The Brotherhood

The students pack up noisily and fill the room with chattering conversation as they begin to drift out the door. Professor Carl Summers packs his own briefcase much more quietly, listening to the small snatches that drift to his ears as the students meander past him.

“Hey, I’ll be a few minutes late today,” calls one boy, Mark, to another, Anthony. Anthony is standing right in front of the professor’s desk. He waves back at Mark with an easy-going expression, teeth flashing like a predator’s. “We’ll save you a spot,” he calls back. He turns back towards the door, and as his gaze passes over the professor he nods to the man, strands of his surfer-like blond hair falling forward over his eyes for a moment before he straightens back up and strides out the door. The professor watches him go idly before he is distracted by another presence standing at his desk with obvious intent. He looks back to find another one of his students, Dorian, staring at him.

Dorian is tall and lithe, with rich brown hair that flows mid-way down his back. He is of mixed-race descent, and hints of Asian blood give him the darkest, most piercing eyes that the professor has ever seen. There is something intense and frightening, almost haunting in that gaze. For the few seconds that his eyes lock with the professor’s, Summers feels trapped like an animal. He cannot bring himself to look away. Then Dorian slides a folded note to him across the desk and breaks the eye contact, never looking up from the ground as he shuffles out the door.

Professor Summers looks down at the note and slides it the rest of the way across the desk into his hand, picking it up and opening the crease to read it. In Dorian’s loopy, girlish handwriting it reads,

The professor frowns at the note, not knowing what to make of it. He looks up to ask Dorian to explain, but the boy is long gone. With a frown of confusion, he tucks the note into his jacket pocket and thinks little of it.

He is lying on the couch in his assigned on-campus faculty housing that evening at 8:15, enjoying a quiet drink, when he reaches absently into his pocket for his cell phone and his fingers encounter the slip of paper. He pulls it out and stares at the feminine squiggles, wondering again what exactly it’s about. He asked another professor in his department earlier that afternoon if he’d ever heard of the ‘Brotherhood of the Ring,’ and the man had shrugged and said that all he knew was it was some kind of invitation-only club on campus. No one else seemed to have any more information than that; many had not even heard of the club, or society, or whatever it was.

Staring at the note, Professor Summers entertains the idea of going. He is already late, but it will take him only ten minutes or so to walk across campus. Perhaps they wouldn’t mind tardiness on the first visit. Perhaps he should be flattered to have received an invitation to such an apparently exclusive club. And if that’s the case, then it would be in fact rude not to show up.

Decided, he stands up and goes to the door, pulling on his shoes and striking out at a brisk pace for the Sigma Tau Alpha lounge. Though he has justified it to himself, what really sticks in his mind is Dorian’s eyes, the way they seem to look through a man and peer into his soul. The professor quickens his pace.

He arrives at the door of the Sigma Tau Alpha fraternity house nine minutes later. After some snooping around and a few discreet questions, he finds himself at a small door behind the main staircase of the building, an out-of-the-way entrance that looks like little more than a broom closet. Uncertainly, Professor Summers knocks on the door.

There is the snick sound of a lock being turned and the door is opened from the inside by a boy that the professor recognizes as Mark from his afternoon class, the same class as Dorian. The boy stares at him with a frown; apparently the professor is not what he was expecting. “Can I help you?” he asks with stiff politeness.

“I was given this,” the professor explains, holding out the note.

Mark takes the piece of paper doubtfully and glances at it. His eyebrows rise suddenly and he begins to read it more thoroughly. Then he looks back up at the professor. “Dorian invited you?” he asks. The professor nods. Mark whistles and shakes his head. “That’s really weird. Well, I guess if he invited you. Come on in then.”

The door is pulled open a little wider and Professor Summers is led into a long hallway, narrow and bare, with cheap fluorescent lighting lining the ceiling. Mark shuts the door behind him and locks it, then stares at the professor. After a moment he shakes his head, mumbling ‘whatever,’ under his breath.

“Okay, listen,” he says. “Before you go further, you are required to take an oath of secrecy. You must swear by something meaningful to you that you will not speak to anyone about anything that goes on in this room tonight. I must warn you that the oath is... enforced. Take it seriously. If you don’t think you can do it, you can still back out now.”

