BBC on Campus

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BBC ON CAMPUS

CHAPTER SIX – FRAT BOY DISCIPLINE

I don't sleep much. Certainly much less than what is considered normal. When I was a child, my parents struggled to get me to go to sleep. They exiled me to bed early each night, but I would lie awake and play games or daydream. Because I was off the charts on intelligence tests, they began to wonder if the problem was that my mind never stopped. Eventually, because I was never sleepy and cranky, my parents came around to the conclusion that I was just different than other kids. It was the first of what would turn out to be a number of ways in which I was different.

By college, my pattern was five hours of sleep per night, plus or minus one. I never adjusted to Mountain Time at Westcliffe, instead getting up every morning by 5:00 a.m. at the latest, even though I didn't go to bed until midnight. Sometimes I slept in on Sundays, but seldom past 6:30 or 7:00 a.m., although the morning after I got trashed at Jake's house had been an exception.

As an undergrad at Harvard, I began working out in the mornings and I enjoyed the peaceful quiet of the gym before it filled up. It was also the window of time least likely to be preempted by other events or activities, ensuring I kept a consistent work-out routine. My workout schedule was one of the reasons I booted Jesse out so early after those nights I pummeled his ass after rescuing the dancer boi from the couch in the gas station downstairs.

The gym at Westcliffe opened at 6:00 a.m. every morning except Sunday, and I was usually the only occupant at that time of day. After a month of seeing me five or six days a week when the place opened, the gym staff gave me a key, in case they were late opening up, which they often were on Saturdays. I could have used the key to get into the gym earlier than 6:00 a.m., but I decided not to take advantage of the situation. I didn't want to get the staff in trouble.

A week after my night with Jake, I arrived at the gym as usual at 6:00 a.m. on Saturday and was stunned to discover a package in front of my locker. A naked boy had been bound in a ball, using a liberal quantity of silver duct tape. The kid's knees were taped together behind his neck, wedging his head forward, and his wrists and ankles, dangling above his head, were bound firmly together. His mouth was taped shut, too. To make sure the bound boy couldn't roll over on his side, his knees had been taped to a bench. Helpless and unable to do anything other than rock on his back, the kid stared at me with desperate eyes.

The duct tape bondage was only part of the kid's problem. Using a black sharpie, his captors had written `cum dump' across the boy's bare ass in precise, flowing script. The artist had quite a flair for ass art. He or she had added some vulgar but detailed drawings of stiff cocks, with arrows pointing from them toward the bound boy's smooth asshole. With the benefit of hindsight, I should have snapped a picture of the kid's ass with my cell and posted it on the internet. I knew some guys that would have cum in their pants just looking at the sight. It would have had the potential to reach tumblr infamy.

Instead, I pulled the duct tape from the kid's mouth. "Thanks," he gasped. "Can you get the rest off?" he asked, grimacing. Fortunately for the kid, he had almost no body hair, so ripping the duct tape off was far less painful than it might have been. I worked on the tape, and, in between agonized groans, the kid told me his name was Stewart. Once freed, Stewart excused himself to the rest room, thanking me again.

The morning was chilly, with frost coating the grass lawns of the campus, so I had worn a heavy sweatshirt and sweatpants. I changed out of them and into my gym clothes, waiting for the kid to return.

The duct tape stunt had all the earmarks of a fraternity hazing. The University President had sent out a letter earlier in the fall asking the faculty and staff to keep an eye out for any abusive or dangerous hazing, and to crack down quickly if any was detected. He was determined to root out the worst transgressors. Hazing had been getting steadily worse at Westcliffe, and the President had decided it needed to be stopped before something serious happened.

I was confronted with a problem, however. As I saw it, this stunt had been planned intentionally to involve me. Why else would a bound kid have been left in front of my locker at 6:00 a.m. on a Saturday morning? My daily gym schedule was practically written in stone. Maybe I was targeted only because, being a 6'5" black man with long dreadlocks, I was the scariest person the frat hazers knew. But the overtly gay context of the artwork on Stewart's smooth buns made me wonder if something else was at work.

