Dorm Details

The adventure of a new college student and a handyman

The air smelled like cardboard and nerves.
It was late August, and the sun was doing its best to melt every freshman on campus. The quad was chaos—parents barking directions, kids pretending they weren’t mortified, and somewhere off in the distance, a marching band murdering a John Williams medley. I stood in the middle of Dormitory 3B, Room 214, surrounded by my life in boxes and bags, trying to pretend I knew what I was doing.
My mom had already cried twice. My dad had already tried to fix the blinds. I had already decided that college was either going to be the best thing that ever happened to me or a slow-motion disaster.
The room was small, but not terrible. Two twin beds, two desks, two dressers, one window that looked out onto a patch of grass and a dumpster. My roommate hadn’t shown up yet, which gave me a brief moment to claim the left side and start setting up.
I unpacked in stages: laptop, notebooks, socks, ramen, deodorant, more ramen. I taped up a Miles Davis poster above my desk, then stuck a photo of Baxter—my dog—on the dresser. The mattress was thin and made a weird crinkling sound when I sat on it, but I threw a fitted sheet over it and pretended not to care.
Then came the headboard.
It was one of those fake wood things, bolted to the metal frame of the bed. I leaned back against it to test how sturdy it was. That was my first mistake.
CRACK.
The headboard split clean down the middle like a snapped bone. One half dangled off the frame, the other clattered to the floor. I froze.
I stared at the broken wood, then at the door, half-expecting someone to burst in and fine me on the spot. Nothing happened. Just the distant sound of someone yelling about a missing mini-fridge.
“Crap,” I muttered, crouching down to inspect the damage. The split was ugly, but maybe not fatal. Wood glue? A clamp? Duct tape? A miracle?
I remembered the RA’s speech from earlier: “Any damage to university property will result in a deduction from your housing deposit.” My deposit had come from scrubbing SUVs at a car wash all summer. I couldn’t afford to lose it.
I shoved the broken piece under the bed and sat down, trying to look casual. The room suddenly felt smaller. The sun was still blazing outside, but inside, I was already sweating—not from the heat, but from the realization that being on your own meant fixing things you didn’t mean to break.

I waited a few minutes, then pulled the headboard back out and tried to staple it together. The staples didn’t hold. Instead, they tore jagged lines up the front of the fake wood, leaving it looking worse than before. The bottom edge got scraped and gouged from where I’d dragged it across the metal frame. I stared at the mess, feeling like I’d just made a bad situation worse.

My parents had already left, and I looked around for someone to save me. Eventually, I had the sense to go on an online forum after lots of googling. Someone suggested getting a handyman to a new student who tore a hole in the wall. Ouch. Okay, I could do this. I downloaded and opened a freelance handyman site. But as I stared at the numbers, I panicked.
“150 dollars for a quick fix?!” I yelped. I closed the tabs, hoping closing the webpage would somehow get me out of this situation. As I laid down in bed, I started getting comfortable before getting yet another email from the dorm’s leadership. I find RAs obnoxious and nosy, so I went to swipe the notification away, but the “IMPORTANT” badge had me begrudgingly open it. Not that those clickbait emails ever actually contained something important, I scrolled through the various not-important events, before seeing a blood-chilling message.
“All dorms will be inspected today, five PM to allow students to settle in before their RA’s will visit and allow individuals to ask questions and get to know their RA’s!”
Fuck. This was the worst day of my life. I’ll never be able to repay that deposit. Mind you, it was a thousand bucks. Yes, a thousand. I wanted to punch myself as I opened the task freelance app again. How could I be such an idiot. I didn’t have a choice now, it was $150 or $1000. However, I only have $65. I foolishly spent the remainder of my money on school merch. I ordered the first suggested handyman, despite my lack of funds. I had no choice. Oliver J. is on his way. Just great. Not only am I now going into debt, the entire dorm will see that I can’t set up my own room without a handyman. A great first impression. About two hours of stress-scrolling on social media later, I heard a few loud knocks on my door, and I jumped up in my bed. I opened the door, praying it wasn’t my roommate—who weirdly, still hasn’t shown up. Unless my roommate was a 7’ bearded guy in his early thirties, I was ok. I moved aside to let the handyman—Oliver, I think?— in.
He gave the headboard a quick once-over, nodding as if confirming what he already suspected. Without much small talk, he laid out his tools, tightened the loose bolts, and reinforced the frame with a few well-placed brackets. The rhythmic sound of his drill filled the room, and within minutes, the headboard stood firm—no more wobbling, no more ominous creaks. It was almost unsettling how quickly he restored order to something that had felt like a structural metaphor for my life. Large arms dwarfed my headboard, and his overall demeanor started regretting ordering a handyman when I couldn’t pay. I mean, this guy could beat me up fairly easily. When he finished, he stood up to tower above me.
“It happens, son. That headboard should be good to go.” He waited a little awkwardly for the payment, and made his way to the door as I nonchalantly slipped him the $65. As he reached for the door, he looked down to see the money, and dropped his toolbox.
“Son, I think we’re missing a few bills here.” He turned to face me.
“I-I’m sorry. That’s all I have. Really. How else can I repay you? Do you want anything from my room? Please. Take anything.” I got more and more nervous as he came closer, and he came close with suspiciously clever face.
“I know what you can do for me.” He shoved me on my roommates bed, and bended me on it. Was he going to punch me? What was this?
“Don’t move.” As if I could out of fear. I heard some rustling, but I stayed still. I was not gonna make this bear of a human any more mad than he needed to be. After a few minutes, a loud groan startled me, and I felt something on my back. As I stood up, absolutely confused at the whole situation, I heard the door slamming. I looked back, and I was alone in the apartment. I got up, not really sure what happened there. My headboard was fine. I got in bed, but something wet touched my back. I reached around, only to see something wet on my hand. Was that… cum!? I smelled it. Definitely cum. What the hell?

