Chad checked off the group texts he sent to his football, wrestling and water polo teams. He got a copy of Bruno's group text to the swim team. He considered he could handle two guys at a time, maybe four, but horny teenagers were impatient. Maybe a few of Bruno's teammates would help pickup some slack? But Chad would probably need a few more. The male cheerleaders came to mind. He tried texting Petey Gaylord, the male cheerleader. But it came back as a landline.
Chad sighed, and cleared his throat.
He dialed Petey's number.
"Hello, is Petey there?"
"Just a minute," then Chad heard the answerer shout, "Hey, Pete, some guy for you asking for Petey!"
"Good gawd, only that annoying quarterback calls me that," replied Pete in the distance.
Annoying?, mouthed Chad without speaking aloud.
"Yo, it's Pete, what can I do for you?"
"Petey," Chad cringed as he said the name, he had really meant to say Pete. He continued, "uh, Pete, this is Chad."
"Doesn't sound like Chad," Pete replied with suspicion in his voice.
"Got laryngitis, Petey - er, Pete."
"If you're Chad, and you're calling me Pete instead of Petey, it means you want a favor from me. So jock boy, if you really want a favor, get your bubble butt ass off your sofa, and run over to my house within 10 minutes, then get down on your knees and beg me. Just do it!" Pete ordered and hung up.
Peter didn't really believe it was Chad. It was probably Charlie trying to spoof him. Even if it weren't Chad, it felt good to tell that wiseass jock off. If it was Chad there was no way he would come over to ask for a favor, let alone get down on his knees. Still he got his rocks off doing it. He was rock hard when he hung up.
Chad wasn't the same Chad that Pete thought he knew. This Chad -the twink cocksucking version- was sweating, trembling and rock hard by the time Pete hung up. There was a wet spot on his shorts from his precum.
Just do it! Echoed in Chad's mind. Pete was a real man, the sort that Chad now lived to serve. His accessories! He ran over to the nightstand, and put the cock ring, ball splitter and alligator nipple clips back on. Now he was properly dressed. He looked at his size 14 running shoes, and down at his size 7 or 8 feet. Barefoot then. He gargled mouthwash, combed his hair. Then he checked Pete's address, it was 10 blocks away. He still had 7 minutes to get there. Chad bolted down the stairs and out of the house.
Five minutes later, Chad stood on Pete's doorstep in sweat soaked running gear plastered to his body. His feet were black from the pavement, he was panting hard, as he pushed the doorbell.