Caspian breathed deep and drew in the spirits of SPIT. Electric bliss thrummed through the handprints all over his body as the spirits entered him, giving him strength, purpose, dominance. Caspian stared down the three frat boys that stood between him and his once-lovers, and he promised himself: they didn’t stand a chance.

Each frat boy squared up, ready to take him. One Spittle’s ears glittered with three to four studs on each side, another had long black dreads, and the third, who carried himself like their leader, had red wings painted from his sides to his back. Studs, Dreads, and Wings. They looked young, fresh. Easy, right?

Caspian charged.^[2]

He wanted to bowl them over and get at the door. Dreads and Studs tackled him from either side, but he stood his ground and threw his naked body into theirs to shove one away and then the other. Wings was already behind him when he shook them off, and Caspian prepared for any number of classic moves—but instead, without technique or form, Wings just thrust his hands around Caspian’s mouth and chin and clasped them, keeping his jaw shut tight.

Fuck. Why didn’t he think of shouting? The problem wasn’t that Hunter and Chase couldn’t hold their own against some sophomores. They just didn’t know he was a Seeder.

He rocked his head one way, then the other, trying to free his head to no avail. EDM pounded behind the door to block out noise. He needed lungpower and time. Caspian swung his body to check Studs, who was hounding him from the side. He swept Wings’ leg, wrenched the hands off his mouth, and began to shout, “He’s a—”

But Dreads interrupted him with a jumping tackle, hands landing over his mouth as they both fell to the ground. Caspian twisted midair so they landed on their sides, then rolled on top of Dreads to wrench his hands apart. Another body crashed onto his back. Caspian rolled and bucked his ass to thrust the new assailant off him, but he knew the third was coming.

Caspian hadn’t felt this kind of exhilaration in months. Maybe he should take that position as SPIT’s trainer. He’d missed this—not just his friends, this. The stakes were high, but that just filled him with determination. The spirits swelled in response. Caspian thrust himself away from two of the frat boys, freeing his mouth to holler “Seeder!” But his lungs weren’t full.

Another hand clamped over his mouth and shut his jaw tight. He needed time. He needed to breathe in deep and shout, and he needed to do it without losing to all three sophomores in the process. Gods, that would be humiliating.

The seconds passed, opportunities came and went, and he made no progress. His lungs emptied rather than filled. But if there were other options to save his friends, he couldn’t think of them. Wreathed in the spirits, deep in the heat of the game, he had only one path: fight off these sophomores. Warn his friends. Don’t lose in the process.

As he relived his glory days, the Tamers waited unsuspectingly behind that door, moments away from being tamed.

Chase’s nose was currently buried in River’s pit.^[3]

He was trying to hold his breath, but he’d already taken a couple whiffs, so the odourless bottom pheromones had to be in his lungs already. The effect was hard to read, but it compounded. He thought more often about how nice it would be to relax and let River pin him down. The thoughts… lingered.

But Chase was determined to fight. River needed to work extra hard to earn Chase’s ass, after what he’d said. Chase? Easy? Fuck that. He needed to feel like he’d lost, really lost.

To River’s credit, the frat boy was trying. River had pulled every trick in his arsenal to subdue Chase, forcing him to break spiritual bonds a couple more times and giving him one small dose of bottom pheromones after another. Chase’s will to fight was on its last legs.

Chase^[4] finally wrenched himself free with a rush of triumph that overrode his need to submit. He sucked in a deep breath and caught a glance of Hunter as he struggled with River’s arm. Hunter signalled to him: first with a finger pointing into his mouth and a tongue poked out, which Chase didn’t understand immediately, and then with the universal symbol for Seeders: clasped hands, one spread out and the other curled. It represented the way Seeder sperm penetrated a man’s inner walls to inject their hormonal load.

Chase got the message and shrugged. Hunter was asking him if he’d tasted River’s precum to check if he was a Seeder. He thought he’d gotten a taste at some point, and he didn’t remember a crackling sensation of pleasure down his throat, so probably not? He wasn’t sure.

