Date: Fri, 14 Aug 2015 16:12:55 -0600
From: Colton <coltonaalto@gmail.com>
Subject: BBC on Campus - Chapter Fifteen

My usual disclaimers:

* My experiences are in everything I write, sometimes an image that I
recall, sometimes much more.  This story, however, is fiction.  Any
resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

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* This story depicts unprotected sex. In real-life, be safe!

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BBC ON CAMPUS
CHAPTER FIFTEEN – RENT BOI


I had given myself the entire school year to fuck each of the rock climbers
that lived in the old gas station below me, and as exams wound down and
fall semester concluded, my score was five of the six college boys, with
only one to go.  Max.  He was an enigma.  He was by far the quietest of the
rock jocks, and in a group he said almost nothing.  On rare occasions when
he opened his mouth, he was soft spoken and spoke slowly.  I assumed he was
painfully shy.  He and I had probably exchanged a dozen words during the
entire autumn.

After my post-Thanksgiving conquest of Damian's fuck chute, Max was the
sole rock jock that I hadn't fucked.  One by one I had picked the ripped
studs off, starting with Jesse stretching his dancer boi buns for my big
black cock, through Sancho's bike ride on my dick, Travis's weed-fueled
lust for big cock, Alex's prank gone bad enough to land his ass on my
prick, and Damian submitting to me after Thanksgiving.  So far, things had
fallen into place like clockwork.  But none of that meant success with Max
was guaranteed.

After Thanksgiving, I began to stalk Max, watching him closely.  Like a
gray wolf intent on bringing down his prey, I was now focused completely on
Max.  Okay, being focused completely didn't mean passing on the diversion
with Kyle and his slutty friends or my tour into Jim's Scot hole, but Max
was my final prize.

He was hard to read, and being last, I anticipated he was going to be the
toughest rock boy to crack.  He ran on Westcliffe's college track and cross
country teams, so Max didn't drink or smoke much, which meant getting help
from that direction wasn't likely.  And it was a long shot that I would
find myself alone with him after a bike ride, like I had with Sancho, or
because of the water being out, like Damian.  I would have to work to get
my dick in his ass.  But I liked challenges, and so far the rock jocks had
fallen one by one and I hadn't put all that much effort into any of them.

As I paid more attention, I was struck by how odd Max's schedule was.  He
didn't have a girlfriend.  Or a boyfriend, for that matter; of the six rock
boys, Max was the only one, other than Jesse, that might be gay or bi.
Well, maybe Travis could be considered bi, but the hot stoner wasn't
emotionally attracted to guys, just attracted to the physical pleasure of
having a stiff cock ramming his hole.

Almost every week, a night or two would pass when Max didn't come home,
which led me to believe that he had to be seeing someone.  He roomed with
Sancho, and Sancho was getting serious with his girlfriend, so maybe Max
was acceding to the inevitable and giving Sancho a night alone to bone.
That still left the question of where Max was on those nights.  Maybe he
was sleeping on a friend's couch, but if he was, Max never hung out with
the friend.  Whatever he was doing, Max didn't talk about it.  Of course,
he never talked about much of anything.

Compared to the other five rock boys, Max came off as distant in a sad,
melancholy way.  Jesse was defiant and challenging, daring anyone to make
fun of his being gay.  Sancho, with his shaggy blond surfer locks, flushed
cheeks and straight nose, was pretty, end of story.  Travis was the life of
the party, looking for thrills and trouble.  Alex played the part of the
mischievous prankster, his body a billboard display of tattoos and
piercings.  Damian was the androgynous boy with long curls that looked gay
but was a hit among the ladies and spent his nights fucking pussy.  Max, on
the other hand, was hard to pin down.  He always was the outsider.  As I
focused on him, that element of his personality aroused my curiosity and
interest.

Max's taciturn ways made it all the more surprising that he knocked on my
door on Friday afternoon after the last exams in December and asked if he
could speak to me.  His serious look suggested some problem, and I had no
intention of playing counselor to the rock boys.  I almost told him he
could say what he wanted standing where he was, but at the last moment I
relented, cutting him a break and inviting him in.