An hour later, after cleaning up the weirdest interaction I ever had, I pulled the soon-to-be trauma to the back of my mind, and walked over to the public bathroom/shower. After heading back to my room, I got in bed, exhausted after the bugging RA and that weird handyman. But as I closed my eyes, his face came into view. Why did those bushy eyebrows, square jaw give me a tickling feeling. I never really felt anything for men, or women for that matter. But the hair darting out of that huge man kept coming into view. The sweat in his beard. Okay, stop. I opened my eyes. What the hell? This is like the tenth time I’ve asked myself that question before. I eventually passed out, despite a boner pocking through the thin mattress.
The next morning, I woke up to sunlight slicing through the blinds and the faint hum of campus coming to life outside. My alarm hadn’t gone off, but I didn’t need it—my body was still wired from the chaos of move-in day. I stretched, sat up carefully (the headboard held, thank God), and grabbed my shower caddy.
The bathroom wasn’t in the dorm room, of course. I had to shuffle down the hall in flip-flops, dodging groggy freshmen and the occasional towel-clad sprint.

I brushed my teeth, showered quickly, and headed back to my room, towel slung over my shoulder like a badge of survival.
That’s when it hit me—my roommate still hadn’t shown up.
His side of the room was untouched. No posters, no bedding, not even a rogue sock. Just a bare mattress and a desk that looked like it had never been used. I checked my phone, half expecting a message from housing or some update, but there was nothing. Just silence and an empty half of the room.

Then, a knock. Thank god. This room was getting weird without a roommate. I opened the door, only to see the bottom of two well-defined pecks. I looked up to see the very tall and very wide handyman, again. He smiled. Some blood rushed to my jeans.

“Here to collect my debt.” Shit. I didn’t have the money. How could I have it, it’s only been like twelve hours!

I explained to him I didn’t have it, but he smiled and covered my mouth. I stopped talking, but because of my reaction to the muscled arm silencing me. The compression shirt he had on showed hard abs and a little tummy fat, very wide muscular arms. A large chest squeezed the material to the very end.