Whether or not River was a Seeder stopped mattering almost immediately. In Chase’s distraction, River managed to kick one of Chase’s legs out from under him, sending him toppling to the ground on his hands and elbows. A sudden sinking feeling told him he’d finally lost. He was about to be taken. Fuck, he was ready to give up right then, but with the last of his willpower he kept trying to squirm.

In seconds he was in a full nelson, River’s arms hooked under his shoulders, hands pressing his face into the floor. The bonds wrapped around his biceps almost immediately. Their bodies were flush, and the spiritual coils began to snake around Chase’s chest, three pairs of ropes inching closer and closer to each other. If he didn’t do anything, if he gave in, he’d be trapped.

“Don’t fight it, Chase,” River purred. “You’ve had enough. Let me take you. You know you wanna feel it when I sink inside you. I’m gonna pound you into the floor, Chase, make you my bitch like you deserve. You really wanna keep fighting?”

Chase struggled half-heartedly, but those words brought images, promises Chase couldn’t resist. They weren’t what you said to a frat bottom. There was a cruel triumph to them. Chase really did feel like River’s bitch.

He was ready to lose.

The bonds connected, all three tightening firmly around his torso. It felt like they pushed past his skin into something deeper: they dug into his other body with a bite that flared in bliss whenever he moved.

Chase slumped, and River settled down. “I’m gonna let go of one of your arms now,” River said. The full nelson became a half nelson, one arm hooked, his throat under pressure from River’s forearm. “That’s a good frat bottom. You know your place.” River grabbed his cock and slapped his thick dick between Chase’s cheeks, each hefty, meaty thump pounding the loss into Chase’s wounded spirit.

His spirit was a fighting spirit. He was devastated to have lost. But that broken spirit was the hottest thing in the world to him.

River shifted his body gently as he lined up for penetration, for victory—too much movement and he’d dissolve the bonds harmlessly. It was extra insurance. Smart, even though Chase was pretty much done fighting. He had what he wanted: the next best thing to Caspian.

Hot precum spurted across his taint and into his hole, loosening him up. “Yeah, you proved it,” he said, as he eased his ass back, his hole gently parting. “Better keep proving it, though. Don’t want me to get all uppity while you’re trying to nut, right?”

River made a frustrated noise. “Say all you want. All you’ve wanted was to be my bitch. All this song and dance—” River shoved forward, forcing Chase’s hole wider, still not fully breaching it.

“Goddamn, you’re thick,” Chase groaned, clenching his fist as his hole strained and his body struggled to stay in its normal shape. “But you know I couldn’t just ask.”

“My dick’s how I make up for being this little,” River purred. By the time he’d fully breached Chase’s hole, it felt like River’s cock was as thick as a soda can. “Just seeing it lays most frat bottoms low.” Then his meat steamrolled over Chase’s prostate, stretching it out and crushing it down as Chase balled up his fists and moaned desperately.

“Deeper, please,” Chase whined.

“See? Just like that.”

“Fuck, Hunter,” Chase said, glancing over at his best friend, who was idly stroking his dick as he watched the show.^[5] “You’re gonna have a hard time bouncing on this one.”

Hunter smiled wryly. “You say it like I don’t love a challenge.”

River glanced at Hunter sharply. “Good luck. I’m gonna have you begging just like your hunting dog.”

“Focus on the hunting dog,” Chase growled. “You ain’t finished taming me yet—fuck!” Chase cried, as River slammed his dick forward, three or four inches sinking into Chase all at once and crushing more of his p-spots. The smaller bulbs weren’t as ecstatic as his prostate, but they still pulsed with pleasure, forcing precum out from his own cock.

“You want tamed?” River growled back, slamming his cock forward again until the head hit Chase’s second hole, pressing firmly against it, forcing that firm bend to yield, to straighten out.

Chase gritted his teeth and groaned, the strain in his core growing even more intense as River wrenched open his tightest walls. “Fuck—fuck—ohhh, gods,” Chase moaned, as his second hole finally gave way, a sensation that was as relieving as it was overwhelming. He slumped as River forced in the rest of his length, more of Chase’s p-spots lighting up as River crushed them one by one. Before River’s hips met his ass, Chase felt the head of River’s cock press against his abdomen from the inside, and the last couple inches made a palpable bulge in his gut.

