BBC on Campus

My usual disclaimers:

• My past colors everything I write, from images I recall to personal experiences. This story, however, is fiction. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

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• 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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BBC ON CAMPUS

CHAPTER TWENTY – CHICAGO CUM CUB

Max and I had some down time in Chicago, and I showed Max a few of the sites of the city – at least the ones that you didn't mind seeing when the bitterly cold wind was blowing off Lake Michigan. We also ate at a couple of dives I liked.

Max loved the Art Museum. He was a baseball fan, too, so one afternoon I called Johnny, an old fuck partner that worked for the Chicago Cubs. The Cubs offered tours of Wrigley Field, but only during the summer. Johnny, however, told me to drop by and he would take us on a private tour.

I met Johnny the summer he moved to Chicago. He had just graduated from college down south, and we met at a party thrown by Brent, a guy I was fucking at the time. Being 16, I thought of Brent as old, although he wasn't yet 30. Brent had an informal circle of friends from across the country that was essentially a gay fraternity of 20-something men, most of whom met at Ivy League colleges. The group got together four times a year for a splashy party, in places like Las Vegas or New Orleans or Aspen. The group members took turns as the party host. Brent was the host for the summer party that year, and had chartered an enormous boat to take the group out on Lake Michigan.

Under the group's unwritten rules, the party host, along with whoever was hosting the next event, had to supply fresh fruit.' It had nothing to do with melons, bananas and blueberries. Fresh fruit meant arranging at least two hot guys to entertain the partiers. The fresh fruit was usually trade, but the only rule was that nobody other than the host could have slept with the entertainment. Thus the idea of fresh' fruit. I was Brent's contribution. Preston, the other guy in Brent's group tabbed with providing fresh fruit, brought Johnny.

I wasn't aware that Johnny and I were the fresh fruit or even what the fresh fruit thing was all about. But it was apparent Johnny and I were different than the rest of Brent's friends. We were younger and we were not prep school grads with fabulously wealthy parents. Oddly enough, it was the first of the group's parties where the fresh fruit wasn't trade, but everyone assumed Johnny and I were trade and behaved accordingly.

Despite not knowing the fresh fruit rules, it wasn't hard for me to figure out what Johnny and I brought to the party. We were obviously boy toys. Neither of us were bothered by that, much less offended. I was 16 and feeling my oats, surprised by how easy it was to fuck older men, and happy to let things go where they would. Johnny, being new in town, wanted to meet guys and was practical enough to know that men like Brent and Preston would open doors for him. The doors would open a lot quicker and a lot more frequently if Johnny opened his ass for the doorkeepers.

We were barely away from the marina when Brent suggested that Johnny and I strip off our shirts because it was so hot. We exchanged smirks, knowing the weather was a convenient excuse and what Brent wanted was for us to show his guests some skin, starting with our smooth, ripped chests. I didn't mind exposing the goods and Johnny didn't either; we both had a little exhibitionist streak. Johnny had a nice little body, and I was lanky and tall. Johnny had a perpetual smile and longish hair that swept over his forehead, and I had my dreadlocks, although they weren't as long then as later. And I had the big package between my legs, something I didn't mind showing off. Brent's friends didn't mind openly gaping at it.

Johnny was the life of the party. A couple of the old guys – hell, nobody on the boat was 35 so they didn't really qualify as old – started directing suggestive comments toward Johnny and me, and kept offering to grease us up with sun screen, even after the sun began to go down. Johnny played it up, inviting guys to feel his chest and abs. And his ass. His southern drawl got stronger and stronger as he flirted and downed Long Island Iced Teas. He was masculine enough that it didn't come off as too queeny. I picked up plenty of pointers about flirting, but it would never be my style.

As the day wore on, everyone got more and more drunk. Somebody produced joints and soon the group was stoned in addition to being drunk. The guests all knew where the party was headed, and sure enough an orgy broke out after Johnny slithered up to me and drawled, "Ah love hunks of milk chocolate." He planted a big, sloppy kiss on my mouth and pulled my shorts down, exposing my big black piece. The surprised gasps from the partiers signaled the start of the race. Two guys began mouthing my cock. I watched as one of Brent's friends stripped Johnny and fucked him on a big table at the back of the boat.

