Mr. One Fifty-Eight Ch. 06

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Chris learns how to turn the tables.
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Part 6 of the 7 part series

Updated 06/07/2023
Created 12/18/2015
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tazemebro
tazemebro
156 Followers

AUTHOR'S NOTE: While each chapter is a story in its own right, you will probably enjoy this story much more if you have already read the series Chris Donaldson, as well as Chapters 1-5 of Mr. One Fifty-Eight. The characters' back stories are revealed there. All characters depicted in this story are over 18.

*****

A gif of a young guy sucking a large cock with the caption, "To the root for your Alpha, fag"; a picture of another cocksucker at work, looking up at the camera, with the caption, "Always make eye contact when worshipping your Alpha"; a video of a young jock with a perfect ass getting a heavy strap applied to it. Chris scrolled idly through his tumblr feed, lingering on the video. His hand crept down to his hardening small penis, and he began to stroke it. He twisted his nipple hard with his other hand, wincing slightly.

The jock was taking a good beating, and he had the most perfect beefy ass. Wishing his butt was that amazing, Chris admired the guy's pain tolerance and the top's stroke -- almost no wrapping. Not as hard as a few of the whippings Chris had been subjected to, but more in the "just right" category.

Fuck, I wish someone was whipping my ass right now, he thought.

A light breeze shook the gauzy curtains of his third-floor window, not far from his desk. It was warm for April in the Midwest; the daffodils were in full bloom, and it looked like it would be a lovely week. No leaves out yet, just buds. But at least it wasn't winter any more.

Chris' hand left his penis and he continued to scroll. Sometimes the intensity of the videos was too much -- he followed some pretty hardcore guys. But there was always more hot than not. He sighed and stood up. Tumblr was no substitute for the real thing. Moodily, he looked down at the quiet street. His lean, naked silhouette was outlined enticingly against the afternoon sunlight, had anyone been behind him to see it. Chris' own ass was actually quite nice, according to the guys who had seen it, spanked it, or fucked it. Firm and round, not huge -- but in proportion. Two good-sized melons on muscular, well-shaped, hairy legs. The boy was hairy all over, although he had recently shaved his crotch. The guy who had made him do it had wanted him to shave everything below the neck, but that was too much to do for a man Chris figured he would probably see only once. He knew it was too much because he'd done it before. The itching sucked.

Picking up his phone, the 20-year-old college junior opened a few apps successively, looking to see who had cruised him, woofed him, winked at him, or otherwise checked him out. A few guys over the last hour, but not many. One of them he had seen several times: very nice smooth chest shot, about a mile away. Screenname was "N". How's that for creative. They had never chatted, but had looked at each other quite a bit. Same age; probably another student, which always made Chris a little reluctant to engage -- partially because he was drawn to authoritarians, who tended to be older, and partially because you just never knew who it was going to be. His own profile on that site was purposely vague; it mentioned that he was into kink, but not what kind or in what role. The other guy's profile told even less, but there was something about the arm muscles in the dude's pic that really turned Chris on. He threw the phone on the desk and lay down on his bed.

So bored. Bored and lonely. His mind could only focus on one thing -- sex. He needed masculine attention sooo bad. Truthfully, he hadn't been hurting for it in the last couple of weeks since spring quarter had started, but there were itches the random men couldn't scratch. And the endless hunt . . . that was exhausting, too. You could spend hours, days even, trying to find a dick to suck, and when you did finally meet the guy, he was ugly.

Don't be judgmental, he thought -- you weren't looking so hot yourself a month ago. All in all, he had been lucky -- his nose hadn't been broken, and he hadn't needed stitches or anything. But the black eye and bruising had taken a long, long time to completely disappear. It had been utterly humiliating; he couldn't skip classes for as long as it took to heal, of course, and he could tell that no one believed his story about slipping and hitting his face on the bathroom sink. And he couldn't visit his father either, while it had been visible.

He had confided in one person, though -- he'd told Mark the whole story. After the bruising was gone, of course. Mark had been worried about not hearing from him in a while, and Chris had finally responded, but put off meeting until there was no longer any visible evidence. Mark had been very solicitous, and had listened patiently to Chris' whole, haltingly-told saga, wherein all of the sorry history of his "relationship" with . . . Chris refused to even think the name anymore . . . had spilled out.