Max slumped on my couch and looked nervous.  He had a long, straight nose
and a pale, almost austere face with tight lips.  His short, spiked hair
was blond, not the sun bleached, streaked blond of Sancho, but light and
pale.  He had taken to growing thin sideburns.  On Max they tweaked his
clean cut, all-American blond-boy image just enough to add an edgy aspect
to his looks.  They made him look just slightly reckless.  His face wasn't
bad, but all-in-all more handsome than pretty.

Max's abs, however, were something else.  They looked like they were carved
from marble.  He had a nice chest, good arms – hell, all the rock jocks
could say the same thing – and long, strong legs covered with faint
blond fuzz that was invisible until the light hit it just right.  But his
abs were like a blinking neon sign on a dark street.  They stood out, and I
couldn't look at him when he was shirtless without being riveted to his
hard stomach.  You almost didn't notice the big dragon and eagle tattoo on
the right side of his torso because it was so hard to pry your eyes from
his eight pack.

Seated on my couch, Max looked at the floor and fidgeted.  I remained
standing, my 6'5" frame towering over him.  Max licked his lips and said,
"I have a huge favor to ask of you."

Wondering what this was all about, I said, "Go on," with a stern look.  I
wasn't going to make it easy on Max.  I played it the way I usually did
with the rock boys: distant, aloof and dominant.

"I... uh, don't know how to ask this, so I'll just come right out and say
it," Max said.  "Would you fuck me while this guy watches?"

"What the hell?" I sputtered, trying to assimilate the shot out of deep
left field.

"Look, I can explain," Max hastened to say, raising his hands as if he was
afraid I was going to punch him in the face.  He took a deep breath and
started in.  "This is kinda embarrassing.  Well, it's fucking embarrassing.
My parents cut me off this year and to pay tuition and make ends meet, I've
been, well, having sex with a few guys.  For money.  One of them offered to
pay a lot to watch me get fucked by a black guy with a big cock."

Holy shit, I thought.  Max was a hustler.  I had no clue, absolutely no
clue, which made me feel stupid.  I was the supposedly savvy, sophisticated
urban guy from Chicago, with four years in Boston and summers in New York,
and I was oblivious to Max turning tricks under my nose.  It never occurred
to me that guys paid for sex in a small college town in Montana.

"And, uh, well," Max continued, mumbling, "Travis and I smoked a little
weed last week, and he told me that you fucked him several times.  And that
you had a big cock.  So I thought maybe you'd fuck me, too.  I don't really
know any black guys other than you and Jermaine on the track team, and he
doesn't have a big cock."  I wondered how Max knew the size of Jermaine's
cock.  Showering after track practice was the obvious answer.  But maybe
not the only answer.

So much for my theory that the rock boys didn't talk about getting their
asses fucked.  I suspected that Sancho, Alex and Damian had been tight
lipped, but it didn't surprise me to discover Travis shooting off his
mouth.  The kid had no filters, particularly when he smoked.  Oddly enough,
Jesse didn't talk either.  Not that he was embarrassed in the least, he
just didn't think it was anyone's business.

I was too stunned by Max's request to think clearly.  For some odd reason,
I asked, "Did you fuck Travis after you both got stoned?"  Why did I ask
that?  Who the hell cares?

Max stared at the floor and, blushing, said, "Yeah."  He looked up at me
and added, "He isn't into guys but likes getting fucked when he's stoned.
He was so messed up that he begged me to do him.  He said taking my cock
was like a mini hot dog after your giant sausage."

I almost smiled but was still too surprised by the conversation.  Instead,
my mind whirled as I began to hatch a plot.  "So, let me get this
straight," I said.  "You're busy selling your pale ass to whoever in this
town will throw twenty bucks at you, and you get a chance for a big payday,
but you need me to make it happen.  What's in it for me?"

"I'd, uh, I'd split the money with you?" Max asked hopefully.