Stewart emerged from the rest room, a towel wrapped around his thin waist. What he had been trying to do in the rest room was obvious, but I could have told him the artwork wasn't going to disappear, regardless of how hard he scrubbed his buns. The kid must have been in college, but he could have passed for a student in any high school in the country. Maybe a few junior high schools, too. He looked to be half Asian and half white, with black hair, big brown eyes and long eyelashes that made him look pretty. His bright, happy eyes sparkled. He vaguely reminded me of a teen actor, but I couldn't recall the actor's name.

"Would you like to tell me who did this to you?" I asked, leaning against my locker with my hands folded.

Looking at the ground, Stewart bit his lip and replied, "Uh, no sir."

He was polite. But the kid wasn't getting off the hook so easily. "Let's start over," I said sternly. "Who did this to you?" The first time I had, technically, asked him if he wanted to tell me who did it. This time what he wanted wasn't in the mix.

"Some frat guys," Stewart said reluctantly, after a pause. "I pledged this fall and it was a hazing joke."

"Names," I said. "I want the name of the fraternity and everyone involved."

Stewart grimaced, and looking at the ground, said, "I swore I wouldn't say anything to anybody."

I sighed. "Look at me, Stewart." The kid's eyes, showing fear, fixed on me. "You can either tell me now, and then I'll decide what, if anything, to do about the incident, or you can explain to Campus Security why you were bound with duct tape and left here with `cum dump' written on your ass. The ink didn't come off, did it?"

Stewart blushed and shook his head. Hell, I knew from having witnessed sharpie stunts in the past that the right kind of sharpie took months to disappear from skin, and there was virtually nothing that could be done about it. I suspected this was going to be Stewart's last visit to the gym until Christmas. No kid would want to take a shower with `cum dump' written on his ass, even if the words were upside down.

Stewart didn't want anyone to know about his misfortune, so giving a report to Campus Security petrified him. Confronted by a no-win situation, he slowly spilled the story. On Friday night, the frat house's new pledges had been summoned to play strip poker with some of the fraternity brothers. I asked Stewart if the cards were stacked, and Stewart's eyes shot open like the possibility had never occurred to him. But that was the only likely explanation for what had happened.

Stewart had been unlucky, or more likely targeted, because he was the first player to lose. Naked, he was ordered to fetch beers for the frat boys as, one-by-one, the other pledges lost and ended up stark naked, too. Reading between the lines, it was apparent Stewart and the rest of the pledges had endured a night of spanking, ass slapping and humiliation. At the end, penalties were handed out. The pledges had to blow one of the frat brothers, starting with the first pledge out of the poker game – Stewart. Once the frat brothers had gotten their rocks off, shooting their loads down the throats of the embarrassed pledges, the frat boys duct-taped Stewart. The other pledges, still naked, were forced to carry him to the gym in the middle of the night. Stewart thought he had been at the gym since 3:00 or 4:00 a.m. I wondered how the frat brothers had gotten into the gym after hours, but Stewart didn't seem to know. That might be a question for further investigation.

If I had been targeted in the scheme, Stewart wasn't aware, and he didn't seem to know why he had been deposited in front of my locker. I took down the names of the other pledges and frat brothers.

"Who was the ringleader, Stewart?" I asked. "Whose idea was it for the pledges to give out blow jobs? And whose idea was it that you were going to be bound with duct tape and brought here?"

Stewart chewed his lip, but finally said, "Trent. He was in charge of the night."

"Which of the frat brothers did you blow, Stewart?" He blushed but admitted it was Trent. I stopped myself before I asked him if he liked the taste of Trent's cum.

"Are you gay, Stewart?" I asked. If Trent and the frat boys had targeted the kid because he was gay, I was prepared to bring down the wrath of God them. Stewart showed surprise at my blunt question, but answered, "No! Uh, I... I don't think so. I don't know. Maybe?" I concluded that Stewart hadn't been targeted because he was gay, but now I had another issue. I wasn't prepared to get into counselling about whether being forced to give another guy a blow job made you gay.