They had been at Mark's apartment during Chris' spring break, and after it was all out, Mark had just held Chris for a long time, kissing the top of his head and saying, "it's gonna be ok, kiddo." They hadn't had sex that night -- it hadn't seemed appropriate. Or either of the subsequent times they had seen each other. Because Chris just felt really awkward about it. He believed Mark when the man eight years his senior told him that he didn't think less of Chris because of his sexual submission to his old roommate; he believed Mark as well when he told him he didn't think Chris was damaged in some way because of what the jock had done to him. But every time Mark had gotten randy and started to initiate anything sexual, Chris had felt too uncomfortable to continue.

It wasn't that Chris wasn't horny; he was, constantly. And it wasn't that he was no longer attracted to Mark; he still was . . . sort of. It was just that at the moment, Chris either wanted sex with no strings at all, or to be in love, body and soul, with whomever he was fucking. And Mark was somewhere in between those two things, and therefore . . . just not what Chris was looking for. Mark had honestly been a saint about it, Chris thought; he hadn't realized until the last month how much the ad executive had really cared about him, and how much his dark-haired hero who had saved him at the sex club also desired him. But Chris just wasn't in the same place. They had a date planned for Chris' 21st birthday, which was coming up soon. But even that . . . Chris had once hoped to celebrate that day with a bunch of frat boys, one in particular. Much better just to scratch as much of the itch as he could with a hookup, and leave it at that.

None of which answered the question of what he was going to do this afternoon or tonight. He was going stir-crazy, and the nicer weather had the blood rushing all sorts of inappropriate places. The boy needed to get laid.

Shit.

He walked over to his laptop, and clicked on one of his browser windows, all of which were open to hookup or porn sites. This one was Craigslist M4M. So complete was his boredom that, on a whim, he had been composing an ad to place in "missed connections" . . . although it was a little late now. It read:

"L4 the dude who pissed on my head in the trough at Paddles last summer. It was hot. If you want to do it again, reply with stats and pics, and a description of what you saw happening and what you said."

It was stupid, really, but he was that horny. As if that guy, whoever it was, would see the ad. But it might start an interesting conversation. And he wasn't including any identifying information. It might be good for a laugh, if nothing else. He hit "publish" . . . and then copied it and posted it again in "casual encounters" for good measure. What the hell.

He sighed. Ok. Now what? Jack off again?

He checked the time -- nah. He needed to get out of the room. Might as well just go to the gym, Chris' usual activity at 4:00 on a weekday afternoon. He liked that hour: after classes, but not super-crowded yet -- however, enough men there that there might be some action. Not that Chris had ever picked up a guy at the gym, but he had certainly thought about it many times. He headed to get his gym bag when his phone buzzed twice in quick succession.

First was a "woof" from the smooth-chested hottie he had been contemplating moments before, Mr. "N". Interesting. That was the first time they had progressed beyond viewing each other. And the second was a text, from . . . oh you have got to be kidding me.

Tag Newton.

Really?

"Hey Chris," it read, "don't know if you got my email. Would like to get together when you have a chance. Maybe at that bar where we met last time?"

Ugh.

Yes, I received the email, Chris thought, and you should take the fact that I didn't respond as an indication of my complete lack of interest in interacting with you, or anyone from SAE, ever.

Tag was one of . . . *his* . . . roommates, too. That made it even worse. What could he possibly have to talk to me about? I don't want to know.

Chris threw some clothes on and put a pair of shorts, a t-shirt and a jock in his gym bag. It was warm enough to ride over to the gym already dressed, but it was always better to change in the locker room, because . . . well, for obvious reasons. Chris had evolved a bit on public nudity over the last year and a half. Although he had filled out some, he was still self-conscious about his body in general compared to the most built muscleheads at the gym, and about his penis size particularly, but he also knew now beyond any doubt that he liked being humiliated about his 4.5-inch dick, as long as it was a hot dominant guy doing it. He had caught a guy staring at it once in the mirror, smirking. That had both turned Chris' stomach and made him half hard.

Kink is complicated, he thought as he locked the door to his room with a padlock he had bought on Valentines' Day. Isn't it?

**********

"Well?" Jeff asked.