"Right," I said, loudly.  I started pacing back and forth in front of Max,
jabbing my finger at him as I spoke.  "So you're off selling your ass all
over town and now you want to trap me into the same little game.  You want
to make me a fucking whore, too, by taking money for sex.  Why is that?  So
you can turn me in, too, when you get busted for male prostitution?  Are
you out of your fucking mind?"

Max had incredibly beautiful blue eyes, and they were wide open in shock.
I wanted to throw him on the floor and fuck his ass until dawn, staring
into his eyes as I used him for cock practice.  "Uh, no, uh, I don't want
to get you in trouble," he rushed to say.

"Of course not," I taunted him.  "All you thought about was how much money
you were going to pocket."

Max, chastised, shook his head and said, "I wasn't thinking."  He chewed
his lip.

The kid was smart, and honest to boot.  I had him where I wanted him.  "How
much money was this mystery guy going to pay you?"

"Five hundred," Max said.  He was back to his taciturn ways.

Not a ton. Nothing by Chicago or Boston standards, or God forbid New York,
but not bad for rural Montana.  "How many times have you done it with this
guy?" I asked.  I was going to interrogate the fucker.  He would feel like
he had spent hours under a harsh light when I was done with him.

"Never," Max said.

"Never?" I repeated, my voice dripping with sarcasm and making it clear
that I didn't believe what I had just heard.

Max glanced up and added, "He only likes to watch."  As I continued to
stare at him, his eyes focused on the floor and he added, "I guess he got
tired of seeing me jack off."

"How many other men have you been servicing?" I pressed.

"Four," Max said.

"You got four old guys paying to fuck your ass?" I responded, wondering how
the hell Max had assembled a little black book of five johns in a small
college town.

"Only two fuck me," Max said dully.  "I fuck the other two guys.
Mr. Anderson, he only watches."

"And what, you do them every week?" I asked.

"Or two," Max nodded, eyes downcast.

I suddenly had the explanation for Max's overnight disappearances.  "How
long you been selling your ass?" I asked.

Max hesitated, biting his lip and glancing at the floor, making me think
what he was about to say wasn't the entire truth.  "Since the beginning of
the school year," he said.  "Like I said, my parents cut me off," he added.
He was hiding something.

"But this school year isn't the first time you took money and opened up
your asshole for a stiff cock, is it?" I said.

Max bit his lip again.  Defeat and resignation showed in his stark blue
eyes.  He sighed and said, "In high school, a guy used to give me stuff.
Not that much money.  But clothes and video games and stuff."

"Who was this guy?" I pressed.

"My track coach," Max said, his voice flat.  I had a feeling that he had
never told anyone about it.

"So on those road trips to track and cross country meets, coach got a work
out, too, but late at night.  A little exercise fucking his star athlete?"
I said with a sneer.  "And I suppose there were meetings at his house to
discuss training, but what really went down was that he trained you to
service his cock?  Trained you to suck cock and take it up the ass?"

"Pretty much," Max said, surprised to hear me size up his situation so
quickly.  It wasn't that hard to piece together.  Oldest story in the book.

"Did you like that, like being the coach's pet?" I said.

Max took a deep breath.  "I don't know," he admitted.  "Sort of... not
really.  I don't know."

Max was conflicted by what he had done in high school.  Not a big surprise.
But he liked something about the experience.  The sex?  The money?  "So
you've been a rent boy for what, three, four years?" I asked.

Max had never confronted the fact that he was a rent boy, and had never
focused on how long it had been going on.  He eyes were blank.  "Yeah," he
mumbled.  He swallowed and said, "Four years," as his voice trailed off.

"Do your parents know?" I asked.

Max's eyes flared briefly, but his steely mask returned.  "No.  Finding out
I was gay was all it took for them to kick me out.  I haven't spoken to
them since I left for school in August.  It will be a long, long time
before I see either of them again, if I ever do."  I felt sorry for
Max. Nobody should have to endure getting disowned for being gay.