"They called all of us faggots," Stewart recalled. I could tell he was a little spooked by his own reaction to what happened. "But they didn't think we were gay, because Trent said our punishment for losing was to do something we would hate. He said if anyone liked giving blow jobs, that meant the guy was gay, and Trent would arrange for him to be the resident frat cocksucker."

"Did Trent nominate anyone for the job?" I asked.

Stewart blushed but said no. I had a feeling that he wasn't spilling everything. Stewart hadn't told the frat brothers he liked giving blow jobs, but that wouldn't stop Trent from claiming Stewart had enjoyed it, and that would give Trent a reason to turn Stewart into the resident cocksucker Trent wanted. There was a reason Trent had targeted Stewart and had made Stewart's mouth the recipient of his load of cum.

"You ever do anything with another guy before last night?" I pressed. Stewart shook his head.

"Ever think about it?" I asked.

Stewart started to say no, paused, and then said, "Just... you know." I nodded. Impossible to know whether the kid was gay, straight or bi. He probably didn't know himself. I wasn't going to get into whether Stewart had liked mouthing Trent's dick or liked watching the other pledges suck cock. That wasn't this morning's problem.

I suspected who Trent was. It wasn't the most common name. One of the college students that climbed rocks with my quasi-roommates was a Trent, and I thought he was a frat boy. "Trent. Close to six foot, maybe 160 pounds?" I asked. "Short, buzz cut brown hair, tattoos on both arms? Climbs rocks?" I added. Stewart nodded. I had my bully.

I asked Stewart for his dorm address and cell number, and then told him, "Okay, you can split. You could use some sleep."

Stewart looked relieved, but almost immediately confusion crossed his face. "I, uh, I don't have any clothes," he said, confessing the obvious. At this early hour on a Saturday morning, a good chance existed that Stewart could make it across campus to his freshman dorm without being seen, despite wearing nothing but a skimpy gym towel. But I remembered the frost covered grass and didn't want to humiliate the kid any more than he had been already. I pulled my sweatshirt and sweatpants from my locker and tossed them to Stewart, telling him to return them to my office next week. The waist was the only thing that fit. The pants were long enough and the sweatshirt big enough that he looked comical in them. I didn't have shoes that would fit Stewart, so he would have to survive barefoot.

Over the next couple of days, I debated what, if anything, to do about Stewart's hazing misadventure. I hadn't decided when I casually asked Jesse about Trent on Monday night, after the first of what would be three invasions by my cock into Jesse's dance boi ass. Predictably, even though it was only Monday, Travis was fucking some coed that night, so he had kicked Jesse out of their shared garage bay. When I got home late from working on my thesis, Jesse gave me a lost puppy look from the couch. Within three minutes, he was upstairs in my room above the old gas station, naked, and with my swelling black python rammed down his throat.

"Fucking jerk," Jesse replied with a snort. He had a habit of doing stretching exercises when we were in bed and my cock wasn't buried in his boi pussy, and this time he had one leg in front of him and the other behind him as he bent forward to touch his toes. "Closet case, too," Jesse continued. "I'll bet you anything. In the dorms last year he was the biggest asshole, always grabbing ass and flicking wet towels and calling everybody a faggot if they complained. Trent thinks spanking another guy is the funniest thing in the world."

Watching Jesse as he talked, I couldn't believe anyone besides 13-year-old Chinese gymnasts were that limber. My cock, still semi-hard and only a few minutes removed from seeding Jesse's hole, stirred. Jesse's flexed, taut glutes caused that reaction in my dick. Plain and simple, the dance-boy-rock-climber had an awesome bubble butt that was made for fucking. I had as much information about Trent as I needed for now. Instead, Jesse's mouth could do something else. "Get on my cock," I said, pushing Jesse's head into my crotch. "Get me hard because I'm gonna ride your ass like a bitch and juice your tight white ass again."

Jesse gave me a happy smile and said, "Yes sir!" With a load of my spunk already buried in Jesse's fuck chute, the rock climber's ass was going to be nice and sloppy.

Jesse's report on Trent was not a surprise. Good chance that the homophobic bully calling everyone a faggot is actually a closet case. What's the old Shakespeare quote? Methinks thou dost protest too much?' A straight guy would never think of tying a kid up with duct tape and writing cum dump' on his ass cheeks.

