Mr. One Fifty-Eight Ch. 05

AUTHOR'S NOTE: While each chapter is a story in its own right, you will probably enjoy them more if you have already read the series Chris Donaldson, as well as Chapters 1-4 of Mr. One Fifty-Eight. The characters' back stories are revealed there. All characters depicted in this story are over 18.

*****

Chris paced antsily back and forth, eyeing the windows and the snow coming down outside. Wet, white drifts were already forming against the bottoms of the three panes in the dormer, blown by what were apparently gusts of up to 45 mph. It was a nasty storm, predicted to turn into a major blizzard – a great night to be inside and cozy, which Chris was. There was no kitchen in the attic suite, but he had tons of prepared food from the café where he worked stored carefully in his small refrigerator. He could easily camp out for a few days. He already had candles lit, not because of the looming possibility of snow weighing down lines and causing an outage, but for atmosphere.

Because this was supposed to be a date night. He circled back to his desk and clicked "refresh" on the radar map of the storm. His area was already light blue, with a dark blue mass headed his way.

How is Justin even going to get here, he wondered, much less get back to the frat house? Maybe he'll be stuck here. Chris small dick stiffened. That would actually be fantastic. 24, 48, 72 uninterrupted hours with my Sir. We haven't had that since the dorm.

Chris sighed. His expectations for the year with Justin had been so far from reality; his hopes for their continued relationship had been seriously frustrated. Yeah, they had sex periodically, and it was hot. Sometimes incredibly hot, like their manic fuck before Christmas. But that was more than two months ago. They had met only twice since then; it was so damned hard to coordinate, between Justin's frat obligations, his insistence that his roommates never have reason to comment about unusual absences, and his moods.

Chris had carefully suggested tonight: a Thursday, so as not to take away from Justin's weekend at the frat, and the day before Valentine's Day instead of the actual day, so as not to insist on anything that might actually look romantic. God forbid. Justin had become so touchy about affection this year – he was again uptight about kissing, hugs, or any friendly contact that didn't involve his 8-inch cock. Not to mention just hanging out, which they had done easily enough when they were living together, after the first bumpy months. So Chris exercised extreme caution at all times, striving to please his Dom without demanding a thing. It was hard. Chris ached to show his love – and love it was – but lived in constant fear of being shunned if he revealed too much.

And now it was snowing. Not like they hadn't been punished enough weather-wise that winter . . . the horrible cold wave at the beginning of the year had been brutal. But were classes canceled? Of course not. There was a very good reason everyone hated winter quarter, and this year was proving to be a superb example of why.

Chris stopped his pacing in front of the large dresser that had come with the room, looking at himself in the mirror. He had trimmed his beard and his pubes a bit; he could see this because he was naked. He wanted to be fully available and ready to go when Justin arrived, to underscore his commitment to the jock he adored. The heat was cranked up so he didn't shiver . . . and so his dick didn't shrink. Although it can't get much smaller anyway, he thought wryly. Oh well.

Oh God, this snow. And I can't text him again, either – that would be nagging. Fuck! I hate this. He eyed the window again; was the white line already higher? The bottle of Knob Creek on the sill looked tempting. The hell with it.

Chris generally made a practice of being sober when Justin arrived; much as he worshipped his former roommate, the man was unpredictable, and usually arrived fairly lit himself. And Chris hated to get the party started until he knew for sure there was going to be one. But . . . a few fingers over ice would help calm him down.

Like that night at the Four Seasons, he remembered suddenly with a pang. Man. That had been quite a night. An emotional roller coaster to be sure, but also some of the most connected sex they had ever had. Actually, there was really no contest. That was perhaps the ONLY truly connected sex they had ever had. And more and more, that's what Chris longed for. Sure, he was a sub, but he needed a boyfriend. Someone he could be completely honest with, someone to trust and confess his feelings to without fear of recrimination.

Every time he saw Justin, he thought: maybe it'll be tonight. Maybe this time is the time he'll say, "Chrissy, I really like you. I think . . . I think I love you. I want to be with you." But it hadn't happened yet.

All the same, tonight was Valentine's Day eve. Maybe there was some lingering romance in the air, some lucky energy. You couldn't stop hoping.