For Johnny, the orgy was a gang bang with him as the bangee. He took it up the ass from a conga line of guys. As soon as one guy finished, another plugged Johnny's hole. With a dick like mine, nobody expected me to bottom, and instead I attracted guys that wanted a big black cock up their ass. I had never been in a group fuck before, and I got off on having a rapt audience watching me pound ass. I dicked four of Brent's preppy friends, although it seemed like almost everybody on board took the opportunity to suck my cock or at least feel it up. My ability to get hard right after cumming made a hugely favorable impression, and I liked showing off and using my big dick to dominate men 10 or 15 years older than me.

By the time the group stumbled off the boat, it was well after midnight. I got a second wind on the way back to Brent's high rise condo. I had shot four times, but I could pump out more loads than that, no problem. I kept thinking about how the men on the boat gravitated either to watching me fuck Brent's friends or watching Johnny get his butt plowed. Brent had been in the group watching me, and his eyes sparkled whenever I humiliated one of his friends by slapping my cock across the dude's face or making him beg for my dick. I got a thrill when I slapped ass and told a dude to bend over because my big black cock owned his pussy. Recalling that got me turned on.

I decided to treat Brent the same way. I had been with him three or four times before, and I had fucked him each time, but I never thought about taking control and ordering him around. My taste of dominance on board the boat left me hungering for more. This time I was going to give the orders.

Once inside the condo, I slouched into a big chair and ordered Brent to get me a drink and then strip and make sure he put on a good show. He looked surprised and hesitated, but I could sense his excitement. He wanted to be dominated. The fact that I was a 16-year-old black punk with a big cock, and I was ordering him to service me, added to the attraction.

Brent followed my orders, and as he pulled off his jockeys, he was rock hard. I knew I would turn him into a pussy. I told him to get on his hands and knees and beg to suck my cock. I taunted him, reminding him my cock had been inside four guys' asses already that night, and soon it was going to be buried in his throat. Fucker wanted it bad.

Once I was hard, I slapped my dick across his face and asked how bad he wanted my fuck tool in his cunt. He pleaded with me, begging to be fucked, and I threw him on the bed. Belying his preppy looks, Brent had a star tattooed on his ass, and I demanded that he spread his crack for me, telling him to pull his ass cheeks farther and farther apart. I fucked him twice, calling him a slut and a cock pig and a whore for big black cock.

I was still turned on the next morning, and if possible Brent was more sex crazed than he had been the night before. I had released something in Brent that wasn't going back inside. And, I suppose, the same thing happened to me.

I told Brent I owned his sorry ass and he was my bitch. I made him get on his knees and backed him up to a wall of windows overlooking the lake and face fucked him, ramming my cock down his throat until his eyes watered. Then I stood him up and turned him to face the windows and hammered his ass, causing him to whimper and moan. Standing against the glass wall, I balled my new preppie boy toy, working up a good sweat as I pounded his hole mercilessly. When I finally blew my load and released him, Brent's cock had deposited a drizzly line of white cum on the windows. I made him lick his jism off the wall and then clean my cock.

Brent and I met some of Brent's friends from the boat for brunch, and the drinks started up again. Brent gave me hungry looks, and I knew I had conquered the wealthy prep school cum pig. Johnny was there, too, looking none the worse for the wear, still flirting and carrying on. I wondered if he had gone home with Preston or someone else. Maybe Preston and a couple of the other guys had continued the gang bang.

After brunch, I took off. Still relishing my new-found role as a dominant fuck stud, I didn't feel like going home. Instead I wandered down to the lake and took a nap on the beach. Afterward, I walked around and studied how men looked at me. Plenty of gay boys were enjoying the weather, and more than a few gave me a lingering look that mixed lust, desire and fear. When I returned their gazes with a predatory stare, I could sense their excitement. The gray wolf had been born.

Weirdly, I ran into Johnny. He was catching a few rays and I recognized his swimsuit from the boat even before I realized who he was. We talked for a while and got a bite to eat. I liked Johnny's drawl and his stories about life in Georgia. The open and matter-of-fact way that he talked about sex was fun. He told me his goal in life was to be a master raconteur, although I didn't know what that meant until he explained it just meant story-teller.

