Jocktaur pledge

by BRK

High school track superstar Tommy finds he isn’t king of the world anymore now that he’s left his small town for the huge, sprawling State U. His hopes of getting into a big frat end up crushed, and his last hope is a house where the brothers keep to themselves and hardly let anyone in at all.

Added Sep 2020 4,654 views 5.0 stars (6 votes) 4,791 words

This story was commissioned via Patreon Vignette Party.

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Tommy stood out front of the forbidding, three-story French Colonial that housed the Tau Rho Alpha fraternity with a sinking heart. He’d been so sure he’d be coasting right now—that everyone at State U. would naturally be flocking around him and angling to be his best friend (and fuckbuddy) the way they had back at Powellton High. But Tommy’s long string of track meet wins, his wavy, honey-blond tousled hair, and his brilliant, dimpled smile, the focus of so much gushing adulation and easy, laughing camaraderie from all the popular kids for year after year for as long as he could remember, hadn’t made even the tiniest ripple on the sprawling State campus, the meticulously-landscaped home to (he’d read with astonishment) nearly ten times as many undergrads as there were actual people back home. To the teeming teen and twentysomething masses moving in small herds from dorms to ivy-covered academic buildings to parties hidden behind closed doors, Tommy was just one more cocky small-town kid who thought he was all that to smack headlong into a uni-sized real-world reality check, like a million others before him and a million others yet to come.

Worse yet, all the big frats he’d bragged to his buddies would be begging for him to join hadn’t even given him a second look. Tau Rho Alpha was his last shot at a frat with any kind of cool. And “cool”, he’d heard, was the operative word. Everyone he’d asked had said the Taus kept to themselves, with a freshman rush rate that was easily the lowest in Greek Street. Only one thing stood out in his favor: word was the Taus were partial to all-star jocks with backgrounds in legwork-heavy sports like soccer, basketball, tennis… and track.

Tommy tried to will himself to march up the sidewalk to the front doors of the big, white-washed house. The oak doors stood dead center at the back of a deep verandah, overhung by a balcony that ran the entire width of the frat. Though it was slightly unseasonably cool that morning, a clear sign that the coming autumn was overtaking the last dregs of summer, his initial email contact with the frat secretary had told him to present himself here, today, wearing only a shirt, shorts, and tennis shoes—no pants allowed, not even socks. Tommy guessed they were serious about the leg thing.

He wasn’t too worried on that score, as his legs (and ass) were, as he had often been told, among his best features. The dark chino shorts he was wearing really set off the warm, amber tan of his almost-hairless track-star legs, and cupped his firm ass well enough he’d gotten slaps and gropes and grins of admiration even from a few of the straightest guys on his team when he’d worn them to a championship after-party in June. Still, his confidence had taken a serious hit lately, and it wasn’t hard to imagine the Taus all sniggering at his insufficiently awesome legs and smirking at his audacity in thinking he’d make the cut. Or that the whole wear-your-shorts thing was just a huge prank, like in those movies where you find out the hard way that that party you were invited to wasn’t a costume party after all.

A chilly breeze wafted around Tommy’s thighs, raising goosebumps on his lightly hairy forearms. Okay, he thought grimly, time to get this over with. He started walking up the narrow concrete path that bisected the lush, green lawn, heading for the verandah steps and the navy-blue double front doors.

There was no sign of anyone around at all—there were no fratboys lolling about on the upstairs balcony, or lounging in view of the half-open, five-foot-tall windows flanking the entrance, as there would have been at any other Greek. He could almost believe the place was abandoned and he was about to do a very strange urbex, but as he got closer he saw there was a folded-over piece of paper taped to the left-hand door, and once he was on the verandah he could see it had his name on the outside. He took it down, opened it, and read:

“Things for Tommy to do this morning!

“(1) Come inside.

“(2) Leave your shoes by the door.

“(3) Walk through the house to the back yard.

“(4) Meet the guys!

