Date: Fri, 17 Jun 2011 05:58:09 -0700 (PDT)
From: Joe Hunter <hunterjoe45@yahoo.com>
Subject: The Commercial Traveler #4

All the usual disclaimers apply:

+This story is a work of fiction.  If you think it is real, you have a very
active imagination.

+Do not read this story if you live in an area where it is illegal to do
so.

+Scenes of sexual activity between an adult male and a young boy are
represented.  Do not read further if this offends you.

+Please do not imitate the actions portrayed herein - the author cannot
accept responsibility for any actions promoted by this story.


If you would like to get in touch, please e-mail me at:

			hunterjoe45@yahoo.com

A tip of the hat to 'R M' whose Text-A-Boy stories were my inspiration for
this series.  Thank's 'R M'!  (Text-A-Boy Service - part 1 is in the
archive, 18 Nov 2008, and the whole series is a fun read!)

I hope you enjoy reading this story as much as I enjoyed writing it.
Support Nifty!   Joe

____________________________


THE COMMERCIAL TRAVELER #4  ( Connor )
(copyright 2011, Joe Hunter)

Call me Jack.

Like I explained in the first few stories - I'm 37, a boy lover and I fly
around a lot on business.  A spare cell phone keeps me in contact with a
string of young companions and most of the time when I go anywhere, I'm
already hooked up...

----------------
| Destination: |
| San Antonio  |
----------------

"Texas Is Booming!"

This was the title, in big bold print, of the magazine article I was
reading; and maybe it was true, except I saw little evidence of boom in the
flat brown landscape unrolling 25,000 feet below me.  The magazine was a
throwaway from the seat pouch in front of me and I was leafing through it,
killing time, waiting for our descent into San Antonio.  Perhaps it was the
Texas boom that did it, but we had netted another new client in the 'City
of the Alamo' and I was on my way to bring their systems up online.

When the engine noise changed and I felt the plane's attitude shift I
checked my watch.  We were right on time.  The cryptic text message on my
spare cell had read "LAZEMAZE, 2pm" and I did not want to be late.  As
always the San Antonio tower got us down and into a jetway without a hitch
and soon I was walking through the airport's elegant A/C'd interior.

Knowing I would need the extra cargo room I had reserved an SUV and they
had it ready at the rental agency.  There was a quick bout with airport
traffic and then I reached the interstate and was on my way.

San Antonio was a pleasant city - good restaurants, historic sites and the
Riverwalk - but my destination lay in the sprawl of surrounding suburbs
where vast tracts of split levels and "ranch" houses baked in the South
Texas sun along with malls and shopping centers that occupied land where
herds of Longhorns had once grazed.

"Texas is Booming," I muttered to myself, exiting from the interstate into
this intricate sprawl.  Various maneuvers brought me to a crowded boulevard
leading to a complex of two adjoining strip malls.  At the big sign for the
multiplex I turned in and drove past long rows of stores to a huge
factory-sized steel building painted with a brilliant design in orange, red
and yellow: "Laze Maze Amusement Center."

It was almost 2 o'clock in the afternoon on a school day so there were only
a few cars.  I parked close to the entrance and the minute I opened the
door a small figure on a red BMX stunt bike came racing across the tarmac,
skidding to a stop in front of me.  I smiled at him.

"Hey, Connor."

"Jack!"

The boy grinned back, his blue eyes sparkling with excitement under a spill
of light brown hair.  He had a pert, turned up nose and was dressed neatly
in a T-shirt whose bright red color matched the bike, and baggy khaki
shorts that left his smooth lower legs and ankles bare.

"What did you do?"  I asked.  "Ditch school to get away early?"

The boy's grin got bigger.  "Maybe."

"Let's stow your bike."

I opened up the rear hatch of the SUV and we slid the bike into the cargo
space.  Connor bounced impatiently while I secured everything, and then as
we started toward the amusement center he dashed ahead, sturdy lower legs
flashing in the sunlight.  He waited for me by the entrance with a happy
smile on his face.

"My laser pass is like all used up, Jack," he told me as I came up the
steps.

