Undergraduate Experiments: Drunk

Oh, fuck, that's a fine set of coordinated moves he's demanding. I roll over on the bed, manage not to fall off it, figure I don't need my trousers any further down than my knees, shove my damp briefs down too, and scrape myself onto my elbows. Then I shuffle arms and torso backwards until my bum's up in the air.

Couldn't be more clear. I'm a faggot gagging for it.

Some men might be embarrassed -- most men, actually -- but there's advantages of being an alcoholic. I've had so many more embarrassing incidents, even before you consider all the personality failures and shit I'm drinking to blot out, that this doesn't register. Right now, getting fucked would really help to shut up my mind.

He's standing, looking down at me. Thoughtful. Anticipating, or scared?

"You got...?" I ask, forgetting the right words.

Silently, he walks to the bedside table and pulls out a pack of protectives and the largest bottle of lube I've seen in my life. It's got a pump-action squirter and all.

"Fucking hell!"

"What? You don't like Liquid Silk? It's water based, shouldn't irritate..."

"Jus'... the size of that..."

"More lube the better, right?"

"True, that." I prop my face on my arm, turn, try to look coy. "Go on, show me what I'm getting."

He opens his fly.

"Oh, sweet Jesus!"

"What?"

I twist around to face him properly. "Sit down."

He's sitting by my head, his jeans undone, his shorts utterly defeated by this monster cock erupting out of them.

I have to get it in my mouth. Hell, it's so massive, I don't know if I even can! And now it's stiffening... My jaw and shoulder are strained, just getting close to the thing. I whimper.

"Eh, another time, duck. You want your teeth near my precious foreskin, you sober up first. In the meantime..." He steps back and rubbers up, all pearly and glimmering reflections in the latex, the size of his meat compared to his slender wrists simply obscene. I seriously don't know if I can take this cock, but I'm happy to die trying!

By the time he's slapped on handfuls of lube, shiny and dripping, I'm whimpering with want. Probably dripping, too.

Richie takes a moment to tie his hair back again. Not caring about getting it all sticky; I approve. He's staring in my eyes, into my horrible soul.

"What are you thinking?"

Oh, the bastard! Worse than a woman! I drink to stop myself thinking, is that not clear enough? Maybe it is, and he's twisting the knife in anyway? What lie to tell him? It has to be a lie; I'm not saying anything about needing to black out, to have a break from being me, for sure.

Course, there's an easy bit of truth, which is probably what he's expecting, and now he's looking curious and all worried because I haven't said it, trust me to fuck up even simply getting fucked... no point saying anything now...

"What? Tell me what you want." He's demanding; it gets me hard.

So I manage to say it. "Please, I need that huge cock to fuck me. Shee...See if you can make me take it."

That was coherent consonants, and everything. I must be sobering up.

"I'll see what I can do," he promises, suddenly all cheerful like a fucking milkman or a movie chimney-sweep or similar eejit. He clambers up behind me, the college mattress creaking, his arms on each side of my waist, and his enormous dong thwacking against my arse.

Man, I'm stiff as brick. I'm a tad nervous, but my mind is now totally free of all those intrusive thoughts. All I can think about is that great dick and wanting it to invade my desperate wee arsehole.

He's slicked up his fingers well too, which I notice as he deigns to shove two of them deep inside, to the large knuckle. Hard and invasive and fantastic.

I push back against him, starting to purr. I'm fucking myself against his rough palm, firm, strong, controlling. It's almost like spanking myself, and there's a vision of a hot image, me over the bastard's lap. Laura and the girls would probably want to watch...

The man mentions, all quiet and controlled, "You can scream as much as you like. No-one lives in the rooms downstairs, and sound doesn't travel across the stairwell."

I'm not going to scream yet, though I admit I'm groaning, wanting more even while this is so good. He trails his fingernail over a point inside me which has me seeing stars, even more than I was already with the double vision.

After a length of time between a second and a century, I tell him, "Go on."

"You're sober enough to be sure?"

"I'm soba nuff to be a fuckin' shlut. Slut. Sure, have at. Fuck me, if yer not a frit pussy."

I think he's laughing, but he removes his fingers despite my whimpering, pulls my arse cheeks apart to see what he's doing, and sticks the eye of his cock over my arsehole. I could probably have done with more stretching, but I'm trolleyed enough it shouldn't hurt much.

He's squirted more lube over my hole, thank heaven, and is now forcing it in with a thumb, no, the tip of his cock. First inch in, sphincter time, relax. Let myself be used.

I may be a disappointment in so many ways, but I'm a good wee fuck. Great for taking a thick cock, and now I'm proving it.

I pant a bit, feeling the stretch all round my hole, not just at one side or another like usual. It's grand. I want it.

The tosser's stopped. "OK, mate?"

Better than calling me duck, or fucking 'petal', like he does Laura. "Aye, grand. When I say go, you push, got it?"

