Date: Thu, 24 Sep 2015 16:36:06 -0600
From: Colton <coltonaalto@gmail.com>
Subject: BBC on Campus - Chapter Nineteen

My usual disclaimers:

* My experiences color everything I write, from images I recall to much
more.  This story, however, is fiction.  Any resemblance to actual events
or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

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or some other reason, don't read it.

* This work is copyright by the author.  Commercial use is prohibited
without permission.  Please do not republish any parts of this story
without consent of the author.

* This story depicts unprotected sex (and plenty of it). In real-life, be
safe!

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If you enjoy the story and the series, I would enjoy hearing from you.
Email: coltonaalto@gmail.com.  Really!



BBC ON CAMPUS

CHAPTER NINETEEN – AIRPORT ASS AND HOTEL HOLE

Koichi posted a glowing web review of Max.  The review was anonymous, of
course, although Koichi included enough details about himself – like
being a college student in California – so it was apparent he wrote the
review.  I was curious, however, about how big Koichi thought I was if he
thought Max's seven incher was eight and a half.

Finishing the review, I bemoaned once again that Max didn't have the
exposure a big city would offer.  Suddenly it dawned on me that I should
take Max with me to Chicago.  He could probably make some serious cash, and
he had nowhere else to go over Christmas break.  That was a consequence of
having been disowned by his parents for being gay, which made me annoyed
and angry.  The thought of the ripped blond rock climber on his own at
Westcliffe for two weeks days, lonesome and feeling blue because of the
holidays, made me determined to take him along.  Why didn't I think of it
before?

I revised Max's profile on my friends' web app to say he might be in
Chicago over the holidays, and within a couple of hours we had several
serious inquiries.  That confirmed my suspicions Max would play well, so I
booked a plane ticket for him and told him to pack whatever he needed, but
to make sure he brought the tattered jock strap he wore the night we
performed for Anderson.  It was his jock from high school – hell, maybe
junior high school – and was two sizes too small.  In other words,
perfect for a slut jockboy whore.

Where Max would stay was a problem.  My parents were hosting a houseful of
relatives for the holidays.  Even I would be consigned to sleeping on the
couch, so their place wasn't an option for Max.  Plus, I would have a hard
time explaining Max to my family, and it would be harder to book tricks if
Max could only do out calls.  We needed a hotel room.

On a whim, I called an old fuck buddy that was in hotel management.  He was
one of the parade of older guys I had balled throughout my high school
years.  Back then, Tom was a big, muscular guy, the result of bulking up
for countless hours in the gym.  His massive chest was smooth, and he had a
big, blue-green tattoo across the upper part of his left arm, covering his
deltoid, bicep and triceps.  He wasn't a guy that anyone would suspect was
a bottom.  But he bottomed for me, hungry for my big black cock.  I
wondered what he looked like now.  Hopefully he wouldn't have a boyfriend.

Tom was happy to hear from me.  "Dread!" he exclaimed, using one of my old
nicknames, "Dude, I can't believe it's you!  What the fuck have you been up
to?"

When I was in high school, Tom, with his long, stringy blond hair and
massive physique, looked more like a street thug than a guy working his way
up the ranks in a big hotel chain.  But he had a business degree from
Northwestern and knew his stuff.  Some of my old Chicago fucks wouldn't
have understood what I was doing in Montana, but Tom did and told me I was
making a smart move.

I got around to asking about getting a cheap hotel room.  On the spur of
the moment told him I might need a second room, too.  I was ready to track
down some old fuck buddies, and a hotel would eliminate trying to explain
to my relatives where I was every other night.  Plus, the couch at home was
no place to sleep.  Not when you are 6'5".

"No problem, dude," Tom said.  "One of our hotels downtown is mostly a
business hotel and completely dead for two weeks.  We redid the top floor
into two bedroom suites a year ago.  They're great for business travelers
but totally empty over the holidays.  I'll comp you one.  Just don't order
room service every night," he laughed.

"Great," I replied.  "I really appreciate this.  I owe you."  The Chicago
trip was working out better than I could have hoped.

"Your big black cock still available for a swing, for old times' sake?" Tom
asked.  Tom was a damn good fuck, so if a ride on my cock was what he
wanted, I wasn't objecting.

