Mr. One Fifty-Eight

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 1-3 of

Mr. One Fifty-Eight

. The characters' back stories are revealed there. All characters depicted in this story are over 18.

*****

The 45-lb. weight dropped on the floor with a loud thud, causing Jeff Woodard to slam his freckled fist on his desk.

"Why do you have to do that right now, bro? I'm studying!"

Justin Corvino looked up grumpily.

"How do you still have finals, man? I was done yesterday."

"This shitty class has a Saturday final, and the minute it's done, I'm getting the fuck out of here. Now go pump your guns someplace else," the handsome blond fraternity brother shot back.

"Just one more set."

"For fuck's sake Justin, I mean it!"

"I still gotta do one more with my left, man! You don't want my arms to look all lopsided, do ya?" Justin tried one of his customary affable grins, but it was strained. He began his set.

Jeff sighed huffily at every grunt and exhale. Unable to concentrate, he looked at Justin thoughtfully instead.

"Why didn't you just go to the gym, man?"

"Just doin' a last-minute set or two, bro."

"What, got a date tonight?" Jeff asked.

"Fuck no, man!" Justin responded a little too sharply.

Jeff's green eyes narrowed suspiciously, but he was too stressed out and too busy to be interested in spending lots of time untangling Justin's mysterious social life. It was the end of fall quarter, and the three roommates were all on edge, more than a little worn out by each other.

Justin completed his set, and replaced the weight in his closet with ostentatious care. When he was sure Jeff was turned away, he changed his clothes quickly, donning a tighter t-shirt, jeans, and a nice checked button-down over the tee. A quick glance in the mirror assured him he had the desired look. No need to fix his hair; he didn't have any. Justin grabbed his wallet and phone, and was about to slip out when Jeff spoke again.

"Cowboy boots?" he asked incredulously. "Since when have you owned fucking cowboy boots?"

"Shut your mouth, bud. Girls think they look hot."

Jeff tried to keep the eye roll off his face, and nodded.

"If you say so. Have a good time, bro."

Jeff watched Justin go with a sad half-smile. It was none of his business, really, but he sensed Justin was not being honest with him. It stung a bit - they'd been close friends since freshman year. He sighed and returned to his books, running his left hand through his wavy blond hair.

Justin all but raced out of the frat house, and jumped into his car. In his haste, he had forgotten to bring his jacket, and it was cold. The second week of December usually meant snow on the ground, and it had started early this year; the first snowfall had come in October. In that and other ways, it had been a rough fall.

He started the Audi, and thought for a minute. It was only just after 7 p.m. He was way too early. But he had to get out of that fucking room - they were all driving each other nuts. Justin was faring the worst of the three; both Jeff and Tag were getting uncomfortably close to the truth of how Justin spent some of his free time. After three months in the SAE house, Justin was realizing what a truly amazing situation he had had the year before. It had been the best of all worlds; frat life when he wanted it, plenty of nights at his favorite bar, and a cute, sweet, compliant cocksucker to come home to, with head every day, and foot worship and all kinds of other kinky shit whenever he demanded it.

And interesting conversation, too, his unhelpful heart told him. From a boy with the most beautiful blue-grey eyes . . .

Stop it. Don't get dreamy over the fag; you're not gay. Nothing to get dreamy about. Plus, it's only going to make tonight harder.

Justin put the car in drive and headed south. He let instinct guide him, and in half an hour he was outside Ted's - the bar where he always seemed to wind up. He didn't need to go there anymore, really; he had turned 21 a few weeks ago, and he no longer needed Jayson, the bartender, to turn a blind eye. But still, this dive bar exercised a huge pull on Justin.

Because you miss Andy. And because Chris reminds you of Andy, his heart piped up again.

Fuck you, Justin replied to himself. Andy was amazing, but Chris is even more special.

Did I really just think that? Justin's conscience stung him. He felt disloyal. And also scared. You meant, he's an even better cocksucker. Yeah. That's what you meant.