A couple of the rock climbers had made home visits over the course of the
fall, but neither Max nor Damian had.  I wondered where Max had gone over
the long Thanksgiving break if he hadn't gone home.

"You have a nice Thanksgiving vacation?" I asked with a sneer.

Max's face flushed and he clenched his jaws.  "It was okay," he said
quietly.

"Just okay?" I grinned.

Max apparently decided I was going to pry the story out of him one way or
the other, so he might as well spill the beans.  He sighed and said,
"Mr. Beson took me to San Francisco.  I had never been."

"Ah, how sweet," I said sarcastically.  "A little vacation with a sugar
daddy.  I bet he took you shopping for clothes.  Did you get anything nice?
Maybe a designer shirt?  How did you like being Beson's little trophy?"

Max was uncomfortable being forced to reveal his extracurricular activities
and not happy to have landed on my couch in a discussion of them.  His eyes
told me that I had hit a nerve.  He hesitated, finally mumbling, "I didn't
like it."  His eyes plead with me to stop.

Max didn't like being a trophy.  A designer shirt wasn't his style.  But
there was something more.  Something about the experience, beyond getting
his rocks off, enthralled Max.  It lured him like a moth to a flame, an
irresistible attraction.  I probed some more.

"Tell me, Max," I said, "when you were out to dinner with Beson in San
Francisco, how did it feel when the waiters looked at you and smirked,
knowing you were trade and Beson was your sugar daddy?  Knowing that you
sold your ass for money?  Did they make snide comments about exactly what
was going to happen later in the night, about how Beson's cock was going to
be buried in your shitter?"

Max's eyes flared.  "You're right," he said slowly.  "Exactly right.  Beson
was with a friend from San Francisco, and Beson likes to show off,
especially when he's drunk.  He made me wear a polo shirt that was too
small, with no underwear and jeans that rode low on my ass and showed my
dick.  All so I would look the part of being a rent boy.  He made
suggestive comments and groped me all night, and the waiters joined in the
fun, hoping for a big tip.  By the end, the entire restaurant knew I had
been bought and paid for."  Max seemed to be conflicted as he related the
story.  He wasn't reliving something he hated.  Something about that night
appealed to him.

On a hunch, I asked, "You still have that polo shirt, Max?"

"Um, yeah," Max replied, puzzled by my question.  I was beginning to
understand the slender runner.  The shirt made him look like a slutty
whore, but rather than getting rid of it, he kept it.  Why?

"The waiters sneering at you didn't bother you, Max.  Why not?" I asked.

Max looked at me squarely and answered calmly, "We all knew what I was and
if they wanted to look down on me because of it, so what?"  What appealed
to Max about whoring wasn't the money or the sex.  It knowing he was being
used.  He wanted the humiliation.

"You make a lot of money pimping yourself out?" I asked.

Max chewed his lip.  "It's easy," he shrugged.

My interrogation was torture for Max, but I needed an excuse to put the
twink in his place, and he had just given it to me.  I lurched at him,
grabbing his jaws in my hand and snarling, "I asked how much money you're
pocketing!  Answer me!"  Surprise and fear showed in Max's eyes.  Good, I
thought.  I needed to milk his fear.

"A hundred," he gasped.  "One fifty from Anderson.  Four hundred for
Thanksgiving."

I laughed, shoving his head away.  "You're a fucking cheap hoe."

Stepping back, I crossed my hands across my chest.  Body language.  I
didn't want Max to feel any element of comfort.  "Why shouldn't I just turn
you in?  Call the cops, report you to Student Affairs, get you expelled?"
I would never do that to Max, or anyone else for that matter.  But that was
a fact Max didn't know.

Max's face turned white.  "Don't... please don't do that," he stammered.

"Why not?!" I shouted.

"I'm just trying to stay in school!" Max pleaded.

I stepped back.  I surmised that I had softened the kid up enough.  I
stared at him for a long time.  I suppose you could call his looks exotic.
Not pretty, but exotic.  He was too rawboned to be handsome in the normal
sense.  The thin face and the long nose, high cheekbones and pale blond,
spiked hair.  I wasn't particularly attracted to him, but I was more than
ready to fixate on those amazing abs as I destroyed his hole.