"You and I will make sure one of the beds gets put to good use," I laughed.
Max would get plenty of use out of the other bed.

"Fuck, I never thought I would be back to bottoming," Tom said, "but I'm
getting hard just thinking about your cock.  The first time you fucked me
it felt like a damn jackhammer ripping a permanent trench in my ass.  But,
fuck, that was hot!  One thrust of your fuck stick into my hole and you
turned me into a bitch for your black monster!"

I met Tom at a party hosted by another man I was fucking.  I was 16 and
younger than anyone else at the party by a good five years.  Maybe three or
four guys at the party were within ten years of me.  I had dressed
provocatively, in a tight wife beater T-shirt with a couple of rips, and a
pair of jeans that showed off the bulge of my cock, snaking down my left
thigh.  Early on, Tom gave me a long, interested look, and I knew I could
have him if I wanted.  The party was boring and I happened to notice Tom
head to the rest room.  On impulse, I followed him.

We were both drunk and high, and as Tom emerged from the rest room I shoved
him against the door and clamped my mouth on his, kissing him hard.  I
grabbed one of his hands and cupped it over the bulge of my cock and said,
"I gotta big black cock that's gonna breed your white slut ass."  Tom
didn't say anything, other than to moan, and didn't move his hand either,
except to begin feeling me up.

I shoved Tom into a small, unused pantry next to the rest room, and
delivered a violent fucking.  The muscle man loved it, and for the rest of
my high school years he would text every now and then and say he needed my
cock.  We would meet for what amounted to a quick slam fuck.

After talking to Tom, I called my parents to tell them I would be staying
with a friend at a hotel downtown.  They claimed disappointment, but were
secretly relieved to have one fewer person waiting to use the bathroom.
The arrangement would allow me to take my relatives in measured doses,
which suited me just fine.

Getting ready for the flight to Chicago the next morning, I decided on a
whim to slut Max up.  Despite the December weather, I put him in the slim
tank top he had worn for Koichi, then made him slither into an ancient pair
of jeans he had probably owned since before high school.  They were tight
and exhibited a couple of strategically placed rips.  Ripped jeans on a boy
with a ripped body, I thought.  Max's package was obvious to anyone whose
eyes drifted below his belt.  He looked hot enough that I snapped a picture
with my cell, thinking a photo on the web app of Max wearing clothes might
be a nice addition.

Walking through the airport, I stayed a couple of paces behind the jock
hustler to watch the reactions.  They ran the gamut.  Plenty of people
barely noticed him.  It was Christmas and the usual business travelers had
been replaced by mothers shepherding flocks of misbehaving kids.  But Max's
defined, muscular arms and pale blond hair captured glances from a number
of women and lingering, hungry stares from several guys.  The
`fuck-my-ass-I'm-a-slut' look definitely was a keeper.  One dude in
particular, a tatted Latin stud, looked like he was ready to jump Max's
bones if the opportunity arose.  The guy didn't look like a paying
customer, however.

We settled into our seats on the plane, but shortly before takeoff, a
flight attendant swept down the aisle and stopped at our row.  My gaydar
had flagged him when we boarded, but it wasn't like gay flight attendants
were rarities.  I don't know if the guy's attention was captured by my
lanky frame and long dreadlocks, or by Max's blond hair and slut-whore
getup.  Probably the latter, because the flight attendant couldn't quite
pry his eyes from Max's bare shoulders and arms.  He bent down and
whispered, "The front isn't full like usual, because not many businessmen
travel during the holidays.  I have a couple of empty seats if you
gentlemen would like to move?"

Max looked uncertain, but I quickly thanked the flight attendant and a few
minutes later we settled into first class.  As two college-aged guys, one
black with long dreadlocks and one white dressed like a gay ho, we got
puzzled looks from the other first class passengers.  But they were mostly
relieved that we didn't have carry-ons that needed to be wedged into the
overhead baggage space.

Once in the air, the flight attendant, a young black man named Ronny,
continued to lavish attention on us, and after service was complete, he
talked with us for a long spell.  This was where a really good rent boy
would show his appreciation.  Ronny might not be up for risks involved in a
mile-high quickie – the flight was too short – but the proper thing
to do was to offer it anyway.  However, Max was too shy to do more than
string together a few words of thanks.

