Clean-Cut to Gutter Slut - Part 11 (Patreon)

Everyone in this story is 18+

The dorm was quiet that Friday afternoon, most people still in classes or napping off lunch. Brooks and I were already in for the night—just chilling in sweats and shorts on my bed, half-wrestling over who got the last protein bar from the stash.

He had me pinned face-down, knees on either side of my hips, one thick forearm across my shoulder blades while his free hand reached for the bar I’d snatched first. “Give it up, Ari,” he laughed low, breath hot against my ear. “You know I’m stronger.”

I bucked under him, twisting my hips to throw him off-balance. “Not today, big guy.” I managed to roll halfway, got one leg hooked around his calf, and flipped us so I was straddling his waist, hands braced on his bare chest. His pecs were solid under my palms, skin still warm from the shower, nipples pebbled from the AC. I grinned down at him. “Mine now.”

Brooks smirked up at me, hands sliding to my waist, thumbs digging into the dip above my hips. “You sure about that?” He flexed under me—abs tightening, hips rolling up just enough to grind our crotches together through the thin fabric of our bottoms. I felt him thicken instantly, the fat outline of his cock pressing up against mine. My own dick responded hard and fast, tenting slightly in the flimsy cotton.

I leaned down, nose brushing his, lips hovering. “Yeah. I’m sure.” My voice came out rougher than I meant. One of his hands slid up my back, fingers splaying between my shoulder blades, pulling me closer. Our mouths were an inch apart—breath mingling, his eyes dark and locked on mine. I could feel the heat rolling off him, the steady throb of his dick against mine every time he shifted.

His thumb traced the edge of my waistband, dipping just inside, brushing the sensitive skin there. I rocked down once—slow, on purpose—grinding my hard-on along the length of his. He groaned softly, head tipping back, Adam’s apple bobbing. “Ari…”

I lowered my mouth to his neck, kissed the pulse point, felt it jump under my lips. His hand tightened in my hair, not pulling, just holding. I rocked again—harder this time—our cocks sliding together through the fabric. His free hand gripped my ass, squeezing, spreading me slightly, fingers brushing the cleft. I moaned against his throat, hips stuttering forward.

Then—knock knock knock.

Three sharp raps on the door.

We froze.

Emily’s voice, muffled: “Babe? Surprise!”

Brooks exhaled hard through his nose, eyes squeezing shut for a second. “Fuck.” He gave my hip one last squeeze—almost apologetic—then rolled me off him gently, stood up, adjusted himself in his shorts like it was nothing. “Coming,” he called, voice steady as if we hadn’t just been two seconds from dry-humping each other into oblivion.

I stayed on the bed a beat longer, heart slamming, dick still throbbing painfully against my thigh, wet spot obvious. I grabbed a hoodie, yanked it over my head to cover the evidence, and tried to look normal as Brooks opened the door.

She stepped in wearing that same sundress from the Fourth of July BBQ, hair in a loose braid, carrying a little paper bag from the campus bakery. “I brought muffins! Thought we could have a study date.” Her smile was bright, trusting, the kind that used to make my chest warm. Now it just made my stomach knot tighter.

Brooks gave me a quick look—nothing obvious, just that subtle eyebrow lift he’d developed over the last month. I forced a grin, stood up, kissed her cheek. “Hey. Perfect timing. We were just starving.”

The three of us sat on my bed, her between us, legs crossed primly. She started talking right away—future stuff. “I was thinking… maybe after sophomore year we could look at rings? Nothing crazy, just something simple. And I’ve been reading about young families—there’s this couple in my youth group who had their first at twenty-two and they’re so happy. I think I’d like that. Being a mom young, building a life together…” She kept going, voice soft and dreamy, fingers twisting the cross necklace I’d given her.

Every word landed like a brick on my chest. I nodded, smiled, said “yeah” and “that sounds nice” while my dick was already half-hard under my sweats from the stress alone. Not because of her—because of the lie. Because Brooks was right there, three feet away, smelling like fresh shower and that same body wash he’d used since middle school, and all I could think about was how good it felt when he pinned me down last time and fucked me slow until I forgot my own name.

Brooks stood up suddenly. “I have to take a piss.” He walked the few steps to our tiny private bathroom, closed the door behind him. A second later his voice came through, casual but loud enough to carry: “Ari, bro? Are we out of soap again?”

