“It was probably the maid’s staircase,” Jeff said. “The top is up by the back bedroom, which looks like it was the maid’s room, and it leads to the kitchen, and down here, which was probably the coal or wood cellar in those days.”

“Man, it’s really dark down here,” Tag added, and burped loudly.

“It’ll be ok though, right, Chris?” Justin asked anxiously.

“Yeah, man, it’s great,” Chris reassured him, enjoying the brief look of consternation that crossed Justin’s face at being called “man” by his boy. “And I get a fireplace, too? You didn’t tell me that. Does it work?”
“Sure does, Chris,” Jeff said, bending down to demonstrate how to open and close the damper. His ass was hard and firm in his jeans. Chris swallowed. It wasn’t just Justin – all three of these guys were hot, and this was a LOT of testosterone. He was going to have to fight to not constantly stare at them all year and let his dirty mind wander.

He knelt down by Jeff to see where the handle was in the flue, and accidentally grazed the frat boy’s smooth cheek with his beard. Embarrassed, he moved to examine the old set of pokers on the small hearth.

“Where’d ya get these?”

“They were upstairs. I got a new set for the main fireplace. There’s one up in my room, too. They gave the maid a fire in her room – nice, huh? And there used to be one in the master, but it was walled up when that room got split up.” Jeff smiled, his tanned, handsome face beaming with satisfaction at how all of his knowledge and exploration were helping the others settle in.

“That’s awesome. We’ll have to learn how to chop wood,” Chris joked.

“Heh, that can be one of your chores,” Justin said slyly.

“We’ll get a cord delivered in November,” Jeff responded.

“Yeah, chores – do you guys have some kind of system going?” Chris asked.

The other three chuckled.

“Woodard tried to inflict something on us,” Tag said, finishing his beer. “But I don’t remember what the fuck it was,” he laughed.

“Yeah, we need to revisit that,” Jeff said a little tartly.

“We can talk about chores later on,” Justin added, with another piercing glance at his former roommate. Chris started to blush and get hard. He cleared his throat.

“Well, that’s great. I’m gonna start to unpack.”

“Cool. I’m gonna grab something to grill for dinner,” Jeff replied. “Newton, wanna come with?”

“Sure, why not,” Tag answered affably. “Steaks, right? None of that chicken kebab shit.”

“You’re buyin’, Newton, you can get what you want,” Jeff grinned.

“Fuck you, Woodard. Coming, Corvino?”

“Yeah, I’ll catch up with you. Gotta send a couple emails first.”

“We can wait,” Tag offered.

“Naw, that’s ok. I’ll catch up.”

“Yeah, come on Newton. Buy me some steak,” Jeff said easily. They all laughed, and Jeff and Tag headed out of Chris’ bedroom and up the main stairs. Justin lingered behind. Jock and boy waited until they heard the front door slam, and a car pull out of the driveway.

Chris stood silently, his muscles tense, his light blue eyes saying everything. He smiled nervously. Justin spoke first.

“It’s good to see you, boy.”
“You too, Sir!”

Justin sauntered over, and stood in front of Chris without touching him.

“You’re looking good, boy. You’ve been working out.”
“Yes, Sir,” Chris responded, pleased. “You look great too, Sir.”

And Justin did. His t-shirt, purposely a size too small, clung to his torso, highlighting his meaty pecs and the arms that bulged out of the sleeves. A hint of roundness at the belly made it all sweeter and sexier. Beefy, but not ripped. Powerful, but comforting. Chris drank it in after three months of thirst.

Justin inched forward, backing Chris up without laying a hand on him, until the boy with the dark blond beard and quivering thighs felt something hit his shoulder: one of the two support beams in the room. Now they touched, barely, as Justin advanced. Chris could feel the jock’s warm breath on his face, and as Justin reached his big arms out, he could smell the hot musk of the Dom’s pits.

Justin took Chris’ wrists in his hands, and slowly bent the boy’s arms back around the beam. Chris was surrounded, immobilized, and now hard as a rock.

“I’m glad you still remember how to address me properly,” Justin growled.

“Yes, Sir,” Chris whispered, his eyes suddenly revealing their depth. Justin looked in, then smoothly adjusted away from the intensity of the gaze.

Be careful, he thought. Lookin’ in there too deep is always trouble.

“We’re gonna have an awesome year, Chrissy,” Justin said. “You and me, back in the same house. You’re gonna get all the cock you want. All the cock you need, boy.”

“Yes, Sir!” Chris humped his boner against the bigger man’s hip.

“Yeah, your little guy might get to shoot off now and then too,” Justin laughed. “But first we gotta set some ground rules.”
“Yes, Sir.” Chris wanted to be kissed and ravished right on the spot, against the pole, but he gamely paid attention.