I laughed.  "When isn't it?"  With a fond gesture I ruffled the boy's hair.
It felt as light and slippery as corn silk.

On the inside, the big amusement center was a dim cavern lit by flashing
lights of the arcade games that lined the aisles.  We were the only
customers.  Connor ran ahead of me and I followed to a counter by the huge
walled off enclosure of the laser tag maze.  A bored looking college-aged
kid sold me two laser passes, each good for a month of unlimited games, and
then pointed to a room behind him.

"Get your vests from in there."

Connor had already picked out his and had it on.  "This is the one I like
always use," he told me, showing it off.

I checked the fit and nodded.  It was exactly right, smog but not too
tight.

"Which one you gonna' use, Jack?"

This was always a problem because there were only one or two vests large
enough to fit me.  Connor watched, bouncing with impatience, while I
searched until I found one.

At the entrance to the maze the college kid was waiting to charge our guns
and logged the vests into the computer.  "Double session?"  I murmured,
handing him a five-dollar bill.

He glanced around and then nodded.  "Sure.  Why not?  No one else will be
in for a while."

Once the door opened Connor shot right through, disappearing at once among
the thicket of columns that filled the dim interior.  I followed more
slowly, creeping into the maze beyond a few aisles before stopping to
listen.  I could hear the soft scuff of Connor's sneakers on the carpeted
floor, like the sound of a mouse scurrying behind a wall.  The boy played
laser tag as most young kids did, dashing all over the maze, looking for
any shot.  It is a tactic more suited to groups than one-on-1, but I knew
Connor did not care.  With other kids Connor played to win.  When he played
with me he wanted to get shot.

I homed in on his sounds, creeping from pillar to pillar and caught a
glimpse of movement just ahead to my right.  With gun ready I slipped over
one aisle and nailed the boy just as he emerged into sight.

"Zap!  Zap!  Zap!"

The sound effects went off on Connor's vest as my laser bolts hit and he
jerked, threw his head back and fell against the column, sliding down into
a sprawl on the floor.  I trotted over, prodded his limp form with the toe
of my Nike, muttering, "One down," and then moved on.  Behind me I heard
the boy scramble to his feet and scamper away.

Once again I stalked him, and this time, when my bolts hit, Connor
pretended to be wounded, staggering and then sinking to one knee as he
returned fire.  When I put two more bolts into him he jerked, arched and
toppled over to lie on the carpet, writhing.  When I stood over him and
fired point-blank into his vest the boy jerked his legs and then stopped
moving.

"Two down," I murmured.

Over and over we played at the game, with Connor exercising his active
imagination to invent different ways of getting killed or wounded.  Twice
he came staggering toward me, remaining on his feet and returning fire
despite hit after hit, and then at last sinking to his knees to topple
sprawling onto his back, eyes staring upward blankly.  The boy was a good
shot and my own vest alarmed from multiple hits but I was not expected to
play act.  It was not part of our game.

After Connor had pretended to die more than two dozen times the lights in
the maze flashed on and off and a signal winked on our vests.  I hurried to
where Connor was on the floor, propped against a pillar holding his side.

"Wounded?"  I asked, kneeling over him.

"Yeah," he gasped.

I pulled him onto his feet and he leaned against me, putting an arm around
my waist and then limping as I half carried him toward the door.  Our
playacting stopped once we left the maze and after we turned in our vests
the bored college kid, who had been reading a book, handed us a score sheet
that neither of us looked at.

Outside Connor ran ahead to the car, climbing in the moment I unlocked it
with the remote, and then he bounced on the seat as we left the parking
lot.

"Where you stayin', Jack?"

When I told him his face lit up.  "That's the one with the big pool,
right?"

"Yep."

"Awesome!"

My motel was less than a ten-minute drive away and Connor spent the trip
leaning forward in his seat to point out places he had been on his bike.
"That store there got some cool stuff but they don't like kids hangin'
around.  There's the comic book store.  I know this kid that like collects
'em.  He got busted stealin' one once."

"Don't you do anything like that."