He walked into the bar and nodded at Jayson. Ted's was rarely crowded; it filled up sometimes at happy hour, but the regulars were all men who were looking to escape from their lives in an out-of-the-way joint. There were a handful of other guys at the bar, and a middle-aged couple at one of the tables - she had a lot of tattoos, and he had a ponytail. Uninterested, Justin scanned the men at the bar out of habit. All too old for his taste, although one of them was very good-looking, with dark hair, piercing dark blue eyes, and a strong jaw. He was obviously a professional, and way more put together than most people who went to Ted's. Handsome, for sure, but Justin liked them young and pliable.

With just a little bit of fire. That's what Chris and Andy both have. Had. And that's what you find so hot, he thought.

Shut it, he said to himself.

"Nice boots, buddy. The usual?" Jayson asked.

The handsome dark-haired man looked up.

"Yeah. Thanks, bro."

Jayson flipped a chilled glass in his hand and set it on the bar; three ice cubes and a generous portion of bourbon followed.

"Start a tab?"

"Nah, gotta drive in a bit."

"Got a date?"

"No."

The finality of Justin's response was clear, and the dark-haired man snorted softly, then returned to his Manhattan. He had asked for it to be made with rye tonight; it was surprisingly good, given the unprepossessing look of this place. Mark was glad he had given the bar a second chance. And he was pretty damned sure he had seen the shaved-headed jock-looking guy the last time he was here, too - almost a year ago now. The guy wasn't quite Mark's favorite type, but he had an alpha dog look about him that commanded attention. And he was clearly a college boy, which was totally out of place here; there were plenty of schools in town, but nothing very close to this street, and certainly nothing nearby that would boast a preppy frat boy like this one among its students. This kid must come down here from up north. What's he running from, Mark wondered.

Ugh, college. College reminded him of Chris, and the cute, dark-blond boy he hadn't seen in months. What a dick tease that kid had turned out to be, Mark thought uncharitably. He turns up again out of the blue last summer, it looks like it's going somewhere, then we lose contact; I run into him and save his ass at a BDSM club, and we start to date, sort of . . . and then he gets busy again.

I can't figure him out.

Mark took another sip of his Manhattan. But you'd save his hot ass again in a heartbeat. Because that boy needs a Daddy so bad, and you both know it. It's just never gonna click while he's still in school. He has too much going on. Too many obligations, plus he's only 20. Mature for his age, but still way too young. And you've said that over and over.

Mark smiled to himself as he remembered their last session together, almost three months ago. It had been so hot to lead the boy gently but firmly into deeper submission, both sexual and domestic. That was a boy who was so full of life and spunk, and was so deliciously kinky. He was going to make a Dom very, very happy, once he learned to focus.

But how focused were you at 20, Mark thought. You were banging everything that moved. And loving every minute of it. Just let the boy keep finding his way, and keep in touch with him periodically. You never know where his head will be when he graduates. He may well be worth waiting for. You know you have feelings for him. If you're patient and strategic, you'll get him back. Maybe you should text him tonight . . . Nah, not yet. Maybe later. I'm tired of not getting a reply.

Mark sipped again ruminatively, and eyed the alpha dog. Now there is a boy who would be fun to dominate . . . nice and slowly, step by step. Play along with his fantasies, make him think he's in control, and then, before he knows it . . . he's hogtied at the foot of my bed, begging to be let go . . . Even better that he's not quite my type. I wouldn't start to feel sorry for him.

Mark's nine-inch uncut cock began to swell in his expensive wool pants as he thought of dominating Justin. Would sedation be necessary? Possibly. But even hotter if the stud was tricked into it. Or lost a bet. I wonder if he's ever sucked cock? Looks like a frat boy, so I'd give it an 80% probability that the answer is yes. Bet he hasn't been skull-fucked, though. Or been made to look at a video of himself red-eyed and drooling and his face stuffed with dick.

Mark smiled at how horny he was getting, and took another sip of his rye Manhattan.

Justin was busy fending off the conversational gambits of Jayson, who was unusually chatty.

"I always miss him at Christmas the most."

"Yeah, man, I hear ya," Justin replied, refusing to look up.

"He was so into it. His favorite holiday. I mean, it's most kids' favorite holiday, but he loved everything about it. When he was little, he used to dress up like he was in the Nativity. You're Catholic, right? With a name like Corvino, you must be."

Justin grunted an affirmative.

"He dressed up as Mary once, but my dad was pretty upset about it. Never did it again," Jayson chuckled.

