BBC on Campus

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.

• If it is illegal for you to read this story because of your age, location 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 mélange 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