Connor grinned at me.  "Naw.  I won't... I don't gotta' steal nothin'."

Once I was checked into the motel I drove around the back to my room and
Connor dashed out of the car as soon as it was stopped to go stand by the
door.  I unlocked it and the moment we were inside our game restarted where
we had left off.

"Ahhgg..." The boy gasped in pretended agony, leaning against me while I
locked the door behind us.

I picked him up and carried him over to the big double bed where he lay
writhing while I unpacked my duffel bag, putting aside several special
items I had brought so they would be ready for use.

"Where did they get you?"  I asked, sitting on the bed next to the
squirming boy.

"Here..." Connor's hand went to his left side.  "And here..." he pointed to
his left hip.

"Let's see."  I took off his sneakers and then pulled the boy around to
stretch him across my lap where he lay with his arms flung behind his head,
staring up with half closed eyes, pretending to be dazed and wounded.  When
I tugged at his shirt he arched to let me bunch it around his chest and
then lifted his shoulders a bit so I can slide it all the way off him.  The
smooth naked skin of Connor's upper body gleamed in the room's dim light.
He was not a big boy but had a compact sturdy build and when he had lifted
up the little swells of muscle in his lean stomach had shown faint lines of
definition.  I stroked my palm over the silky surface and then down onto
his taut flank.

"There..." the boy whispered.  "They got me there."

"Yeah.  It's bad.  Let's see the other one."

I unbuttoned his shorts, drew down the zipper and Connor lifted his hips so
I could slide both shorts and underwear briefs down far enough for him to
pull his legs free.  He had been hard beneath his clothes and as he
stretched out naked across my knees, his little three-inch circumcised
boner jutted out from his groin.

"This one's bad, too," I said, rubbing my palm on the glossy curve of his
hip.

"Am I gonna' make it?"

I shook my head.  "No way, kid.  You're all done.  They've killed you."

Connor shut his eyes and gave a soft moan, "Uhhh..."  He pulled one knee up
a little and writhed.  "It hurts, Jack," he whispered.

"Want me to take you out?"

He groaned again and nodded.  "Yeah..."

I put my forefinger against his left chest as a pretend gun.  "One shot and
it'll all be over, kid.  You ready?"

Connor nodded again.  "Uh-huh."

"Pow!"

I jabbed my forefinger into him and Connor jerked, gasped a few times,
twitched his legs and then went limp, staring upward with a blank vacant
gaze.

I stroked a hand over the unresponsive boy, enjoying the silky warmth of
his firm little body.

"He's eleven," my former contact, a Hispanic boy, had told me when he had
passed Connor on to me a year before.  Since then there had been a birthday
where I had given Connor the stunt bike he now rode, and he had told me he
was eleven then, which I suspected was his true age.  If so he was a bit
small for it, but had a lean sturdy build and the elegant symmetry of a
young boy who has not yet entered his growth spurt.

My hands roved over the boy as he lay motionless, pretending to be dead,
and as I stroked the rounded muscle of his thigh I let my forearm rub
against the hard jut of his boner, sliding back and forth against the
slickness of his rigid little shaft.  Then I reached for two items I had
left on the nightstand, a bottle of Hawaiian Tropic Tanning lotion and a
large screwdriver that had a thick plastic handle and a shank nearly eight
inches long.

Working over Connor's middle so that excess lotion dripped onto his lower
belly and groin I squirted the coconut-scented oil onto the plastic
screwdriver handle until it was well coated.  Then, rolling the limp body
of the unresisting boy toward me, I slid the glistening handle into his
butt crease, pulling up one mounded cheek to locate the small dimple of the
boy's little opening.  Holding the screwdriver by its shank I worked the
blunt handle in and felt Connor's stomach muscles tense as he bore down to
open himself.  Once the thick handle had sunk in to half its length I
thrust it the rest of the way and the boy's ring closed on the slender
shank, trapping the handle inside his body.  Connor remained motionless,
his mouth open and eyes staring.  With gentle pressure I eased the plastic
cylinder up further until encountering resistance and then let Connor's
limp form settle on my lap holding my knees open to avoid the metal spike
of the screwdriver protruding from his butt.

