Chapter 2
For weeks after I had turned down the first team's offensive line Henry from dominating me, I tried "Dom" after "Dom." A weightlifter who was into spanking but mostly just eating my ass. Another muscular freshman who said he loved bondage but tied himself up more than he tied me. A gymnast who liked to leave me in "predicaments" of uncomfortable positions while he ate food and watched.
And there was something I liked about the gymnast, how he didn't seem to care how much I was in pain. He was there to watch me and sometimes take a photo. But after the third time of him just having a meal while I was holding a pose naked, I asked when we'd spice things up. It was the end of the session at his place, and I was still naked.
"Oh, this isn't a sex thing. I'm straight."
"Wait, why do you do this then?" I asked.
"Come on," he said. "It's fucking funny! You know how many of you gay guys I've gotten to do this? Now, every time I see you on campus, we both know what kind of a man you are. That little uncomfortable feeling in your throat for you, is a rush of power to my chest for me. And I have photo blackmail just for fun."
My throat went dry. Yet for reasons I couldn't control, I felt blood rush to my cock.
He laughed. "Don't worry. I've never used the blackmail on anyone."
I let out a soft smile of relief.
"Yet."
Another night of me alone in my room, furiously jerking off to the thought of something I shouldn't. After I came, I made myself promise I'd never see him again either. If those photos leaked, my football career would be over.
Weeks later, a promising guy came up through the noise of Doms not attractive enough to meet my standards. "Dom 4 Curious" was his name. His profile was a gorgeous muscular chest with a sprinkling of hair. We swapped messages, then face pics. Wow. An All-American smile and boyish-eyes with a dark red beard and buzz cut. Throughout the next week, we messaged, and I fell. It was like he could read my mind.
"I'm new to all this," I said.
"It's because you can't push it away. That little part in your brain that keeps whispering to you when you're on your knees in front of a man, 'This is where I belong.'"
The next day:
"What are you interested in?" he asked.
"I don't know," I messaged back. "I don't want to do anything too crazy. I was tied up by this guy who didn't know what they were doing."
"You won't have to worry about that."
"Because you won't tie me up?"
"I never said that."
I started to wait for every new message with glee. At endurance training, my mind would wander to the mysterious man, and the thought of hearing from him would push me through.
Then there were scrimmages. Scrimmages were awkward now since I'd rejected Henry. First team and second team always faced off against each other. Because Henry was offensive line, I had gotten around a direct faceoff with him but it was only a matter of time. Coach liked to switch positions every so often to keep us on our toes.
When I was on the bench during a scrimmage, my mind had wandered to a message I'd gotten. "The worse I tell you I'm going to hurt you, the more you send me hole pics." My cock grew hard. A guy had walked past me and looked down at my cup. I wasn't sure if he had noticed. I was beet red for the rest of practice.
"I got hard at football practice thinking of you today," I messaged with a grin.
"What a humiliating thing to admit. The only thing we've talked about is how I'm going to tie you up, hurt you, and cum down your throat. And that made you rock hard in front of everyone?"
"I guess," I replied. I hadn't realized it, but that must have been why I was so embarrassed when I was caught. The irrational fear that my teammate somehow knew what thoughts made me like that.
"Guys thinking about fucking their girlfriends have a right to get hard," he replied. "Doms imagining ways to throat-fuck sluts have a right. But when your cock gets hard at the thought of being tied up and hurt just for some stranger's amusement? Fuck that's just funny."
I spent that whole night staring at his photos, touching myself and imagining him saying those words to me. The next day, we agreed to meet up at his dorm room that next weekend.
"There are ground rules," he messaged.
"Anything you want," I replied.
"Good boy," he messaged back.
I felt a warm rush through my chest.
"Come wearing no underwear. Partway through when I decide, you will be blindfolded. The safeword will be 'Red'. Say that only in emergencies, and the scene will end. You'll leave and we never have to see each other again."
"The no underwear will be uncomfortable," I replied. I thought of walking with my jeans rubbing against my exposed ballsack.
"Good. It should also be humiliating."
A minute later the red bearded man replied back. "And one more thing: Once you enter my house, you are not allowed to touch yourself. That is a right that only belongs to me."
I felt pre-cum ooze out from my hard cock.
Saturday night as I went to his dorm room, I already felt like I was naked walking across campus. Without underwear my cock hit roughly against the fabric of my jeans and, combined with my swirling mind, I was hard before I was even halfway to his place. I tried jogging to speed it up, but that just made things worse. I really needed to buy a bike. It felt like each person's eyes were on me, like they knew what I wasn't wearing, like as soon as they were out of earshot they'd turn away and start laughing at me. So why was I rock hard?
I got to the red bearded man's dorm and knocked. Knocking on his door, I felt a beautiful anxiety well up inside me. The moment before every first-time hookup, that question of if they'd be as hot as their photos, how they'd react to you, what their first move would be. The fear. It turned me on more than I liked to admit.
When the door opened, the man standing there was exactly the same as his pictures. Bulging muscles with a classic smile and that dark-red beard seared into my brain.
"Come in," he said in a gentle soft voice that felt like it couldn't match with the messages I'd been getting.
I walked in and he closed the door. It was a spacious single that had a living room, kitchen, private bathroom, and bedroom, housing reserved for upper classmen. We stood in the living room where a huge sofa sat, a giant TV, and memorabilia of our football team, the Hunters, plastered every surface. He cocked his head and stared at my jeans.
"I did it," I said with an eager smile on my face. "I went commando." I grabbed my zipper and started to take off my pants.
"Hey. Remember the ground rule," he said, softly but firmly. "No touching yourself. That's the Dom's job now."
"Right," I said, lifting my hands back. "Sorry."
"Come and kneel by the bed," he said and walked me to the bedroom.
"Are you fans of the Hunters?" I asked as we walked into his bedroom. My mouth felt dry and my body wet with nervous sweat.
The bedroom had a huge king-sized bed, a closed closet, and even more Hunter swag scattered along the academic books and video games. The Dom pointed to the closet.