“First is the big one.” Justin released Chris’ wrists and stepped back to be sure he was understood. “Newton and Woodard have no idea what all’s gone on between us. And you have to make sure that they NEVER do.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“It’s not a game, Chris. They can NEVER find out. We have to be really, really careful.”
“Ok, Justin. I understand.”

“I’ve got all kinds of plans for you this year, boy, but if they find out, it’s all over. Got it?”

“Yes, of course, Sir.”

“They suspect nothing, and I’ve set this all up so that it will all look perfectly normal to them. That’s why Newton can’t have his game room next door to your bedroom, boy. No one can ever hear or see anything.”

God, so much fear and tension, Chris thought. I get it. Can’t we just get to the fun part?

“I understand, Sir. That was clever of you.”

Justin looked pleased with himself.

“It wasn’t easy to convince him, but it all turned out ok. And that staircase . . .” Justin jerked his head quickly over his shoulder. “That’s gonna be my little secret passage. That’s how I’ll get down here for you to service me. And I’m gonna be down here a LOT,” Justin smirked.

That’s more like it, Chris thought, and he eagerly let himself fall into the fantasy – the secret door, the clandestine trysts, the sex den hidden in plain sight. Yeah, it sounded pretty fuckin’ hot.

“I sure as fuck hope so, Sir,” Chris answered with a grin.

“We’ll talk about your language later,” Justin said reprovingly, “not to mention calling me ‘man’. Don’t think that’ll go unpunished, boy.”

“Yes, Sir,” Chris replied delightedly, for that was exactly what he had been hoping for.

“In fact, we have a few minutes right now.” Justin planted a foot on a nearby box, grabbed Chris by his 28-inch waist and unceremoniously lifted him over his raised knee. Chris’ workout shorts and undies came down in one swift motion, revealing a tight, lightly hairy pair of buns, and . . .

SMACK!! SMACK!!! SMACK!!

“You will NEVER address me that way again, boy!”

SMACK!! SMACK!!

“It’s ‘Sir’ or nothing, got it, boy?”
“Yes, Sir!”

Chris writhed around, but he was in heaven. He felt so vulnerable hoisted in the air like this, legs kicking like a little boy.

SMACK!! SMACK!!! SMACK!!

It was over too quickly. Justin deposited Chris on the floor, and the boy rubbed his pink bottom and then his four-inch dick through his shorts.

“You know there’s a lot more of that coming, boy, but we don’t have time right now.”
“Yes, Sir,” Chris sighed.

“And I gotta test something out. Hang on.”

Justin looked around the move-in mess.

“There a belt anywhere?”

“Yeah, over here.”
Chris went to his garment bag and found a dress belt.

“That’s fine, boy. I want you whip that beam with it as hard as you can.”

“Huh?”

“Just do it, boy.”

Chris walked back to the support pillar and lashed it with his belt. It wrapped around the wood with a loud THWACK.

“Ok good. Now do that again, and keep doing it.”

“Why?”

“You’ll see boy. And that’s a dozen for not calling me ‘Sir'”.

Chris resumed whipping the beam, and Justin headed into the laundry room, closing the door behind him.

Oh, I get it, Chris thought, and enthusiastically whipped the post with all his strength.

Justin walked around the laundry room – yeah, I was right, he thought. No way this woulda worked. You can hear it loud and clear.

The main stairwell was a little better, but he could still hear the blows pretty distinctly. Once the door to the stairs was closed and he was in the living room though . . . he held his breath, hoping.

I’ll be damned, he thought. Not a fuckin’ thing. Really? Holy shit, this is fuckin’ unbelievable!

He strolled through the first floor . . . there was a faint rhythmic sound in the dining room – he must be right over where Chris was standing. But the bones of the old house sure were strong. The walls and floor were thick as hell. And when he was only beating boyflesh and not something that was attached to the house . . . he’d be golden.

Justin hurried into the kitchen, and listened again, particularly by the door to the back stairs. Still nothing. They couldn’t be complacent, they’d still have to be careful – but it was looking good. Now for the riskiest part. He opened the door and stood in the back stairwell. Yeah, he could hear it here. Hmm. Maybe some soundproofing on the other side of the basement door? Like in a recording studio. Easy enough to do, and no one but him was ever gonna be down there to see it. He climbed the stairs, his big calves flexing. Up top, you couldn’t hear it.

Chris’ arm was tired by the time Justin appeared through the door to the back stairs.

“You can stop now, Chrissy. Good boy.”

“Well?”

Justin beamed.

“We’re good. I can do all kinds of things to you down here, and no one will hear it . . . especially after I add some egg crate foam to the doors.”