On the nightstand was a short length of clothesline tied into a loop.
Pulling Connor's legs up I slipped the loop around his ankles and then
passed one side between his feet, under the other half of the loop, locking
the rope into place.  Using this is a handle I stood up and carried the
limp boy over to the bathroom door where I slipped the loop up over the top
edge so that he hung upside down, head and arms dangling.

Connor's hard little boner now jutted out toward me at just below eye
level, it's tip quivering with the excited beat of the boy's heart.  I
licked the stretched skin of the rigid shaft and then slid the small branch
between my lips, holding the boy in place with a hand on either side of his
glossy hips, and the shank of the screwdriver pushed against the edge of
the door.

Some sucking and sliding of my tongue produced a throb in the boy's stiff
rod and his hips gave a tiny buck.  I stripped off my clothes, went into
the bathroom and started the shower.  When the water was the right
temperature I unhooked Connor, cradled him with his head lolling and arms
dangling, and then carried him into the bathroom where I put him on his
feet and removed the ankle rope.

The boy looked up at me, his eyes glowing.  "You could a' left me a lot
longer!"

I shook my head.  "If it's too long you'll get a headache."

Picking him up I carried him into the shower and with the warm water
cascading over us I took hold of the screwdriver shank and wiggled it.
Connor put a hand on his lower belly, looked up at me and giggled.  "I can
feel it like movin' inside me."

"Yeah.  Now, bend over."

The boy spread his legs and leaned against the tiled wall to stretch open
his rear.  With a gentle tug I slid the plastic handle out of him and
Connor wiggled his pert butt before turning to grin at me.

I held up the handle, showing him the brown flecks on it.  "Your butt's
always full of dukey.  Don't you ever clean it?"

This made him giggle even more.  "I do, Jack," he protested.

"I can't tell."

I cleaned him, sudsing him from head to foot and then shampooing his
fine-spun hair while the boy bounced happily, loving the feel of my hands
on him.  After we were done and I had dried him with a soft towel he gazed
up at me, eyes dancing with excitement.  Then he turned and ran into the
bedroom.

I took my time drying off, turned out the bathroom light and then, holding
the big screwdriver in both hands, I crouched down by the door.  There was
no sound, but I knew Connor was watching for me.  After a few heartbeats I
took a quick breath and dove into the bedroom, rolling on the carpet.

The boy was up on his knees on the bed, waiting.  He leveled a pretend gun
at me, taking aim while I held the screwdriver out like an automatic weapon
and made machine gun sounds, "Vrrrruuuppp..."

Connor threw his head back and jerked, mimicking a hail of bullets ripping
into him.  Holding his belly, mouth open and eyes staring, he toppled
slowly onto the bed, flopped a few times, thrashing his legs, and then lay
sprawled on his back, part way off the end of the mattress, head and arms
dangling.

I got to my feet, walked over to him and then, once more working above him
so that dribbles of lotion ran onto his taut belly, I re-lubed the plastic
screwdriver handle with Hawaiian Tropic.  Drawing up the boy's legs and
parting them to stretch him open, I slid the handle once again into his
butt.  Then, leaning over the boy, I pushed the head of my own jutting
rigidity into his open mouth, took his hard little boner into mine and
began to suck and slide my lips on him while I moved the screwdriver handle
deep inside the boy's body.

Connor squirmed, wrapping his arms around my hips and curling his tongue
around my thick shaft.  The young boy was still learning how to give a good
blowjob and had not yet mastered the art of taking my full length, which
was just as well since I did not want to shoot a load yet.  This part of
our game was for him and I sucked as hard as I could, bobbing my head and
pushing the screwdriver handle up into him, trying to coax the boy into
release.  I knew he was getting close when his tongue stopped working on me
and his body tensed.  Connor's arms tightened around me, he arched up and
then the throbbing began, jerking his stiff little boy pole as his hips
bucked.