As we landed, I whispered to him that he should have shown more gratitude
to Ronny.  Puzzled, Max frowned and mumbled, "I said thanks."  I gave Max
an annoyed look, and the kid quickly realized what I meant.  He was a quick
study.

"What do you want me to..." Max started, but I cut him off.  "I'll
demonstrate," I said.

I chatted up Ronny as we waited to get off the plane.  He was stationed in
San Francisco and only passing through Chicago.  Due to a scheduling snafu,
he had four hours to kill before his next flight, and, surprisingly for the
holidays, our flight was half an hour early.  Convenient.

I let the rest of the first class passengers exit the plane before
motioning Ronny over.  "So, uh, we really appreciate you taking care of
us," I said, placing a more-than-just-friendly arm around Ronny's
shoulders. "Since you've got some time to kill, my friend Max here would
love to give you a proper thank you, if you take my meaning.  I don't
suppose there's someplace private in the airport?"

Ronny's big brown eyes widened, but he didn't hesitate, confessing that he
knew a spot.  Entirely possible that Ronny entertained some of the other
flight attendants and pilots on stopovers from time to time.  Maybe some
passengers, too.  Ronny couldn't leave the plane until all passengers
exited, but once freed from duty he led us to a private area the flight
crews used when they had a break.  During the middle of the day it was
mostly empty, and Ronny found a small room.

I started to tell Max I would meet him at baggage claim, but Ronny had
other ideas.  "Sometimes I like chocolate and sometimes I like vanilla," he
said, pulling both of us into the room, "and sometimes I like both."  As he
closed the door, he paused, giving me a lecherous look and said, "Dude, on
the flight I noticed some size 14 Nikes on you.  I may be about to discover
there is zero correlation between shoe size and cock size, but, honey, I'm
gonna find out once and for all."  I grinned.  I liked Ronny's style.

It was time for Max to show what he had.  I told him, "Clothes off, slut.
Give Ronny a real nice show."

Max took the cue.  He wasn't wearing that much – tank top, tight jeans,
socks and shoes – but he put on a good striptease.  At some point during
his rent boy career, Max had learned how to strip for an audience.  I found
myself enjoying the show, staring at him as he locked his eyes on Ronny and
me while dropping his clothes, his white cock lengthening, stiffening and
rising as he performed.  Fuck, the slut was hot!

Ronny was short – no more than 5'6" or 5'7" – and once Max was naked,
the flyboy wasted no time in going down on both of us, exclaiming over his
good fortune in finding two big dicks.  "Fuck, I knew those size 14s meant
something," he murmured as grabbed my cock and squeezed.  He went back and
forth between our cocks, slurping and deep throating us both.

Ronny kept grabbing Max's ass cheeks as he sucked, so I assumed he wanted
to fuck Max's whore hole.  But I was wrong.  Ronny climbed on a cushioned
leather chair and spread his ass cheeks, gasping, "Fuck me!"  It wasn't
particularly directed to either Max or me.

I flashed back to the day Max and I left the Westcliffe Hotel after
spending the night with Toshi and his power-bottom son.  Then I thought Max
might be a perfect tag team partner, fucking a guy first to ensure the
dude's hole was open and juiced for my big black cock.  I hadn't
anticipated the opportunity would present itself so quickly, but I wasn't
turning it down.  I motioned Max forward.  He quickly ate out Ronny's hole,
which was a nice touch, and then guided his cock into the black man's
hungry fuck chute.

I hadn't seen Max fuck before, hardly surprising given I had only been
balling the rock jock for a couple of weeks and we hadn't done three ways
or orgies.  Watching Max's long, pale cock sink into Ronny's black bubble
butt was hot.  Max knew how to use his fuck tool.  Before long he was
pounding into Ronny with long, powerful strokes, his blue eyes intent and
his hard muscles glowing with a sheen of sweat.

Max's amazing abs were spectacular, flexing with each thrust of his pelvis.
The big tattoo on his side jumped as he fucked.  The blond jock's hands,
used to clinging to tiny crevasses as he climbed rocks, were gripping
Ronny's back like it was a sheer cliff face.  Max's long fingers stood out
starkly against Ronny's black skin.  Ronny gave every indication of being
thrilled with the fuck, moaning and groaning over and over and occasionally
fisting his black rod, but taking care not to get too close.