“Yours in Tau,

“Brent, Fraternity Secretary”

Tommy scrutinized the note, looking for hidden meanings. The tone and handwriting were both reassuringly jaunty, and “meet the guys” sounded promising enough—like all that remained was the formality of being introduced to his future frat brothers. It also wasn’t lost on him that he wasn’t here with a cluster of would-be pledges; nor had be been told to show at a wanna-rush party where the would-be freshmen were dosed with equal parts weak beer and withering scorn. Still, Tommy wasn’t getting his hopes up this time. He folded the note and stuffed in his front pocket, then tried the knob. It wasn’t locked, and Tommy went in, closing the heavy door behind him with a thunk.

He was standing in a large, sunny open space with lots of casual-looking sofas, chairs, and cushions—obviously a place where the guys hung out a lot, though there was no one around now. To his left was an open doorway into another large, open area with thick, brick-red rugs but no furniture. A meeting room, perhaps? Ahead of him rose a wide, steep stairwell carpeted in burgundy and, next to it, a hallway with gleaming hardwood floors that looked like a straight shot to the rear of the house. A faint hint of alterna-rock and easy conversation drifted his way on a light breeze, suggesting open doors and windows in back to match the open windows up front. Tommy found this encouraging: knowing about cross-ventilation seemed like a level of sophistication slightly above a couple of the frats he’d visited where the stench of beer, vomit, b.o., and cum was no doubt seeped into the woodwork from generations of fratbarbarians. This place smelled like apples and lemonade, which Tommy wasn’t sure what to make of other than that it beat the hell out of vomit.

He toed out of his shoes, noting the tumble of sneakers, running shoes, and the like piled haphazardly to the right of the entrance next to an empty, heavy-duty oak coat-tree. As he stepped out of his shoes and wiggled his toes against the well-polished floors, he noticed that the shoe-pile seemed, weirdly, to have four of everything: four black hightop chucks with no laces, four white Nikes with red swooshes (very Marty McFly, Tommy thought), four breathable tan jogging shoes with gel soles, four red old-school Vans, and so on. There were no boots, no sandals, nothing but tennies and athletic shoes of one kind or another—and it was very obvious that every shoe had three mates. What, did all these guys have twin brothers that dressed alike? That would be kinda hot, though it wouldn’t help his own prospects, his own brother being a year younger and not looking quite enough like him to pass. Still, a frat like that would be an interesting sight, and stranger scams had been attempted…

Not wanting the feel too presumptuous, Tommy decided against tossing his own beloved baby-blue Adidases on the heap, setting them instead just to the side (where he could grab them in a hurry if he ended up fleeing the place in tears, he thought wryly). Then, feeling only a little self-conscious in his shorts and bare feet, he padded down the photo-lined center hallway toward the sounds he could hear coming from the backyard. As he walked he marveled anew at the beautiful, completely unscarred hardwood floors in a house full of frat guys. Sure, bare feet probably helped, but he was starting to think that his fallback choice might just be the best frat on campus.

Despite the pleasant, cool air sifting through the house around him, Tommy felt a prickle of sweat on his forehead. Did he even stand a chance? Should he just turn around?

The hallway opened up abruptly into a spacious kitchen, and Tommy stopped dead. Just a few feet in front of him, with his back to Tommy, was the first soul he’d met in the Tau Rho Alpha house. Tall and dark-skinned, possibly Hawaiian or Pacific Islander with an unruly thatch of jet-black hair, the man was obviously very fit, even more so than Tommy—his loose white tee did little to hide broad, powerful shoulders and a back that tapered to a tight, narrow waist. Prominent triceps shifted as he arranged something on the counter in front of him, and his long, hairless legs were sculpted like he’d played ten hours of soccer every day of his life. A pair of tan tennis shorts a few shades lighter than his skin barely seemed to cover anything, almost as though his legs had grown longer to escape them. But what really hit Tommy like a sudden cock in the ass was the fact that this guy didn’t just have amazing legs—he also had a double helping of them.

