Date: Sat, 28 Nov 2015 17:49:04 +0000 (UTC)
From: jhtravus@yahoo.com
Subject: Horny Exchange Student Chapter 17

If you are enjoying the series let me know! I love hearing from you
guys. jhtravus@yahoo.com


			Horny Exchange Student Chapter 17


I ran out to the parking lot managing to get into my underwear and shirt
just as I pushed through the double doors into the cold air. I couldn't
find Brad anywhere. This was bad. This was really bad. I couldn't even
begin to realize just how bad this was. I just had to stop Brad and try and
talk with him. What I would say if or when I finally did catch up with him,
I didn't know.

	"What the fuck is going on?" Coach Jackson calls out to me, wearing
nothing but a pair of his slutty wind shorts, calling out from the
door. "You forgot your phone!" He pauses for a second. "Wait, what the-" He
begins as his eyes wander down to the screen.

	I hang my head in shame as I watch the realization dawn on his
face.

	"You're fucking his dad?" Coach Jackson gasps, realizing the
seriousness of the situation.

	"I'm not fucking him, I'm in love with him!" I yell, frustrated,
spinning around wondering where Brad could have possibly run off to so
fast. Our car is still parked right where we left it so he was clearly on
foot.

	"This is bad, Africa. You don't fuck your best friend's dad." Coach
Jackson says somberly.

	"You don't think I fucking know that?" I shout, rage running
through my veins. "I didn't plan for any of this to happen. I didn't plan
to come to this country and make such a connection with Brad and
Mr. Williams! But it happened! And they're both so important to me. And I-
I- Fuck! Where am I supposed to go? What am I supposed to do now?" I yell,
frustrated.

	Coach Jackson throws me my shorts and phone and I catch them,
pulling out my set of keys and starting the engine.

	"He's fucking my dad." Brad Williams said under his breath, his
fists clenched. "My best friend is fucking my dad. No, he's not just
fucking my dad. It's even worse than that. He's fucking his
host-father. Who is married. He's fucking the man who opened up his home to
him. Ollie is fucking my dad." His head started spinning. "My dad. Mike
Williams. Fuck! Is he not happy with my mom? Is he gay? What the fuck is
going on? My dad gets fucked?"

	His body was just radiating aggression. And even after shooting so
many loads in Coach Jackson's office he knew he had to take his aggression
out somehow. And he knew just the guy who could take it. He pounded on the
door before he even decided where he was going. His feet just led him
there. He wanted to prove himself. In fact he needed to.

	Mr. Foster opened the door and Brad's face fell.

	"Well hey there, Brad Williams." Mr. Foster said, surprised to see
the athlete. Brad had stopped coming over to the Foster household ever
since Jason Foster had stopped putting out for him. The two were now
acquaintances at best, maintaining a professional relationship on the field
but not really having much to say off the field. Deep down Jason was
probably embarrassed about his inner need to get fucked and had decided the
best way to deal with it was to ignore it. We'll see how well that turns
out for him.

	"Hi Mr. Foster. Is Jason here? I really need to talk to him." Brad
said trying not to sound too angry.

	"No, I'm sorry, he's not. He and his mom are in Oregon looking at
schools." Mr. Foster replied. "Speaking of which, where are you plan-" He
began before sensing this wasn't the time for small talk. "You know. . ."
He said sighing and checking his watch. "You look like you could use a
beer, Brad Williams." Mr. Foster said, getting serious.

	Brad thought for a moment about saying no. He needed to take his
aggression out and he wasn't going to be able to do that with Mr. Foster.

	Or could he?

	Mr. Foster held open the door and Brad's feet took control as he
walked into the Foster household.

	I slammed the front door as I ran upstairs. "Brad?" I yelled out,
knowing there was no way he had beaten me home on foot but desperate to
know where my best friend was.

	"BRAD?" I called out, opening the door to his room and sighing when
I saw he wasn't there.

	"What's going on?" I heard from the bottom of the
stairs. Mr. Williams is standing there, just having showered and looking
like he's getting dressed for the event he had to go to with Kate and her
clients.

	"He knows." I said, staring at him.

	"What do you mean he knows? Who knows? Who knows what?"
Mr. Williams panicked.

	"He saw it." I said, tears starting to form in my eyes.

	"No." Mr. Williams said, the color draining from his face.

	My knees buckled and I caught myself on the stairs and just broke
down.

	"How could I do this to him?" I started to cry. "He's my best
friend."

	"Oh my god." Mr. Williams said, leaning against the staircase and
clutching his head in panic. "What are we going to do, Ollie?"


	Mr. Foster handed the town superstar quarterback a beer as he
opened up his own.