We ended up back at Johnny's apartment. We were both tired and groggy from the night before and the lazy afternoon, but we began cuddling and kissing. One thing led to another and Johnny started feeling my cock and I started feeling his ass. After that, it just sort of happened. Johnny crawled on top of me and ever so slowly eased my cock into his ass. I was surprised I was horny after the events of the night before, but Johnny's ass felt great.

Not only great, his ass felt amazing. I had been introduced to a sloppy boi cunt for the first time. Johnny had been quite the slut already that day. He slept with Preston after the night on the boat, and on the way to brunch, Preston stopped to pick up a friend, and the trio took time for an impromptu three way during which Johnny had taken both men's loads.

"That's not all," Johnny said, blushing as he confessed. "I am such a slut! I can't believe it, but do you remember our waiter at brunch? Tall guy with the dangly earring and tats on his arms? Well, I was joking with him, flirting a bit. Okay, flirting like crazy because that boy was hot. But I never thought anything would come of it. Anyway, I went to the rest room, and damn if our waiter didn't follow me into the john. He came up behind me at the urinal and I thought, why not?' I told him to make it quick because the group might wonder if I was gone too long. He accepted my invitation without saying anything and made quick work of my ass. Dude never even thanked me! It was wham, bam, but no thank you ma'am. He did wash his hands, like all restaurant workers are supposed to do after they use the rest room. Maybe they'll put a sign up that says wash hands after using customers' asses.' I wasn't upset, because I left with those two married guys and bottomed for both of them before I hit the park."

Five loads meant Johnny's ass was fully juiced by the time he climbed on me. He told me, "Go easy, honey. It's wide open but rawer than the wind in January." I loved Johnny's sloppy hole and from that day on I was hooked on used boi pussy.

Our afternoon fuck was so slow and leisurely that most of the time I pumped Johnny's cock sleeve, I didn't think I was going to cum. We both eventually climaxed. After it was over, we laughed about knowing what an afternoon delight meant.

"You know, Dread," Johnny told me in his soft southern drawl as we lounged in his bed. He was on his side, propped up on one arm, tracing imaginary lines across my bare chest. His brown eyes were so big and inviting that they could have been drawn by a comic book artist. "All southern men hope to get bred by a big black cock. It's genetic."

Chuckling, I asked, "So I just fulfilled your fantasy?"

Johnny laughed. "Honey, I been swinging on black dick since seconds after I decided to try a boy for the first time. First guy to fuck me was blacker than midnight on a moonless night. That boy made me see stars and I knew my destiny was to be a bottom boy to any dude with a stiff pecker.

"My friends in high school were all black, and they were some damn horny boys. I made it known that it was their God-given right to use my ass whenever their balls needed relief. The shy ones were the best. I'd pursue them until I got them alone and then go down on them without them asking. A perpetually horned-up teenager with a stiff cock is a boy with a one-track brain. Dudes that would never consider doing another guy would ram their cocks up my ass in no time and fuck like their lives depended on it.

"Those boys were damn competitive, too. One would find out a friend had dicked me and that would make him bound and determined to get a piece of my ass, too. Got fucked by the entire damn basketball team at school – starters and reserves – during one wild weekend my junior year. I've probably had more black cock inside me that a city block of Harlem hookers. But, I gotta say, with what you got between your legs, you can compete with any of the boys that used and abused my ass. You take this big slab of beef down south and you could rule the roost."

"I'm happy ruling the roost in Chicago," I said, thinking about how I had turned Brent into a pussy boy the previous night.

"Fuck, you're not 16," Johnny laughed. "You're really 36 in a 16-year-old's body." I smiled.

Johnny and I hooked up regularly after that. He would text me and say something like afternoon delight?' or southern boy craving u no what.' Because he knew I got off on sloppy holes, Johnny would also text me after he had gotten dicked and say sloppy pussy still open for more' or wanna whip da cream in my ass?' He texted me once on a whim as he headed home just after dawn, saying, `took 6 loads but nobody fucks like u.' I happened to still be up and met him at his apartment. He stopped for fresh donuts on the way and we ate the entire box in between fucks.