I made my decision a couple of days later. I wouldn't turn Trent in to the campus cops or, for that matter, the town police. I didn't want an eager investigator wondering why my locker had been the location where the frat boys planted Stewart and drilling me over what Stewart had revealed about the night. I felt sorry for Stewart and didn't want to drag him into an investigation. The kid had rolled with the punches and frankly didn't seem traumatized by his night of being hazed, so I didn't sense that any real damage had been done. But Trent needed to be taught a lesson. More importantly, he needed to be deterred from picking on Stewart any more. A good possibility existed that the night of strip poker was just the first hazing Stewart would endure at Trent's hands, or, more likely, Trent's cock.

I was in Montana; time for a little vigilante justice. I summoned Trent to my office late one evening when I knew nobody would be in the building. I was engrossed in reading a secondary source for a section of my thesis when I heard a knock on my door. "Come in," I said.

Rather than Trent, it was Stewart, returning my freshly laundered sweats. He thanked me several times over for helping him out. He was cheerful and maintained he wasn't bothered by the frat trick. Hard to know if he was just being tough for outside consumption, but I thought not.

I had barely gotten back to reading when Trent knocked. "You asked to see me, sir?" he asked, looking puzzled. If I had been the target of his frat hazing escapade, his face did not reveal any guilt.

"Yes," I replied. "Have a seat young man." I never called anyone `young man.' But I figured Trent's father, one of his professors or someone else in authority did. I wanted that mantle of authority.

I stretched my legs out and leaned back against the edge of my desk, towering over Trent. A stern 6'5" black man with long dreadlocks would intimate most college boys, and I took full advantage of the situation, remaining on my feet while Trent sat. "I'll get right to the point," I said, coldly. "I understand that you've broken the University's rules on hazing, and, for that matter, you're probably guilty of several crimes under Montana law. What do you have to say for yourself?"

"Who the fuck told you that?" Trent said, his face suddenly flushed and his voice raised. The kid was a hothead.

"A couple of your victims and cohorts," I replied smoothly, "but that's not what we're here to discuss. I take it from your answer that everything I've heard is true."

"What the fuck is this all about?" Trent asked angrily.

"I thought I'd give you a chance to tell your side of the story before I filed a report with Campus Security and the town cops," I said.

"Who the fuck are you?" Trent sputtered.

"My name's on the doorplate," I said, clenching my jaws. I started to stand up and return to my desk chair. "I can see this is a waste of time," I said.

"Wait," Trent said. I had called his bluff and the kid was beginning to get scared. "It was just in fun. Just fucking with the pledges a little. Nobody got hurt."

"Are you sure, Trent?" I asked. "Did you check with each of the pledges on Saturday to make sure everyone was okay with what went down?"

"No," Trent admitted, puzzled that I would even pose the question. Bullies didn't ask their victims whether they minded being bullied.

"You're in trouble, son," I said.

Trent looked confused. He never thought it would come to this. It didn't occur to him to beg for leniency. "It was nothing more than what happens every year," Trent said, offering his last defense.

"Tradition doesn't make it right, Trent." I responded. "Who did you blow when you were a freshman?"

Trent's eyes widened, but when he didn't answer me, I said, "Take your clothes off."

"What?" Trent exclaimed. I had to admit it was fun to watch the frat boy squirm. From Trent's viewpoint, my interrogation was taking one unexpected turn after another.

I picked up a fraternity paddle I had placed on the top of my desk and hit my palm softly with it. "I'm not going to turn you in. But you're going to have to endure a little old-fashioned discipline. Maybe the next time you won't be so eager to grab ass and call your classmates faggots, or trick guys into giving you blowjobs."

Trent stared at me in disbelief. "Or," I said, continuing to hit my palm softly with the paddle, "I can do what I originally planned and turn in my report, with the conclusion that the charges are entirely correct and justified."

Trent was sweating, breathing hard. I surmised that the odds of him running of my office in a panic were 50/50. But I didn't think he would bolt. Unless I was wrong about him, I was offering him exactly what he wanted, if he stopped to be honest with himself.