	"You don't have to tell me what's wrong." He said,
apologetically. "You just looked like you could really use a drink."

	Brad said nothing, as he drained half the bottle in one go.

	"Promise me you won't tell Mike I gave you a beer, though."
Mr. Foster laughed, immediately seeing Brad's face go red.

	"So I guess this is something to do with your dad." Mr. Foster
ventured cautiously.

	"Something like that." Brad grunted, staring at the pattern of the
tile on the floor intently, deep in thought. But then he looked up at the
man sitting across from him at the table. Mr. Foster looked a lot like his
son. His hair was greying at the temples but he had those bright blue eyes
that he had given his son and the man kept up with his fitness. The Fosters
were an old family from the community and were involved in all of the
community organizations. They were the elite. It's part of what made
fucking Jason Foster so fulfilling to Brad. Knocking the elite Foster clan
down a peg or two by fucking their only son. But now, sitting across from
the handsome patriarch was making Brad's imagination run wild. If his whole
world hadn't just been turned upside down 20 minutes ago even he wouldn't
have had the guts. But what he saw now was an opportunity to take back some
of that control. To prove himself. And with that, Brad Williams turned on
the charm as he sized up his game.

	"You know Mr. Foster, I know you could tell I was really having a
rough day. And I was disappointed Jason wasn't here to talk to. But I'm
glad you're here." Brad said, taking a sip of his beer.

	There it was. That flash across the distinguished man's eyes. The
need of affirmation from a fellow alpha. The need to please.

	"I'm glad I could be here for you in Jason's place, Brad Williams."
Mr. Foster replied, following suit and taking a sip from his own beer. Brad
smirked, hearing the grown man almost getting off on saying his name. Like
Brad was helping him realize some fucked up fantasy this grown, seemingly
straight man had about the town superstar.

	Brad set his beer down and stared directly into the distinguished
man's eyes. The two men said nothing as they each sat there sizing the
other up.

	Mr. Foster fumbled with the cap of his beer and said quietly,
"You're going to fuck me aren't you, Brad Williams?"

	"Yeah, I'm going to fuck you, Mr. Foster." Brad answered. He
confidently reached out his hand to the man's collar and undid the top
button, revealing a small glimpse of the well-groomed, hairy chest
underneath it.

	Mr. Foster gulped and his face turned red, not knowing what to say
as he let the athlete feel him up. "You can call me Greg, I guess." He
muttered nervously.

	"I'll call you Mr. Foster." Brad replied, taking another sip of his
beer. "Before and after you let me have your ass."

	"Alright." Mr. Foster said timidly, standing up. His effort to try
and equalize himself and this high school athlete in his mind by doing away
with formalities had been rebuffed. This jock was going to take every
chance he could to remind him that he was the high school student and
Mr. Foster was the married man who should know better. And he did know
better. But there was no way he wasn't going to get fucked by Brad
Williams.  And fuck, if that didn't turn him on.

	He started to unbutton his shirt as the cocky athlete stared him
down. "Are we going to do it right here?" He swallowed, looking to the
athlete for confirmation.

	"I don't fuck men like you on their kitchen table like some shitty
gardener fucks a housewife." Brad said shaking his head and standing
up. "They take me to their own bed and I fuck them there."

	Mr. Foster winced, realizing he was going to cheat on his wife in
their own bed. But he didn't hesitate for one second. "Alright Brad
Williams." He said, his own cock throbbing. "You win." He looks at Brad for
a second like he's having second thoughts before his lips are on the young
athlete's like a soldier back from deployment. Brad had locked lips with
quote a few guys in his lifetime but he found no one is more grateful for
his attention than middle aged repressed dads. No, Greg Foster wasn't the
first dad Brad Williams had pulled and he wouldn't be the last. They just
couldn't help themselves when he was around them. Brad Williams had this
aura around him that just made middle aged dads want to give it up for
him. And he certainly took them up on it. Nothing made him fuck harder than
gently biting the ear of some repressed middle aged dad while he made him
submit to him. Watching the masculine man pinned down underneath him
willingly give up control to some kid. Watching them gripping the sheets
like some slut, their wedding bands glinting with each thrust.

	Like his dad's wedding band must have done while his best friend
fucked him. Over and over again. His best friend had been fucking his dad
behind his back all this time. For how long? At what point in their
friendship had Ollie decided banging his dad was more important than their
friendship?

	Brad pulled back from the horny Mr. Foster. "You want me to fuck
you or not, Mr. Foster?"

	"I want you to fuck me." The man mumbled, not meeting him in the
eye.

	"Well let's go then."