Johnny may have been the only guy I knew that was hornier than me. One night, after I plowed his tight ass for the third or fourth time, he said, "You really should try bottoming. Although I would hate to lose a fabulous top. But you can fuck a lot more if you bottom. Hell, I can take a dozen dicks in my pussy and still be ready for more."

"You trying to say you want to fuck my ass?" I asked, smiling.

"I would love to fuck your ass, honey," Johnny replied. "But it ain't happening. I want that beautiful black boa constrictor splitting my pale ass crack a lot more than I want my lily white cock in your dark fuck tunnel."

Our hook ups stopped – for the most part – after Johnny met and moved in with a sugar daddy. Johnny met the guy at a big party in Chicago that attracted a wide swath of wealthy gay men. Preston, the guy that brought Johnny to Brent's lake party, invited Johnny. Preston introduced Johnny around, including to a man that was high up in the Cubs organization. The man liked Johnny, and Johnny flirted and ramped up his southern charm, making it known he was ready, interested and available. Very available. The rest was history. Within a week Johnny moved into his new sugar daddy's big mansion on the lake north of the city, and Johnny was in a new job with the Cubs.

Wrigley Field was spooky on a cold December day, with the wind blowing through the empty stands and concourses. Max was like a little kid, awed by everything. We were in the press box when I asked Johnny if he was still living with his sugar daddy. Max's face betrayed his surprise at turn of the conversation. I don't think Max understood gay sugar daddies and their kept boys really existed.

"Not anymore," Johnny said, matter-of-factly. "It lasted three, almost four years, but he found a young twink. The new kid is annoying as hell. He's dumber than a puff of summer wind. Blond all the way through, from his pubes to his brain." Johnny glanced at Max after making the crack about blonds, maybe worried that he had insulted him, but Max as usual was impassive. With his thin nose and austere face, Max did not look dumb, and from Westcliffe I knew the kid was smart.

"I'd feel better if I got supplanted by a stud," Johnny continued, "but that's the way it goes. Unless you deceive yourself, you know from day one that a sugar daddy interested in young guys is only gonna stay interested while you're young, and sooner or later somebody younger will show up. The twink that is going to give you your walking papers is just around the corner.

"I have to admit that being a kept man was fabulous," Johnny continued. "But I had a good run and got a pretty lavish alimony, if you can call it that, so I'm not hurting. We're still on friendly terms, and he likes the fact that I'll put out when his baseball friends are in town and one of them wants a hot fuck with a guy that will be absolutely discreet. I think he misses actually having adult conversations, because the new boy toy is completely incapable of constructing a sentence of more than four words. The twink has only a single skill, and that's to put his legs in the air." Max's eyes widened as Johnny described his situation, but characteristically Max said nothing as he listened.

We were at the last stop on the tour, the Cubs' locker room, when I casually asked, "You ever get a baseball player to fuck you here, in the locker room?"

Johnny sighed and said, "God, no, but I always wanted to. Several of the players are gay – everybody knows it, nobody talks about it – and I would love to score a ball player right here, in the locker room, but the closest I've gotten is the executive suite upstairs. I'm working on two of the players, though."

Just like old times, Johnny was thinking about sex more often than not, and the talk about doing it in the locker room spurred him into action. I figured Johnny wouldn't mind another roll in the hay, maybe for old times' sake, and sure enough he grinned and reached for my cock. He massaged it through my jeans and said, "Damn, you always did have the biggest and best tool around. What do you say you make a fantasy come true and dick me right here?"

I had been anticipating Johnny's proposal and smiled, although I wasn't certain about fucking him in the locker room, where presumably any number of people could catch us by chance. But Johnny knew the risk. He had a damn fine ass, and was still in good shape. It had been six and a half years since I had met Johnny on Brent's boat, but that meant he was probably only 28 or 29, still lean, buff and handsome. Actually, he was now closer to the age group I liked. "That's always been my job, hasn't it?" I answered. "Making your fantasies come true?"

Johnny laughed and said, "Darling, with the dick between your legs, you are a dream come true for any gay man." Johnny glanced at Max, who was looking a little shell-shocked, and added with a leer, "But, as long as we're on fantasies, one thing I always wanted was to get double fucked. You think your friend might be interested?"