“You’ll get tamed,” River finished, in a purr. “Enjoy the ride. I’m not stopping until I finish inside you.” River pulled out until he was almost at Chase’s second hole, then slammed back in, blasting his guts back open and rearranging everything. The moment his hips met Chase’s ass, River bounced back off to wind up for another gravity-powered thrust, giving Chase no respite as he hammered Chase’s hole into submission.

Chase grunted and moaned as River relentlessly plumbed his depths, slowly gaping his tight walls, shoving everything out of the way to make room for his can-thick dick. “Oh gods, wait—” Chase exclaimed, when River abruptly pulled all the way out of Chase’s second hole. That could only mean— “Fuck!” Chase whimpered, as River busted through his deepest entrance with reckless violence.

More whimpers joined Chase’s chorus of noises as River did it again and again and again, pulling out most of his cock only to sink the whole thing back in at once and batter his guts. Yet, even through the sheer, furious power of every thrust, River had the subtle technique of a frat boy: shifting and angling mid-stroke to pummel all of Chase’s p-spots with brain-melting pleasure.

“You wanted a fight, you got one,” River growled, as he came down like a hammer to crush Chase’s guts. “I’m supposed to be nice to frat bottoms, but instead I’m treating you like a fucking enemy. I hope you’re happy.”

“Ffffuck, yeah, I’m happy,” Chase groaned. He couldn’t believe how much he’d missed this. River may not have been Caspian, but still, nobody back home treated him the way a victorious frat boy could: with nigh-on violent fucking and with hawkeye aim for every one of his p-spots. No one could treat him so much like he was a hole and make him feel this fucking good.

“Don’t look so surprised,” Hunter droned. “Do you even know anything about us? This is what he wants. Gods, wait until you find out what I’m like.” Suddenly, Hunter looked at the door as if he’d heard something. Chase couldn’t—the plap of hips on ass was especially loud in his ears, reverberating through his body as River pounded him into the ground.

But whatever it was, it had caught Hunter’s attention. Chase felt River’s thrusts slow, and he turned his head enough to see River watching Hunter, who was drifting toward the door.

“And what are you like, Hunter?” River asked, demandingly.

Hunter stopped in his tracks, then turned around with a dangerous, full-lipped smile on his face. He prowled back across the room, squatting down in front of Chase and River, who had just sped up his thrusting again. He was going harder than before, like he was trying to drive himself toward orgasm.

“Chase is hard to get,” Hunter purred, “but I’m hungry.” He placed a hand on River’s cheek, caressing it ever so gently. “Chase tires you out pounding him into submission. When you’re done with him, I finish the job and drain you dry. You’d be lucky if you could get up while I ride you, River. You’d be lucky if you could get up for the next hour after.”

“He’s a—hnnng, maneater,” Chase teased. “Take your time fucking me, dude. Hunter’s gonna waste you after this.”

River growled. “Neither of you know how to submit, do you? I didn’t know frat bottoms could be this bratty.”

“Why did you think we were called the Brat Tamers?” Hunter asked, deadpan. “Don’t get me wrong. I want to submit. It’s not my fault none of you can handle me once I do.”

“We’ll see about that,” River said. “It’ll be your turn soon.”

“Soon?” Hunter asked. “Take your time with Chase, savour it. I’ll be here when you’re done.” Suddenly he looked back at the door again. “What the fuck is going on outside?”

“Prolly nothing,” River said. “We’re always fighting in SPIT. Want me to turn up the music? Make it easier to ignore?”

“It’s loud enough already,” Hunter said. “Whatever. I’m having fun enough watching you two.”

River grunted, then refocused on Chase, burying his face in the crook of Chase’s neck and nipping at the skin. There was nothing left to distract them from fucking like beasts.

Caspian couldn’t keep this up forever. The bulk of his time had been spent wrestling with two men while trying to keep the third from finding purchase on his body, and that left almost no time to free his mouth to shout. Hawk had left out that River had a team. And even though they were just sophomores, three-on-one was nigh-on impossible. All it would take was a couple bad moves and he’d find himself piled on, trapped in three sets of arms and legs—and then, in all likelihood, gangbanged while they were at it.