"I'm waiting," I said.

"Okay," Trent said. He paused for a moment as if reconsidering, but slowly stripped off his clothes. He kept his hands in front of his junk.

Damn. The kid had a mighty fine body. All of the rock jocks were ripped, and so was Trent. He had awesome arms, biceps that popped out like balloons, and broad muscular shoulders. Both of his upper arms were tattooed, and he had small tats on the underside of each forearm, along with some tattooed script on the left side of his torso. Without the tattoos, Trent looked clean-cut, but the tats gave him an edgy look. I had not planned on using his ass, but after seeing Trent naked, now I wasn't so sure.

"Bend over," I ordered. "And grab your ankles." Trent swallowed and followed my instructions. As he bent over, he pulled his hands away from his crotch only at the last minute. I was pretty sure his cock was semi-hard.

The first blow to Trent's ass echoed through the high ceilings of my office. The old building was constructed in the late 1880s, and the room had worn woodwork and transom windows above the doors. The floors creaked, but the place had a certain charm to it. Had my office had ever witnessed a bare-ass college boy being spanked?

Trent gasped in surprise. A paddle can hurt like hell and leave an ass redder than a tomato, but it doesn't leave welts or break the skin like some other instruments. I counted out a precise 21 as I spanked Trent's ass. I wondered when the last faculty member at Westcliffe had administered similar discipline to a college boy. Trent took it all, never jumping up or trying to get away.

I tossed the paddle on my desk. I almost told Trent he was finished. But still bent over, with his hands gripping his ankles, his flaming red ass cheeks beckoned to me. He looked damn hot. I would be a shame to waste the opportunity. I pulled my thick leather belt from my pants, snapping it once, causing Trent to flinch. Unlike a wooden paddle, a leather belt can leave welts, and a few lashes made Trent's butt cheeks puff up with streaked red lines.

Finished, I said, "You can get up now." Panting, Trent hesitated. Realizing he couldn't stay bent over forever, he slowly straightened up.

This time, even both of Trent's hands couldn't hide his rock hard cock, pointing to the ceiling. His face as almost as red as his butt and he stared at me through big, tear soaked eyes. He was wondering if I was going to say something about his erection. Of course I was.

"The evidence suggests that you enjoyed that quite a little bit, Trent," I said.

"It's... just a reaction," he said in a whisper, with the last ounce of his bravado. The arrogant young man that had walked into my office had been replaced by a meek boy.

"Sure. All guys get the same reaction when something turns them on," I replied with a sneer. "Entirely natural if you like getting your ass spanked. And from the looks of things, you're going to be getting the same reaction from your cock every time you remember what I did to your butt tonight."

Fuck. Trent had an incredible body, and the thought of plunging my cock between his bright red buns was suddenly irresistible. I would give Trent something he wanted even more than getting his ass paddled.

"Bend over the desk, Trent," I said.

"Yes, sir," he responded. What was this? The surly jerk calling me sir? No hint of reluctance. Instead, excitement? I kicked Trent's legs apart so his stomach and chest rested on the desktop, and then used a short climbing rope to tie Trent's ankles to the feet of my desk. I did the same to his wrists. I stepped behind him and finished my cock from my pants, stroking it to hardness. Conveniently, a tube of my favorite ass lube that had arrived in the mail earlier in the week and was still in my office. I made a mental note to keep it in my desk from now on, just in case.

"What are you going to do to me?" Trent asked. His wavering voice betrayed a mixture of fear and excitement.

"Apparently getting your ass spanked wasn't much of a punishment for you, Trent," I said. "So I'm going to have to take it to the next level." I swirled the head of my cock against Trent's hole, causing the college boy to gasp. If I was right about Trent, getting his ass fucked wasn't going to be punishment, but that was no longer my goal. After tonight, Trent would know exactly what he was. Understanding would remedy this particular part of the University's bullying problem, not punishment or deterrence.