"He's yours for the asking," I replied. "We both are. Max, get your clothes off and get Johnny's ass wet and ready and show him you can give a damn good blow job."

Max never hesitated and seemed relieved to be told what to do. Despite being in the middle of the locker room where anybody could walk in, Max's clothes were off in no time and he dropped to his knees in front of Johnny. It was Johnny's turn to look surprised, but he soon was moaning as Max coaxed Johnny's cock to life.

I wondered how a double fuck would go without any lube, but Max was always prepared. He had pulled some lube out of his jeans as he undressed, and left it within easy reach. I eased my cock from my jeans, letting Johnny fondle it and suck it for a while. Max stopped on Johnny's cock long enough for Johnny to undress, and once naked, Johnny took the opportunity to explore Max's cock. "Damn," he said as he slurped on Max's white rod, "for a white boy you're hung. This double fuck might not be my best idea."

"Chickening out?" I asked.

Johnny pulled off Max's boner long enough to say, "Hell no! I may regret it, but I'd regret it a helluva lot more if I let the opportunity pass. That would be a tragedy, honey."

Meanwhile, Max had maneuvered into position so that he could rim Johnny while Johnny deep throated Max's seven inches. Johnny was enjoying the rim job. He kept stopping to exclaim as Max's tongue worked its magic.

I was ready to get the show on the road, so I greased my cock and flattened myself on a locker room bench. With a bemused smile on his face, Johnny straddled me and began to lower himself on my cock. He closed his eyes and I watched his expressions as he sat on my black monster. He started with a grimace but then his face showed amazement and finally ecstasy. "Oh my God!" Johnny gasped. After working my cock all the way inside him, Johnny began to ride me, his slender legs flexing with each upward and downward motion.

I'm not a big fan of guys riding me. I know taking a big cock is easier if you control how it enters you, so lots of guys prefer taking big fuck poles by sitting on them. But I liked being in control, liked feeling that the guy getting drilled by my cock was at my mercy. Starting with that first summer afternoon in Chicago, Johnny had always wanted to ride me and I let him, but I wasn't certain why.

Max's face appeared over Johnny's bare shoulder. He had an intense look as he grabbed Johnny's shoulders. Max's rigid cock rubbed against mine as it demanded entrance to Johnny's tight hole. I was skeptical that this would work, but I felt the head of Max's cock slip inside Johnny's hole and Johnny yelped. Max hesitated, but Johnny said, "God, yeah, go for it! Fuck my ass! Double fuck me!"

Johnny's cock was like a flagpole pointing to the locker room ceiling. I saw Max grab Johnny's hips and could feel his slippery cock slide farther inside Johnny's ass. Johnny leaned forward, his chest touching mine, giving Max more of an opening to drill. Johnny's boner was pressed against my abs, and Max's cock felt like a hand massaging my dick, even though I was all the way inside Johnny's fuck chute.

Johnny began to rock forward, which allowed me to thrust upward a bit as Max got into a good fucking motion behind Johnny. I felt a little trapped, unable to fuck the way I normally would. All in all, I thought it was far from my favorite sex, but this was Johnny's show.

However, as the double fuck went on, Max's hard prick felt amazing sliding against me. I began to think about other double fuck possibilities. Jesse's hard dance-boy ass would be awesome. Travis might never be the same if Max and I DPed the dreamboat stoner. And what about Kent? The sexy young prof was hungry for dick, and getting two at the same time might send him into orbit. I had a feeling Kyle was a double fuck veteran. The slutty twink had probably taken his buds Donny and Jack at the same time, and it wouldn't have surprised me to find half a dozen other horny college studs had dicked the twink's ass at the same time as another dude. It was too bad Jim had gone back to Scotland, because his pale ass would be amazing.

Johnny's mouth found mine and he began to kiss me feverishly as he ground his cock against my abs. I don't know how long Max and I double fucked Johnny, but I began to sense Johnny was close. "God, yeah, fuck my ass!" he cried. "Rip it open!" If anyone was in the locker room area, they had a loud announcement of what we were doing. Suddenly Johnny's cock exploded, coating my abs with intense, forceful jets of white cum. I wasn't certain, but I think Max came, too. It soon became apparent he had. After catching his breath, Max pulled out and Johnny slowly climbed off me, looking dazed, his cock still dripping cum.