As the spasm passed Connor moaned in pleasure and I kept moving my tongue
on him so he could experience another.  Except for when he occasionally
peed himself in excitement the boy's immature orgasms were dry, but he had
learned he could have them over and over again with help from me and now he
craved them as a junkie craves his drug.  Twice more I brought him into a
quivering jerking spasm and then as he lay panting I asked, "You ready to
be executed now?"

He nodded eagerly and I helped him get to his knees on the bed, his thighs
spread to accommodate the screwdriver handle that was still lodged within
him.  Connor watched as I picked up from the side table a two-inch wide
collar made of thin black leather and then the boy lifted his chin so I
could buckle it around his neck.  He put his hands behind his back,
crossing his wrists, and with another strap of black leather I bound them,
tying the strap around his small waist.  The boy straightened up and closed
his eyes, his hard little boner jutting out from his groin and his compact
body glistening in the dim light.

I knelt on the bed behind him, studying the boy with a hand on his shoulder
and whispered, "What do you want me to do?"

"Kill me," he whispered back.

"First a knife to the gut."  With a clenched fist I pretended to drive a
blade into the smooth sheath of Connor's lean, narrow stomach and the boy
leaned forward gasping. "Uhhh..."  Then I put my forefinger to his temple.
"Now a bullet in the head.  Blam!"

Conner's head jerked to the side and he toppled, rolling onto his front to
avoid jamming the screwdriver shaft that was sticking out from between his
butt cheeks.  He writhed, twisting his body several times, kicking his legs
and then, after a final twitch, lay motionless his head turned to the side,
eyes half open and staring.

I watched for him to stop moving before unbuckling the strap from around
his waist and freeing his hands.  The collar I left in place.  After
dragging his limp body forward on the bed by the arms I spread his legs
apart and then took my time lubing my straining erection while enjoying the
sight of the boy's sturdy little form stretched out face down in front of
me.  Once I was coated in slippery lotion I leaned forward, pulling the
screwdriver handle out of Connor's stretched opening and then with one slow
continuous thrust replaced it with my slick glistening rod.

As I slid into him I could feel Connor bearing down to open himself.  The
boy was experienced enough to be good at it, but he was still small and
tight.  He quivered as I bottomed out, my groin settling against the firm
little mounds of his butt.  I kept pushing while he squirmed, accommodating
himself, and then I began to grind slowly, moving my tip deep within him.
Even though he was keeping still, pretending to be dead, a soft moan of
pleasure escaped the boy and I felt him squirm to match by movement.  As
soon as I began to slide through his opening, withdrawing a bit and pushing
back in, throbbing pulsed in the boy's loins and his hips jerked.

Connor was able to open himself so that he could be entered from any
position, but I had discovered that he found it most exciting to be taken
face down, either because it was the way he had done it the first time, or
from some other event in his past.  Once he was penetrated there were other
positions he liked as well, but he preferred starting face down.

After bringing him to another little spasm, I rolled so we were on our
sides, which got my weight off him and allowed me to reach into his groin
where my fingers could rub his stiff little boy stick.  Connor remained
limp, trying to play dead, but as I kept sliding in him, pumping my hips
and stroking his slender little stiffy, another climax jerked the boy and
he found it hard to keep still.  Eventually I had him arching and writhing,
twisting as he kicked his legs, experiencing one dry orgasm after another
with his breaths coming in little gasps, "Oh...  Ah... Uh...  Uh..."

To finish, I rolled again into a position he particularly liked where I lay
on my back with him sprawled face up on top of me, impaled on my hard
spike, his arms flung back around my neck and his legs spread to either
side of mine.  I kept thrusting while the boy writhed, pushing down on me,
and his frantic movements slid me past the point of restraint.  The tight
muscular walls of Connor's hot sweetness gripped me like fingers as I
pumped faster and faster.

The boy and I moved together and when my body tensed beneath him Connor
arched, spreading his legs as far as he could.  With a desperate squeeze I
held my surge for another few heartbeats, pushing up deep inside him, and
then WITH spurt after spurt I exploded into the boy, flooding him with my
load.