	Mr. Foster gulped and turned around, starting to lead the way. They
passed family photos spanning over a lifetime of memories, Jason's birth,
his first summer at football camp, his first bike ride. Brad reached out
and stuck his hand into the cleft of Mr. Foster's pants possessively as
they walked by. The man jumped for a second at the intrusion but did not
object. Brad liked that. When they arrived at what must have been the
master bedroom Mr. Foster paused for a second.

"Am I your first?" Brad asked the conflicted man in front of him, leaning
in and breathing on the horny man's ear.

	"No." Mr. Foster muttered, hanging his head down. " And I don't
want to talk about it."

	"That's okay, Mr. F."Brad said, moving his other hand underneath
the man's shirt and starting to play with his pecs. "I just wanted to know
if you'd have anyone to compare me to."

	Mr. Foster gulped again and opened the door, revealing the big,
luxurious bed he and his wife would be sleeping in when she returned from
her trip with Jason.  The man approached his bedside table and started to
remove his ring.

	"Nuh uh." Brad shook his head, stopping him. "Leave it."

	Greg Foster hung his head down but did not argue. He stood there as
the athlete continued feeling him up, running his hand along his furry
pecs.

	"You going to go easy on me, Brad Williams?" Mr. Foster asked as he
started to remove his shirt.

	"I'll make sure you're taken care of." Brad replied, both of them
knowing full well he had not answered his question.

	"Now show it off, Mr. F." Brad commands him.

	Mr. Foster looks confused for a moment before he turns around and
slowly drops his pants, swallowing hard as he puts himself on display for
the town football star.

	"No, not that. This." Brad says, reaching out and grabbing
Mr. Foster's leaking prick.

	Mr. Foster jumps at his touch, but is immediately calmed as he
feels the athlete slowly working over his flared cock head.

	"This is what I like to see." Brad mused, waving the man's prick
around, admiring it. It was a good 8 inches; bigger and wider than his
son's. "I like to know I'm fucking a man. A real man."

	Mr. Foster moans as his cock gets worked over by a kid his son's
age. His breathing hurried.

	"You can cum now or later, Mr. Foster, but just know I'm still
going to fuck you." Brad said, looking the man in the eye, increasing his
pace.

	Mr. Foster grabs his arm and takes it off his dick. "I want you to
fuck me."

	"You got any lube?"

Mr. Foster pauses, but his eyes dart toward his bedside table.

"Come on, Mr. F. with a cock your size I know you've got some lube lying
around here somewhere. Or are you not getting any?"

Mr. Foster's eyes again dart toward his bedside table, but he won't say it.

"No, please don't-" He warns him as Brad reaches over to the drawer.



"Well look what we have here. . ." Brad says as he pulls out a giant
dildo. Mr. Foster hangs his head in embarrassment.

Brad looks it over, making the man blush. "Something tells me this isn't
for the missus, is it, Mr. Foster?"

Mr. Foster says nothing, but his cock remains rock hard.

"Wait a minute." Brad pauses as he reaches his hand back into the
drawer. He pulls out a used, stained jockstrap. His own high school emblem
is branded on the strap.

Again, Mr. Foster hangs his head in shame.

"What the fuck is this, Mr. Foster?"

"It's a jockstrap." The man mumbles.

"I know what it is. But I want to know what it's doing in the bedside table
of one of the richest men in town right next to a giant dildo."

The man says nothing.

"Is it Jason's?"

Mr. Foster turns red. "It has nothing to do with Jason!" He pleads.

The look on this face is panicked, but sincere.

"Then what the fuck is it doing in your bedside table, Mr. Foster? Who do
you think about?"

"I think about Brad Williams." Mr. Foster confesses, his spark finally
coming back. He stands a little taller.



"Yeah, Mr. Foster?" Brad smirks, feeling the weight of the dildo in his
hand and smelling the jockstrap. "Tell me what you do when you think about
me.

 Mr. Foster looked conflicted, like he was being forced to confess one of
his deepest, darkest secrets.  Brad continued tormenting the elite man
standing before him. "Do you slip that dad ass into these and then sit on
this fat thing while you think about me, Mr. Foster? Dreaming about the
glory days when you were on the team and you were the town football star?"
He reaches out his hand and starts playing with the man's pec.  "No."
Mr. Foster answers, straightening up and becoming more confident, looking
the cocky athlete right in the eyes. The way Brad was working over his
nipple was almost making him light-headed, but he continued on. "I slide
that thing in and out of my ass while I strap that dirty jock across my
face and I blow my load thinking about Brad fucking Williams taking my ass
and making my dad hole his."

"Get on your fucking knees." Brad huffed, pushing the man down on the
mattress and getting on top of him, sliding his big cock up and down his
taint.

