Under the Boot

The usual disclaimers:

• My experiences flavor everything I write; sometimes a fleeting image, sometimes a distinctly remembered scene. 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. In real-life, be safe!

I appreciate hearing readers' reactions; thanks for sending me your thoughts, suggestions and reactions. Email: coltonaalto@gmail.com.

Consider a donation to help keep Nifty.org alive. Http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html

Author's note: This story is an alternative point-of-view retelling of chapter 8 of BBC on Campus,' a serial I wrote for Nifty (you can find it under the same categories as this story). BBC on Campus' is written from the POV of Dillinger, the serial's main character. This story, Under the Boot... or Heel Hell,' is written from the POV of Shane, who only appears in chapter 8 of the serial. I wrote this story at the suggestion of a reader who liked Shane's chapter in BBC on Campus.' This is the last part of the story (for now), so after you've made it through the story, you can read chapter 8 without spoiling the ending.

UNDER THE BOOT ... OR HEEL HELL

Part Four – Thursday night – Dillinger's the One

On the street outside the Boot, the cool night air revived me a bit. It smelled incredibly good after the dank stench of the Boot's basement. Unfortunately the cum that the black leather dudes in the basement had shoved up my nose still overwhelmed me, every time I took a breath, with the musky aroma of jizz. I had no idea how long it would take for that smell to go away.

The coolness of the air against my bare ass left no doubt that I had a huge hole in the seat of my jeans and boxers. I struggled to zip my leather coat up to hide my bare chest as Dillinger hailed a cab.

A cab pulled up almost immediately, which was a relief. Walking New York's crowded streets and riding the subway while sporting a gaping hole in the rear of my jeans was not how I wanted to spend my first night in New York. Or any night, for that matter.

As soon as we were in the cab and Dillinger gave the cabbie our address, I blurted out, "We're not going back there, are me? I mean, the guy said to bring me back in three months."

"Not unless you want to go back," Dillinger replied, chuckling.

"Fuck, no!" I said, relieved. My brain was still spinning from the experience. I kept being reminded of the basement below the bar by the leather of my coat pressing against my bare chest, the gaping hole in the ass of my jeans, and the pervading aroma of cum that I couldn't vanquish. "What was that place?" I asked.

"Well, the street level bar is called the Boot," Dillinger said. "The Boot is where black tops and white bottoms meet. That's why the bouncer was so happy to see us. He assumed that's what we were, a couple, me the top and you the bottom, and the bar is always on the hunt for young eye candy for the rest of the customers to enjoy. Hell, if we had wanted to play the game, we could have drank all night at the Boot and never paid for a single drink."

My mind drifted back to Jeron. Based on Dillinger's description of the Boot's clientele, Jeron's comments made sense. He was a top and took me for a bottom. His invitation to have sex was an invitation to get my ass fucked. When he talked about my bubble butt, he was envisioning his cock inside it. When he said he had what I wanted, he meant his cock. When he said I would look good in his bed, he meant I would look good face down and ass up.

"The basement is called the Heel," Dillinger continued, "although sometimes it's called Boot Hell or Heel Hell by the bar's patrons. The Heel has a well-deserved reputation for raunchy sex and gratuitous violence; it's for brutal black masters and submissive white slaves. The Heel's back rooms are infamous for open sex action, but it usually goes down much later at night. You were sort of an early evening hors d'oeuvres for the Heel dudes. They were happy to have some fresh meat so early in the night, and they were in the mood to play, although I guess you noticed that."

"What the fuck would have happened to me?"

"Hmmm," Dillinger replied. "The only white men that find their way to the Heel are guys that want to be dominated, humiliated and tortured. You were a juicy morsel because you didn't fit the pattern of a white guy begging to be abused; you probably didn't keep your eyes on the ground and defer properly. But there you were, so everyone assumed you were good with whatever was to be done to you. I'm guessing... but I'd say that any pleas for mercy would be ignored and the more you struggled and suffered, the more the dudes in the Heel would have poured it on. That's the dynamic of the Heel's infamous back rooms.

"You wouldn't have gotten fucked until later in the night. Probably. A few dudes like to be first in the hole, so one of them might have taken you early. Regardless, plenty of cocks would have invaded your mouth and asshole before the dam broke, but usually those guys don't want to cum too quickly; they like to drag it out until the wee hours of the morning and then start the fireworks. Once the first dom bred you, your holes would have taken on plenty of cum. The thugs that were holding you would go first, but after they were done you'd be fair game for any dom in the crowd. Tight twink ass is a delicacy at the Heel, so with your body and your looks, you'd have attracted a lot of attention. Not a good thing. Actually, your fate was probably determined when the thugs took your shirt and saw your chest and abs and realized that you were smooth and ripped. Getting a close up look at your asshole sealed the deal.