Max didn't take long to seed Ronny with a load of thick white cum, and I
moved behind Ronny for round two.  The young flight attendant had a tight
little body, and a tiny dribble of cum was leaking from his hole.  "Oh,
yeah, fuck my brains out," Ronny gasped.

I love sloppy holes.  Love `em, plain and simple.  I also love holes that
are spread enough to take my big cock so I don't have to struggle to wedge
it inside.  After Max had run interference, Ronny's hole was in the sweet
spot.  I rammed his ass, causing him to gasp and then moan before begging
me to fuck him harder.  I got into a good rhythm, slamming into Ronny's
black tunnel, driving Max's cum load deep into the flyboy's guts.

"Oh, fuck, breed my black ass!" Ronny exclaimed.  He motioned Max over,
eagerly taking Max's spent dick and balls into his mouth and washing them.

Fucking Ronny was hot, especially with the added visual of seeing Ronny's
thick lips surrounding Max's shaft.  Ronny's wet, cum-soaked fuck tube made
it even better.  I would have dumped two or three loads into Ronny like
usual, but it occurred to me that Max and I needed to collect our bags and
head downtown.  So I delivered a fast fuck, pumping Ronny's bubble butt
intently until I added my load to Max's spunk.

Ronny was still panting as I pulled my cock from his hole, but Max was on
me in a second, swallowing my cock and cleaning it.  He gave Ronny's
stretched ass the same treatment, his tongue darting into Ronny's black
hole and digging out the mιlange of my cum and his own.  Ronny had blown
his load all over the chair, and Max slurped that up, too, before taking
Ronny's softening cock into his mouth and leaving the hunky flight
attendant with a spit soaked, freshly cleaned ass and dick.

Max and I got dressed and thanked Ronny, both of us giving him long kisses.
Ronny was dazed and still undressed, and I suspected he would wank out
another load or two before his next flight, recalled the sensation of his
ass being filled with cock.

On the way downtown, Max said quietly, "I liked that."

Well, duh, I thought.  Who didn't like getting his rocks off?  I gave Max a
puzzled look.

Max fumbled for a response.  "I mean, I liked you watching me while I
fucked Ronny," he said, in his slow, halting style.  "I liked seeing you
fuck him.  I've never seen your cock sink into an asshole other than mine
until today.  It was... awesome.  I just... liked being there with you."
Max stared at me with his big blue eyes and innocent, trusting face.  I
didn't quite know what to make of him.

Tom met us at the hotel and showed us the hotel suite.  It was spectacular,
tastefully decorated with elegant furniture and classy linens.  Max's
bedroom had a separate hallway entrance, which meant his tricks could come
and go without disturbing me.  To top it off, the suite was equipped with
special security cameras, so from the living room I could keep an eye on
Max's bedroom.  You never know when some john is going to freak out.  And,
with Max performing, live porn would appeal to some of my old fuck buddies.

Tom looked like I remembered him, except that his dirty blond hair, which
had always been on the long side, was cut short.  If anything, Tom's chest
had gotten bigger.  His imposing arms stretched the sleeves of his dress
shirt.

"You look damn good, dude," Tom told me.  "I'm glad you still have your
dreadlocks.  They'll always be a Dillinger signature."

I started with the dreadlocks when I turned 13.  I wasn't ready to part
with them anytime soon.  They were distinctive, and I liked that.  "What
happened to your hair?" I asked.  "Going corporate now that you've got an
office job?"

"Exactly," Tom laughed.  Actually, while I like long hair on guys, Tom
looked better with short hair.

While he showed us the suite and we talked, Tom gave Max a couple of long
looks.  Apparently Max's rent-a-jock outfit had attracted Tom's attention.
Max was his usual endearing, clueless self.  Part of his appeal was that he
never seemed to notice when guys fixated on him.

"What's with the twink?" Tom whispered when he and I were alone, after Max
went next door to unpack the handful of things he brought.  The kid
travelled light, so it wouldn't take long.

I wondered how much to tell Tom.  Tom knew me well enough to know that Max
wasn't my type.  "What do you think?" I asked, wondering what Tom would
say.

Tom pondered for a while, "You're fucking him," he said.  "You don't let
tight holes go unused.  But you're not boyfriends.  No way have you changed
enough to go after a blond college twink.  Plus, separate bedrooms."  He
paused for a moment, and then added, "The way he looks at you, I can see
that he craves you.  But he fears you, too.  You've got something on him,
don't you?"