He’d dosed them with bottom pheromones what must have been a dozen times, getting their faces into his pits and pubes for quick whiffs meant to weaken their resolve—but the pheromones only worked if you were entertaining submissive thoughts. Without the ability to talk, he couldn’t plant those thoughts himself, and these three Spittle must have been so set on the promise of gangbanging the Brat Tamers or something that there wasn’t one thought of bottoming in their minds.

It was only a matter of time before he found himself spitroasted by three dicks at once. Chase was certainly getting pounded right now, and at any moment River could cum inside and knock him up. Hunter would fall next. A wave of despair washed over him, threatening to destroy his own defences against their bottom pheromones. He was out of options, and even the spirits were starting to shy away from his losing battle.

Except that he wasn’t out of options.

A pang of guilt threatened to pull him under. The only reason he hadn’t finished the job was the fact that he didn’t want to lose. He was so engrossed in the game that he’d forgotten the stakes. Hunter and Chase mattered more than Caspian’s holes. They mattered more than his dignity. They didn’t want to be frat bottoms—they didn’t need Caspian the frat bruiser. They needed a friend.

To his surprise, the spirits flooded back into him with one final rush of energy and heat. It seemed giving up his holes for his friends, for his brothers, was a sacrifice they’d accept.

Suddenly, he had an advantage. The sophomores were intent on covering his mouth, but all this time, he’d been fighting like he needed to escape. They wouldn’t expect it if—

Caspian stopped resisting and used all his boosted strength to aggressively thrust away the hand clamping his mouth shut. He had the loudest voice in all of SPIT. Mustering up his lungpower, he shouted, “HE’S A SEEDER!”

A hand clamped over his mouth again. He’d lost all his leverage to make that one holler, and though he’d started struggling again, even with the spirits on his side, he was on the back foot at last. If he was going to get out of this, it would have to be Hunter and Chase saving him.

“He’s a Seeder!” came the words, quiet thanks to the music and the door, but audible enough for both Chase and Hunter.

“What does that mean, River?” Chase asked, suddenly concerned. He was acutely aware of the bonds around his chest—and his deep unwillingness to resist his captor.

“It means you didn’t actually check, Chase,” Hunter drawled, rising from his seat and approaching casually. Chase looked at him with wide, pleading eyes while River started pounding even harder.

“It means I’m going to knock you up,” River growled, as his thrusts became short and powerful, aimed to maximise his pleasure and catapult him toward orgasm. “You want it as bad as you wanted this dick, Chase. You want—mmmph!”

Hunter had put his hand on River’s mouth, clamping it shut. River’s arms were around Chase, but when Hunter tried to pull them out, Chase gripped them tight.

“I can’t fight it, Hunter,” Chase moaned. He was trying his hardest not to think about what submission would mean, about the consequences if he got knocked up. Once the images took hold, he was sure he’d be done for.

“Hunting dog, heel!” Hunter barked, his once smooth, seductive voice gone in favour of hard command. “I thought I’d trained my pup better than that.

The trigger words had an immediate effect on Chase’s psyche. All his other thoughts retreated from the front of his mind, and the cry of submission in his spirit faded as it was given a new outlet. The most important thing right now was the eager, overriding desire to obey his master, and he could already feel that energy suffusing his bones.

“Yes, master, you did,” Chase said, his voice breathy, excited. “Master trained a fighter. Is that what you want me to do?”

“Yes, puppy. Now fight him.” Hunter patted Chase’s cheek and suddenly retreated, but his influence did not.

It was now or never. In an explosive motion, Chase rolled himself and River over. River grunted as he landed on his back, Chase on top, but Chase was already making his next move. He planted his hands into the ground on either side and, with another burst of might, he thrust himself upward, straining at the bonds around his chest.

The pleasure flared to blinding heights when they broke, ecstasy flooding his torso as they passed through his body and dissolved. As he cast himself into a sitting position, he once again felt that storm of bliss roil up into his mind. He knew he had to pull away, but he faltered, both from the pleasure and the gnawing question—why not just give in?