“You’re gonna do as I tell you. You know why? Because you’re in debt. And who gets to decide how you repay that?” He waited for a reply, but large, hairy fingers still covered my mouth.
“Me.” He sat down on my roommate’s bed, his feet going way past the end of the twin mattress. He guided my hands to huge feet. No, you don’t understand. These feet were massive. Socked monsters with toes triple my toe’s sizes wiggling about. He massaged the massive foot with my hand.
“Just like that.” I continued doing it, a little afraid of what he would do if I didn’t. But as the disgusting scent of sweat, wet sock, and a man who hadn’t showered today reached my nose, a little more blood rushed to my dick. These feet were wide though. I couldn’t get my hand to the middle areas, but I tried. The hard muscles took force to massage. And I wasn’t that small. I was a muscular 5’10” build, with muscles decorating my bicep and tricep. I used to be a rugby player in high school, which gave me thick arms and thighs. He pet my hair as I did this, and I sort of melted into it. Before you say that this is a stranger, this is weird, what the fuck, I had had a LONG week. Moving into college mixed up my brain, I honestly didn’t know what was happening. Everything was a daze, except for the head rubbing my hair. After a while he stopped and laid back down. After about half an hour of rubbing his socked feet, I stopped to ask him if I could stop. His eyes were closed. I tapped his feet, but he didn’t move.
“Oliver?” I said softly. He didn’t look very comfortable. His wide frame took the entire bed, and his shoulder and side drifted off the bed since it was too small. I sighed, and sat down on my bed and scrolled on social media for a while. I had nothing to do, my classes wouldn’t start for a while. Before I knew it, I had fallen asleep. My arms were sore from the long massage, and the ache drifted me to sleep. I woke up startled. God, my mattress was hard. My back hurt. I need to get a mattress topper. As I came to, I realized two things. First, it was pitch dark. No light from the window indicated it was nighttime. Second, I was asleep on a very hard surface. I felt around, only to realize I was laying on the long, wooden drawer next to my bed. Had I rolled onto it? It was the same height as the bed, so maybe. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I sat up. And then I saw a sight I could only imagine was a dream. The two beds had been pushed together, and a huge creature was sleeping on them, taking up the entirety of both mattresses. A large, shirtless creature. My dick felt hard. It was difficult to see, but I see well-defined back muscles, huge arms, and a very hairy chest that only defined hard muscles and large pecks. I started moving my dick through my fist. But I accidentally knocked over a notebook off the dresser. The big bear moved, then twisted. A large arm, at its most wide, around the width of my head, swung toward me. Strong arms moved me toward Oliver, seemingly in sleep. My head was forced to a hairy abdomen, where tight muscles met a small belly. A heavy arm pinned me to the middle abdomen. Body hair pet my face. Feeling incredibly aroused, something I had never felt in my life, I rutted my hard dick against Oliver’s foot. I unconsciously grunted, and a rustling happened above me. A groan erupted as the body moved, the arm above my head suddenly surging with strength.