Some guys get off on virgin holes. They love busting cherries, knowing that their cock was the first to invade a guy's bunghole. That was never my thing. I liked fucking older guys, guys that knew how to take a big cock and had plenty of experience. Guys that had taken enough cocks up their asses to know that mine was special. But somehow Westcliffe was becoming my personal cherry grove. I had rung up Sancho's virgin ass. It was even possible that Jake, despite his age, had never gotten his ass fucked until I balled him. And now Trent's enticing butthole was about to welcome its first cock. Well, maybe `welcome' was the wrong word.

First, I had some unfinished business. I fished a sharpie from my desk drawer, making sure Trent saw me take it out. I debated what to scrawl on Trent's red ass cheeks. I didn't come up with anything inspired, instead settling on insert cock' on the left cheek and deposit cum' on the right. My penmanship wasn't up to Trent's, or whoever had drawn on Stewart's ass, but at least the words would be right side up for anyone to read. I put plenty of ink on Trent's smooth ass cheeks, coloring in the letters to make sure my handiwork would survive a long time.

With Trent marked by the sharpie, I finished getting my cock hard and greased. Prodding Trent's hole, I pressed forward, eliciting a sharp gasp from the college boy. It occurred to me that I needed to make yet another quick detour before butt fucking the frat boy. It was late and unlikely that anyone would be in the building, but precautions never hurt. I stuffed Trent's underwear in his mouth to make sure he couldn't scream, then taped them in place with, yes, duct tape. Handy stuff, duct tape.

Returning to the task at hand, I moved behind Trent and spread his ass cheeks. They still had a bright red glow. My stiff cock honed in on Trent's puckered ass, penetrating his hole and then breaching his sphincter. The boy strained at the climbing ropes holding his wrists and cried into the gag. My cock was on a mission. It continued to split Trent's ass cheeks. I got half of my dick inside Trent before pulling out to apply another coat of lube and to let Trent relax his cock glove.

With the frat bully's hole prepared, I grabbed his hips and plunged my cock all the way into his pussy. Trent struggled against the ropes, but to no avail. I started to move back and forth, ramming the boy's ass with my big rod. Maybe Trent's ass hadn't been fucked before or maybe it had, but tonight he was in for a royal ass fucking.

My first day at Westcliffe, before I met any of the rock climbers, I wondered if I would have sex in my office. At the time I envisioned balling one of the faculty members, or more likely, a hot janitor late at night. I had not anticipated fucking a student. But tied over the top of my desk, Trent's muscular young body was hot. And his flushed red ass cheeks, still smarting from being spanked, were perfect for fucking.

There was the whole teacher-fucking-student thing. Technically I had been fucking students all semester, from Kyle through Jesse and Sancho. I hadn't been in a position of authority with any of them, so this was different. But I passed on whatever morality issues might have been raised. My black eggs might be the first to seed the frat bully, but they wouldn't be the last, and rather than complain about what I was doing to him, Trent would crave it. Plus he wasn't likely to advertise my sharpie work to the authorities, so nobody would find out what was going down in my office. On the plus side, I was solving a campus bullying problem. Admittedly my methods were unorthodox, but they would be effective. More tellingly, Trent was getting what he wanted.

Every time I sank my dong into Trent's ass, his body slid forward slightly on my desk top. While I didn't care one way or the other, he stopped struggling against the climbing ropes and began moaning softly. He began lifting his ass to meet my repeated thrusts into his fuck chute, inviting me to ram his hole. Yeah, Trent was liking it, enjoying the fullness of a big black cock destroying his frat boy cherry pussy.

I felt my balls churning. I didn't want the fun to end too quickly, so I backed off. I edged myself closer and closer, prolonging the fuck. I thought about taking a break to shove my cock into Trent's pretty face and make him suck me, but I didn't want to fool with ripping the duct tape off his mouth. Plus, his ass felt too good, and every time I sank my big pole into Trent's hole, the words I had written on his ass cheeks – insert cock' and deposit cum' – jumped and jerked. I wondered how many dudes were going dick Trent and watch those words jiggle on his ass cheeks, before the words finally faded into memory. Maybe only me. That would be a shame. Kid looked damn good with a cock impaling his frat boi cunt.