Tommy blinked, trying to ignore the flood of heat and his own instant erection as he took in this impossible apparition. His brain tried out everything—hallucination from something weird in the air? optical illusion? dummy legs the guy was wearing as a joke?—but his eyes and his gut told him that what he was looking at was incontrovertibly real. This guy had an extra pair of legs and an extra round, perfect butt immediately behind the usual ones directly under his torso. In fact it almost looked like there was a second guy who was nothing but ass and legs nuzzling up tight against the guy working at the counter, a thought that inexplicably finished boning him up so completely his hard-on was now straining uncomfortably against his stiff, dark chinos. But that didn’t make any sense. The tan shorts were clearly all one piece—four-legged shorts!—and as he slid his eyes down those firm thighs and bulging calves he saw four large, matching feet, and both of the guy’s right feet were tapping to the sound of the old rock anthem playing on low from somewhere outside the open porch door.

He wanted to touch them. He wanted to make sure they were real, and… he wanted to feel their warmth with his hands, and the firm, shifting muscle, and… fuck, that ass…

He must have made some kind of sound, because the guy at the counter turned around suddenly and smiled. He was very handsome, like a Polynesian god, and his wide, bright smile was as heart-stopping as everyone had always told Tommy his was. “Oh, hey, there you are,” the guy said genially, shifting deftly on his four larger feet as he twisted to face Tommy. The guy nodded toward the open door that led out onto the back porch. “Tommy, right? Go on out. I’ll be out in a sec, I’ve just got to get the next round of wings trayed up.”

Feeling slightly dazed, Tommy just nodded dumbly and started walking toward the door, not taking his eyes off the guy’s buffet of long, well-muscled legs. Then he realized he was being silly, and rude, and snatched his gaze up to his new friend’s handsome face, which was currently showing more than a little amusement. “Sorry,” Tommy said, feeling his cheeks reddening.

The guy’s smile was a little crooked and very self-assured. “It’s not an uncommon reaction,” he said, his dark eyes twinkling as he turned back to his work. “Go meet the others! I’ll be right behind you.”

“Sure,” Tommy said. With some difficulty he wrenched his eyes away from the four-legged Islander hunk and pushed open the screen door, stepping out onto an expansive back porch that overlooked an enclosed back yard. The yard itself was immense, easily a quarter acre, and looked invitingly green and sunny (or green and shady, in the grassy rise under the enormous hundred-year oak that presided over the back corner). The expertly stained wooden fence was tall but nicely made, reinforcing a feeling of complete privacy.

Out here was the rest of the frat, it seemed, or as many as had so far returned to campus. All of them were taking advantage of the beautiful day to enjoy some time outdoors. Near the house to the left a regulation volleyball net had been set up, and twelve of the brothers were engaged in an energetic game that seemed to involve a lot of spiking, running, and accidental tackling. In the back corner opposite the oak stood a huge above-ground swimming pool, and several more brothers were happily lounging or splashing about in the deep water, a few periodically climbing out only to cannonball back in again. More brothers in sunglasses and shorts lay here and there on beach towels sunning themselves in pairs or trios, while others sat under the tree reading or chatting. A few more browsed the food and drink tables near the porch stairs, which were piled high with wings, Chex mix, and various drinks, including soda cans in ice and a couple of big pitchers of what looked like lemonade and iced tea. Off to the right Tommy spotted a high-end outdoor barbecue where a couple of brothers, one even decked out with a chef’s hat and apron, were diligently tending a regiment of various kinds of patties, sausages, grilled chicken, and more.

Thirty or so guys of different races and types, some pale and hairy, some dark and smooth, some limber, some fitness-model thick… but all of them were extraordinarily handsome, all of them were extremely fit, all of them were barefoot, and all of them were possessed of double the usual helping of long, strong, exquisitely crafted legs.

Tommy stood at the edge of the porch, awed, overwhelmed, and vastly, utterly aroused.