Max immediately went to work on my stomach and cock, cleaning Johnny's cum off my abs. Max was good that way. He was almost possessive of me, always cleaning me the moment he sensed the time was right. This time, however, he knew my cock wasn't done and didn't touch it. He made no move toward Johnny's dripping hole, either.

Johnny watched Max with a stunned look on his face. I was kinda pissed that both Max and Johnny had gotten off while I hadn't cum and was used almost as a prop. I climbed up from the bench and shoved Johnny face first against one of the lockers and powered my cock back inside his cunt. Like I said, I love a used pussy, and Max had seeded Johnny's hole with a nice, juicy load. Fucking a guy after Max had juiced the dude's ass was becoming a pattern, I thought, but not one I minded.

I made sure I made up for all those times I had let Johnny ride me instead of me fucking his brains out. I drilled the southern belle for a long time, keeping him pinned against the locker and ramming my cock inside his hole. I eventually nutted, spewing my load in him, whispering in his ear that he was going to remember this fuck every time he set foot inside Wrigley.

It was beginning to get dark as we finished the tour in the executive offices. Johnny invited us to a party later that night, but Max had a full schedule of tricks lined up, including a duo of tops at the end of the night. And I was hooking up too, ironically with Brent, who had recently inherited his grandfather's millions and was richer than sin. So I begged off. I knew I wouldn't be too late with Brent, who had some society event to attend after we met, and I had a strange desire to watch the security camera in the hotel suite and see Max get fucked by the two tops. I was planning to use Max's hole after that, when it was wet and sloppy.

Max stopped into the men's room before we left, and Johnny took the opportunity to whisper to me, "Your boyfriend is damn hot."

"Boyfriend?" I echoed. "Max? He's not my boyfriend." I hadn't occurred to me that anyone would think we were together. My old buddy Tom knew better, and I was surprised that Johnny would miss so badly.

"Oh, I just thought – uh, sorry," Johnny replied. I could tell Johnny was wondering what Max and I were doing together if Max wasn't my boyfriend.

Max emerged from the men's room just as one of the Cubs' executives walked by. He was a big, beefy guy with a barrel chest. He might have been a former ball player, although his physique marked him more as a football player than a baseball player. The man gave Max a long, apprising look, his eyes panning Max up and down.

Once the man was gone, Johnny said, "I know that look. Nielson thinks you're hot, Max." Max, as usual, was silent.

"What's his thing?" I asked, looking down the hallway where the man had disappeared.

"Rent boys," Johnny snorted with disdain. I wondered how a guy that had been a sugar daddy's trophy twink for four years could look down on rent boys. "Constant parade of `em," Johnny added. "Nielson loves a cock he hasn't sucked and an ass he hasn't fucked."

"I take it he's done you?" I asked.

Johnny clenched his jaws and nodded. "Oh, yeah. I've been Nielson's entertainment plenty of times. He's a sadistic fuck. He pays his whores a boatload of money and then pays me crap because he knows he can fire my ass if he wants to. Fortunately he likes blond boys so I'm usually off the hook unless he strikes out in his quest for fresh twink ass. I'm his ass of last resort."

This might be a great opportunity, I thought. The problem with the web app was that really wealthy guys were too worried about privacy to use it. Without the top end of the market, there was a lid on the amount you could charge. But Nielson sounded like a guy that would pay up for Max.

"Tell you what," I said to Johnny, making sure nobody could hear us. "Max would be delighted to entertain your man Nielson, wouldn't you Max?" Max nodded dutifully. "For the right price. Max ain't cheap. You get as much mileage out of it with Nielson as you can – promotion, raise, bonus, you name it. Have Nielson contact me. I'll arrange it all. But Max and I are only in town another three nights, counting tonight. You tell Nielson that one of your friends said Max is one of the best fucks he has ever had. You can add your own two cents, too, unless Nielson would get turned off knowing that you and Max have played around." I was considering other options. Although we were leaving town, Max could always come back if the price was right. Or he could meet Nielson in another city, maybe on one of Nielson's business trips.