River was smart, and he immediately began talking. “You really want to pull off my dick, puppy? Doesn’t it feel so good inside you? I’m about to cum, pup. I can—mmph—fuck! I can make you mine, I can make you crave this dick day in and day—mmmmph!”

Despite Hunter’s attempts to cover River’s mouth, the words had their effect on Chase, telling him what he wanted, guiding his formless need to submit, pulling it away from his master. All he had to do was let River cum inside, and he could give into this urge for good. He could already imagine life as a frat bottom again, a whole house full of frat boys to submit to. That was all he needed now—to submit.

He lifted his hips on River’s cock and felt it twitch. All he had to do was drop back down and he would pull the trigger.

“Bad dog!” Hunter barked, from behind him.

River tried to recover by shouting “No, good dog!” But it was his master’s voice that Chase submitted to, first and foremost. Master’s word was law.

Shame welled up in Chase’s chest. He wasn’t a bad puppy! He was obedient to his master, and he’d show it. Instead of dropping on River’s cock like he so, so wanted to do, he fought his own instincts in order to please Master and rose further, nice and slow, relaxing his hole so it didn’t stimulate River’s precum-soaked cock too much. The bulge in his stomach disappeared, his insides relaxing as they were relieved of River’s massive intrusion.

He felt River’s cock throb and he looked down. River had grabbed the base of his cock and was stroking furiously, his balls drawing up as they prepared to shoot their potent load. But Chase still had over six inches left to go.

Chase threw caution to the wind, flexing his legs as he thrust himself upward, knowing that he was triggering River’s orgasm by doing this, that he was racing the cum shooting up River’s cock.

At the last moment, his ass came off and he hurled himself forward. In the next moment, a geyser of cum shot from River’s head, blasting as high as the ceiling before raining back down to the floor. Spurt after huge spurt flew uselessly from River’s breeding tool. Chase’s heart pounded as his senses came back to him. Any slower and he would be a Surrogate right now—that was the strength of a Seeder load. Even now, if he chose to fall back on River’s cock, he’d be knocked up in an instant. He’d been so close.

He cast off that thought painfully and turned to face Hunter, who had risen to his feet again. “Am I a good boy?” he asked his master, breathily. “I didn’t get knocked up!”

“Let’s see, pup. On all fours,” Hunter commanded, and Chase dropped to hands and knees at once. “Come,” Hunter barked, and Chase came, staying on all four of his limbs as he hurried over to his master. “Sit,” Hunter began, and Chase settled back on his haunches, looking up at Hunter expectantly. His master’s hard dick dangled right in front of him inches away from brushing against his face.

“Don’t lick, boy,” Hunter said, as he leaned forward and rubbed his dick into Chase’s face, grinding into one cheek and then the other. At last, Hunter gave Chase what he wanted. “Good puppy,” he said, ruffling Chase’s hair.

Chase made a barking noise and eagerly started lapping at Hunter’s cock, tongue dragging across it and lips mouthing along the girth. “Thank you for the treat, Master.”

“You’re welcome, Chase. The hunt is over.” Those four words signalled that the play was finished, and Chase felt the need to please his master retreating. So too had gone the urge to submit.

Chase rose to his feet and looked down at River, who had jacked himself off through his orgasm and was only now coming back. “Sorry, River,” he said, with a grin. “It was a good try.”

“I don’t understand you,” River panted. “They told us you were the best frat bottoms in SPIT. I thought they meant… you had really nice holes, or you threw it back just right, or…”

“And instead, we’re top-eaters who’ll wring you out and leave you out to dry?” Hunter asked, singsong.

“Yes!” River barked, sounding disgruntled. “They’re crazy for calling you frat bottoms. Frat bottoms don’t fight back. They roll over and take it like sluts.”

The words smarted Chase more than he wanted to admit, but the scowl on Hunter’s face said Hunter felt worse. Back home, Chase wasn’t as worried about being labelled a ‘slut’ as Hunter was. His style of submission showed fire. As long as he wrestled first, he could submit as hard as he wanted.