"No one would have lifted a finger to help you regardless of how much you begged, because it's understood that a white boy in the Heel is there because he craves exactly the sort of abuse and humiliation that you'd have endured. So you'd have been down there until after dawn. The Boot and the Heel stop serving alcohol at 4:00 a.m., but the back room action in the Heel basement doesn't stop until the last pair of black balls seeds the victim de jour. I suspect you would have been kicked out the back door, stinking of piss, your holes cum-filled and your clothes, if any remnants were left, in tatters."

I shuddered at Dillinger's description of the fate I had narrowly avoided. "How did you know what to say to those guys?" As much as it had stunned me when Dillinger started talking like I was his slave, the dude knew what he was doing.

"Lucky guess," Dillinger said matter-of-factly. "If it hadn't worked, things would not have gone well for either of us."

I saw the way Dillinger, despite his youth, took command of the action in the Heel, and I didn't buy that his speech there was merely a lucky guess. Some luck might have been involved in determining my fate, but Dillinger was the only man I wanted to roll the dice for me in that situation. I was struck once again about how fortunate I was to be with him.

"I was relying on the unwritten rules of the game played at the Heel," Dillinger continued. "The Heel's black doms can play with any white, Latino or Asian man that walks into the place, but a sub or slave owned by a black master is off limits without his master's permission. So they thought I was your master and I wasn't giving permission to abuse you. The shaky part of my scheme was that subs are never in the Heel as anything but playthings. A white boy in the Heel is there because his master wants to humiliate him and subject him to a gang rape. Subs aren't brought to the bar for other reasons, certainly not to enjoy a night on the town as a reward for supposed good behavior. But those dudes bought it, at least until I got you out."

As we neared Stian's apartment, I said, "God, what can I do to thank you? That was the scariest thing that's ever happened to me."

"Well, the dudes back there were right about one thing. You do have a remarkably fine ass. I can use chains and sex toys in Stian's apartment to torture you when we get there," Dillinger said.

My eyes went wide, thinking maybe I had slipped into the Twilight Zone after all, but Dillinger laughed. "I'm playing with you," he said. "Stian is into a lot of kinky stuff, but at least the last time I fucked him, bondage wasn't one of them. Relax, forget about the Heel. Seriously. Put it out of your mind."

"Fuck," I exhaled, staring out the cab window. I kept thinking how close I had come to one of those black guys stuffing his dick in my ass and wondered what it would have been like. Jesse, one of my best friends on campus, was gay and talked about sex endlessly. He raved about how it felt to have a stiff cock up his ass. Jesse's straight friends continually scoffed at the thought, but Jesse had repeated it often enough that I had become, well, curious. It wasn't like I would ever date a gay guy, so tonight was probably the closest I would ever come to finding out if there was something to what Jesse said. Not that I wished things had turned out differently in the Heel, but a small part of me wondered about having a cock up my ass.

"Too bad Stian is out of town," Dillinger said as we entered Stian's apartment. "Thinking about him reminds me of how awesome his ass is. I can almost see his hot, bare ass in this bed, lubed and ready for cock. Sounds damn good right now."

Fuck! It was as if Dillinger had eavesdropped on my mind, discovering I was a tiny bit curious about getting fucked.

Dillinger opened a couple of beers. Even though I was tanked after drinking at dinner and again in the Boot, I gratefully guzzled the beer, still in a daze and trying to process what had happened.

Dillinger excused himself to go to the rest room and get ready for bed. When he returned he casually stripped and climbed into bed. Seeing Dillinger's amazing body, I had the same thought I had had the first time I met him. If I was ever going to do something with a guy, it would be Dillinger. My curiosity about getting butt fucked reared its head. I recalled Jeron saying, "I can see into your soul and it tells me you need a man's dick." The more I thought about it, the more I was certain. Maybe I didn't need any dick that happened to be around, but I wanted and needed Dillinger's.

I downed my last swig of beer and dropped what was left of my destroyed jeans and boxers. "Fuck me," I said. "I want you to fuck me. You saved my life back there and I can't do anything else to thank you. You said you wanted an ass to fuck. Fuck mine."

"Dude, dude," Dillinger said. With a bemused smile he added, "I wasn't hinting about getting a fuck if that's what you think." He hadn't pulled the covers all the way up, and his Café-au-lait skin, punctuated by his awesome chest and abs, stood out against the white sheets. His dreadlocks were tied into a ponytail, which made his handsome face more striking.

"No, it's not that," I said. "I'm drunk as hell, so just fuck my ass. You said I had a fine ass, so use it. I want your cock. Please, fuck me!" I got on all fours, my shoulders on the bed and my ass in the air. I might never tell another man to fuck my ass, but then and there, drunk and still dazed from my night on the town, I wanted it. I wanted Dillinger.