"You sure?" Johnny said, looking back and forth between Max and me.

"Absolutely," I answered. Max stood silently.

"Shit," Johnny replied. I could tell his mind was working. After a long pause, he said, "Okay." He showed us to the door, acting distracted, and disappeared back into the executive suite.

The odds were against anything happening. For all I knew, Nielson had obligations each night, or maybe he wasn't as interested in Max as he appeared to be. But early the following afternoon, he called.

Was Max available two nights from now? Yes. For an overnight? Yes. Where had Max worked? I told him San Francisco. After all, Max had been there over Thanksgiving, and he was getting paid, even if it was only with one man. I doubted Montana would sound impressive and Chicago was obvious, although maybe telling Nielson that Max had worked O'Hare would catch his attention.

Was there anything Max wouldn't do? I paused, recalling that Johnny said Nielson was sadistic. This could be tricky. I asked what Nielson had in mind. He described some tame bondage and light S&M. Likely that Nielson was holding out on me, but I had to take a chance. I told him Max would be fine with what he described, but I wanted a safe word. Nielson said `Cubs.' I answered a few more questions, and the issue of price came up. Given the BDSM Nielson had in mind, I told Nielson Max's overnight rate was six grand, figuring I could come down if Nielson balked. While he hadn't mentioned it, I assumed Nielson feared exposure, so I preempted that issue by telling Nielson that both Max and I were extremely discreet, and the entire transaction would be forgotten the morning afterward. Nielson never hesitated, accepting the price. I wondered if I should have gone higher.

"There is one more thing," Nielson said.

Uh, oh, I thought. This may not work out after all.

"The boy is to be locked in a chastity cage," Nielson said. His voice was steely and arrogant. "Metal, not plastic. He's to present the key to me when he arrives. He behaves, does what I want, and shows me a good time, then he gets the key back when he leaves. He fucks up, then the key stays with me."

Anyone knew that you could double key a chastity cage. So Nielson's threat to keep the key was hollow. To anyone, that is, except maybe Max. Max hadn't come out and admitted it, but he was intrigued by Koichi's chastity cage. This might be interesting.

"Done," I replied. Nielson said he would send a car to pick Max up. He probably thought a taxi cab would make his neighbors suspicious while a car service was routine.

I rescheduled two of Max's appointments, which took some work, but eventually I freed Max's last evening in Chicago. I explained to Max what I surmised he should expect from Nielson. Max nodded dutifully. And I told Max about safe words. I asked him to repeat `Cubs' to me twice, then grabbed his hand and wrenched it behind him and squeezed his balls to the point of crushing them. Before I put him into any real pain, Max understood what I was doing and gasped, "Cubs!" I wanted pain to trigger the word for him. He might not be a big Cubs fan after tonight.

I clamped the chastity cage tightly around Max's big cock and handed him the key to present to Nielson. I had two spare keys just in case, although I wondered why cages didn't usually come with multiple keys. I explained Nielson's request concerning the cage to Max. I knew Max well enough to know he was afraid, but he looked me directly in the eyes with a sense of serenity and nodded.

Max returned the next morning barely an hour before we needed to leave for the airport. He presented the key to his chastity cage to me. "Nielson unlocked it because he wanted to see how big I was and how much I could shoot," Max explained nonchalantly. "But after that, he put it back on and said that if he owned me, I'd wear it forever."

Max seemed puzzled when I didn't immediately unlock the cage. "You don't have much time," I said, ignoring the key. He quickly jumped in the shower. As he undressed, I noticed a bruise on his neck. His wrists and ankles had marks on them, too, likely from cuffs. If that was the worst that had happened, he was probably lucky.

When Max was out of the shower, I asked him how the night had gone, but he was his usual taciturn self and just said, "Okay." Max was stoic and relaxed. I opted not to press him on exactly what transpired during his night with Neilson, and I never got a full report.

Whether our good luck in meeting Ronny and getting upgraded on the flight to Chicago was due to Max's slut boy look or not, I decided Max needed to look the part of a jock whore for the return flight. I had him slide into his tight, ripped jeans – no underwear – and add a sleeveless shirt with big, dropped armholes that went almost to the bottom of the shirt. From the side, the getup left little of Max's awesome chest, abs and arms to the imagination. I felt compelled to take another picture for the website. This costume might be even hotter than the one Max wore on the way to Chicago.

