[This story contains elements of dubious consent. If that's not your thing, I suggest you read elsewhere]
It was just after Covid forced the temporary halt of classes while the University tried to figure out what kind of online solution could be implemented. My best friend Lexi had been summoned home expeditiously by her helicopter parents, as was Susie, another housemate. The fourth housemate, Pedro, was a Brazilian soccer star from São Paulo here on a scholarship whom I hadn’t really warmed up to. Now, it would just be the two of us in the rambling Victorian turn-of-the-century house that my parents had insisting on buying when I started here at State two years ago.
I was majoring in English, not business as my dad would have preferred, so the parents decided I should get a practical lesson in being a landlord. I could charge what I wanted for rent, pick my tenants, and pocket the proceeds, provided I also paid all upkeep on the house as well as my day-to-day expenses, books, groceries, etc. I knew Lexi from high school, and Susie was her longtime sleepaway summer camp bestie, so they were no-brainers. Lexi’s parents paid a full year’s rent in advance and Susie was a trust-fund baby.
When I posted a notice at the school housing office about the remaining bedroom, the Athletic Department called to say that there was a shortage of housing in the athletes’ dorm, and sent me Pedro, and a guarantee of rent. Not gonna lie, he’s definitely eye candy, but he’s also aloof, and I suspect slightly homophobic. Most days he tends to hang with his teammates and other athletes, who all eat together in the athletic center. We have communal meals once a week on Sunday, and he at least steps up and cooks twice a month (we do it in rotating pairs).
Both Lexi and Susie wanted to keep their rooms for the after-times, whenever that happens, so I wasn’t terribly worried about finding replacements. “My parents care more about me coming home then getting a rent refund,” admitted Lexi. “Plus they want to be sure the room will be there for me in the fall, when we’ll probably come back. They like that I’m living with a trustworthy gay dude from back home.”
So it was that both she and Susie were fully paid up through summer. Susie had left the night before, and I was helping Lexi to load boxes and a suitcase into the back of her 4runner. It didn’t seem to make a dent in the belongings still in her room, but that was fine with me. As we ignored social-distancing guidelines and hugged it out on the wraparound porch, Lexi promised to call as soon as she made it home.
“So you and Pedro are gonna quarantine together. That could be cozy,” she teased.
“As if. I mean, I wouldn’t kick him out of bed or object if he threw me down and fucked me one drunken night, but he barely acknowledges me, and his macho culture doesn’t let him swing that way I’m pretty sure. He’s a dumb jock. Pretty, but dumb.” I don’t know why I added that part. It wasn’t true, but we were in high catty bitch mode, I guess. Meow.
I walked Lexi down the steps towards the driveway and her car. We hugged one last time. It felt crappy losing my closest friend, even if it was only for a few months. She wordlessly got behind the wheel, started the engine, pulled out from the drive, honked and tore off down the street. I turned and headed back towards the porch and the front door. Which is when I noticed a puff of exhaled smoke drifting from the side porch hidden around the corner. The part that wraps around the living room to one side, where I had a homey setup of wicker furniture Martha Stewart would approve of. And where Pedro liked to smoke the occasional joint.
I headed towards that side of the house, and sure enough, he was sitting there. Ballcap turned backwards, hoodie and sweats. His curly black hair peeking out from under the cap. The college athlete uniform. “Fuck!” I thought. How long had he been there? He wasn’t there when we were loading up Lexi’s car, I felt sure of that.
“Yo!” I said, with fake cheer.
“Hey,” he said, without smiling. “Guess it’s just us now.”
* * *
Pedro said nothing more that afternoon, so I crossed my fingers he hadn’t overheard what Lexi and I had said earlier before she took off. He had offered to make dinner. He was a surprisingly good cook and loved to grill on a little hibachi on the back patio he’d picked up at a yard sale back in the fall. Tonight was sea bass and jumbo shrimp with chimichurri sauce (which I thought was Argentinian, but I could be wrong).
He was wearing gray shorts and a wife-beater that was opened on the sides, so I got a pretty tantalizing view of his solid pecs, arms and even his six-pack abs. He was built more like a rugby player than your average soccer player. The gray shorts cupped what looked like a pretty hefty package down and in front. I looked discreetly, but didn’t want to creep or offend.
“Hey, you should expect a call from the housing office,” Pedro said, as he placed the platter of food on the table between us. “They’re closing the athletes’ dorm and are looking to place people who need to stay on campus during quarantine.” His English was nearly flawless, just the hint of an accent detectable. He was actually double-majoring in English and Economics. I was starting to think I had judged him somewhat unfairly.
