Bishop (A Frat Chronicles Novel)

by B. T. Urruela

  “Are you sayin’ I can’t pull your hair when my cock’s in your mouth? Because I kind of love that.”

  With my hands now bound, she stands straight and points a finger at me. “Don’t. Move.”

  She traces a finger from my pec, down my stomach, to the bulge in my boxer briefs. After teasing the tip of my cock with her finger, she grabs ahold of the waistband and pulls them off, tossing them to the side.

  “Mm, such a pretty cock,” she purrs, dropping to her knees and wrapping her fingers around me. “Does he want to touch the back of my throat?” she asks, tilting her head.

  My heart races, my desire for her relentless. “Fuck yes. I need it, baby. I need that hot mouth.”

  She smiles, licking just the tip with a soft stroke, but even that sends a surge of energy through me. “You have a nice thick cock,” she says, and the word ‘cock’ leaving her lips is just about the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard.

  “You’re pretty good at gettin’ him up in a hurry.”

  “I guess now it’s my duty to keep it that way then,” she says, an eyebrow arched with her fingers wrapped tightly around my shaft. She switches her hand with her mouth and takes me deep, down one inch at a time, until her face touches my stomach, the tip of my cock at her throat.

  She gags a little, and it turns me on even more.

  I throw my head back, gasping as I fight against the tight belt. I want to touch her, to grab a fistful of hair and make her go faster, but I don’t. I can’t.

  She sucks harder, faster, bringing me right to the edge, my toes curling and thighs seizing, before she slows it down. She looks up at me with seductive eyes, my cock going in and out of her mouth, and the sight of it has me so turned on I can barely stand it.

  “Please, baby. Please. I’m so close. So fuckin’ close.”

  She moans to my words, and the hum against the head of my dick has my legs going numb.

  She pulls my cock out of her mouth, and in the most innocent voice, asks, “Does Daddy want me to swallow his cum?”

  I nod, my heart racing, my body ablaze. “Fuck yes. I want you to take down every fuckin’ drop.”

  “Yessir,” she says with a smile. Returning to my cock, she sucks and strokes it, faster and faster and faster. She knows I’m close so she picks up the intensity.

  “Oh my God. Right there! Right there! Yes!”

  Just as I climax, she takes my entire dick down, further than I thought it could ever go. Holding it there with her top lip meeting my pubic bone, the cum drains from my cock down her throat.

  As she pulls away, taking a step back and observing me, I try and catch my breath. My buddy is in an all-out buzz.

  “Oh my God, woman. That. Was … incredible.”

  “Why, thank you,” she says, blushing a little.

  “No. I’m not fuckin’ kiddin’ here. Welcome to the ‘Best Blowjob I’ve Ever Had’ club. Members … one.”

  “Shut up,” she responds, waving me off.

  “I’m serious. And that trick you did at the end. Oh my fuckin’ word. I can’t even process a fuckin’ thought right now”

  “It was hot watching you come.” She hesitates, arching an eyebrow, adding, “How about you put that giant cock inside me now so I can make you come again? What do you think?”

  I shake my head. “I think you need to get that sexy ass over here and sit that pretty little pussy on my dick. That’s what I think.”

  “Any other demands, Sergeant?”

  “Yeah, get me that paddle off the wall before you do. It’s time for some corporal punishment.”

  THANKS TO AN UPTICK IN class work for me and a test Ember has today that she’s been studying for, I haven’t seen her all week. Not since she left Sunday morning, a morning that consisted of perfect amounts of morning sex, cuddling, and Netflix.

  It’s hard to make sense of what I’m feeling. Not long ago, my heart was being stomped on by Chelsea. Now she hardly even crosses my mind. Not since Ember has taken up residence. As confident as she is, like me, she shows damage too. She possesses this darkness, this depth, that I connect with on a visceral level. I find myself yearning to talk to her, to get to know more about her, to give in and let my heart take the wheel. But in the same breath, the ever-present anxiety persists and warns me against making any rash decisions. It reminds me about my weary heart and the battering it’s taken over my lifetime.

  I trace the Corazon Agotado ink that arches over the grenade-heart tattoo I had inked on my bicep after my first deployment, smirking and shaking my head. Taking a pull from my cigarette, I think back to that time, sitting in the tattooist’s chair at Fort Bragg. I was one month removed from my deployment to Iraq, and five months removed from finding out my high school girlfriend had moved in with another man shortly after I deployed. She didn’t even bother telling me. Twenty years old and heartbroken, the tattoo was a reminder that the worst kind of scars are the ones you can’t see. The ones we wear on our hearts.