But nobody really wrestled like frat boys did, and certainly not like Caspian did. Yet—here, where Chase should be getting everything he wanted, no one wanted to give it.

What other options did he have?

“C’mon, you loved putting me in my place!” Chase said, trying to sound like he believed it. “I know frat boys. You want to know the guy you’re fighting is gonna lose.”

River hesitated, and then said, “Well—yeah, but—fuck. Yes, it was hot, but it’s not what I’m thinking about when I want a frat bottom.”

Chase slumped. As part of SPIT, he’d carved out his little niche, found a way to belong, even though he wasn’t quite a frat bottom and wasn’t quite a frat bruiser. The pet play had helped—Hunter and Caspian had helped him grow the balls to challenge his own brothers for a shot at his hole. The seniors had loved it.

But SPIT had moved on without him. What he missed wasn’t here anymore. The only option left was… was Caspian.

River must have noticed Chase’s slump—that, and it looked like Hunter was glaring at him. But, with a belaboured sigh, he tried, “Chase, man, I was just a pledge when you were in your prime. But ever since the guys found out you were coming back—even before, honestly—you should have seen the way they looked when they talked about you and Hunter. They act like you’re royalty, like you’re the best thing that ever happened to them.”

It wasn’t exactly what Chase needed. But the memories were nice, and the compliments felt good, and Hunter was preening next to him, so Chase let himself grin. Maybe later he could find some seniors who were willing to do what River had done.

What Caspian had done.

There was a point where any bruiser had to give in. Even Caspian, a bull of the frat, had his limit. And he was a few moves away from hitting it.

He was proud of himself for lasting this long against three. He’d been dosed with bottom pheromones what must have been a dozen times now. Two of the boys had spent their oral reserves of concentrated pheromones before getting the hint: Caspian was just too good of a dom to give in.

To beat the bottom pheromones, a frat boy had to wear dominance like a second skin. To be a frat boy in the first place, you had to be a switch. And therein lay the challenge. But it was one in which Caspian excelled. While the allure of submission lay beneath the surface, scrabbling at his defences and begging to be let out, his defences were iron.

It didn’t help his opponents that they seemed sworn to silence. If they had talked at all about what they wanted to do with him, if they had seeded him with images of their conquest, maybe they could have broken him down. It was how one-on-one fights always went. No strikes were allowed, no submission holds either. Pain was not a weapon for a frat bruiser. Battles were won with dirty talk and well-placed hands and doses of pheromones.

But if you really were overpowered, if there was no chance for you to come back, if your opponent was too skilled—or, in this case, there were fucking three of them—there was another option. You could just give in. Caspian could shrug off his armour, stop acting like the perfect, unbeatable dom he was, and let the pheromones take hold of him. Then all three boys could have their way with him and he’d love every moment of it.

But they didn’t have him yet. Try as they might, they still hadn’t put him in a position he couldn’t wrestle out of. Thank the god of frat boys himself, thank every spirit that laid its hands on him, Caspian had not yet been humiliated by three sophomores.

The door to River’s room swung open. When Caspian caught sight of Hunter and Chase looking at each other and laughing, the moves he had left shot down to zero. He froze, and that gave up the game. All of a sudden there was one—no, two dicks inches away from his ass, and the third was approaching his covered mouth quickly.

They were his last hope. He made a muffled noise, catching their attention, and he widened his eyes in a plea for help.

Hunter’s eyes widened in return, and he looked away, but Chase barked, “Hey! What are you boys doing to that alum, huh?” His huge arms were crossed, his dragonscaled figure giving off an intimidating aura.

“We were just trying to—“ Studs began, but Wings cut him off.

“We’re just having a friendly fight in the hallway. What’s it to ya?” They all kept firm hold of Caspian’s arms and legs.

“I notice you didn’t say fair,” Chase replied, with a withering glare.

Studs and Dreads shifted uncomfortably, but Wings continued, “And what are two frat bottoms gonna do about it? Look at your dicksucking lips. We were gonna gangbang this big boy, but I don’t think either of my buddies would object to having their own personal holes. We could skullfuck all three of you, right up against that wall.”