"So, if I help you out, what's in it for me, since we've already
established that I don't want your money?" I asked.

Max frowned.  He had assumed that I would accept his offer because I fucked
Travis and, presumably, would want to fuck him, too.  If a free shot at his
ass wasn't enough, splitting the money from the gig was the obvious
solution.  But when I rejected those options, Max didn't have a backup
plan.  "I'll, I'll do whatever you want," he stuttered, looking up at me
with big, pleading eyes.

"Anything?" I pressed.

Max nodded eagerly.  He was relieved to see light at the end of the tunnel,
but he was about to find out that it was a long, long tunnel.

"Okay," I said.  "So here's the deal.  I'll fuck your ass for your friend
Anderson.  I won't take it easy on you.  In fact, I hope your john likes
seeing you get roughed up, because he'll get quite a show.  I'm going to
destroy your boi pussy until you're going to want to scream.  But you won't
scream.  Not with him in the room.  You'll take it, take it all.  You'll
suck it up and take it like the good little whore you are.  Anderson will
probably like seeing your ass ripped to shreds.  Maybe he'll give you a big
tip.  You keep all the money, every penny of it.  I don't want to touch
it."

Max stared expectantly.  "In exchange," I said, "you're my bitch.  Until
the end of the school year, any time I text you, you drop what you're doing
and hustle your ass to wherever I say.  And then I use you to get off.  Use
you as a cum dump.  The bad news for you is that I like sex.  You may be
taking it up the ass four, five times a day.  But you'll do it with a
smile, call me `Sir,' and never, never complain.  You got that?"

Max was dumbfounded.  But he quickly nodded assent.  It crossed my mind
that he agreed a little too quickly.  "Just so you understand, you break
any part of this agreement, and I go to the cops and the University the
next day."  It was an empty threat, but Max gave me a stronger, assured
nod.

After Max's story about his track coach and his parents, I felt sorry for
him.  I don't know why, and it wasn't like me, but I gave him an out.  "Get
the fuck out of here and I'll forget we ever had this conversation," I
said.  "I won't go to the cops or the University and you can go back to
doing whatever you want to do with your life.  Or you can accept the
arrangement I just described.  Your choice.  Leave or stay."

Max stared at me, digesting his options.  He paused a moment, his eyes
flickering with something between lust, uncertainty and fear.  But he
looked squarely into my eyes and said confidently, "I'm staying."  It
wasn't the answer I expected.

"You sure, white boy?" I asked.  "I'm serious about owning your fucking
whore holes and using them as a cum dump.  I'm serious about making you my
bitch."

"I'm staying, sir," Max said, this time adamant.  He meant it.  I nodded in
response, wondering if I had opened Pandora's Box, but ready to nail my
sixth rock climber.

Jesse and Max were now both in the fuck-at-will category.  Aside from their
holes, my cock would be getting serviced monthly by Kent's manhole, and an
occasional fling with a stoned and insanely horny Travis was in the cards.
Add some threesomes or foursomes with Kyle, his muscle stud boyfriend and
his furry model friend, and my cock was going to be well cared for at last.
I could dick one of the white rock climbers every night of the week if I
wanted.

I had had my way with Sancho, Alex and Damian, and I didn't see using any
of them again, although you never knew.  Hell, I could see doing Damian
again. I liked his long hair and tight body, and, whether he remembered it
or not, he volunteered that I could fuck him whenever I wanted.  Sancho's
broad shoulders and shaggy bleached-blond hair were a turn on, and I loved
the thought of seeing Alex's sarcastic, mischievous mouth wrapped around my
cock.  Maybe I would cycle through all of the rock boys again.  The frat
bully Trent would come crawling to get his ass spanked and filled with jizz
if I so much as hinted I would discipline him again.  I wasn't likely to
have another night with Jake or Akili or Shane, but I couldn't rule it out.