  “Earth to Bishop.”

  I hear the voice, I can make out the words, but I’m completely zoned out.

  “Yo, Bish.” Mac snaps his fingers in front of my face and it startles me. He takes a step back, putting his hands up. Carter and Jeremy stand behind him.

  “Shit, man. Y’alright?” Jeremy asks. He points to my hand. “Your cigarette’s about out.”

  I look down and see that the ash has built up to about half an inch, and the ember has reached the filter. Tossing it into the butt bucket, I rise to my feet, shaking my head.

  “Fuck, I was zonin’ out hard. Barely slept last night. Y’all got a crazy amount of work in your classes too? Like, more than usual?”

  Mac nods. “Yeah. They’re getting us prepared for midterms,” he says.

  “Well, I fuckin’ hate it.”

  “Yeah, and this frat bullshit doesn’t help any. Anybody got a clue what’s going on tonight?” Mac asks as I light another cigarette.

  I shrug. “All Damian told me was that it involves JD.”

  “Oh Lord,” Jeremy says, chuckling. “That motherfucker is a mess.”

  “Y’all wanna make a bet? Twenty bucks says he talks about ass, or shit, or somethin’ involvin’ the asshole within the first ten minutes,” I say, pulling out my wallet and grabbing a twenty-dollar bill.

  “You’re talking to a freshman here, man. Twenty dollars to me is a fortune,” Mac responds.

  Jeremy grabs his wallet. Nodding, he says, “I’ll play that game. I got twenty on him sayin’ it by about the twenty-minute mark.”

  “So, does it work like The Price is Right?” Carter asks. “I get everything over thirty minutes?”

  “Fuck you.” Jeremy laughs, handing over his twenty and pocketing his wallet.

  “How about this, I got twenty on the fact that he’ll mention anal sex first. Pick a topic. Whatever he discusses first, winner gets the pot,” I say.

  “Sounds good,” Jeremy says. “I’m bettin’ on him talkin’ about poo.” He laughs.

  “Alright, I’m game,” Carter says. “Mind if I pay you later?”

  “Sure,” I respond.

  “Okay. I’ve got twenty on him talking about fisting, doesn’t matter if it’s ass or pussy,” Carter says, and I nod with an approving smile.

  “Game on, bitches,” I say, stacking the twenties, folding them, and stuffing them in my pocket. “This should be interesting.”

  “Now gentlemen, before we start the pledge challenge tonight, I wanna have a heart to heart with ya’ll,” JD says, sitting in a chair in the middle of the basement, a cold Busch in his hand and a cooler full of them at his feet.

  We are on the edges of our fucking seats, in a half-circle in front of him, waiting to see who will win the bet. He’s been here only ten minutes so far, and topics have consisted of the difficulties that accompany pissing with a hard-on in the morning and the gas Mr. Chow’s General Tso Chicken gives him. Carter was really interested in that one. I can only assume he was hoping that the gas conve
rsation would naturally lead to JD sharing with us the consistency, texture, and color of his last bowel movement as well, making Carter our winner. Thankfully, for Jeremy and me, he didn’t.

  “Do y’all have any clue what tonight’s about?” JD asks, leaning in with his on his knees.

  “No idea,” I respond.

  “Well then, let me tell y’all. Tonight ya face a challenge. A challenge against each other. A challenge unlike any other. A cock challenge. And it involves my favorite thing on God’s green earth… strippers.”

  We look at each other, confused, before JD continues, “And before we bring the girls in here, and before I explain to y’all just what this challenge entails, I need to let y’all in on a little life lesson. I need all ears, cause in less than ten minutes y’all may find yerself in this predicament and yer gonna wish you’d listened.”

  Perking up in my chair, I grin, knowing the “life lesson” he’s about to lay on us involves a stripper, and I can only deduce he did something to her asshole from what I know about him.

  He clears his throat. “I’d just finished basic trainin’. We were at this titty bar outside Fort Leonard Wood with some of the other graduates. We got shit-canned. I’m talkin’ ‘Y’all might as well leave the bottle’ drunk. I went from a broke ass high school kid down in ’Bama, to a goddamn soldier who couldn’t touch his bank account fer three months of trainin’. Let me tell ya, fellas, I made it fuckin’ rain that night.”