"Pudding race," he murmurs. I get the connection a few hours later. The cunt's barmy, I tell you. "Yeah. Go?"

"Go," I tell him, pushing my hole wide open as I can, and he's managing it, he's brute-forcing through and into my arse, powerful cock overpowering my bum, me stretched all round this great shaft he's shoved in me.

It burns in spots, aches all over, and fills me completely. Sure it's painful, but it's so good. So, so good. Mostly because it's so overwhelming, it's all I can think of. All I've ever thought of and all I will ever dream of.

There's panting near my ear. "All right? Ready for more?"

"There's more?" Somehow I remember, yes, cocks do go in three dimensions: you take the width from a man's fingers, then the cross-section like I just have, me the wide open slut-boy, but then there's still the glorious length... "Oh, please..."

He's laughing again, the fucker, but he holds my thighs to his and forces himself another inch deep into me.

Heaven is a place on earth, thank you Belinda. Just as well. My confession would take years.

This is purgatory, too. It's unbearable, how he's stretching my hole beyond any tolerance for it, but at the same time I know I never want it to end.

I just exhale. Sounds, let alone words, are beyond me right now.

I hear his huff of breath. He shifts his arms, and another couple inches of my flesh is stretched open around his determined cock.

I don't think I've ever been stretched so deep and wide. It feels like I'm straining round a Coke can, it's that wide and perverted. Come on, we've all thought about it. Or a Red Bull, at least.

He's moving. There's a bit more, deeper, not that much, but his hairy bollocks are tapping against mine, always a sign a guy's just about there.

I'm probably going to split in two around him, which'll be brilliant, me and my clone, one to fuck him, one to suck him; nah, can't do that at once less I'm doing the fucking, course I could just fuck myself, ah, no, I'm in one piece and I'm impaled on the biggest shaft I've ever had up my wee little arse. 'Stop thinking,' I tell myself, 'just feel it.'

He's bottomed out, his pubes all rubbing my bum, an extra strain at my entrance, denim rubbing against my legs and his T-shirt against my back. He hasn't even bothered to take his clothes off, yet his cock is so deep in me I swear it's bashing my ribs. I'm floating off to take it, letting him do this unspeakable thing to my body.

Making my arsehole gape wide open.

Sodomy.

Buggery.

Perversion.

God, it's all brilliant.

So deviant, so delightful. Fuck knows how anyone does it sober, no assistance from ethanol to reconcile those concepts nor help them relax. I'm not even gonna try.

He's holding me tight, making wee thrusts, and half of them are making me moan like a whore, it's such a mindfuck. Of course, he's a fucking biologist, so he cottons on and adjusts until he hits the right spot every time.

I let my head and shoulders fall, and let the screams stream out of my mouth. I see gold and yellow and silver sensations, and feel deep growing mountains inside me, bass beats in my ears, my mind taken over by cock. It's a willing surrender. I'm totally happy to give in and let him feel he's won.

I guess he came, too. Must have done, eventually, right?

I wasn't paying attention. Too busy groaning for all the world to hear.

The window's still open, so I bet they did.

Eventually I feel his cock slither out of me, some paper towels from under the bed used to wipe up the worst. Ha -- our Richie likes his industrial-production wanks too! I'll have to suck him to climax, sometime.

Richie stands up, removes his jeans.

Being fucked by a clothed man is always pretty damn hot. But now I look at him afresh, appreciating the new rear view as he discards his shorts and T-shirt and unselfconsciously moseys to the basin, long limbs and firm arse on show. He's one fine-looking ride, this six foot of naked man, his cock swinging free, white, and twenty-one...

He takes a swig of water, brings me some. I drink. That groaning makes one hoarse, you know. Besides, now I get to enjoy the full-frontal view. The bastard's body is gorgeous, tall, pale, with the biggest cock ever sticking out.

He considers brushing his teeth, instead asking, "How you doing, now?"

Another fucking open-ended question, like the bloody college counsellor woman. All special 'caring' voice and no clue, she is. "I'd love that drink you refused me earlier."

He freezes a moment, then mutters, "Fuck it." He goes back to his living room, returns with a bottle of peach schnapps with a few inches in the bottom.

"This all you got?"

"It's all you're getting. And we're sharing. Shove up."

He wants to sit down on the bed, leaning against the wall, so I push my trousers and pants off my feet to the floor and sit next to him, both of us bare-arse naked. By the time he's had his swig of the booze and passes it to me, there's hardly a double measure left, so I finish it off for him.

"You fucker. Well, that's yer lot. D'you promise not to chunder on me in the night?"

I won't. "Don't do that. Waste o' good spirits."

"Oh, you only drink good booze nowadays, do you? Pull the other one. You not going to shit the bed, neither?"