The guy from the kitchen appeared to his left, and Tommy sucked in a breath and had to steady himself and not blow his wad when the guy casually placed a warm hand on his shoulder, a tray stacked high with herb-dusted baked wings easily balanced in the other. “It’s an impressive sight, isn’t it?” he said. “By the way, my name’s Brent. We exchanged a couple of emails.”

“Uh, Tommy.” Tommy turned to face him, assuming they’d shake hands, but Brent kept his hand on Tommy’s shoulder and just squeezed his delts a couple times instead. If that’s the secret handshake, Tommy thought, I’m sold.

Brent smiled warmly. “I know. We did some checking on you.” His dark, intelligent eyes cast an appraising look over him, lingering on his tanned, well-honed legs. “Everything seems… promising,” he added, meeting Tommy’s gaze with a wink.

Tommy gulped.

“Come help me set this up,” Brent said, and headed down the stairs. Tommy hurried after him, making a point to walk at his side as Brent headed for the food tables so he wouldn’t be staring at Brent’s ass and legs. Fuck, was he—was this all even—?

“So,” he said, feeling awkward, “you guys are all…?”

“Jocktaurs,” Brent answered amiably as they got to the table. Tommy realized Brent needed him to clear a bit of space for the tray of wings, and quickly moved aside a pile of napkins and a couple stacks of red Solo cups to make room. Brent smiled his thanks and set down the tray. “There’s a few of us on campus.”

“And almost all are proud, card-carrying Taus,” said another voice, “though there are a couple of free range guys around.” Tommy turned to see the guy in the chef’s hat had come over to join them. He was a blond Tab Hunter-type beauty in a neon pink polo, with short blond hair, vivid blue eyes, and a perfect, toned, and lightly muscular body, his long arms and four outstanding legs dusted with just the right amount of soft, blond hair. Tommy’s cock strained in his chino-shorts, and the feel of it made him realize he was looking at one of these guys up front and up close for the first time. His eyes dropped to chef-hat guy’s crotch, desperate to find out what might be discovered there, but the apron (“kiss the cook”—oh, if only!) cruelly hid his quarry, and Tommy’s eyes skittered away while his cheeks warmed all over again. He found the courage to meet the guy’s arresting blue eyes, and though there was some amusement—and maybe a hint of “just wait”?—he saw no judgement there, only kindness and friendship.

Brent moved down the table, grabbing a few empty plates and bowls, and chef-hat guy faced Tommy directly. “So, you’re the new prospect?” he asked conversationally. His voice was tenor-high and a little rough, with a bit of vocal fry that seemed to make him, improbably, even sexier. The tip of Tommy’s cock was damp, and it suddenly occurred to him he might be forming a dark spot on the front of his shorts. Too late to worry about it now, but it didn’t exactly help him relax.

He remembered chef-hat guy was talking to him. “Tommy,” he affirmed quickly, and chef-hat guy smiled a smile as warm as a hearth. He placed his right hand on Tommy’s shoulder and squeezed a couple times, and the thrill of it sizzled through him like lightning. Shit, he thought, it is the secret handshake!

“Steve,” chef-hat guy answered back. “Tau Rho Prez.” His smile was expectant now, and his tilted his head almost imperceptibly toward his own shoulder. Tommy quickly got the message and placed his own hand on Steve’s brawny shoulder, feeling the meat there through the eye-catching polo. He squeezed twice, and the Prez beamed incandescently at him, making Tommy’s breath catch and his cock pump hard in his shorts.

“We’re a little touch-feely around here,” Steve explained unapologetically. His hand was still resting firmly on Tommy’s shoulder, and Tommy sure wasn’t retrieving his own hand until he absolutely had to. “We hug a lot, too.”

“Okay!” Tommy agreed, trying not to sound too eager.

Steve wasn’t fooled. “Down boy,” he said with a smirk, still not letting go of where he held onto Tommy’s rounded delt. “You’ve still got to run the gauntlet first.”

Tommy’s eyes widened. Passing by on the way back to the kitchen with his empty dishes, Brent put in, “That just means meeting the rest of the guys.”