  He abruptly stands and acts it out, tossing imaginary bills with quick swipes of his fingers against his palm.

  “And I’m gettin’ fuckin’ lap dances out the ass. Twenty bucks, she touches my dick outside my jeans. Fifty, she’ll give it a good stroke to the tune of “Pour Some Sugar On Me.” Classy kinda place. I dished out hundreds that night, fellas. Hundreds. And by the end of the night, when I was so pissed I could hardly see straight, I went in fer one last dance.”

  He hesitates, taking a deep breath. He looks like he’s a doctor about to tell us we have cancer.

  “Gentlemen, that was one last dance I shouldn’t’a taken,” he says, taking a seat again and shaking his head somberly.

  I want to bust out laughing, at nothing more than how completely odd this motherfucker is, but I don’t. I’m too engrossed in the story.

  “I’m sittin’ there, my dick harder than Chinese Trigonometry, and I pulled another fifty outta my wallet and slipped it in her g-string. She pulls my fun gun out and starts strokin’ it.” He pauses, taking a deep breath through his nostrils as he eyes us. “Fellas, there’s somethin’ about the smell of White Diamonds and pussy that just gets me juiced. I could feel the nut collectin’ up in my balls like a fuckin’ scrum and then it comes shootin’ out all over her hand. Now, I ain’t proud’a this, but when that nut was exitin’ my balls, I … well … I managed to get so worked up that I shat a little bit.”

  “Yes!” Carter cheers, a fist in the air.

  Jeremy and I let out disappointed sighs.

  JD looks at Carter, a tilt to his head and his eyebrow arched. “No, guy. It ain’t yes! It’s a big fuckin’ no, in fact. Capital N. Capital O. When it happened, I could tell it wasn’t a whole lot by the wetness against my ass cheeks, so I figured I could play it off long enough to get the fuck outta there.” He shakes his head, shame in his features. “I wasn’t so lucky, fellas. That shit stunk to high heavens and she freaked the fuck out.”

  “Dear Lord,” Mac mutters, shaking his head.

  JD raises the pitch in his voice to sound like a woman, waving his hands frantically, and says, “‘Oh my God, Jimmy! This motherfucker shit himself. Get him the fuck out of here!’” Returning to his normal pitch, he continues, “And so this big pro rasslin’ cocksucker throws my ass out. And damn it if I didn’t shit myself again when I hit the ground. Now, y’all don’t understand. When ya mix as many alcoholic beverages as I did that night, it turns yer guts into a bag of feral cats. Even after shittin’ myself twice, I had more in me. So, I ran into the bushes and finished the job.”

  Mac bursts out laughing. “I’m so fucking confused.”

  “I’m gettin’ to the point goddammit. If you’d just open your ears, Kathy Griffin. Now, hold yer tits. I’m tellin’ a story here.”

  “What did you even wipe with?” Carter asks.

  JD stink eyes him for a moment and then asks, “What was yer name again? Lance Bass?”

  “Carter.”

  “Carter, I gotta question for ya. Ya ready?”

  Carter nods.

  JD continues. “There were certainly leaves on the bushes I coulda wiped with. A few fast food bags. But Carter …” He leans forward, looking him in the eyes. “If I just shit my goddamn pants twice, why in the hell do I need to wipe?”

  Mac cracks up and I just shake my head, a stupid grin on my face.

  JD sits back, clears his throat, and crosses one leg over the other as he takes a swig of his beer. “Moral to the story is, gentlemen, when those strippers are dancin’ on ya tonight, if ya feel yer gut rumblin’, ya need to get the fuck outta dodge. I don’t wanna see the same thing happen to y’all.” His facial features go serious, a wrinkle in his brow. “One casualty is enough! Never again, goddammit,” he says, putting a fist in the air and then pounding it down onto his knee.

  “So we’re just getting lap dances today?” Mac asks.

  “Not just any ol’ lap dance, Molly Ringwald,” JD responds.

  “My name’s Mac.”

  “Goddammit, ya think I don’t know that, Conan from Late Night with Conan O’Brien?” JD remains straight-faced, taking his attention off Mac and focusing on all of us. “Y’all are gettin’ lap dances while yer wearin’ only underwear. Last man standin’ wins.” He tilts his head. “Well, I guess standin’ ain’t the right term.” He chuckles. “The last one of y’all to get a hard-on wins the prize.”