Justin winced. He did not want to hear stories about Andy. Not tonight, and probably not ever, to be honest. He desperately wanted to forget his high school friend, the one he had taken pity on, and who had later committed suicide because he didn't want to be gay. And now Andy's older half-brother was telling stories about him fucking cross-dressing. Jesus.

Well, Mary, actually.

Justin wasn't surprised Andy's stepdad hadn't been happy about it. Probably beat the shit out of him, poor kid. Andy had mentioned being whipped at home, but he had still loved it when Justin spanked him. Granted, the jock hadn't done it very hard. Not nearly as hard as Chris could take.

Oh fuck me, how much longer until I can leave? Justin wondered. The thought of spanking his favorite boy - hell, his only boy at the moment - was making him antsier and randier than ever.

"You're such a macho dude, though. I was always kind of surprised that you and Andy were such good friends," Jayson continued.

Justin's hands shook as he continued to pretend to play a game on his phone. Would this dipshit just SHUT. THE. FUCK. UP.

"You, know," Jayson said conspiratorially, "I always kind of wondered if Andy was . . ." Jayson looked sidelong at Justin, and let his voice trail off.

Justin swallowed hard, and forced himself to look the bartender in the eye.

"Was what?" He tried to make his voice sound nonchalant, but there was an undeniable edge to the sound. And he was speaking far too loudly; the handsome dude at the end of the bar was looking up again.

"Ah, nothing, man." Jayson lowered his gaze and retreated to another customer. The jock had always intimidated him a little. He still couldn't quite understand how his kid brother had ever become friends with this guy.

Justin was now too angry to pretend to play with his phone. He looked around the room moodily, and glared at Mark, who was staring at him. Fuck! Stare at someone else you fuckin' perv. He turned back to his drink. Coming here had been a mistake. It had been a safe haven so many nights before over the last two years . . . a refuge in which to drown his sorrows, someplace no one from his real life would ever have found him. And sure, a place to drink underage, abetted by the half-brother of his former cocksucker.

Justin kicked himself mentally. Fuck man, do you have to be so crass about it? Andy was a great little guy. And anyway, you know it's your fault . . .

No it's not, came the immediate mental response. You've been over this hundreds of times. Andy killed himself because he didn't want to be gay. He had psychological issues you were completely unaware of. You had nothing to do with it. He had a shitty relationship with his stepdad. You befriended him, but you had no idea how much emotional stuff he was repressing. He never told you. It's not your fault.

The jock squeezed his eyes shut, trying to blot out the past.

What a fucking downer this evening is already, Justin thought. And I have to get a happy face on before I go over and see Chris at 9 . . . at that thought, Justin's large uncut cock stirred. He knew Chris would be very, very pleased to see him. And Justin would finally get some relief.

It had been much harder than the jock had anticipated to find time to visit Chris this fall. Now that he lived in the fraternity, he found it harder to move freely without having to answer any questions. There were plenty of obligations, too, and it was poor form to be absent for too many parties, not to mention pledge events. He sensed that both Newton and Woodard were happy to cover for him at the latter; perhaps they intuited that after Chris' abrupt dismissal from pledge status the previous semester, Justin might find the whole process uncomfortable. The three of them were very careful, though, neither to be specific about the source of Justin's discomfort, nor ever to reference Chris by name. They had an unspoken understanding, and Justin appreciated that they appeared to have his back, but he resented their inquisitiveness about what, exactly, he was doing if not hanging out at the house.

Not so Reynolds. That shithead always seemed to find a way to allude to the pledge who had been cut last year - as a warning to the new pledge class, as a way of bonding with his new brothers, or as a way of trying to edge Justin out as the most popular guy in SAE. Reynolds had been a pledge with Chris, and was well-remembered for having the largest dick of that group; he was also rich, handsome, and pretentious even by SAE's standards. It clearly pissed him off that Justin's popularity with the brothers was so effortless. That didn't stop him from trying to surpass it, though. Unfortunately, Reynolds' way of building himself up was to cut others down, especially the one boy who was no longer there to defend himself; and even more unfortunately, most of the sophomores and even some of the upperclassmen seemed to enjoy hearing insulting stories about the former pledge with the tiny cock.