But first there was Max.

"What are you waiting for, slut?" I asked.  "Your ass is mine, and I'm
going to use it right now.  Strip, get on your knees and suck my cock.  Get
it good and slippery because otherwise it is going to tear your ass to
shreds when I breed you like a bitch."  Earlier I had tied my long
dreadlocks into a pony tail, but I untied them and let them fall across my
shoulders.  I liked them loose when I fucked.

Max jumped to comply with my orders.  As he stripped, his lean, ripped body
looked amazing.  After I had pried everything out of Max about his
hustling, he was relieved, even eager, to be following my orders.  Suddenly
it clicked.  Max was painfully shy and reserved, which meant he wasn't a
natural rent boi.  Whether they are tops or bottoms, a good hustler is an
extrovert, taking charge and leading reluctant johns to where they want to
go.  Max was too passive.

But he was passive enough to be a good, maybe a great submissive.  He
wanted to be used and humiliated.  When I gave him the choice to leave or
stay, the kid stayed because he wanted to follow my orders, wanted me to
make him my bitch.  He wanted me to abuse him, wanted me to enslave him.
Neither Max's high school track coach nor Beson did it for Max because they
put him on a pedestal.  Max wanted it the other way around.  He lusted for
the shame of being a sex toy.  He wanted to be used for sex.  What he liked
in San Francisco wasn't Beson buying him fancy clothes.  It was the
degradation of the waiters sneering because he was a rent boi, knowing that
his ass was for sale, and seeing him for the whore he was.

Max wasn't going to have the pedestal problem with me and I had plenty of
humiliation for him.  The kid needed a big leather collar.  Some wrist
cuffs and ankle cuffs, too.  I wondered if Anderson would pay more to see
me fuck Max's brains out while he was handcuffed, a heavy iron chain
hanging from his thin neck.  I might have to find out.

I eased my cock from my pants and Max's eyes betrayed a moment of shock at
its size.  But the kid's ice blue eyes quickly showed the signs of lust and
determination, and he dropped to his knees like a trooper.  I was more
convinced than ever that my hunch about Max being a born sub was correct.

I shoved Max's face into my crotch and snarled, "Smell it.  Get used to the
scent.  You're gonna come to love it, crave it.  You're gonna want your
nose in my junk whenever you can.  My manscent is gonna get you off, make
you hard just thinking about it.  You'll be begging me to give you a sniff
of my ass, my taint, my sweaty balls."  I could see the gears turning.
Smelling a man's masculine scent wasn't something Max had considered.  But
now he was thinking about it, thinking about the humiliation of being
forced to breathe with my junk in his face.  The idea that he would come to
lust after my scent was planted and beginning to grow.

Max began licking and mouthing me.  He stared up at me, seeking my
approval.  To get any validation from me, the hoe was going to have to work
very hard.  But that was what he would do.  He focused intently on my cock
and balls, using his hands, watching for any signs from me.

Soon he had my dong down his throat and was sucking like a pro.  I guess,
technically, he was a pro.  I debated whether Jesse or Max was the better
cocksucker, but they were both damn good.  Neither was in Akili's or Jake's
league, but Max could get there, with work.  Judging from the early signs,
Max would put in the time and effort required.  He wanted it.

I let Max mouth me for a long time, but I was ready for prime time.  I had
been sort of gentle – well, gentle for me – with the straight rock
boys for fear that I would freak them out.  But the blond twink on his
knees in front of me was about to find out what it meant to serve a
dominant black man.

"You're good at that, slut," I said, giving him the encouragement he
desperately wanted.  I pulled my cock from Max's mouth and slapped it
across his face.  "Now let's see if you are good at getting butt fucked.
Get on your back and spread your ass cheeks.  I own your hole, and I'm
about to show you what it's like to be bred like a bull breeds a cow."

Max was still shell shocked at the size of the cock that was destined for
his ass, but he meekly complied.  I found a tube of lube and squeezed a gob
of it into Max's tight fuck chute.  I followed with two fingers, causing
Max to grunt as I found his prostate and toyed with it just enough to make
Max want more.