The pulsing of my shaft triggered Connor and he jerked, moving with me.
For a few moments we bucked together in a frenzy and then I collapsed onto
the bed with Connor sprawled on top of me, both of us panting and slick
with sweat.

After my softening member slipped out of him, the boy turned over to cuddle
for a while and then, once he had caught his breath, he sat up, straddling
me, his eyes gleaming.

"Do it more!"

"Can't," I told him with a chuckle.  "Gotta' rest.  You know that."

He turned around to rub my limp cock, knowing it would not respond, but
still hoping.  When nothing happened he turned to face me again and rubbed
a small hand across my chest, feeling the muscles.  "How long before ya'
can?"

"A while.  I'll take you swimming."

"Yeah!"

Swimming always appealed to him and he got off me, bouncing impatiently
while I swung my legs off the bed and then suddenly turned to me in dismay.
"What can I go swimmin' in?  I ain't got nothin'!"

"Yes you do," I told him, smiling.  "I got a surprise!"

From my duffel I produced a little satin brief that was almost a thong.
"Kids in Europe where these for triathlons," I said, holding it up.  "They
swim, run and bike in 'em!  I got one for you."

"Cool!"  Connor took it from me and I helped him slip it on.  While he
twisted around, admiring himself, I removed the leather collar from around
his neck and then he tugged at my arm.

"Come on, Jack!"

"Hold up.  Let me yet my shorts on..."

Out in the pool we engaged in one of Connor's favorite activities, being
thrown by me high into the air so he could cannonball back into the water
with a huge splash.  An hour of this gave my shoulders a good workout, but
I still had enough energy left for another romp with the eager boy on the
bed.  Then it was time to take him home.

"What about tomorrow?"  Connor demanded as we headed off in the SUV toward
his trailer park.

"What time do you get out of school?"

He gave me a mischievous grin.  "Anytime I want!"

"Yeah.  I mean the official time."

The boy giggled and answered, "Two-thirty."

"That's too early.  I won't be done with work yet.  Hang out at the Laze
Maze and I'll call you when I'm on my way.  I'll pick you up there."

"OK."

Any excuse to hang out at Laze Maze suited Connor and I knew he would spend
the entire time playing laser tag.  "Let some of the other kids win once in
a while, hotshot.  Give them a chance."

This brought forth another giggle and he bounced on the seat happily.
"What about Saturday, Jack?  Do you gotta' work then, too?"

"Nope.  I'm staying over on Saturday just for you.  We'll have the whole
day.  What do you want to do?"

"Water Park!"  Connor exclaimed, his eyes dancing.  "Let's go to the Water
Park, Jack!"

"You got it.  Water Park it is.  And on Saturday night you can stay late,
too, right?"

"Yeah!  Awesome!"

Connor settled back in his seat, happy and content.  It did not take much
to satisfy him.  A few accessories for his bike, free passes to the laser
park and some video games were all he ever wanted.  The big thing was my
company.  That was what pleased him most.  He turned to grin at me.

"Jack?  This is like the best, ain't it?"

"You bet it is, hotshot."  I reached over to pat his smooth, taut thigh.
"You bet it is."

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

Hope you enjoyed it!  This story is the fourth of a twenty-four part series
that features the same central character.  There will be something for
everyone - single hook ups, doubles, twins, first times and hand offs.
Drop me a line if you have a favorite chapter (I do, but won't reveal it).
Look for a new chapter or two each month.

----------------------------------------------------

Thanks for taking the time to read my story and if you'd like to comment,
my e-mail address is:

			hunterjoe45@yahoo.com

I will try to answer all serious mailings.  My on-line access is very
limited.  Rants and ravings will not get consideration.

To all you readers who enjoy these stories, please support Nifty with
contributions and keep the Archive online.  Check the Nifty home page for
ways to make contributions.  Without this Archive those of us who write for
you will lose a wonderful resource to get our stories out.

You can find links to all my other stories on Nifty under my name, Joe
Hunter, listed under the J's (for Joe) in the prolific authors list.  I
hope you will read and enjoy!

All the Best.  Joe