The professor’s eyebrows rise. That does not bode well; it sounds a bit more serious than some underage drinking. But he remembers once again Dorian’s piercing eyes, and he nods. “I swear on the grave of my mother,” he says, “that I will not tell a soul.”

“Fair enough,” says Mark. “As I said, the oath is enforced. Some of our members have powerful connections, and speaking could cause you to lose your job, among other things. Are you still prepared to go forward?”

The threat sounds almost childish, although Mark says it very seriously. Professor Summers nods and Mark leads the way down the hallway to another door at the other end. He knocks, two long, slow beats on the door, then a second of pause, then two shorter, sharper raps. A second later an answering knock in the same pattern comes from the inside and there is the sound of another lock being drawn back. The door swings open, and Mark gestures for the professor to go inside while he turns and goes back to his own seat just inside the first door.

With a mild sense of trepidation, Professor Summers takes a step forward into the room, hears the door close behind him.

What he first sees are two semi-circular couches, blue, arranged with a small gap between them to allow entry into the circle. College men of all years lounge on the sofas, some talking in low voices with heads bent together, others lying back with eyes closed and blissful expressions. Some of them have their flies open, while others wear no pants altogether, but every man has his penis in the open air, and most are hard.

In the center of the couches is a round coffee table, but at first it is too closely surrounded by a press of bodies for the professor to see anything within. Then suddenly someone at one end steps back, and the professor sees lips sliding from the length of his penis as it is drawn out of a person’s mouth, seconds before the boy ejaculates onto the face of the person giving him the blowjob.

When the spasms of cum finally cease, dark eyes flutter open, and Professor Summers recognizes the upside-down face of Dorian.

Dorian apparently recognizes him as well, for he twists his upper body around so that he is leaning on his elbows in order to face the professor. He cannot twist his lower body because, as Professor Summers now sees, a short, pudgy boy has Dorian’s legs pushed back and is currently pounding his cock into Dorian’s ass at a galloping clip.

But the twist in Dorian’s body is apparently uncomfortable for him and he pulls out suddenly, flipping Dorian all the way onto his stomach and then thrusting himself back inside with barely a pause.

The professor sees Dorian wince at the re-entry before the boy’s face is obscured by someone new moving to place his penis in Dorian’s mouth. The professor is horrified, but at the same time, aroused. He takes a step forward, and at that moment, someone in the circle turns his head and spots him.

“Hey,” says the boy, “new guy. Hey everybody, new guy.”

Uncertainly, Professor Summers steps up to him. The professor looks younger than his age, and is often mistaken for a student, especially when he is in his house clothes as he is now. The young man obviously doesn’t recognize him, but smiles as the professor reaches the circle and claps him on the shoulder.

“First-timer, huh?” he says cheerfully. He reaches down under the table and rummages for a moment, then comes back up with a condom, which he hands to the professor. “First time you have to wear these. That’s the rule until you get your STD check. They do regular checks on all the members; you’ll get used to it. But until your first check, you gotta put that on.” He nods, glancing for a moment down at Dorian, then back at the professor. “Since it’s your first time though, you get special dibs. You get him however you want, and you get priority for tonight. So, what do you want first, ass or mouth? Or hands?”

Now that the professor is close enough, he can see over the other boys’ shoulders and get a close view of Dorian, now on his stomach. The willowy boy is penetrated from both ends, speared, and his body is covered in dripping cum. His hands are pleasuring several other boys as well, and a few impatient or exceptionally horny ones just rub themselves off on his skin, jerking against his hipbones until their cum squirts up onto his back, joining previous stains. Dorian’s long hair is tied into a bun at the nape of his neck, but the professor can see that it has already become stained with cum.

“Ass,” the professor says. He unzips his fly and proceeds to pull out his penis and roll on the condom.