Steve grinned again and, sliding his paean-worthy arm around him so it was draped across Tommy’s shoulders, his hand now gripping Tommy’s other delt, he steered Tommy around the yard and started introducing him to all the guys, beginning with the flushed and sweaty volleyball players. They didn’t seem to mind their game being interrupted and gathered around Tommy in a happy mass of sexy smiles, buff torsos plastered with thin, sweat-soaked tee-shirts, and long, beautiful legs.

The next half hour was kind of a blur, with all these impossibly hot jocktaur men who seemed improbably happy to meet him. After the volleyballers Steve went back to his barbecuing duties and sent Tommy on to the pool. After meeting that cluster of hunky, wet jocktaur hotties Tommy then started around the rest of the yard, with as plan of systematically meeting the remaining guys reading in the shade or sunning themselves on the beach towels. His mind was swimming with the panoply of men he was meeting. Though they had jocktaurdom and beauty in common, they were all different, not just physically but in temperament as well: some were friendly, some were curious, some reserved; some wanted to know more about Tommy there and then, while others seemed ready to get to know him as they spent time together. One of the swim guys, Rahul, was a former track star too and immediately embarked on an excited conversation about their favorite events; but his two inseparable buddies, a couple of redheaded soccer-obsessive twins named Cal and Cam, rolled their eyes and politely dragged Rahul to the food table so the others could meet Tommy, too.

All of the greetings went the same way. Tommy gripped shoulders with each of them in turn, and they all seemed very pleased with themselves at the obvious effect they were all having on him. Of course Tommy’s eyes kept dropping to the quadruple legs of every man he met… but they were scoping his legs, too, and they didn’t seem to find him wanting. And while they couldn’t help but notice his raging hard-on in his dark chino shorts, Tommy was floored to discover that every single guy he gripped shoulders with was just as hard as he was, or harder! Not only that, but they were all hung half again as big as Tommy, and he knew for a fact his cock was one of the biggest in Powellton—fuck, he and the best endowed in the senior class had gotten out rulers to prove it.

These guys, though. They were all wearing four-legged shorts of various kinds—swim trunks, tennis shorts, jams, running shorts—and not a single set of those shorts could quite contain the boners these guys were casually sporting as they clustered curiously around Tommy. Some of the cocks were bent around toward the hip in a thick and obvious ridge; some erupted from elastic waistbands under tee shirts and polos, leaving bulges and wet spots that could not be ignored; some even pushed out of pockets, the blunt heads and thick shafts wrapped in thin cotton pocket-liner. No matter how they manifested, their giant erections were all so obvious that they might as well have not been wearing shorts at all, Tommy thought, and each boner was so potent Tommy was sure he could smell its heady musk. It was all he could do to keep enough brain-cells engaged to repeat his name to each new happy jocktaur god and not cum, don’t cum, you have to not cum…

He was doing okay. He thought he was going to make it, despite the added stimulus of shirtlessness that the pool guys like Rahul, Cal, and Cam had thrown at him. Then, as he was gripping shoulders with one of the shade-lovers, a bubbly sophomore tennis prodigy named Huan, well-muscled like they all were but slightly taller and ganglier than the rest, Tommy noticed the man’s rear butt squirming, and as he did so the fabric under his shorts in front shifted unaccountably. Suddenly Tommy was thunderstruck with a realization he hadn’t seen coming.

“Oh my god,” he blurted, interrupting Huan asking him about his hometown, which sounded a little like Huan’s back in China.

Huan looked alarmed. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

Tommy felt his face coloring yet again, but he forced himself to keep eye contact with Huan. “You… you have another one back there, don’t you?” he rasped.

Huan blinked once, then smiled wide. “Yes,” he answered. His smile twisted into a smirk that still conveyed some embarrassment. “Sorry. It is as pleased to meet you as the one in front.”