Fuck it. Don't think about those assholes, Justin said to himself. He checked his phone: only 7:50. Man. He wanted to see Chris now, make all this other shit go away in an evening of hot sex, but he knew the boy didn't get off work until 8:30, and wouldn't be home until 9. It was also important not to appear too eager. The boy was already needy enough, Justin had to be very careful not to give the impression that they were dating.

And that was really the crux of what had been so tough about this semester. Justin wanted Chris, needed him, his mouth, the tight hole that only he had ever penetrated, and the boy's dedicated service and attention. But Justin took his elevated status very, very seriously, so there could be no romance, no crush, no semblance of anything more than a hot Alpha and his devoted sex toy. It was a hard and exhausting line to maintain. Justin was having a tough time concentrating on his classes, and felt constantly under siege. The one thing that hadn't suffered was his exercise - that kept him sane. Burning off steam, whether at the gym or lifting in the room, helped keep him out of his head, which was the last place he wanted to be.

The jock looked up again, warily, trying to avoid Jayson's eye. Instead, he found himself looking straight at the handsome executive at the other end of the bar.

Jesus Christ! Still?! How long has that fucker been looking at me?? He looked the well-dressed man over more carefully, and thought: I bet he's a cocksucker too. A smirk crossed his face, and Mark smiled back confidently.

Justin scowled, and Mark's grin broadened.

That meathead is so fucking full of himself, Mark thought. I would dearly love to take him down a peg. He reminds me of that skinny asshole who assaulted Chris at the sex club. I wonder what this stud would look like strung up on Leo's cross, a cat falling across those broad shoulders . . . slowly at first, then harder, welts springing up . . . Mark kept staring at Justin, letting his cock continue to grow in his pants, almost daring the younger man to look.

Justin fell into the trap, his eyes dropping to Mark's crotch; aware of his mistake, he quickly glanced back at his phone. Is that dude getting hard looking at me? he thought.

Justin took a large swig of his Knob Creek. He was used to being the predator, not the prey. Fuck, how much longer did he have to wait before he could drive up to his boy? Maybe it was safer to talk to Jayson after all. He willed himself not to look back at Mark, and stood up, casually realigning his stool to make eye contact with the older man more difficult.

Mark continued to stare, sipping his Manhattan, heartily amused. He had not imagined when he walked into this bar on a whim that he would be making a young stud so deliciously uncomfortable. This could be fun. He adjusted his cock so that it now stretched more easily down his leg, making no effort to hide what he was doing. The meathead would look back, he was sure of it.

Justin thumped his glass down on the bar loudly. Jayson hurried over.

"Want another?" he asked. Justin nodded.

"That was quick, man," Jayson smiled awkwardly.

Justin silently cursed himself for coming down here tonight. This was bad on so many levels.

"Aw, ya know. School sucks," Justin said affably.

"Yeah, man. I guess. Never went," Jayson replied.

Oh, FUCK ME, thought Justin. I didn't know that. Now in addition to being uptight and a drunk, I'm also a snob. He raised his eyes to shoot a sympathetic glance with an implied mea culpa at the bartender, but Jayson was moving distractedly down the bar toward the well-groomed ad man.

Mark murmured in Jayson's ear; the bartender nodded, and grabbed the bottle of Knob Creek and a fresh glass.

"Here you go," he said in an embarrassed tone to Justin. "Courtesy of the gentleman over there." He indicated Mark with his head.

Justin contemplated the drink on the bar, nonplussed. He half wanted to pour it slowly onto the floor to show his contempt for the come-on and its author, but he decided instead to follow form. He raised it in the air, made the barest of glances in its buyer's direction, and sipped.

Mark's dick swelled anew at the frat boy's discomfiture. He manspread shamelessly, sipped his own cocktail, and waited for the jock to look again. Meanwhile, his fantasies had moved beyond having the boy trussed up at the foot of his bed, begging and drooling; they had progressed to imagining the jock on his knees, a spider gag in his mouth, widening it enough to take Mark's enormous meat . . . because the skull-fuck he had imagined earlier would probably have resulted in a lot of teeth. The gag'll get 'em out of the way. He ran his hand over his clothed erection absently while picturing Justin choking on it as he plunged it in the boy's mouth to the hilt while twisting the cocky bitch's nipples. It would be hot to see which got to the jockboy first - the pain in his nips or the inability to breathe.