The boy he’s been talking to smiles and reaches out to touch the shoulder of the pudgy boy currently pounding Dorian. “Hey, when you’re done, this guy’s got next dibs,” he says. The pudgy boy nods and speeds up his thrusts, his fingers tight on Dorian’s hips, where Professor Summers sees several dark bruises. The table is just long enough that Dorian’s legs stick off one end, providing ideal access to his ass, while his head sticks off the other end, providing the same for his mouth. Professor Summers hears Dorian grunt as the boy at his mouth suddenly grabs Dorian’s hair and thrusts himself deeply inside, spasming as he comes down Dorian’s throat. A few seconds later the pudgy boy comes as well, buried balls-deep inside Dorian. When he steps back, a few others in the circle encourage the professor forward with hands on his arms and companionable pats to his back.

Professor Summers pauses for a moment and looks at Dorian, at his stained body. Taking a cue from the earlier events, he grabs Dorian and flips him onto his back, with the intent of seeing the boy’s face. He pushes back Dorian’s legs and places his penis at the boy’s anus. Then, slowly, he begins to push his member inside.

He only witnesses one quick grimaced expression before Dorian’s head falls back and someone else’s dick is placed in his mouth, obscuring the professor’s view of his face. Instead, the professor turns his attention to Dorian’s anus, which is tighter than it appeared to be, than it by any rights should be. Cum bubbles up around his penis, the leftovers of previous penetrations, and it seeps out around his condom-encased cock. But it lubes his entrance as well, and he slides into Dorian like a hand into a silk glove.

The boys in the circle give him some more encouraging pats as he finishes the initial penetration and begins to fuck the boy. A boy comes in Dorian’s hand. The seed splashes the side and the underside of Dorian’s chin, drips down his neck. The professor bites back a whimper at the sight and gives a particularly harsh thrust, making Dorian grunt. The professor feels disconnected, detached from his own body, and he does not know why. Something about this boy has broken something inside him, and he proceeds to fuck Dorian with wild abandon, like he’s never fucked anyone in his life.

When he comes it is so intense that he can barely stagger away afterwards. The circle of bodies closes behind the professor as he leaves it, someone already moving to take his place. With trembling fingers, he peels off the used condom and throws it into a nearby trash bag. Then he collapses onto one of the couches, his breathing harsh and uneven. He is taken aback at his own actions, but at the same time he entertains hopes of doing it again later in the evening.

Someone sits down next to him, and he turns his head to see Anthony, another boy from his class. The surfer blond smiles at him, looking ludicrously calm and composed, given the situation. “Hey Professor,” he says. “Never thought I’d see you here. I’m the current president of this little club. How are you enjoying it?”

“It’s...” Professor Summers finds himself at a loss for words. He shakes his head. “How does this work, exactly? There wasn’t much info on the invitation.”

Anthony shrugs and leans back against the couch. Before he can answer, they are interrupted by an interjection from the circle; a boy’s voice calls out, “Yeah bitch, take it all!” and there is a resounding smack as he slaps Dorian’s ass. Anthony pays the call no mind except to wait until it is finished before continuing.

“What do you want to know?” he asks.

“Well,” says the professor, groping for some hold on what feels like a slipping sanity, “how long do these meetings last? And how often are they? Do you guys, like, all take turns on that table, or what?”

Anthony snorts. “You mean take turns being fucked? No. We’re here to fuck Dorian. We’re always here to fuck Dorian. Once he graduates, a new freshman will be chosen to be fucked for the next four years. That’s how it works. This club has been going on like this for, oh, years and years. Sometimes we get alumni who graduated way back who come to campus and stop in to see who the new bitch is, give him a good fuck before they leave. Some pretty rich and influential folks, sometimes.”

As Anthony continues to speak, the professor’s gaze drifts back to the circle of bodies, and the occasional fleeting glimpse of Dorian’s cum-stained form. Anthony’s voice drifts over him in a hazy, dream-liked state as he watches a particularly well-endowed boy stick the entire length of his shaft down Dorian’s throat.

“As for when and how long, well,” continues Anthony, “it goes on until everyone’s done each night. Weeknights that’s usually not so long, since most people have to get up for class and all. But man, Friday and Saturday nights can get pretty intense. We once had so many people here on a Friday night that it just kept going clear through into the Saturday session. That was intense. We actually had to stop for an hour or two so Dorian could eat and rest for a little bit. But usually that sort of thing doesn’t happen; not all club members show up every night. In fact, very few of them do. So usually it’s just a couple hours.”