Tommy couldn’t help but look down again, within the frame they made by gripping shoulders. Huan’s legs were long and sleek, with the rear left one cuddling reflexively against the inner knee of the front left leg as though Huan were bleeding off a little of his hunger contact. And Huan’s front cock was one of the longest he’d seen so far, creating a thick, visible, slightly curved ridge almost halfway up Huan’s torso under his gray, skin-tight, sleeveless muscle shirt.

Tommy swallowed. “It must be very cramped,” he said, staring down at where Huan’s crotch was still shifting under the bulge of his lemon-sized balls.

“It is,” Huan agreed. “I’ll need to free it soon.”

Tommy squeezed his eyes shut. “Oh god,” he said, shuddering. He was so close.

“Don’t cum yet,” he heard Huan say, his tone urgent. “You will get an extra surprise if you can hold out and meet all the brothers. More inches, I think, like me.”

Before Tommy could make sense of that, he heard another voice. “We’ll distract him,” it said—one of the twins, he was pretty sure. Cal, maybe?

All at once Tommy felt himself being grabbed by both arms and hauled bodily backward, away from the shade of the big oak tree. He kept his eyes shut, mostly because he was so shocked it didn’t even occur to him to open them.

“I keep telling them they need to put Huan last in the gauntlet,” the other twin said from his other side as they marched backward up some stairs. “He, like, radiates this need to blow your load somehow, like, right now.”

“I know, right?” the twin on the other side said. “I have sprayed so much spunk because of him.” Then they all stopped moving, and that twin added, “You’ll thank us for this later.” Suddenly there was a hand on his chest, and with a yelp Tommy was shoved backwards, hard—right into the pool!

He came up for air sputtering, while the other pool guys ringed around the edge laughed. He looked up and saw the twins smiling wickedly down at him, their legs looking like towering, pale-barked trees from this angle. “You bastards!” he cried, but he was grinning as he said it.

After that he was able to meet the rest of the guys with a minimum of fuss, and as the sun started to dip toward evening they all gathered around the food table with drinks in hand, Tommy included. Steve raised his lemonade and chanted, “Tau Tau Tau!” The others followed suit, Tommy joining in as lustily as they rest.

They downed their drinks together, Tommy finding the iced tea Brent had given him unexpectedly delicious. Then they started chanting “Speech! Speech!” at Tommy. At a loss, Tommy looked at Steve for help.

Steve shrugged. “Anything you want to say?”

Tommy looked around at the assembled crowd of tall, hunky, impossibly hot jocktaurs. Their expressions were all excited, like something was about to happen. Did this speech really mean that much? “Just,” he said haltingly, “that you all seem like really, really great guys, and I’d be honored and humbled to be allowed to pledge with you—if,” he added, a little abashed, “you can see your way clear to letting in a guy with only two sexy legs instead of four.”

Some of the guys chuckled. “Oh, but that’s the problem,” Steve drawled. “We don’t let in two-legged guys.”

Tommy felt his face fall. What? Had all this been for nothing? There was some snickering from the brothers assembled around him, which Tommy thought was just mean. But before he could storm off in humiliated indignation, Brent, who was standing just behind him and to the right, placed a hand on his shoulder and whispered, “You might want to drop those shorts, bro. Before it’s too late.”

Tommy whipped his head around to see Brent’s smiling face. Understanding dawned. “Yeah?” he said, his heart slamming hard in his chest. He hardly dared to believe.

Brent, perhaps remembering a moment like this of his own, smiled softly at him. “Yeah.”

He turned to look around the crowd. They were all grinning at him. “Yeah?” he asked them.

They laughed. “Yeah!” some shouted back, and Rahul cheered, “You’re gonna be one of us, bro!”

Then Tommy felt it. A warm tingling in his lower half. Something was happening. Something awesome.

Tommy shot his fists in the air and cried, “Fuck yeah!” while the brothers hooted and whooped around him. Brent got his wet shorts down just in time, and then, with a suddenness that surprised him, Tommy truly was, in every way and then some, a full-fledged member of Tau Rho Alpha.

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