“Huh.” I replied, non-plussed. “I don’t really need more tenants, given that Lexi and Susie have paid for the year.”
“Right. Well, they’re desperate, and pretty determined, so I don’t know how that works.” He dug into his food and let the matter drop. We ate in silence, me occasionally stealing glances at his tanned forearms and bulging biceps, he seeming not to notice, as he re-served himself grilled seafood and rice.
I was washing the last of the dinner dishes when I suddenly felt Pedro pressing his hard muscled body against my back, pinning me against the sink counter. I dropped the tumbler I was rinsing, which by some miracle didn’t break.
“So I’m a dumb jock,” he intoned softly in my ear. He braced his arms on either side of me on the counter, further hemming me in. “Someone you might let throw you down and fuck you if you were drunk enough.”
“I meant if you were drunk enough,” I argued, feebly. “Sorry, I guess you heard that. I was just bullshitting with Lexi. We don’t usually talk about you that way.”
“I know you don't. But you do talk about other people like that. A lot,” he continued. Pedro was actually grinding his crotch, which seemed to have plumped up, into my ass. “Funny thing about macho culture in Brazil. We’re actually pretty bisexual. Two macho guys having sex is no less macho. Don’t you ever watch Brazilian porn? Of course, if someone is a little safado bitch, they just get fucked. Like a bitch. So I’d watch it if I were you,” he cautioned me.
“And you’re wrong about me,” he continued. “I’m not pretty or dumb. You on the other hand, are pretty. A pretty bitch. But you got one thing right. I do like it rough. And it’s been a while since I got off.” And just as suddenly, the solid mass of him was gone, leaving me with a wet glass to rinse off and an aching erection throbbing in my chinos. “What the actual fuck??” I asked myself.
The next morning, a Friday, sure enough I got a phone call while unloading groceries from my car (a black Prius, obviously). It was the Athletic Department rather than the housing office, and they were looking to place students who were being locked out of the dorms due to the pandemic.
“All my rooms are rented out, I’m afraid,” I explained.
“According to our records, Pedro Pereira is housed there through our office. He confirmed yesterday that there are only two of you quarantined there currently. We need any space we can find, and it sounds like you could accommodate three or four of our stranded athletes. We’ll pay you the same as we do for Mr. Pereira’s room. Per student. It’s only for a few weeks, and in the unlikely event your previous tenants should return, we’ll make other arrangements.”
This guy was clearly a coach and not about to take no for an answer. Pedro’s room had twin beds, as did Susie’s (though she had moved them together into one big bed), but Lexi’s and my rooms had just one queen bed each.
“The guys will be very grateful – I guarantee they’ll chip in with household duties. We’ll provide a stipend for food and other expenses. Expect them tomorrow.”
And he hung up, leaving me speechless, stuttering “but—but—” to no one over the line. I finished putting away the groceries.
Pedro came home as I was preparing dinner, porcini mushroom risotto with pancetta. He laid a package down on the kitchen counter. “They don’t have any surgical masks yet, but one of my lacrosse buddies gave me these.” I examined the package. It took me a few minutes to make sense of what I was looking at.
“Are these some kind of mask?”
“Yup,” came Pedro’s clipped response. “Skiers and bikers use them for extreme temperatures.”
The masks had skeleton faces on them, and looked like they could be pulled up from the neck all the way over the forehead, to the hairline. I was skeptical. “Not sure how effective these will be.”
“They protect really well against the cold, so there must be something to them.”
“Huh,” I said, not wanting to seem difficult. “Dinner in ten?”
“Sure,” Pedro grunted. “I think I’m gonna take Lexi’s room. Leave the twin rooms for the new guys. That way we each get our own bathroom, and the new guys will share.” I wanted to object, but I couldn’t really think of a valid reason.
Pedro was clearing plates from dinner while I sipped on an unoaked chardonnay. I’d had one or two glasses too many, and was feeling no pain. “What makes you think I like rough sex? Or want to sleep with you? Sure, I said you were hot.”
“What makes you think I care what you like? Also, I know some of the guys the housing office wants to put here,” he replied, calmly.
“Non-sequitur, much? Actually, it’s the Athletic Department.”
Pedro continued. “You’ll have your pick of hot jocks. One’s my buddy Rico from fute. Soccer. And his roommate Riley. Lacrosse player.”
“Are you gonna try to pimp me out?” I was feeling the wine and very little compunction.
“You have no idea,” Pedro hinted, ominously. Setting the last dish on the drying rack, he turned his attention to a bottle of Jack Daniels someone must’ve brought to a party we’d hosted. I hadn’t touched it, but he seemed partial to it. He topped it off with Coke and a few ice cubes. “See ya, roomie. Gonna move my things into my new room.”