Tom had missed his calling.  The dude should have been a private
investigator.  I shrugged and gave Tom a faint smile, letting him think
what he wanted.  "I know some dudes that would give anything to get into
that twink's pants," Tom added.  Tom might have been including himself in
that category.

"Really?" I said.  "Let me show you something."  I pulled out my cell and
summoned Max's profile on the web app.  In moments, Max's greased muscles
and haunting blue eyes graced the screen of my cell.  And those amazing abs
and that awesome ass.  Tom gazed for longer than normal at the picture I
had taken of Max's face and broad shoulders, with the round mounds of his
bubble butt in the background.  Max's abs were his best feature, but that
picture made his ass look incredible.

"Damn," Tom said, flipping through the photos.  "The kid is ripped."

"Well, he's trade," I said, pointing to the subtle clues on the web app.
"So if you think your friends might be interested, send `em the link," I
said.

"I know two guys that are going to be thrilled to see this," Tom replied,
quickly forwarding the link to his cell.  "Maybe three or four."

Retrieving my phone, I said to Tom, "Stop looking at porn and get my cock
into your holes.  It's ready."  I nodded toward the bedroom and Tom and
grinned and led the way.  Once inside, I undid Tom's tie and unbuttoned his
shirt, slipping his T-shirt over his head.  His massive chest looked as
good as always.  I bent forward to kiss him.  With Tom, kisses were
anything but tender, and we ground our mouths together.

As great as Tom's muscular body was, I was more interested in his ass.  I
unbuttoned his pants and shoved them to the floor, grabbing Tom's familiar,
hard butt cheeks.  "Oh, fuck yeah," Tom moaned.  Tom's dick was normal
sized, maybe even a little bigger than normal, but muscular guys' equipment
inevitably look small next to their thick thighs.  He was hard already and
ground his cock against my jeans.

Tom wasted little time in stripping my clothes off and immediately dropped
to his knees, taking my heavy dick in his hands.  "God, this cock is as
good as I remember it," he said.  "Better!"  He went to work on my piece,
slobbering and deep throating it.  Having been inside Ronny's black velvet
hole less than two hours earlier, it took me a little longer than normal to
get rock hard.  But not much, because Tom knew how to suck dick, and the
sight of his muscular back as he bobbed back and forth on my fuck stick was
hot.

We needed lube, unfortunately buried in my bag, but Tom opened the
nightstand and pulled out a big tube.  He smiled and said, "I took the
liberty of stocking the room with a few essentials."  He greased my cock
and his hole before climbing onto the bed and spreading his ass cheeks
wide.  "Give it to me," he moaned, "Ram your big black cock in me just like
you used to do."

Tom's muscular ass was spread wide.  I positioned my greased fuck pole
against Tom's hole, and in one savage thrust I was all the way inside him.
Tom always loved fierce fucks, and he hadn't changed.

He groaned and clinched his ass around my pole, but he gradually relaxed
and I started to ride him.  "Oh, fuck, destroy my goddam hole," Tom
growled.

Tom's hole was looser than Max's – or, for that matter, looser than any
of the college boys I had been fucking for the last four months.  That
wasn't necessarily bad, given how big my cock was.  In no time I was
pulling all the way out and ramming my dick back inside Tom's muscular ass.
From outside the room, it probably sounded like I was spanking him.

Tom moaned and begged me to fuck him harder.  "Fuck that ass!" Tom growled,
rocking backward each time I thrust forward so that my cock skewered him.
"Oh, fuck!" he moaned.

While I used his ass, Tom jerked himself off, not once but twice.  I went
for it, not slowing down to build my nut, but rather taking Tom's ass in a
fast fuck.  That made two quickies so far, which meant the fuck buddy I
planned to see later was going to get a long, prolonged butt bang.

After we nutted, we were both hot and sweaty, so we detoured into a big
shower that would hold three or four people easily.  It would come in
mighty handy during my stay, I thought.  Tom wanted to suck my cock some
more.  I let him, but wasn't ready to blow another load.  After all, I had
already dumped one in Ronny and a second in Tom, and I had a late night
appointment after dropping by my parents.  I pulled Tom off after a while,
telling him I was around until after New Year's Day.