Caspian held his breath as the Beast Tamers turned it over in their heads. Hunter was still avoiding his gaze. He had no reason to believe the would save him—in fact, they looked tempted by the offer, and there was every chance that if they accepted, the sophomores would force Caspian to submit and line him up with his ex-lovers.

There was something fitting about that. Would Hunter accept Caspian back if he went frat bottom with them? Caspian had to force himself not to laugh.

Chase turned towards Hunter. This was the moment of truth. “Here, kitty kitty,” Chase purred, rubbing his fingers together, and Hunter’s whole stance changed into something dangerous and poised. The memories came alive for Caspian all over again: Hunter ordering Caspian to breathe in Hunter’s pheromones, Hunter straddling him and dirty talking about riding him, Hunter bouncing on his dick until Caspian couldn’t handle another thrust.

Hunter was a large part of the reason Caspian was so hard to beat in a fight between bruisers. When Caspian thought of submitting, he thought first of letting Hunter powerbottom him into a puddle, not of getting his ass gaped by a victorious bruiser. His secret weapon was that he was fucking addicted to the Beast Tamers.

For a dangerous moment, his defences shuddered, pheromones threatening to break through and turn him into a moaning sub. It took all his willpower to banish his memories of Hunter. It helped to imagine himself in Chase’s position, Hunter lapping obediently at his fingers.

“What do you want from your panther, Master?” Hunter asked, eyeing up his prey and licking his lips.

“Pull one of those boys away from Peen—Caspian,” Chase corrected.

The pet name brought along a sudden pang of grief, but Hunter’s reaction to the name hurt even more—a sudden, indignant hssss.

“Shhh shh shh, kitten,” Chase urged, brushing his hand into Hunter’s hair. “He saved us, you remember that? It’s the least we can do. You can have two of them when we’re done.”

All three of Caspian’s opponents bristled, but none wanted to let go of him. That was wise on their part.

“These two frat bottoms,” Chase began, “have decided that we’re owed some creampies. The guy in that room we just left, you might know him—River? He was supposed to fill us both up, but that didn’t work out. But we’re still hungry for some nut.”

“Consider yourselves lucky,” Hunter added. “If you earned Caspian’s revenge by gangbanging him, you wouldn’t survive the night before getting knocked up, every one of you.” He bared his teeth, and they all flinched.

“Get ’em,” Chase growled, and both the Beast Tamers charged, wrapping up two of the boys in their arms and yanking them away, freeing Caspian’s mouth.

The last one left was the one with his dick inches away from Caspian’s face. He hesitated, so Caspian filled in for him. “If you try to fight, you’re gonna lose in about two moves. Do you really wanna lose the rest of your semester as a frat bruiser to my cum baby? Because I’ll gladly turn you into a Surrogate right now.”

The frat boy let go of him, scrambling to his feet to get away. Hunter and Chase had their first two frat boys lined up against the wall, and Caspian waved the third over to stand beside them.

“You all good with these three?” Caspian asked.

Hunter turned abruptly and snapped, “What do you think, Peon?” Hunter had come up with that name, a twist on “Peen” to use when Hunter went from merely dominant to degrading.

Caspian raised his hands in surrender, a gesture that marginally pacified Hunter. In that moment, Caspian wanted to say a million things, wanted to tell Hunter how much he’d missed him, how much he wanted a chance at Hunter’s hole—how sorry he was, how he didn’t understand what had gone wrong but he wanted to make it right.

He could have at least told them about the hunt.

But a dark, guilty part of him resisted that idea. As long as the hunt went on, he had a chance in hell of getting Chase and Hunter back. He could… he could keep saving them, and maybe then they’d see that he cared, that he could treat them right.

The shame that washed over him forced him to look away from Hunter’s piercing glare. He opened his mouth, then closed it. And then, his shoulders weighed down, he turned to walk away.

“See you around, Caspian,” Chase said, from behind him.

“So that was Caspian—“ one of the boys began, but the sound of a ptoo shut him up, followed by a hissed “Swallow.”

Caspian didn’t turn back around.