“Don’t get used to it – it’s only ‘til lockdown ends,” I shouted after him.
Sometime later, after I’d passed out in my bedroom, I was dimly aware of a weight shifting on the bed. Then a meaty hand was clasped over my mouth as I was flipped onto my stomach. “Tell me you want this.”
The muscle mass of a guy who had some 40lbs on me was pinning me down. With his hand over my mouth, I couldn’t really answer. I tried to mumble something in protest, but could only grunt incomprehensibly. I’m not sure what I was trying to say. “No!” or “What’s happening?” or “What do you want?” But not convincingly.
Pedro was assured. “This is happening. Let it happen, baby.” I could smell the Jack Daniels on his breath, and he was slurring his words a tiny bit. Enough to bring out a little more of his accent. “Don’t know why I waited to do this…”
I heard him unfasten his belt, then free it from his pants. The next thing I was aware of, he was using it to bind my wrists behind my back. Don’t get me wrong, I’d watched a lot of porn that started like this, but I never imagined it might actually come to pass.
“What the actual fuck, Ped—” He slapped his hand over my mouth again, cinching the belt tightly with the other.
“Garota. You wanted me.” I guess quarantine was suddenly consent-adjacent. But I was completely boned up, I couldn’t deny it. And Pedro, as if reading my thoughts, grabbed my dick through my boxer briefs. They were already sticky with pre-cum. “That’s what I thought. Good little bitch. Making lube.” I wasn’t that little, I protested pointlessly to myself.
He hawked a throaty gob of spit into his free hand, the one that wasn’t clamped over my mouth. He was thrusting against my ass, and I imagined the veins of his very girthy dick gliding along my butt crack. He pulled down my briefs, easily yanked them down and off, wadding them up and stuffing them into my mouth, holding them in place with one hand.
He thrust two fingers roughly into my hole, not so much preparing me as taking aim. Then he carefully circled around the opening, before replacing his fingers with his dickhead. He applied surprisingly gentle pressure, and worked the head in, slowly. It didn’t hurt as much as I thought it might. Until he slammed down with all his weight. I couldn’t help myself, I wailed into the cotton stuffed in my mouth under his meaty hand.
“Isso. So good.” He pulled out half way, then slammed back in. I could feel the solid heft of his chest against my back, and the power of his thighs thrusting into me, pinning mine tightly between them. I relaxed as much as I could, adjusting to the rhythm of his pounding. His left arm circled under my shoulder and he put that hand over my eyes and forehead, depriving me of sensory input, except for his voice rumbling low in my ear.
“Eu fodo você tão bem. You’re my good girl. My good bitch. Charroco.” Not sure I was on board with my gender reassignment. He grunted with each thrust, as if to drive home his power. I could feel it, picture it, from the base of his thick staff to the throbbing head bursting out of the sheath of his foreskin, slick with his precum, swollen with desire and his dominance.
I realized I was moaning, more like little whimpers, in response to each thrust. I should hate this, the invasion, but irrationally I felt secure, protected by Pedro’s strength, by his insistence. I never stood a chance of stopping him. And honestly, I didn’t want to.
He yanked the briefs from my mouth. I turned my head towards his, lips parting in expectation. He grabbed my jaw firmly and hawked another ball of spit into my open mouth. He did this twice more and covered my mouth with both hands. He turned over on his side, pulling me with him.
“Vou meter em você ate você gritar meu nome. Who’s your papai? Yell my name.”
I yelled into the hands that muffled me. With one hand he started to slap my face, almost playfully, but still letting me know who was boss. Then he wrapped his arm around my neck in a firm choke hold, pinning me against his body but not quite cutting off my air. With one forceful upward thrust, he let out a roar and emptied his load deep in my ass, slamming into me five or six times, until he’d drained his balls.
He didn’t loosen his grip. After what seemed like several minutes of him catching his breath, he scooped up the cum on my stomach and sheets from my own orgasm, though I couldn’t precisely say when it had occurred. He smeared it on my face, gave me another slap that stung a little more this time.
“Você e meu,” he murmured in my ear. “I own you.” I listened to the steady rhythm of his breath, softer now. I realized he’d fallen asleep, his plump cock still rigid inside me. It wasn’t much longer before I fell into a dreamless sleep, periodically aware of him spooning me, more restraint than affection, still filled with his hard member.
I must have slept deeply, because when I awoke he was gone and my ass was a little tender, the bed wrecked. I jumped under the shower and cleaned myself thoroughly, then stripped the bed and threw a load in the washing machine.