I laugh; he's funny. "I doubt I'll shit at all, for a day or two. Someone's rammed everything that high up me arse!"

He's unsure how accurate that is, considers, decides it's true enough not to kick me out of his bed, which is the key thing. I don't wet beds, either, even when I black out. He goes to brush his teeth, has a quick wash-up, pisses in the basin and rinses it away, looking slightly embarrassed when he turns back round.

"Hey, why did you make me use the window?"

"You're a shortarse. Didn't want to risk the sink falling off the wall. Besides, pissing out onto the roof is fun." He purses his lips, that smile returning to his eyes. "Sometimes, I aim for the tourists. I've not hit one, yet."

I grin. Richie, he's all right.

"You can use my toothbrush if you want."

I don't want to move, and tell him so.

"Whatever. I'm not kissing you, either way."

Fair. I fall asleep, hot naked man next to me, the throbbing in my used arse the best lullaby a man could have.

When I awake, Richie's sitting up, reading a reprint paper. 'Review of cell membrane proteins', it says. It's probably his idea of light reading, not being original research.

"You sobered up? Hung over?"

"I don't really do hangovers. Aye, I'm clear-headed enough." Too fucking sober to cope with a weekend, all that free time weighing down upon my soul, but he doesn't need to know that.

"Shower, then. Towel, there."

We head out of his living room down a wider staircase, then across the court to another one, to its basement, with showers. Why the showers didn't get put in the staircase with the laundry and bathtubs is beyond me, but the Master's Lodge is on this side, so I guess there's plumbing. Must be.

I wrap the bath towel round my waist, for decency in public. Richie doesn't bother. I stay a couple steps behind him, so I can admire his arse as we wander down the path. A couple girls are returning from early-morning rowing and appreciate the sight. They really should make more of the naked men as a tourist attraction -- or maybe not. Too many swarming tourists in summer as it is! Women students tend to choose rooms in the more modern buildings. They like their creature comforts, like toilets on the same floor. So do I.

No-one else is down there, so I soap up and get all clean, then step into Richie's cubicle. There's just enough space for him to lean back against the wall and for me to kneel, shower curtain clinging to my back, and get his great big cock properly into my mouth. He's not objecting. No man ever does, in my experience.

Ah, a man's come for breakfast! As liquid meals go, it's probably the healthiest I ever have.

Richie says nothing at all, not a word, until we're back in his room and dressed. "Canteen's still serving breakfast. You coming?"

A full breakfast for under a pound is never to be sniffed at, so I follow and fill my plate, despite the noisy clattering and chattering and smell of grease. Rich leads me to a quiet corner, seeming to feel the same way. He's paid for both our meals.

"Tell me, how do you want paying back?"

He swallows some black pudding while he thinks. "Up to you. I'd never object to being sucked off, any time you're not pissed out of your skull."

"Could do. I'm happy to be fucked again, any time. Well, maybe once a week."

Bastard does a wee shrug. "That would be more for you than me. I think we proved it -- I'm not really into men."

That performance was him not really into it? Oh man, I need to persuade this guy! I tell him as much.

He eyes me curiously. "I'm not saying I'd never fuck a man -- again. Just, like, a good mouth or hole is one thing, but a woman's body to go with, that's where it's at..."

He's thinking of such a body. I wonder if it's Laura, and ask. He won't say, only that he'll text Laura in a bit, go to cheer her up. Now I'm going to be wanking, thinking of him ploughing her...

"But you, you know, if you really do want to get fucked, come over any time you feel the need. I don't mind. Happy to help. Well. If I'm not busy, and you're not drunk."

"You expect me sober? Seriously?"

"Yeah. So you can give me feedback, and that."

"You expect me to take your monster cock, sober?"

The bastard smiles, tight-lipped. "It'll be tough, won't it? We'd best leave plenty of time. No hurry. So I can slowly stretch you, round a mil at a time, while you scream into my pillow..."

I think I've found what he really gets off from. Power-crazed twat. Hm, I wonder if he plays with Laura? Yet more fuel for my fantasies, there... "Sod that. I'll be screaming so the whole world hears."

He nods, still all calm. "Even better. Right. You finish your project write-up, make it good, worth a First, then I'll help you celebrate. Then you can get pissed."

We do that.

Sadly, he never wanted to fuck me again, after. The man's a total tosser. It's probably the only time I've ever had sober sex, actually. Maybe I should have got him wasted...

On the plus side, he did apply similar criteria to my tutorials, so it's become a routine during our final year: do my homework, impress my tutors, come by after, suck his cock, postpone the weekend blackout. As coping criteria go, it's not bad. Especially as he hasn't told the world about it. I'm pretty sure I'll get my degree; next term, now.

But I can't get that second fuck with him out of my mind. It was gruelling, horrible, and quite, quite brilliant.

__________

Please continue to the second half of this story, Undergraduate Experiments: Sober.

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