Anthony leans back, laying his arms across the back of the couch in a gesture of relaxation and confident ease. “It’s every night of the week except Sundays that we’re here. Sundays usually everyone has to work anyway, and Dorian needs at least one day a week off to rest.” Anthony pauses, and they both watch as two boys maneuver Dorian into a position where they can both penetrate his anus at the same time. Dorian is lowered onto one boy’s cock, then winces as the second is pushed inside him. When the boys begin to thrust, the group moves back in and the view is obscured once more.

“So when did you get here?” Anthony asks.

“A little before eight-thirty,” the professor replies absently, still working over the image burned into his mind of the two cocks prying open Dorian’s entrance.

“Mm,” says Anthony. “You should try getting here early sometime, right at eight. Then you get to watch some of the boys take Dorian’s clothes off. Now that is a fucking sexy sight. Some guys like to jack off to it.”

“Are you sure he likes this?” the professor asks suddenly. “I mean, he doesn’t seem very comfortable. He agreed to this?”

“The bitch doesn’t exactly agree, per se,” says Anthony, tossing his hair back over his shoulder. “He’s selected. But we pick them carefully. It might look like he doesn’t want it, but he still shows up here every night at eight. We never have to go get him or anything. He’s always here and willing to spread his legs as soon as we start, sometimes even quite a bit early. Trust me, he’s eager to be fucked.”

One of the boys steps back from the circle, and Professor Summers is treated to the same sight he got when he first entered the room, of Dorian’s lips sliding from a man’s penis. It’s a bit too much for him, and he stands with a strangled moan. “I’m going back for another round,” he says hoarsely. “I have to try that mouth.”

“Actually, I think I’ll join you,” says Anthony. “You’ve got dibs, of course, but I’m willing to wait in line for his ass. By the time everyone ahead of me’s done, I’ll be more than ready for it.”

Professor Summers gulps and nods, then steps forward to claim Dorian’s mouth before someone else can.

The next day after class, the students are filing out once more when Professor Summers calls out to Dorian, asking him to wait. Dorian stops in his tracks, still facing towards the door, as everyone moves around him like a stream rushing around a stone. When the last person is gone, Professor Summers says, “Close the door.”

Dorian steps forward and does so, then turns to face the professor. His eyes are cast down, fixed on a lower corner of the professor’s desk. He says nothing.

Professor Summers stares at the boy, at the long, dark hair, and thinks of Dorian in the shower each night, scrubbing the crusted cum from his body; by the end of the evening yesterday, Dorian had been well-coated in it. He licks his lips. “Dorian,” he says, “why did you give me that invitation?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” asks Dorian, and suddenly he looks up, and his eyes as they meet the professor’s are blazing, full of a furious, completely alien despair that seems to have no counterpart in any reality that the professor knows of. “I thought you would stop them,” Dorian says. He turns and begins to move back towards the door.

Before he gets there, however, the professor comes up behind him, pressing the full length of his body against Dorian’s back, grabbing his wrists. Through their clothing, the professor’s erection strains against Dorian’s covered anus, remembering the feel of it and wanting back inside so very badly.

Or perhaps into his lips. The professor reaches up with one hand and traces Dorian’s lips absently with his fingertips. “Liar,” he murmurs. His mouth is just next to Dorian’s ear, his breath breezing hot and moist across Dorian’s sensitive flesh. When he speaks, his lips brush the shell of Dorian’s ear ever-so-lightly, and he feels Dorian trembling in his arms. “You love it. I know you do. I saw your eyes last night. You love it, and that’s why you’re there every day on the dot at eight or even earlier. Because you want it so badly.”

The professor thrusts his hips suddenly, bucking his erection against Dorian’s ass in a parody of their activities the previous night. He thrusts hard, so he is sure that Dorian feels him even through their clothes. He leans close again to whisper in Dorian’s ear.

“I will see you tonight,” he promises.