And so Chris paced in circles around his room as the snow fell. He remembered another time he had waited naked for Justin, but had shaved most of his body smooth. That had been a bad night. Justin had flipped out at seeing him, and punched him hard several times in the stomach, causing Chris to run away from the dorm for a couple weeks. At least THAT didn't happen anymore. Justin was beyond that kind of physical abuse now. He might withdraw, but he didn't hit. Except to spank, and that was hot. Chris smiled. Finally, he forced himself to sit down with his glass of bourbon, and breathe deeply. There were ways to pass the time. He could text someone. Who? Mark?

Chris didn't know what to do with the handsome ad executive in his late twenties. They hadn't seen each other in months. Mark was always the fallback – the guy who would be there in a pinch (and Lord knows, he had been) – but Chris could never feel right about hooking up with Mark as long as he could still see a way to Justin's heart. And Chris had no idea how Mark himself felt; the boy had not forgotten that Mark had stopped communicating with him only a week after he had taken Chris' anal virginity, and had actually blocked Chris' online profile a couple weeks afterward. That was over a year ago now, but it had really stung at the time, and still made Chris question what was truly going on in the older man's head. Mark texted or emailed periodically, but always playfully and noncommittally. If Justin was unattainable because he was straight and uptight, Mark was even more exotic: an apparently emotionally healthy gay man who was too busy with his own fulfilling life to spend inordinate time pursuing a college boy, or so Chris had concluded. And it was just so . . . different with Mark. Wonderful in a way, because Mark was an adult, and that was seductive.

But Justin . . . Chris' old roommate was not only a hot hunk of beef, but also showed occasional glimpses of sensitivity that were even sexier than his large, uncut dick. It was those momentary views into the jock's soul that made Chris hang on. And Justin was also a gateway to a larger sense of acceptance than Chris had ever felt. Justin was popular. Justin was in a frat. Justin's approval was hugely validating. To be lucky enough to date someone like that . . . well, it would change Chris' world. College had been a success overall for Chris, but it was hard to shake the memories of the high school pecking order and how it had made you feel.

Ok, so don't text Mark. Then what else to pass the time? He was sick of Civilization. He could always surf tumblr . . . but that was such dangerous territory. Like a moth to a flame, Chris was drawn to all of the most extreme blogs – there was nothing non-sexual on his "follow" list – and he was alternately seduced and repelled by what he saw there. The hardcore pics, the extreme rhetoric from the "Alphas" on the site who demanded cash and humiliating images. Chris was a lurker, not a contributor, but still . . . you can't watch several auto wrecks a day without it affecting your psyche, and the boy couldn't always figure out how to process what he saw. And could not unsee.

Mr. Fitzsimmons might be useful to talk to in a situation like this, but with the crappy weather this winter, driving way out to the exurbs was impractical. Chris missed their conversations (and, truth be told, the spankings that sometimes accompanied them), but he was going to have to work this one out on his own.

Work WHAT out, exactly? Chris thought. Justin will probably never give you more emotionally than he has already given you; Mark is too old for you; the internet is a cesspool . . . what is there to figure out? You're screwed.

Chris sipped his bourbon.

As if on cue, Chris' phone lit up with a text.

"How are you holding up, kiddo? All safe inside?"

It was from Mark. Truly, the ad guy seemed to be telepathically connected to him – every time Chris felt down, there was a message from Mark, almost without fail.

"Yes, Sir," Chris replied automatically. He was still vaguely surprised at how easily he typed the honorific when talking to Mark, Justin, or really, anyone online, when the relationship had been or might be sexual. Was that a bad thing? Was he becoming too submissive?

"Good! Me too. Have a great night, kiddo ;)"

Chris snorted and tossed the phone onto his bed. Really? Was that it? Maybe I'm the problem, he reflected; I can't decide whether I want Mark to be interested or not.

Ugh. I need to escape. It's too late to take a junior year abroad – maybe I can take a senior year abroad instead, and graduate remotely, from Bali, and get away from all this shit.

Chris looked outside again. The snow was falling harder now. The flakes were bigger, and the whine of the wind was louder than the hiss and clank of the radiators.

There's no way he's coming in this.

He walked over to his bed and texted Mark back: "Thanks, Sir. It's lonely up here."