"Oh fuck!" Mr. Foster groaned underneath him.

"Tell me how much you want it, Mr. Foster." Brad whispered in his ear.

"Aw fuck, kid, I want it so fucking bad." The man begged, turning his face
so he could make out with the cocky athlete. The man grabbed the lube and
passed it back to him urgently, grabbing the side of the mattress in
frustrated anticipation.

Images flashed in Brad's mind of his dad in this same position. On all
fours, nudging lube in his best friend's hand so he could fuck him. He
hated it.

"Get me ready." Brad commanded the man underneath him, tapping his cock at
his hole.

Mr. Foster got up and stared right into the athlete's eyes as he squeezed
the lube into his palm and slicked up the dick tapping at his hole. He
leaned in to kiss him again, but Brad pulled away, forcing him down again.

In one motion, Brad thrust in to the hilt.

"God damn! Ugh!" Mr. Foster groaned in what sounded like mostly
pleasure. Brad hadn't intended on sinking his entire shaft but Mr. Foster
had let him in with absolutely zero resistance. The man took him like a
fucking champ, groaning underneath him in sheer pleasure.

Brad leaned down and whispered in his hear. "So if I'm not the one to break
you in, tell me who you gave it up for, Mr. Foster."

"Just fuck me, Brad Williams. . ." Mr. Foster groaned, trying to tune him
out.

"Tell me." Brad repeated, more firm, running his hands along the man's
pecs, feeling him up as he claimed his ass.

"My- business part-ner. . . Just after- college-" Mr. Foster grunted in
time with Brad's powerful thrusts.

"What a fucking clich?." Brad smirked, running his hands over his
conquest's hairy torso. "Tell me, Mr. F." He continued, slamming into
him. "You didn't let him in just once, did you." He observed more than
asked.

Mr. Foster said nothing, as he started furiously jacking off his cock
underneath him.

"I knew you were an easy lay. I'm sure he could have it anytime he wanted
it, didn't he, Mr. F?"

"Fuck yeah, he did." He grunted.

"So what ever happened to this guy? Did he knock up a pretty blond chick
like you did and try and convince himself it would never happen again? When
was that last time you gave it up for him, Mr. Foster?"

"Last night."

That did it. Brad shoved the man's face into the mattress and went for his
nut. He could feel it boiling up and he let loose, absolutely drenching the
tight, sore, worn out dad hole pulsing around it.

He continued to launch his seed up the elite upper class man underneath him
until it was too much. He pulled out and panted, wiping his
brow. Mr. Foster rolled over to catch his breath. Apparently he had shot a
mammoth load of his own into the sheets as well. He then leaned his head up
to kiss him but Brad turned away.

"That's not what this was." Brad said, getting up off of the bed and
throwing on his clothes.

Mr. Foster hung his head in shame at Brad's blunt denial of any post-coital
intimacy.

Brad sighed and stepped out of his briefs again and tossed them onto the
bed, right on top of the dirty jockstrap. "Thanks. . ." Mr. Foster said,
gratefully, grabbing them and feeling them with his hands. Brad gave him an
appreciative nod and left. He had something to do.



Brad Williams gave a long, drawn-out sigh as he brought his hand to the
door of his home and turned it, walking in.

	Mr. Williams and I were sitting closely on the stairs but
immediately broke apart from each other, stunned at his arrival.

	"Brad, I-" Mr. Williams began.

	"I'm going to ask you two one question." Brad said, looking his
father and best friend in the eyes. "And I swear to God if you two bullshit
me for one second we are done. You got it? Done." He said, sternly. I could
tell he was serious.

	"Alright." Mr. Williams gulped. I couldn't even answer him. I
couldn't imagine what I could say to make this all okay.

	Brad stared at us for a second before he took a deep breath. "Are
you two in love?"

	Mr. Williams and I both said nothing. I honestly didn't know what
Brad wanted to hear. What could possibly make up for the betrayal we had
both inflicted on him?

	I looked at Mr. Williams and he looked at me.

	"Yes, son." He said, quietly. "We're in love."

	Brad took another deep breath, and I couldn't tell if he was about
to punch his fist through a wall or what. I couldn't look at him.

	"Ollie?" He said to me, turning his gaze to me.

	"Yes, Brad?" I reply delicately.

	"Is this true? Are you in love with my dad?" He asked me.

	"Yeah, man." I said, quietly. "I love him."

	Brad sighed and began to walk toward us. Mr. Williams and I look at
one another, not knowing what to expect.

	"It's going to take some time." Brad sighed under his breath. "But,
I believe you two. I think I get it."

	He walked upstairs and we heard his bedroom door shut.