A grated, deep morning voice sounded. “Are you having sex with my foot?” I shuddered at the voice, the casual talk of masturbation. It set me off the edge, and I sprayed all over Oliver’s hairy thigh. Now a deep laugh huffed. The muscular arm on my head shoved me deep into Oliver’s bellybutton.
“I don’t remember consenting to that.” My blood froze. I mumbled at his bellybutton, not really sure what to say except profuse apologizes.
“You will have to be dealt with. But first, since you made this mess and this tiny room doesn’t seem to have a shower, clean me up.” He said. It was an order, but he didn’t even give me a chance to respond. Or do anything, really. A large paw came over my nose, closing it tight. I opened my mouth to breath, and Oliver dragged my tongue at his thigh, making me pick up my own cum with my mouth. When I closed my mouth to resist the disgust. He pulled back his hand, just as the calloused fingers turned away and a hard slap came down on my left cheek. My ears rung, and my face burned as Oliver’s huge muscles held me down and delivered two more slaps to the same place on my face. My face formed into shock and my mouth opened to yell, to say something, before it was abruptly shoved down at Oliver’s thigh. After I cleaned him up, he sat me back up. One hand took both my hands. Was he gonna apologize for that? Maybe he got heated? The other hand went up, and a strong open palm slammed my head back. I was held down as slaps rained down hard, tears squelching and flying everywhere.
“Do you understand why I’m doing this?” He asked? I sobbed from pain.
“Get off me, you sick monster!” His beared tickled at that, and those luscious eyebrows twisted.
“Bow down. Now.” I stared at him in shock. Then a hand landed on my throat, closing slowly. I desperately reached out to relieve the pressure, when the other hand dug nails into my nipple, having me screaming in pain if I wasn’t being chocked. I reached down to try to alleviate the pain, but he twisted harder. Eventually, I realized movement made him angrier. Made me more pain. I tried to relax, sucking in a shallow breath and trying not to struggle from pain.
“Good, son.” He said.
“Now. Bow down.” I extended my hands up and arched my back down in front of him. A manly chuckle sounded above me.
“Good. This is simple. A good boy gets a reward” he lovingly brushed my hair. I moaned at the sudden comfort. “And a bad boy gets a punishment. Simple, right?” A slap to the face came.
“Yes sir.” I mumbled. I don’t know why I said ‘sir’ something about the burly commanding presence made me thing of a dad or a boss.
“Good.” Another head pet. Those felt good.
“Now we’re going to play a game. You like games?” He didn’t pause for me to answer.
“You have two minutes. Start massaging those sore feet. Every time you make me groan from pleasure on my sore feet, I’ll subtract from the five slaps you earned.”
I got to work straight away. My muscles ached but I put in all my force. Since these feet were huge and very thick, it was hard to press on the muscle. I worked, but nothing happened. He didn’t groan. I was not earning those slaps. My head couldn’t take any more. I bent down, and my tongue reached out to the big toe. It was sweaty and dirty, but I was not gonna be a bad boy. No. Wait. I was not gonna go get slapping by this maniac. A gravelly, deep groan exited the beard and bounced off a sharp jawline.
“Times up.” I sat up, ready for the slaps. A large arm flexed, and came down hard. The another time. The final time, it whipped across. My head swiped right from the slap, saliva flying out of my mouth.
“That’s gonna bruise, son.” He said disapprovingly.
“I’m sorry.” I felt an immediate need to apologize. I caused him to slap me. I showed gratitude for his understanding by licking at that tan belly and bellybutton. It was clear he hadn’t showered in a while, but the least I could do was lick the grime and sweat out of his stomach and body hair. I gave him my lunch for today, a ready-made sandwich.
“Good boy. I’m hungry. I’m glad you understand that you need to make a gesture to apologize.”
He ran a hand through my hair.
“C-c.” I stuttered.
“Yes, son?”
“C-can you do that again.” Under a thick beard, he smiled.
“Only if you earn it.” He replied. He had me lady down on his chest, where my mouth and nose faced his armpit. It really reeked of sweat, and was probably the hairiest armpit I’d ever seen. But the presence of this giant holding me had me whimpering in comfort. His small tummy and large biceps gave him a muscular dad bod. After a while, his deep voice rumbled. “What do you say” he asked “to a daddy treating you so well?”
I sniffed at his chest hair, deep in subspace and not really paying attention. That is, until I felt a hard pinch on the head of my dick. I tensed, and yelled out. “Thank you. Thank you.” He relieved some of the pressure, but kept an uncomfortable friction on the head of my dick for a while. I sniffed back at his body. His smell was still very sweaty. I won’t say it smelled sweet, or cedary. It just smelled like a man who worked out and hadn’t showered. I rubbed the smell against my face. His feet found my balls, eventually. I was still positioned to smell his armpit and he was watching something on my small TV. Some squeezes hurt, but released a bit of pleasure afterwards. Eventually, the large bicep that I was smelling under curled towards me, and I almost thought it was going to be a sweet hug. But it tightened, the bulging muscle locking under my chin. I swallowed shallow breaths as my throat was closing under his arm. Armpit hairs tickled the side of my neck. As I felt myself passing out, he let the littlest amount of air come in. I cherished it, and it barely kept me conscious. He kept doing that, making me sleepy and desperate for oxygen. I wanted to know how to be good, for him not to have to do this. He shouldn’t have to, I should know how to take care of him. I rubbed his other armpit with my hands instead of trying to pull on his bicep. He flexed it, which I took as a good sign, and continued rubbing. I kept slipping because sweat collected there, but I rubbed it into the skin and hair. The arm choking me released a little, so I could breathe but not really move.