Was that too pathetic? Probably, Chris thought. Why am I like this? Why am I a submissive? Is there a reset button for my life? No. Well . . . not one I'm quite ready to push yet.

"Aw," came the response from Mark. "There's always a place for you down here, kiddo. It's not safe to come tonight, but don't forget your downtown Daddy :)."

That made Chris feel bad.

"You're too good to me, Sir," he responded.

"That's me, boy. Give, give, give ;). You'll pay for it eventually, young man. Now stay safe."

Chris' thumbs hovered over the phone, unsure what to reply, but feeling he ought to type something. He stared at the small screen for a few minutes, his mind wandering.

Suddenly, the door to his room burst open. He whirled around and dropped the phone, instinctively covering his genitals with his hands – but it was Justin. Who else could it have been? Nobody besides his Dom and his landlord had a key to the house, and only Justin would shove the room door open without knocking.

"Fuck yeah, bitch!" Justin exclaimed drunkenly. "Already naked for Daddy!"

And in that instant, brash as the jock was, everything in the world that was not Justin disappeared for Chris. The jock's effect on his boy was that complete, his power was that absolute. It wasn't just that Justin was physically hot. When he was happy, as he was in this moment, he gave off an incredibly friendly and warm vibe. His default mode was open and easygoing, and it drew everyone in. Even the moodiness of the last eight months hadn't erased it.

Chris would always remember how charmed he had been when they first met. And that happened to everyone – Chris had seen it in the dorm and at SAE a hundred times. Justin's self-deprecating grin, the "aw shucks" kind of homegrown sexiness. And even though Chris knew what no one else did – that there was a demanding Dominant underneath all that – it was the interplay of friendly and hard that was so attractive, and which had enabled Chris to overlook the jock's shortcomings . . . eventually, anyway. And it was also this confident, affable charisma that constantly tempted the boy to fall into a familiarity that he knew Justin didn't appreciate from him.

So Chris knew better than to run over to his former roommate. Enthusiasm: good; affection: bad. Instead of hugging Justin, he took his coat, and hung it on a hook by the door.

"I'm really glad to see you, Sir," he said.

"I know you are, boy." Justin stood motionless in the doorway, appraising his sub's body with pleasure. The progress Chris had made at the gym over the last year was impressive. Not that the boy had ever been out of shape, but Justin noted with approval how much bigger his pecs were now, how much thicker his arms and legs were. Good boy, he thought as he allowed himself to be undressed. He's still tight and slim-waisted, but a hell of a lot more muscular now – an even finer body to work with.

Chris began, as always, at the bottom. Justin's Timberland boots were caked with snow. Carefully, the boy unlaced them, and pulled them gently from his Dom's feet. Reverently, he sniffed the inside of each one before he placed it on a mat by the door to dry out.

Justin closed his eyes, basking in the attention, and knowing his boy would do everything right. What a blessing it was to come here tonight. He was feeling increasingly uncomfortable at the fraternity house. Too many people, too many egos, and too little space. Sharing a room with Tag and Jeff had proven exhausting, although they were all friends. Justin had no real privacy, and now, six months into his junior year, he realized how much he craved it. He forced himself to keep up appearances at the house, lest he lose his prestige as one of the most popular brothers, but his humor was forced, and he ducked out of parties and group activities as quickly as he could. During his first two years in the fraternity he had built up so much social currency with his effortless and unflappable charm that he could afford to withdraw a little now – but Woodard, in particular, had noticed, and Justin was worn out with the effort of continually throwing his observant roommate off the scent.

Escaping tonight hadn't been too hard, though – he usually went to his favorite bar on Thursdays. The boys both knew that. And he could easily make up a story of being stuck downtown in the blizzard, and checking into the nearest hotel, if in fact he spent the night in Chris' room. As he hoped to.

Justin raised his right foot to allow his personal sub to take the sock off. That's right, boy, he thought. It's a fucking gift to you I'm here tonight. It was tough as shit to make it this far off campus with this weather. And I can't wait to see how you appreciate it.

Chris brought each sock to his nose as he took them off his hunky ex-roommate. Pants off first, he decided, and then sit him down and service his feet.

