proud, Sir."

Their eyes met for a flash, blue and brown. Justin quickly looked down at the choker.

"When I put this on you, Chris, you're gonna be my boy, more than you are already, more than you ever were. Is this what you want, boy?"

"Yes, Sir!" Chris said fervently.

Justin looked briefly into his eyes again, and put the leather strand around Chris' neck. He fastened it in back, and centered the decoration, so that it hung exactly in the tender hollow between the boy's collar bones.

You look fucking amazing, boy, Justin thought, his mind grappling with the gravity of this moment. You are the most beautiful thing I've ever known.

He couldn't, wouldn't dare express that in words.

Aloud, he simply said, "You're mine now, boy."

I LOVE YOU, Chris shouted in his head, but said, as meaningfully as he could, "Thank you, Sir!"

"Good boy. Now kiss my feet in gratitude for your collar."

Chris did it, once on the top of each foot, and lifting them up, once again on each sole.

"I'm yours, Sir."

"You're a champ, Chrissy," Justin said, losing the solemn look. "You always go one little step further than I think you will. You are one sub stud, you little fucker."

"Thank you, Sir!"

"And now, you're gonna get me off," Justin said matter-of-factly.

FINALLY, Chris thought.

Justin got up and sauntered cockily over to the bed, dropping his clothes as he went. Chris drooled at the perfect ass globes, muscles shifting with each step, and the broad, smooth, powerful back. He gasped when his man turned around, his enormous, uncut erection too heavy to stick straight up, but jutting out from his hairy groin like a veiny missile. Justin laid down and grabbed Chris' pillow, putting it, and his hands, behind his head. He spread his legs.

"Up here boy," he called in a low voice.

Chris clambered eagerly up onto his bed, and crouched on all fours next to his stud, waiting for instruction. Justin spit in his hand, and started rubbing his dick, sliding the skin halfway down the head and back, getting the shaft wet. A thick glob of precum gathered on his piss slit, and gradually coated the fat head of his cock as he rubbed.

"While I'm getting this wet, lube up your hole, boy."

Chris leaned over to the nightstand drawer.

"No, with your spit, Chrissy. No extra lube tonight. Just us. What we make with our bodies."

Chris' stomach tightened with anxiety at the enormous bone in front of him, hard to take under any circumstances. Yeah, Mark was huge too, and had fucked him a couple times last summer, but it's not like he was in any way accustomed to regular anal assault – he was not fully broken in yet. He hocked up as much saliva as he could, got two fingers wet, and started rubbing his boyhole, sticking one, then the other in.

"Take your time, Chrissy. We're not in a hurry. Not tonight."
Well, that's a relief, Chris thought. He slowed the pace of his finger-thrusts, rewetting his hand when necessary, enjoying in a perverted way the musky taste of his own fingers. Justin continued to spit-polish his own knob slowly, hazily looking at his boy.

"You about ready back there, boy?"

"Yes, Sir, I think so, Sir."

Justin smiled.

"Good boy." His tone was friendly and mild. "So this is how it's gonna go, Chrissy. You're gonna get up here and straddle me. I'm gonna lay back and not do a thing. You're gonna squat over my huge cock and slowly impale yourself on it, looking at me the whole time. I wanna see your face as it goes in. As slow as you want."

Chris' little meat bounced as he obediently got into position.

"And there's something else you're gonna do, boy. You're gonna put your hands behind your back, and use those nice leg muscles you got to do all the work."

Chris gulped.

"What if I fall over, Sir?"

"You won't, boy. And if you do, you just get back up and keep trying. Ready? Hands behind your back."

"Are you gonna tie them up, Sir?"

"No, boy. This is all about control. Your muscle control. Your willpower to slide down without supporting yourself with your hands. Your mind over matter. Your control of your impulses. And my complete control of you, boy. Got it?"

"Yes, Sir!" Chris was hot and bothered beyond belief now. He felt challenged, but excited. He wanted to succeed for his Dom, and he knew he would. He dutifully put his hands behind his back, grasping his slim left wrist in his right fist, to make the posture a little easier and more stable. He rose up high on his knees, finding the tip of Justin's cock with his crack. He positioned his tight hole over it, and tried to lower himself on it. It popped away. He tried again: same result.

"Can one of us hold it steady, Sir, so I can get on it?"

"No, Chrissy," Justin said grinning. "I want you to use that big, problem-solving brain of yours to figure out how to do it."

Chris smiled back.

"Yes, Sir." He thought about it for a second, and asked, "Can I put a little more spit in my hole, Sir?"

"No, boy. Better find a solution before your cunt dries out."

Fucker, Chris thought, but ok, I can do this. He got up on his feet, hands still clasped behind him, and stood to stretch his thighs.

Ok. He squatted down again, carefully aiming for Justin's cock. He made contact with his hole, and with immense concentration, very slowly sat down and let his ass lips open around the head. This was the hard part: how to get the glans in without it popping out.

"You're doin' great, Chrissy. Feels good."

This would have been easier on a harder surface, Chris thought, but at least I prefer a firm mattress. I can do this.