"Still nothing," Tag said. They were both in the room they shared with Justin at SAE; the windows were wide open, and the place smelled a little less like stale beer than usual. Justin was out, which was the new normal. They hadn't spoken to their third roommate in several days, although they had heard him come in at night. He was only a lump on his bed when they left for class.

"Damn it." Jeff stretched out his long, bare legs and cradled his head in his hands. The sunlight glinted off the thick, blond hair on his limbs.

"Yeah, it's weird," Tag agreed. Chris' former pledge dad slumped down, his large, solid body looking too big for his desk chair. Tag's belly showed a fondness for booze, but he carried the weight well.

"Well, maybe it isn't. I mean, it's not like you sent him a Christmas card," Jeff replied. "Have you been in touch at all since he de-pledged?"

"You mean since that asshole Mason ran him out? No." Although Tag and Chris had not been close, the dark-haired former football player had taken the kid's dismissal from the fraternity personally. He resented the fact that he had not been in the loop about it -- and Chris had been his own pledge son! He was glad the officers behind the incident had all graduated. It had been a very shitty thing for them to do. And that punk Reynolds, who had been in Chris' pledge class, brought it up regularly, too . . . if that fucker wasn't careful, Corvino would deck him one of these days. Justin's anger whenever Chris was mentioned at the frat had become more noticeable to the two roommates over the last few months -- and who knows, maybe to the other brothers, too.

"Well, you need to find him and talk to him."

"Why me? Why don't you talk to him," Tag complained.

"Because I don't know him. You were his pledge dad."

"I barely knew him myself, he followed Corvino, not me."

"Yeah, yeah, I remember. I was there." Jeff thought a moment, and looked at his Tissot watch. "You know . . ."

Tag watched Jeff's wheels turn. That one was always thinking.

"What?"

"I bet he's at the gym."

"Corvino?"

"No, Chris."

"Why do you think that?"

"Because I've seen him there around this time before. And he mentioned that he was very regular in his gym habits when he pledged. Trying to make sure I didn't think he was . . ." Jeff blushed. It was extraordinary, he thought, how that whole fucked-up situation with Chris had made both Tag and him so self-conscious about saying what had been painfully obvious the whole time. And God knows what Corvino knew, or what role he had played . . . it was all very treacherous terrain. Jeff and Tag, just like every other member of SAE, used the words "fag", "homo", "gay", "pussy", "pansy", "queer" -- you name it -- every hour of the day. But never when the subject was Chris.

And why is that, Jeff wondered. Because you really liked him, that's why, was the answer -- and the only way words like that ever get used in a frat house is derogatorily.

Tag cleared his throat. "Yeah, yeah. Ok. So you think he's at the gym. So what?"

"So you need to go work out. If you leave now, you ought to catch him."

"But I never go to that gym," Tag protested. "It's all the way down south! How have you ever seen him there? You don't go to that gym either."

"I've been there, and so have you. Before we lived in, when we were still in the dorms. So what if it's far? That's where he is. Bet you twenty bucks. And then you can corner him."

"I'm not going to talk to him at the fucking gym."

"No, no," Jeff said impatiently. "You see him there by chance, and then you say, 'hey, I've been wanting to talk to you. Wanna grab a beer after your workout?'"

Tag rolled his eyes. "Yeah, that's gonna seem real natural."

"You got a better idea? He didn't answer your email, and you sent it two weeks ago. He hasn't responded to your text."

"It's only been twenty minutes."

"He's not going to. You need to run into him in person. Then he'll have a much harder time blowing you off. Trust me."

"I really don't want to do this. You do it."

"No, it's gotta be you. You know him better. He won't even recognize me." That probably wasn't true; Jeff had pegged Chris for a noticer and rememberer, just like he was. But Tag was the better emissary. "Come on, Newton. Just do it."

"I don't have to follow your orders, bro."

"It's not for me, dumbass. It's for Corvino."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." Tag sat a moment, then untangled himself from his chair, and threw on a t-shirt. He was already wearing basketball shorts. If he had to go, he wanted to go already dressed; the last thing he wanted to do, if the kid was even there, was get in a locker room with Chris. He could shower back at the house later, if he had to do any exercise before talking to his former pledge son. "Ok, I'll go. But you're gonna owe me twenty bucks."

Jeff smiled at him. "Thanks, bro." He turned back to his laptop.