That was hot, but also a little creepy, Chris thought . . . but he put the twinge aside when he looked at Justin’s muscular thighs leading up to a large and appetizing basket in his mesh shorts. Fuck, I wanna get my mouth in there so bad . . .

“Awesome, Sir.”

“Alright, you get unpacking, boy. I’m gonna head upstairs before Newton and Woodard get back.”

Chris looked wistfully after his Dom’s hot, meaty ass as it disappeared up the stairs.

That’s another thing I wanna get my mouth up in. Fuck. Oh well . . .

Chris turned to face his new room. There was crap everywhere. And now he wanted to get off, but he restrained himself, not knowing if Justin was planning on poking his head in at any time to check on him. Probably.

Probably! Chris grinned. This is fucking perfect. Tons of space down here, I can make it my own little sanctuary . . . and the hottest fucking jock in the country has total access to use me and make me his at any time. And he WANTS to. How could I NOT have said yes to this??

I know that not everything was perfect this summer, but I had a really good feeling about where we were going. I thought we were experimenting, and growing, and evolving. I get that life looks different in college, but I’ve learned that relationships take careful nurturing on everyone’s part. I thought you were mature enough to know that, too, but now I realize I was wrong.

Mark’s words echoed suddenly in Chris’ head as he started putting t-shirts in his new dresser. He continued unpacking and arranging, replaying the letter in his mind like a recording, hearing Mark’s voice as the words came – the words he knew almost by heart now.

I think you’re making a really poor decision by moving in with that guy and his friends. From everything you’ve told me, he’s abusive, cruel, and probably an alcoholic. I understand how that must activate your submissive nature, but you’re playing with fire. You clearly have a self-destructive impulse, and I hope you will seek professional help.

As for me, I am done. Done seeing you, done training you – and done saving you.

Chris sighed impatiently and threw an empty box across the room.

Forget him. Just forget him. He’s an uptight, pretentious leather queen who thought he’d have a nice piece of college tail to boss around for a while. Remember how quickly he dropped you after he fucked you for the first time? Yeah. Experimenting, growing, evolving, nurturing, my ass. He would have dumped you as soon as you stopped being young.

Concentrate on now. On what you have, not what you missed. You made your choice: own it and stick with it.

Chris surveyed the room. The dresser was done, sheets were on the bed, toiletries were arranged. The books could wait until tomorrow. What else?

The September evening deepened, and the room was truly dark now.

Light. Chris hooked up the lamps he had bought, and turned them on. Much better. There was no overhead light in this room, only outlets, some of which had clearly been added in a remodel. It was a good thing – with extension cords, he could just about hook everything up without feeling like he was overloading a socket and risking burning the house down.

Although, it would take a lot to bring this old thing down, he thought as he looked at the walls. He could put his posters up tomorrow, that would make it look a little less dingy. The carpet wasn’t great – thin and gray. Maybe he could find some cheap rugs on Craigslist. He put his laptop and phone on the big wooden desk Justin had assembled, and plugged them both in to charge.

Right, the garment bag. He picked it up from where he had left it, and started filling the little closet, which looked as if it had been tacked on to the room as an afterthought. Not quite enough space in there to hang everything – the jeans would have to be folded and put on a shelf or in the dresser. Shirts, shoes, slacks went in . . . and one very nice suit.

Chris smiled. This was the suit he had bought with Justin’s birthday present last spring – a gift certificate to a classy men’s store. He had gotten something solid, useful, and on sale, of course; a very nice blue pin stripe, not too flashy, good for different occasions. Youthful-looking in cut, but still classic, understated. He had had enough left over for a tie, and there he had been more whimsical – a modern, arresting design, largely in purple. It made his eyes look a little darker blue, or so he thought.

Like Mark’s.

Fuck Mark, Chris told himself, and smoothed the suit jacket on its hanger.

A few other mementoes from his other rooms, both on and off campus – these went on shelves or the dresser for now, and would be moved several times before finding their final and correct place. A cigarette case his grandfather had made. A little decorative box his mom had given him before she died. An empty bottle of Knob Creek – the last one he had shared with Justin in their room at Kroetzger. He had saved it as a keepsake, to remember what life had been like together when they were living apart. Christ, the last days in the dorm seemed like a decade ago now. He put it on the window sill, where the glass might refract the daylight. If any came in, he thought, a little ruefully.

Oh yes – his small tub of Vaseline. Chris cracked a smile. It was, admittedly, ridiculous that he still used that stuff to jack off instead of real lube, but hey – he liked it. That can go in the night stand. Or maybe under the bed. In the dorm, Justin had taken it away, and technically, he was still enjoined from masturbating without permission. That had certainly slipped last year when he’d lived on his own, but he’d been very assiduous about obeying during his sophomore year. He suspected that restriction would be coming back – with more stringent monitoring.

