My Frat Bro's Show Me How It's Done

 Lesson 1

All characters are 18 years old or older.

We just got back from the party at the frat house, so the apartment smells like cheap beer and the faint smoke from the bonfire pit. My head’s buzzing just enough that the edges of everything feel soft and warm. Chris’ sprawled across one end of the beat-up sectional, legs kicked up on the coffee table, while Rico’s slouched on the other side of the couch, one arm thrown over the backrest like he owns the whole damn room—which, he technically does. I’m in the armchair across from them, nursing the last warm inch of whatever was left in my red cup, trying to look like I belong here.

Rico suddenly leans forward, grinning wide enough that I can see the chipped tooth on the right side of his mouth. “Yo, Michael. Veronica was all over you tonight, bro. Like, glued to your side. You see the way she kept touching your arm?”

Heat crawls up my neck before I can stop it. I shrug, stare down at the carpet. “I guess.”

Chris snorts. “You guess? Dude.” He swings his legs off the table and sits up straighter, elbows on his knees. “Why the hell aren’t you with her right now? She was practically humping your leg on the dance floor. Bet if you’d stayed, you’d be balls-deep in that pussy already.”

My face burns hotter. I can feel it spreading to my ears. “I’m… not really good with girls,” I mumble. The words come out smaller than I mean them to.

Chris’ grin turns wicked. “It’s not that hard, man. Especially when they’re throwing themselves at you like that.”

Rico reaches over, slaps Chris’ shoulder and they high-five. “You remember Kourtney-with-a-K last semester?” Rico says. “Girl was basically climbing him the second we got to the after-party.”

Chris laughs, low but cocky. “Yeah. Bounced on my cock till the sun came up. Swear she didn’t even let me breathe between rounds.”

I let out this awkward half-laugh that sounds more like a cough. Chris and Rico are exactly what you picture when someone says “frat bro.” Chris with his sun-bleached blond curls and shoulders that look carved from marble. Rico, with black curls, same gym-rat build, always wearing tank tops that show off every ridge of muscle. They talk about pussy and hookups the way other people talk about the weather. Casual. Confident. Like it’s nothing.

And somehow, despite all that—or maybe because of it—I like them. Really like them. Pledging was brutal, but those two made it bearable. They dragged me to the gym, taught me how to shotgun a beer without choking, clapped me on the back when I finally got my letters. They’ve pulled me out of my shell inch by inch, even though I’m nothing like them.

The thing is, I’m not built like a linebacker. Running track in high school kept me lean, defined in a wiry way—abs you can see if the light hits right, arms that don’t bulge but still have some shape. My hair’s this brown mess that never stays where I part it, always falling into my eyes no matter how much product I use. Next to them I feel… smaller. Softer.

I realize Chris is talking again. He’s waving a hand in front of my face. “Earth to Michael.”

I blink. “Sorry. Zoned out.”

He smirks. “Yeah, I bet. Probably picturing Veronica bouncing on your dick, huh?”

I shake my head fast. “No. I mean—it’s not gonna happen. Not anytime soon. I wouldn’t even know what to do.”

Right after those words leave my mouth, I want to swallow them back. Both of them go still. Eyes wide.

Rico leans in. “Wait. Hold up. Are you a virgin?”

My stomach drops. I stare at my sneakers. “Yeah,” I mutter. “Most I’ve ever done is kiss a girl. And it sucked.”

Chris lets out a soft chuckle. “Well, shit. We gotta fix that, then.”

I look up, confused. “Fix it how?”

Chris and Rico share one of those looks, the kind that says they’ve already decided something. Chris’ voice drops lower, almost conspiratorial. “We can give you lessons. If you want.”

My brain short-circuits. I nod before I can think better of it.

Chris’ smirk grows as he scoots over to where Rico’s sitting and throws an arm around Rico’s shoulders and pulls him in close.

My throat suddenly feels very dry.

Then Chris tilts his head and kisses Rico. Not a peck. A real kiss—mouths open, tongues sliding, the wet sound of it loud in the quiet apartment. Rico groans into it, hand fisting the front of Chris’ shirt.

I can’t look away.

After a minute—maybe two—clothes start coming off. Chris yanks his shirt over his head. Rico shoves his shorts down. They’re both hard already, outlines straining against their boxer-briefs. My mouth is dry. My dick twitches painfully against my zipper.

When they’re down to their underwear, Chris glances over at me. “Pay attention, freshie.”

He slides to his knees between Rico’s spread thighs and hooks his fingers in the waistband of Rico’s black underwear. He tugs them down slow, and Rico’s cock springs free—thick, veiny, flushed dark at the head. It's easily six and a half inches, maybe more. His pubes are trimmed neat at the base, balls smooth and heavy.

Chris wraps his hand around it, strokes once, twice. Then he leans in and takes Rico into his mouth.

I stop breathing.

Chris’ lips stretch around the girth. He slides down, cheeks hollowing, until his nose brushes Rico’s trimmed hair. Rico’s head tips back, a low curse slipping out. Chris bobs, slow at first, then faster, slick sounds filling the room. Spit shines on Rico’s shaft every time Chris pulls back.

My own cock is leaking steadily now, a damp spot spreading in my jeans. I’m so hard it hurts.

After a few minutes Chris pulls off with a wet pop, stands, and shoves his own boxers down. His dick is skinnier than Rico’s but longer—maybe seven and a half inches—completely smooth, not a single hair from the base of his shaft to his tight balls.

He lies back on the couch, legs spread. Rico reaches into the side-table drawer, and pulls out a small bottle of lube. He pops the cap, squirts some onto his fingers, and reaches between Chris’s legs.

Chris moans the second Rico’s fingers circle his hole, rubbing slowly, teasing circles before pushing one inside. Then two. Chris’s hips roll, chasing it. “Fuck, yeah. I’m ready.”

Rico slicks his own cock and lines up. He presses the head against Chris’s entrance. Pushes in slow.

Chris’ mouth falls open on a long, ragged groan.

Rico bottoms out. Pauses. Then he starts to move. Shallow thrusts at first, letting Chris adjust. Then deeper. Faster. The slap of skin-on-skin echoes off the walls.

I can’t tear my eyes away. My heart’s hammering so hard I feel it in my teeth. This can’t be real. My two friends are fucking right in front of me and I’m just… sitting here, aching, desperately trying not to pull out my own cock and relieve myself.

Rico wraps a hand around Chris’ cock, stroking in time with his thrusts. Chris’ moans turn sharp, desperate. His abs tighten. Then he’s cumming—thick ropes shooting across his chest, stomach, even hitting his own chin.

Rico grunts, buries himself deep, and shoots his load inside of Chris. His hips jerk once, twice. He stays there a second, breathing hard, before pulling out slowly. His cock glistens with cum and lube as it slips free.

They both slump back against the cushions. Chris’ chest heaves. Rico’s dick is still half-hard and shiny.

Chris looks at me, lazy grin spreading across his face. “You learn something?”

I nod, not trusting myself to say the right thing.

Chris glances at Rico, then back at me. “Good. That was lesson one.” His voice is raspy, satisfied. “Starting tomorrow, it’s your turn. We’re gonna teach you everything you need to know about sex. Over the next couple days… you’re ours.”

My stomach flips. My cock throbs again, painfully.

I don’t know what the hell I just agreed to.

But I’m not saying no.