I exhaled, grateful for the excuse. “Nah, we have it out here in the closet. I’ll bring it.”

I got up, grabbed the spare bottle from the shelf, knocked once on the bathroom door, and slipped inside when he cracked it open. The space was barely big enough for both of us. I closed the door behind is.

My face burned. I leaned closer. “Come on. Let’s do it quickly. She’ll think we’re just talking.”

He leaned forward, voice low enough only I could hear: “Bro. No. She’s literally right here. Get a grip.”

He looked at me dead-on. “You should just talk to her. For real. I don’t think you love her anymore. Maybe it’s time to let her know. This isn’t fair—to her,, to me or even to yourself.”

That hit. Hard. I sat back, chest tight. “Screw you,” I muttered under my breath. “You were happy railing me all summer.”

He didn’t flinch. Just held my stare until I looked away.

I opened the door and stepped back out. “Just Brooks—not getting the soap dispenser to work.”

She laughed softly. “You guys are hopeless.”

Brooks walked out without saying anything.

I sat back down beside her, heart hammering. She picked up right where she left off—talking about wedding colors, baby names she liked, how she couldn’t wait to start our life. I listened, and the words felt heavier than ever. My dick had gone soft; the restlessness had turned into something colder.

Maybe he’s right. Or—no, I knew he was right. I never loved her the way she deserved. Maybe I’ve been using her to pretend I’m still the good guy. Maybe… fuck it. I can’t keep doing this.

I took a slow breath. “Em… can we talk? Like, really talk?”

She looked up, smile faltering just a little. “Yeah. Of course.”

I opened my mouth, words right there on the tip of my tongue—

But then I chickened out.

“Babe,” I said instead, standing up too fast. “I’m going for a jog. Need to clear my head. Be right back.”

Her face softened again. “Okay. Don’t be too long—I brought those chocolate chip ones you like.”

I kissed her forehead, grabbed my phone and earbuds, and bolted.

The campus had a wooded trail behind the athletic fields—unofficial cruising spot, everyone knew it. Trees thick enough for cover, paths that looped out of sight. I walked fast, heart hammering, half-hoping no one would be there, half-praying someone would.

He was there. Buff lacrosse bro—tall, blond, shoulders like a linebacker, wearing practice shorts and a cutoff hoodie. I’d seen him around the quad before, we had exchanged knowing glances. He clocked me the second I stepped off the path, gave the universal chin lift. No words. Just stepped behind a big oak, dropped his shorts to mid-thigh, and turned around. Cock already half-hard and veiny.

I didn’t hesitate. Dropped to my knees in the dirt, took his hardness in my mouth—wet and sloppy. He breathed heavier, hand in my hair, guiding me deeper. I sucked hard, cheeks hollowing, spit running down his shaft. After a minute he pulled me up, spun me, shoved my sweats down just enough. Spat on his palm, spat at my ass and his own erection, then lined up and pushed in raw—one long, steady thrust that made me bite my own arm to stay quiet.

He fucked me rough—deep, fast, hips snapping, balls slapping my ass. The tree bark scraped my palms where I braced. Every thrust punched that spot inside me, made my dick leak onto the ground. I reached down, stroked myself frantic.

Right as the pressure coiled tight and I started to come—cum hitting the dirt—he froze mid-thrust.

“Ari?”

Emily’s voice.

I whipped my head around. She stood ten feet away on the path, still in her sundress, jogging shoes, phone in her hand like she’d been about to take a selfie or call me. Face pale, eyes wide, staring at the lacrosse bro buried balls-deep in me.

The guy pulled out fast—wet pop—yanked his shorts up, muttered “shit” and bolted into the trees.

I just stood there, sweats around my thighs, cum dripping from my dick onto the leaves, ass clenching around nothing, hole still gaping lewdly.

Emily’s mouth opened, closed. No scream, no yelling. Just quiet, broken: “What… is this?”

I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t move.

She took one step back, then another. Turned. Walked away fast, braid swinging, shoulders hunched, eyes crying.

I sank to my knees in the dirt, shaking, dick going soft, the taste of the lacrosse bro still on my tongue. Phone buzzed in my pocket—probably her, probably Brooks, probably the end of everything.

I didn’t check. Just sat there until the sun started dropping and the woods went quiet.

The mask was gone.