He found a little card in his box of keepsakes . . . his official invitation to be a pledge at Sigma Alpha Epsilon. Simple, with elegant writing. Signed by James F. Mackie, President. Why the fuck had he kept this? He’d thrown away the pledge book that awful night, once he’d made it to the Four Seasons after his flight from campus. He’d thrown away all the quizzes and name tags, and other dumbass paraphernalia from that horrible two months. He’d certainly thrown away the other invitation, the one that had started it all – to a rush party, sent by his old RA, Mason Evans. But he’d saved this card. Well . . . not everything about that period had been bad. There were some memories which, if not warm, were at least . . . bittersweet. He’d kept his nickname: Mr. One Fifty-Eight, for the number of swats he’d taken at Justin’s hand one very memorable night. Chris tucked the card inside his mom’s gift; a shrine to things that were gone, but still special.

At the bottom of the shoebox were, ironically, not shoes, but a pair of socks. Chris’ face lit up again. This was the pair that Justin had left in the mailbox. Ha. Their sweaty, delicious scent was long gone, but he had saved them anyway. Maybe he’d wash them and put them back in his Dom’s drawer. Chris wondered if he’d get to visit the jock in his upstairs bedroom, or if they’d only see each other alone down here. He suspected the latter; it was pretty obvious how Justin had set this up.

Well . . . it’s still pretty fuckin’ hot, Chris thought, putting the worn socks on the window sill with the empty bottle, for now.

Skidding tires and muffled white-boy hip-hop wafted down; the others must be back. Chris dragged a leather chair his dad had given him over to the fireplace, and repositioned a lamp so it would be a good reading spot. He sat down for a minute, sorting out the sounds from upstairs. It was just as Justin had said: he could hear footsteps, but they seemed very distant. So did the voices. He flipped the lamps off and sat in darkness for a few moments, taking it all in. A wave of intense emotion passed over him. He had never thought he’d be here. So near to Justin. With a whole school year ahead of them. His heart’s desire had never been closer. And there was risk, too, which was scary when contemplating what might be lost no sooner than it had been gained, but which also gave it all an extra frisson. Being the secret bitch in the basement might be pretty fuckin’ awesome after all.

“Hey, Chris!” Jeff’s voice echoed down the main staircase. “Come on up if you want a beer and some dinner.”

“Be there in a sec,” Chris yelled.

Damn. The friendliness today of the two roommates who were not Justin was almost more overwhelming than being so close to his Dom. He hadn’t known to what degree he would be included here. He did know he wasn’t really one of them, but maybe, in this retreat, away from campus and the frat house . . . just maybe, he could fit in.

Please don’t be in touch. When your fantasies fall apart in a month, you can find someone else to pick up the pieces. – Mark

Chris shook the letter out of his head, and scampered up the back stairs. The boys were all on the deck, talking loudly and tipsily.

“Finally, the party can begin,” Jeff called out as Chris opened the screened door.

“Thanks,” Chris mumbled shyly, accepting a beer. He caught Justin’s gleaming eye, but quickly turned to admire the steaks. He knew that look. His man was horny, and if he wasn’t careful, he’d pop a little woody right here in front of everyone. “Meat looks great,” he said, at least partly meaning the juicy slab on the grill.

“Only the best to welcome our new roommate,” Jeff said gallantly, and they all hoisted their bottles at the handsome newcomer.

“Thanks, guys.” Chris was now totally embarrassed, but Jeff shot him a look of such natural, fraternal warmth that he began, very slowly, to relax.

The atmosphere on the deck was almost giddy. Despite the early autumn chill, the fraternity boys were mostly still in workout clothes, posturing for each other and for the former pledge, topping each other with jokes. They caromed between the wooden railings, in and out of chairs, touching arms here, chests there, charged with some kind of animal joy that Chris found foreign but incredibly alluring. There was the same inherent sexiness to these guys there had always been when he was a pledge at SAE, but without the fear that had also been so prevalent at the frat house. They seemed . . . unleashed here. What Chris admired the most was the comfort with which all three of them inhabited their bodies. There was an ease to their movements, a masculine grace which the alcohol heightened. The poses and physicality all teenage boys practice in private – they owned them now, and flowed and shifted from one to another naturally. Chris usually felt like he was still in junior high, acutely aware of whether or not he was holding his books like a girl, and correcting himself if he was doing it wrong. These three all knew how to be guys. It was in their deepest being. They didn’t have to pretend.

 

Continued on the next page (link Below)