Yeah, fuck you, Tag thought, but you're right, Chris might hold the key to the whole Corvino issue. And we gotta try. We owe our brother that.

************

Chris undressed slowly, hoping someone else would come in while he was lingering. It was disappointingly slow here today -- most guys must be outside, enjoying the warmth and the sun. Also, this was the smaller and less crowded of the two campus gyms; more people worked out up north, near the frats. He stood naked as long as he could, then slipped his jock on, taking his time and tucking it around his small package. Then the shorts -- a bit briefer than was typical of most guys his age. He wondered, for the thousandth time, if they made him look gay.

You ARE gay, dipshit, he thought. He put on a white t-shirt, and then his shoes. He checked his phone again as he locked the locker. He had woofed at "N" back before he left his house; no response yet. But -- and this was intriguing -- they were now less than 250 feet away from each other. Was this fate? They must both be at the gym. And you don't know a single thing about him, or what he's into, Chris reminded himself. Still, the thought of a hot guy who was on a gay hookup app, whom he might meet while working out, was certainly better than nothing. Wishing the app showed distances to the nearest inch, or had a map with everyone's name on it like in Harry Potter, he walked out onto the floor. Cardio first. He found a free stationary bike, and got on.

"What's up," he typed, as he started to pedal.

Chris cased the gym, trying to figure out who the guy on the app might be. Of course, it was also possible he was in a nearby dorm; the gym was close to two, including Kroetzger, where Chris used to live.

The answer came a few minutes later: "Not much."

Right. This was going to be painfully slow. But that was ok; Chris had time.

"Cool. I'm at the gym. How about you?"

Working on those hot guns? Pumping your pecs? Chris looked around again; there were only a few other guys in the cardio room. Two of them seemed too built to be "N", although he was happy to check them out. Another couple had decent arms, but not as nice as "N"'s. He waited for an answer.

"Lol. Same, man."

Chris nearly pumped his fist, then looked around to see if anyone had noticed. No one looked up. Gotta play it casual.

"Lol, that's awesome. You looked like you were close."

"Yup."

Ok. So what do I say now? "Would you like head" seems a bit forward.

"Well, let me know if you need a spot, man." That sounded nice and masculine. And casual. Chris notched up the speed on the bike, hoping that some extra sweat would burn off a bit of the horniness.

It didn't.

"Ha ha. I'm not doing chest today. Good here."

Was that a brush-off? Chris wasn't sure. He pumped his legs harder. If I increase the resistance I'll get an ass like that dude in the spanking video, he thought, punching the up-arrow on the console. Just stay cool. "N" doesn't know what he wants; maybe he doesn't want anything. You can always see who else is close by.

Chris scanned the app for nearby men; there weren't that many. Surprising for a college campus in 2014, but he usually turned the app off when he was in class, for discretion. Maybe everyone else was the same. There was one guy listed nearby, but he was 45. Probably faculty. Not today.

Chris was nearing the half-hour mark on the bike when "N" finally sent another text.

"So where are you, man? I don't think I see you."

Chris made himself count to 60 before responding.

"Cardio."

He regretted it the moment he sent it; what if it was some incredibly hot jock who would be able to pick Chris out in an instant given how few people were in that part of the gym, and would immediately see that he wasn't worthy. He leapt off the bike, and headed toward the free weights. This area was much more crowded; there were at least 25 guys over here. He couldn't let his eyes linger, but it looked like there were a few who might be "N".

Ok, so now what do I do? Chris decided to stay with legs. He needed to get his ass going. Squats, then. He ambled over to the appropriate raised barbell, loaded four plates, and checked his phone.

"Oh, ok. Are you on a treadmill?" came the response.

"Nah man, I'm over in weights now," Chris typed with his thumbs.

"K"

Chris did a set of twelve, digging his heels in so he'd feel maximum burn in his buttocks. He racked the barbell, and texted back: "So what are you looking for, man?"

"Open." Then a pause. "But your profile said you were into kink. So I was curious."

Bingo. Chris did another set, then typed, "What kind of kink are you curious about?"

He waited. No answer.

Ah c'mon man, don't be shy. Chris did a third set of squats.

"Spanking."

Aw no fuckin' way! Chris thought. Perfect answer.

"Hot, man! Totally into that."

tazemebro
tazemebro
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