I coated my cock with lube, jacking it to full mast.  Max kept his legs
raised high, his eyes betraying fear as he contemplated the black rod that
was about to impale his ass.  I had no doubt that the kid was going to take
everything I could dish out.  Deep down, he wanted this as much as I did.

"Yeah, bitch," I said, "This big block cock is going to live inside your
guts.  Get familiar with it.  It's gonna hurt like hell, and you're gonna
scream your head off.  But you know something?  You're gonna start liking
it.  Start liking how full it makes you feel.  Start liking the feeling
that you're serving da man.  And then, you won't want to live without it.
You are gonna be addicted to my horse dick."

After that speech, I had to make sure Max felt it, so I rammed my pole
inside him in one quick, violent trust.  I regretted it, because he was
tighter than fuck and it hurt to take him so fast.  For his part, Max
yelled at the top of his lungs and then began gasping, tears welling in his
eyes.

I pulled out to let Max's ass and my throbbing cock relax, then pushed back
inside his fuck chute.  I started slowly but soon got into a good pattern,
pulling out of Max's hairless white fuck hole and then powering back in as
far as I could go, making Max groan each time I hit bottom.  My pace
quickened until I was slam fucking the white running boy, the sounds of
Max's ass being drilled echoing against the brick walls of my apartment.

I had fucked Jesse earlier in the day, sending him off on Christmas
vacation with a sore ass dripping with black ball spunk.  So without heavy
pressure on my nuts, I was prepared for the long haul.  I rode Max like the
whore he was, drilling his chute, powering into him, fucking his pussy.
Before long, I worked up a good sweat – even in December the gas station
was hot – and Max's smooth, tight skin was glistening, too.  I ran one
hand over his taut abs.  They felt like round river rocks separated by deep
crevasses.

Max's cock, by no means small, had been semi-hard from the moment he
stripped, but it stiffened until it was rock hard.  The fucking little hoe
liked getting used as a cum dump!  I wrapped my big hand around his prick
and began to pump his cock in time to my thrusts into his whore hole.

I was surprised at the size of Max's dick.  Not as big as mine, but within
a couple of inches.  I could see his appeal as a hustler.  Fuck, the kid
could do porn, too.  Being a smooth young twink with blond hair, in porn he
would be a natural bottom.  But with the big dick he could top, too.

I hadn't planned on it, but I brought Max off moments before I shot and
seeded him.  Max's cum shot like a geyser onto his abs and then began to
drain off the ridges of his muscles and into the valleys of his eight pack.
The vision sent me over the top, and my load jetted into Max's rent boi
ass.  Cum covered, with sweat plastering his lank blond hair to his
forehead, the kid looked damn good.

					* * *

Max was true to his word.  I never once heard him call me anything but
`Sir.'  I was right about him being a natural sub.  He was totally
comfortable in the role, relieved to have a well scripted part to play.  He
opened his mouth and ass anytime I wanted.  The day after Max made his
fateful visit to my room, we did the thing for Anderson, who turned out to
be an old white rancher in a wheelchair.  He was thrilled that I not only
had the big cock he wanted to see (and touch), but also had long
dreadlocks.  He enjoyed watching me abuse Max so much that I thought he was
going to have a heart attack. The only bad thing was that I had to pull out
of Max's boi cunt before cumming so Anderson could see my spunk spurt all
over Max's face.  I made Max slurp down every drop of my jism, but I didn't
doubt that was what Max would have done anyway.

I had always kinda liked performing for an audience.  The show for Anderson
was hot enough that I took Max home after we were done and fucked his
brains out, balling his tight ass two more times.


TO BE CONTINUED...

Let me know if you are enjoying the story as it develops.
Coltonaalto@gmail.com

Chapter Sixteen continues Max's story and will hopefully be up in another
week or two.  Hope you are finding the story to be fun.

© Copyright Colton Aalto 2015