“Good boy. Good boy. You need to keep helping me out even if you have issues.” He released the arm that choked me, and it gleamed with fresh sweat from flexing for a few minutes. He rubbed his armpit in my hair, making it damp with his sweat. That felt good. I felt that as long as Oliver was around, I’d be fine. Stress melted away as I let him decide, well, everything.
“You’re doing very good. Do you wanna see if you can be better for your owner?” He asked. He hadn’t used that word yet, but it didn’t really matter. He made me feel wanted, useful, warm. It felt home-y. So, I nodded. He frowned a little at that, and I remembered he liked when I answered verbally. “Yes—m-my owner.” He smiled at that.
“Sit down on the ground.” He said. That deep voice was easy to follow. I sat down crisscrossed. “Bend forward, and give the floor a long lick.” I cringed a little, but I trusted him. I brought my head forward, then thought for a bit. When a soft kick landed on my dick, I yelped a little and gave the floor a brush with my tongue. “No. Again.” I already did it once, so it can’t hurt. I have the floor a longer lick. “Sit up and pinch your right nipple, hard.” At this I squirmed, but learned my lesson and quickly brought my arm under my chest, which was slightly large and fairly muscular. I gave it a hard pinch and twist, yelping out. “Good boy. Come lean on my thigh.” I crawled to him and leaned my head on a hairy, meaty thigh. “We know that you follow orders. That you like it, because you want to be a good boy. But you gotta learn that control also comes from want. Need. Sexual need.” I had gotten a somewhat hard during all these ‘trainings.’ He lifted me up onto the bed. He stripped my of my clothes, including underwear. I was proud of my body. Obviously, it wasn’t Oliver’s meaty, muscular, hairy, heavy build but I had some muscle and ass to me. He sat a few inches away from me. Out of his toolbox, he took some soft rope and tied my hands behind my head to the headboard. Then, he took off his socks, tied them together, and placed them over my eyes. I smelled very strong sweat and feet. I couldn’t see either, as he tied the socks around my head. Then, I could hear some videos playing on his phone. News? TV show? I wasn’t sure. Then a strong pull came on my balls. A large hand massaged my balls. Then stopped. “Sniff.” He said from a few inches away. The sock had fallen on my nose. I sniffed loudly at the sock, and a soft tug came upon my hardening dick. I wanted more, so my ass flew upwards, but no friction gave in. I whimpered. “Sniff.” He said, again. I inhaled the sweaty sock, and another tug pulled at my dick. It held strongly upwards. The imagination of Oliver’s body and the sensation on my dick connected to the dirty sock. Every time I sniffed at the sock, pleasure skyrocketed. After around twenty minutes of this, I was very close to the edge. He noticed, and I still got small pleasureful pulls on my dick, but slower not to set it off. Precum dripped all over my thighs. Desperate, I took the sock into my mouth and sucked, lots of sweat filling my parched mouth. For that, I got a regular tug, but then a hot mouth sucked on my nipple, shocking me with pleasure. I almost came, but the pleasure evaporated. He played with me like this for hours. He continued giving me dirty underwear, gym rags, even pieces of this armpit hair to suck. Eventually, he let me sit and wait, to lose my erection—it wasn’t easy. It took 10-20 minutes for my dick to become soft. He took the blindfold off. And all sweaty items away, so I just sat there tied to the headboard. After the twenty minutes elapsed, he took off his underwear under his shorts. They ran down muscular legs, and he held them. Then, he held them out right under my nose. A second later, I smelled it-rank sweaty underwear. It smelled bad but it sent warmth through my body. My dick shot up almost instantly, climbing away from my body. “Good boy. My sweat and smell are your pleasure, both mentally and physically.” I smiled at that. After about four hours of being on the edge of coming, he reached for my dick again. “Please, please. Please let me cum. Your smell is my attraction. I can’t get hard without it. Please.” He smiled and continued rubbing around the head with his thumb as his bicep bulged with large strokes. “Come.” He ordered. And I did. Ropes of white cum flew out hard. He kept jerking hard, and I came more than I ever had before. He stopped, his hand gripping my cock and I finished cuming. Then, after I caught my breath, the jerking started again. I thrashed. “Please no. Please, it hurts.” He continued as I begged to no avail. Horrifying, excruciating minutes passed as he only jerked harder, it felt like I could cum again, but it hurt a lot. “To get pleasure, you have to smell me. I desperately looked around, my locked arms not allowing me to move much. I pulled against them, and shoved my mouth and nose under his ass, where sweaty, long pubes smelled harshly of pee, cum, and sweat. “Cum.” He said again. I came, weaker, and he finally stopped.