Justin breathed more calmly as he felt the boy unbuttoning his jeans, then lowering them and easing them off. He was warming up. Driving tonight would have been foolhardy, so he had walked. Good exercise, and long enough to burn off some of the tension he had felt cooped up in the room with Jeff and Tag, but it was also very cold out. He felt Chris' hand on the small of his back, guiding him farther into the room; he sat down at Chris' desk, and swiveled around in the chair to face his boy, who knelt.

"Massage them first. Then tongue."

Chris complied, taking his Sir's cold feet into his hands and rubbing them briskly for a moment to get the blood moving, then more firmly to relax his Dom. Now that Justin was here and getting comfortable, Chris felt the chances of a sleepover were very high, and his little penis started getting hard at the thought of what might happen during this long, snowy night.

Justin' noticed the boy's tumescence and tapped it a few times with his other foot.

"You love serving me, don't you . . . boy?" He had almost said "fag", but caught himself. As long as the difference in their places was clear and acknowledged, he could be benevolent – and he could tell Chris didn't like that word as much as he had seemed to the year before. So long as he didn't get uppity, that was fine.

"Yes, Sir!" Chris mumbled as best he could around Justin's thick toe. His favorite feet were nice and sweaty from the walk, and loved getting that hot scent all over his face. For his part, Justin liked the way Chris' short beard gently rubbed his soles like a loofah. He shut his eyes again as Chris continued his work; first one foot, then the other, back and forth. They were in no hurry tonight.

The jock idly stroked his hardening cock as Chris worked his feet.

Chris took that as a suggestion, and began massaging Justin's calves and up his thighs. He marveled, as always, at how muscular Justin was. Chris' quads were certainly an inch bigger than they had been freshman year, but those legs on his Dom – he couldn't imagine how much he have to lift to get that big.

Justin purred with pleasure at the attention, and put his hands behind his head, slumping down in the desk chair, eyes still closed.

What is he thinking of, Chris wondered. Or who? He rubbed closer and closer to Justin's crotch until his hand met bull nuts. He leaned in to take a whiff. Awesome. Time to get a new flavor on his face. Not a fan of cotton in his mouth, he reached to take Justin's gray boxer briefs down, and the jock obligingly raised his meaty ass off the seat. Chris rubbed the underwear on his nose before placing it respectfully to the side, and then gently kissed his man's balls. They were still sitting high from the cold outside, and the skin was firm and thick. Justin had shaved them recently, too. They tasted delicious. Chris licked all over them, enjoying the taste and the texture of the jock sac. Here was the seat of Justin's Alpha power, and Chris was only too happy to worship.

Justin sighed again, opening his eyes a crack. Aw. That cute dark-blond head down there, taking one ball, then the other, into his mouth. Justin smiled a little. The bitch really had to open wide to get one in. That was hot. He grabbed his fat uncut cock, which was now fully hard, and lightly tapped Chris' forehead with it. The boy made to take the head in his mouth, but Justin pushed him back.

"Stay on the nuts, boy. I just like hittin' your head with my dick. It's covers half your face. That's hot."

"Yes, Sir!" Chris continued to slobber over Justin's nuts, and when the jock slid farther down the chair, took the hint and licked his taint thoroughly, occasionally darting his tongue into the delicious realm of the man's crack. Nothing got him hotter than Justin's ass scent, and he really put his whole face into it, mashing his tongue and lips all over Justin's crotch and balls.

"Fuck yeah, Chrissy, that's it. Do it like you mean it."

"Yephh URR," the boy replied, encouraged by the use of Justin's pet name for him. That was often the gateway to the closeness and affection he so craved. After several minutes, Chris moved up to the base of Justin's cock, and this time he was not denied. He licked up the shaft a few times, enjoying how long it was, as his own little dick bobbed untouched below. Eventually, he found the foreskin that often clung to the dickhead even when Justin was fully hard, and penetrated it with his tongue.

Chris loved uncut dick, and ironically, it was the variety with which he had the most experience. Both Justin and Mark were uncut. Chris had sucked some other cut ones – the rest of his pledge class (that had been hot), and that asshole Mason at the club. But uncut was his favorite.

He ran his tongue inside the sheath, and enjoyed the taste of Justin's musky glans. Suddenly he felt hands on his head, pushing firmly down . . . Chris hastened to open his jaw and throat, and held his breath. He felt his nose brush short pubic hair, and moved his tongue as best he could, keeping the suction tight.