  “What’s the prize?” I ask, concerned it has something to do with stripper pussy. Or, considering who we’re working with, stripper asshole.

  JD turns to me and smiles. “The prize? The prize is, ya don’t gotta take part in tonight’s second challenge with all the losers. Tonight, those of ya who can’t keep yer dick down gotta eat a raw onion like an apple. All of it.”

  “Motherfucker,” Mac huffs.

  “Yeah, it is a motherfucker. Enjoy yer dances, ladies. And for you losers, the DIK Apple awaits.” His lips curl into a smile as he turns his back toward the door. “Bring ’em on in, fellas!” he yells loudly.

  Trevor, who has been standing idly by the back door, swings the door open and in comes a group of brothers, hooting and hollering as they lead the four ugliest strippers I’ve ever seen in my life down the small set of stairs and into the basement. JD motions toward us, a giddy smile on his face. Music begins playing over the speakers.

  “Right there, ladies! There’s yer prey.” He looks back at us, the strippers approaching his side, as well as every officer except for Sarge. “Gents, get down to yer skivvies.”

  “Where did you find these fine ladies?” I ask as I stand and start undressing, keeping the sarcasm from my tone so I don’t catch a stripper heel to the throat.

  “Oh, they’re the best money can buy offa Back Page. Well, I mean, not the very best, I ain’t a rich man, but they’re decent.” His eyes fall on the strippers and he ogles them for a moment. One of them is in a stars and stripes swimsuit, her messy, matted black hair a welcome sight compared to the girl next to her, wearing a rebel flag swimsuit, her head shaved half-bald. The other two wear gold and burgundy, Buchanan State’s colors. They look no less disheveled and coked out than the other two. They look like they’d rather be in the utility closet shooting up. But that’s neither here nor there. I have the unfortunate task of receiving a dance from one of these women, and I don’t know what would be worse, eating a goddamn onion or enduring a longer dance than I need to.

  “Bishop, yer Pledge President, so you pick first,” JD says.

  I raise my hand, asking, “Can we
talk first about Mac’s tighty-whities?”

  All eyes in the room shift to Mac, who wears a pair of Fruit of the Looms. A wave of laughter rolls through the crowd.

  “What?” Mac whines, lifting his arms in the air.

  JD takes a few steps toward Mac, an inquisitive look in his eyes. “Goddammit, son. Are ya twelve years old? Are there shit streaks in those things?”

  “What’s wrong with these?” Mac asks, looking stupefied.

  JD gets down on one knee beside Mac as if he’s a father coaching his son. “Listen, Seth Green. Everythin’ is wrong with them things. Everythin’. But worst of all, they give the boys no room to breathe. Danglies need room to breathe.”

  “I think they’re comfortable,” Mac says, looking over toward us as if we’re going to save him.

  “Mac, you look like you’re gettin’ ready for fifth grade gym class,” I quip, grinning.

  JD nods, motioning to Mac’s chest. “And what the good goddamn is wrong with yer body? Ya look like one of them UNICEF poster children.”

  “I have a high metabolism.”

  “He looks like a red-headed Cryptkeeper,” I say, laughing.

  “Like a used tampon,” Jeremy adds. “Get it? He’s skinny, white, and red at the tip.” He chuckles.

  “I fucking hate you guys.” Mac crosses his arms, pouting.

  “Now, y’all leave poor Annie alone.” JD stands up and makes his way back to the strippers. “Besides, we gotta challenge to tend to. Bishop? What’s yer fancy?”

  “Well, I’m feelin’ patriotic today. Let’s say we go with the red, white, and blue.”

  She smiles at me as I motion toward her, and I see that she hasn’t got a full set of teeth. A chill sweeps up my spine.

  “Country Boy?” JD looks to Jeremy.

  “I gotta go with the rebel flag,” Jeremy responds, winking at her as he turns his hat around backwards.

  “Justin Timberlake?”

  “I guess I’ll go with burgundy.” Carter says, pointing to her but averting his eyes.

  JD points a finger at Mac. “Alright, Eric Stoltz, from the Oscar winnin’ drama, and in my opinion, underappreciated film, Mask, that leaves Charlene with yer ginger ass,” JD says, putting his hands on the shoulders of the woman in the gold swimsuit and leading her to Mac. “Ladies, assume yer positions. Trevor, ya know what to do.”