After what must have been a half hour, I was ready to blast, and I rammed my cock deep inside the college jock's hole, pulling his body backward at the same time so I could go as far into him as possible. Wave after wave of cum rifled through my cock, seeding Trent's ass, marking him as a black man's cum dump. I caught my breath, my dick buried in the jock boy's ass. Finally, I pulled my cock from Trent's hole, wiping it across his red ass cheeks.

I undid the ropes binding Trent's wrists and ankles and pulled the duct tape off his mouth. He stood up, and his eyes betrayed humiliation as it became apparent that he had climaxed while I fucked him. A pool of thick cum rested on my desk, and Trent's hard abs were covered with a slimy coat of white jism.

What was the deal with guys cumming spontaneously while I balled them? Jesse had blown his load without touching himself. I suppose Trent had had some help from his cock sliding back and forth on my desktop, so maybe that didn't count as much. I shoved Trent's face to my desk, saying, "Clean your spunk off my desktop. Don't miss a drop." Travis paused a moment, then did as I ordered. He kept eying my semi-hard fuck tool. I figured, what the hell? The frat bully might not get another taste of black cock for a long time, and he obviously wanted it. With my desk spit cleaned, I shoved Trent's face into my crotch, making him gag as I face fucked him long enough to ensure my dick was clean.

I pulled my black python from Trent's mouth, wiped it across his face and stuffed it back inside my pants. Trent sat on the floor, looking stunned. His face was a mixture of shock, lust and wonder. "Get the fuck up and get your sorry ass out of here," I said. "I don't want to hear another word about you bullying anybody. For the rest of your tenure here, you're going to be a model student, thoughtful and respectful of your fellow students."

Trent nodded, getting slowly to his feet and reaching for his clothes. "Nope," I said, catching his hand. "Your pledges weren't permitted clothes during their trip to the gym Friday night, so you're going to swallow your own medicine. It's dark outside, so if you stick to the trees and out of the streetlights, you might make it back to the frat house without too many people seeing you. I don't know how easy it will be for you to sneak into the fraternity house, but I'm sure your frat brothers will be sympathetic and won't laugh about your ass advertising insert cock' and deposit cum.' I'll put your clothes in the campus mail later in the week."

A look of fear and panic showed in Trent's eyes. We both knew my comment about his frat brothers being sympathetic was sarcasm. One glimpse of the writing on Trent's ass would be all it would take to turn him into the laughing stock of the frat house. To say nothing of the likelihood that Trent's abs would still have a layer of dried cum on them if he was spotted tonight. Good. A little humility was a perfect antidote for a bully. I handed Trent his wallet and keys, figuring he would need them before his clothes arrived in the mail.

I saw Stewart a couple of months later on campus. He had his arms around a strikingly beautiful Asian woman. I don't think he saw me. But a month after that, I ran into him again, and this time he clearly saw me. He was deep throating a freckled, red haired young man, and Stewart gave me a big smile. College kids changed quicker than the weather. It wouldn't have surprised me to see Stewart with a woman the next day. The kid was damn cute. Just not my type.

I have no idea if Trent made it home from my office without being seen, or if he successfully hid my sharpie work from his frat brothers. Knowing fraternities, it was highly unlikely he pulled that off for any length of time. I unleashed something, however, because a couple of months after my vigilante discipline session with Trent, I saw him as I was leaving my office. He was dressed in gym shorts and a muscle shirt that showed off his awesome shoulders and arms. He stopped, a faint smile crossing his lips, and nodded toward my office and said, "If your frat paddle isn't getting enough usage, I have a remedy for the problem. Sir!"

I had to admire the kid's chutzpah, and couldn't help but chuckle. I had done plenty of BDSM play acting in Chicago and Boston, but it wasn't really my thing. One of the best bottoms I knew in Boston, a big muscular guy who rowed on Harvard's heavyweight crew, always said, "It's getting there that is fun, not being there. It's all about the journey." My session with Trent had been hot, but once I conquered the jock brat, he held less allure for me. Still, the frat boi had a hot body, and my cock could do much worse than another expedition into his ass. I smiled, raised an eyebrow, and said, "We'll see."

TO BE CONTINUED...

Stay tuned for chapter seven; back to the rock climbers.

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