Max's uniform would look completely out of place for O'Hare Airport in the dead of winter, which would make Max more eye-catching. He looked like a refugee from the beaches of Brazil. Even if the outfit didn't help us on the return flight, I liked looking at Max's body. Maybe I would initiate Max into the mile high club on the plane, although the lavatories on planes were so tiny I wondered how you could really do it during a flight.

In the taxi headed to O'Hare, I was surprised when Max pulled a thick stack of bills from his jeans and presented them to me. "What's this?" I asked, covering Max's hand and hoping the taxi driver hadn't seen the stack. Nothing good could come from someone seeing Max flash around a wad of bills like that.

"The rent," Max said calmly. "For the hotel room. The hotel clerk told me the normal rate for the suite was $700 a night. I figured it would be $800 with taxes. You told me you paid the rent and you expected me to pay you back."

I almost laughed. "You don't get off that easily," I said, watching the crushed look on Max's face. "Put your cash away. It's yours. You earned it. But yes, you owe me and I'll collect what I want, when I want it. It won't be money, understand?"

Max swallowed and nodded, saying, "Yes, sir." I swear I detected a faint smile form on his thin lips. He started to put the wad of bills back in his jeans pocket.

"Uh, Max," I said, "pulling that bankroll out for everyone to gawk at when you go through security isn't smart. Stick it in your backpack and separate it into a different stacks, so it isn't so obvious to the scanners." Max nodded and squirreled the cash into various corners of his backpack.

"How'd you like Chicago?" I asked when he was done. Because Max was so quiet, he was hard to read. I wouldn't have been surprised if he had told me it was the worst experience of his life. It also wouldn't matter to me. Even if he told me he hated it, he would do it again when I wanted.

He was silent for a second and then said, "It was a hundred times better than what it would have been like at Westcliffe, and a thousand times better than what would have happened to me at home." He paused for a second, and then added, "At what used to be home."

I was surprised by the kid's response, but I had been surprised by him often over the last month. Max looked at me with his bright blue eyes and said, "Thanks for taking me along. I really appreciate it. I know I interfered with you being with your family. I'm really sorry about that. I'd like to make it up to you."

Max had reduced my family time, but I wasn't complaining. I had as much time with my relatives as I wanted. Probably more. The hotel suite had been perfect for hooking up with old fuck buddies, particularly Tom. Drilling his muscular gym-rat ass had been spectacular, and I probably wouldn't have tracked him down – much less asked him about something like a hotel room – if it hadn't been for Max.

Max was lost in his thoughts, staring out the window at the buildings along the expressway, but he turned to me and said, "I could never have done what I did without you telling me how to read guys and telling me that you expected me to do exactly what they wanted, regardless of what I wanted. It seemed natural, so simple and so right. Knowing you were in charge made me completely relaxed. And knowing I was doing what you wanted made me... well, happy." Max gazed at me with his perfect ice blue eyes.

"The chastity cage," he whispered, "I like it. I like knowing that you have the only keys and I can only cum when you give me permission. You own my holes, and now, every moment of day and night, you own my cock, too." As I predicted, I had gotten inside his head.

When we checked in for the flight, we had been upgraded to first class again. I puzzled over that, given that neither Max nor I flew enough to be on any sort of frequent flyer list. The mystery was answered when we boarded and discovered Ronny on the flight, the same flight attendant that had been on the flight into Chicago and had taken our cocks in the airport after we landed. Flight attendants often flew the same routes, so his presence wasn't too surprising. He gave us a big smile and explained, "I saw you boys on the passenger list, and for old times' sake wanted you in first class." Ronny didn't have any long layovers this time, but at least we had a pleasant flight.

TO BE CONTINUED...

But not for long... The final chapter is in the works; I hope you've enjoyed the series and will enjoy the ending.

I've very much appreciated hearing from readers and once again thank those of you that have sent me notes. It's rewarding to know that the story is being read and that some of you like it. Email me at Coltonaalto@gmail.com

© Copyright Colton Aalto 2015