We emerged into the living room, and Max looked self-conscious and
shell-shocked.  He hardly reacted when Tom nodded to him.  Max had to have
heard everything that went on as I power fucked Tom.  Maybe Max was still
digesting the combination of watching me fuck Ronny earlier in the
afternoon and now hearing me drill Tom.

Tom got ready to leave and pulled me into the hallway.  Chuckling, he said,
"I just put the pieces together and realized how your twink buddy is going
to be using my hotel room!"

"You think?" I deadpanned.

Tom laughed.  "I'm gonna make sure nobody else is checked into this floor,"
he said.  "But my concierge might get some nice tips with your boy as a
resource."

When I reentered the room, I gestured to my room and said to Max, "I just
paid your hotel bill in there, slut."  He blushed, but still had the same
devoted, lust filled eyes he had had since I first plowed his ass.

"You'll pay me back," I added.  Max nodded.

					* * *

Christmas break in Chicago was more successful than I imagined.  Tom
dropped by twice to get his muscular ass plowed, and he also took me up on
my offer of dinner, followed by a free romp in Max's twink holes.  Oddly,
Tom and Max each told me virtually the same thing afterward – "You know
how to pick `em."  At the end of our stay Tom said we were welcome anytime
we wanted.

I hooked up with several fuck buddies from my high school days.
Admittedly, none of the men I dicked when I was in high school were in high
school themselves – or, with the exception of the first guy I fucked,
even college.  Unlike Tom, they mostly looked worse for the wear.  Maybe I
was spoiled after fucking all six of the jock rock climbers at Westcliffe.
Their hard bodies and tight asses were damn enticing.

Max impressed me over the course of his stint in Chicago.  The kid was
incredibly disciplined.  He got up early and ran every day, regardless of
how cold it was, logging miles running north and south along the lake.  He
had a full schedule of web app appointments, and he performed like a champ,
never complaining and being ready, even eager, for every man that showed up
at the hotel.  He studied Chicago maps and within a day knew how to get to
his outcalls, whether he used a cab or the subway.

It was puzzling how great a sub he already was.  Subs have to be completely
disciplined, ready to do whatever they are ordered to do, regardless of how
unsavory it might appear.  Max had it down.

Max got rave reviews in the feedback on the web app.  Guys gushed about his
abs, clearly his best feature, but both his ass and cock got plenty of
mention.  A guy paid two grand for one short overnight gig, from 2:00
a.m. until 10:00 a.m.  Max got half of that as a tip – in cash – and
I worried that the bank would suspect Max of money laundering if he
deposited all of his tips from the trip at once.  Funny how not having cash
is a problem, but having too much of it can be a worse problem.

Christmas Day was downtime on Max's hustling schedule, so I hauled him to
my parents for Christmas dinner.  Max was the lone white person around my
mom's huge dining room table, and he stood out even more with his pale skin
and white-blond hair.  If Max felt awkward, he never showed it, although he
was, if possible, even quieter than normal.

My parents were too busy entertaining friends and relatives to give much
thought to why I brought a young white boy with me, although David, my
college roommate at Harvard, had visited a couple of times, so they likely
assumed Max was just another college buddy.  They never inquired too deeply
about my personal life.  Maybe they knew enough to understand there were
things they would be happier not knowing.

Mom's cooking was the highlight of the day.  That woman can cook.  I'm not
bad in the kitchen, but I wish I had half of her talent and her ability to
pull it off effortlessly.

On our way downtown, Max broke his silence and said, "Thanks.  That was
really great.  I can't remember a Christmas I've enjoyed more."

"Even if you didn't get any presents?" I asked.  I had thought about
getting Max something, but hadn't gotten around to it.  My family was more
about spending time together at the holidays rather than buying gifts.  I
liked it that way.

"I got the best kind of presents," Max said, staring out the window at the
darkened buildings of Chicago.  "None tangible, but I wouldn't give them up
for anything."

Odd kid, I thought.


TO BE CONTINUED...

Email me if you like the story, the characters, the sex, etc. (and
especially if you like the writing).  Coltonaalto@gmail.com

I am hoping to get Chapter Twenty up in a week or two.  The home stretch
continues...

© Copyright Colton Aalto 2015