Dillinger looked skeptical, but any uncertainty I may have felt was long gone. "Fuck my ass," I begged. "I want it. I need your cock." Earlier in the night, Jeron was totally bullshitting with his line about seeing into my soul, but by sheer chance he had been correct.

From the corner of my eye, I watched Dillinger climb out of bed and I got my first clear look at his cock. Fuck! He had to be bigger than the guy with the huge dong at the Heel, and Dillinger was completely soft. When the bouncer at the Boot scoped Dillinger out, I noticed the big bulge in his jeans, but seeing his schlong exposed and dangling between his thighs, I was confronted with the reality of what I had begged for only moments ago.

It was as if I was no longer in my body but watching from afar as I stared at Dillinger's cock in morbid fascination. He was uncut, like I was, and a thick vein ran down the top of his enormous black sausage. As Dillinger fished some lube from a small bedside table, the slab of meat began to harden and lift off his thighs. Beneath the awakening dong were two gigantic black eggs, hanging low in a big ball sac.

I felt like I was watching an impending disaster in slow motion as Dillinger spread lube on his shaft and his long fingers encircled it. He slowly pulled his foreskin back to reveal the helmeted head of his cock and began stroking himself to an erection.

The rational part of my brain was screaming warnings. What was going on? An hour ago I had been petrified that I was about to be raped by a guy with a huge black cock and now I was begging to be drilled by a dude with an even bigger dick. This is going to hurt like hell, I told myself.

So what? I was committed to following through. This was the one time and the one place that I would experiment with gay sex, and I wanted it. I wanted the black python Dillinger was stroking and I wanted it all the way up my ass.

Dillinger greased my asshole, and it occurred to me that getting fucked with a lubed cock was going to be better than what would have happened to me in the Heel. I felt Dillinger's dick against my asshole, and I reached behind and spread my ass cheeks apart. For a straight boy, I was begging for it, giving a convincing impersonation of the sluttiest gay boy in the city.

Dillinger worked his dick into my crack, circling my hole and probing. He bent forward and wrapped his arms around my chest, and I said, "Regardless of how much it hurts, just fuck me."

"Shut up," Dillinger said. It wasn't what I expected him to say, but in a weird way it turned me on. As if for emphasis, he split my sphincter with the head of his cock. I gasped in anguish.

"I'm going to fuck your boi pussy and you can either relax and enjoy it or stay tense and hate it," Dillinger hissed. "The quicker you learn to take cock, the better off you'll be. However you handle it, it's up to you. But I'm driving the train, and you have no say. None. You're getting fucked on my terms."

I couldn't do anything but moan, but this was where I wanted to be. I wanted Dillinger to take me on his terms. I didn't want a partial experience where he poked his fuck rod inside me a few inches and then I begged him to stop. I wanted to get fucked the same way Dillinger fucked Stian. I wanted him to own my butt, pummel my hole, and seed my ass.

Dillinger rammed his cock farther inside me and I responded with a stuttering moan. Thinking back to the anal hook, I pressed back against Dillinger's cock, forcing myself to deal with the pain and relax. Maybe getting the damn hook shoved in my ass was a good thing, opening me up for Dillinger's pole.

This was really going to happen, I thought, as Dillinger continued his assault. I was getting fucked by a guy. Not just any guy. By Dillinger. My one regret was being on my hands and knees so I couldn't see his handsome face and long dreadlocks as his thick cock invaded my hole.

The invasion reached a climax and Dillinger took full possession of my asshole. I groaned "Ahh, ahh," each time his cock sank farther into me, not believing my hole could take more and wondering if Dillinger was going to split me apart. But I wanted this, dammit, and I was going to take the whole thing.

My body was tense and every muscle was rock hard. It was a damn good thing I was drunk, because I couldn't have taken Dillinger's cock otherwise. He pulled out slightly and as much as I was grateful to have a moment when my ass wasn't on fire, I steeled myself for Dillinger's return. With a quick thrust of his hips, Dillinger went even deeper inside me.

Dillinger began to pump back and forth, slowly at first and then picking up speed. He clamped a hand against my abs so he could hold me still as he plowed my fuck chute. I held my breath and breathed in short gasps, occasionally muttering, "Oh, jeez!"

The pain began to subside and Dillinger began to pound my ass, pulling his cock out and then ramming it back inside me. I felt his black pubes against my cheeks and his black eggs hit my butt each time he drilled my hole. For some reason I focused on the thick veins on the backs of my forearms and hands, pumped up because I was clenching the sheets like my life depended on it. The smacking sounds of Dillinger's groin hitting my ass with each thrust of his cock sounded like drums.

Before long, Dillinger rolled on his side, taking me with him. I didn't have much choice, with my ass impaled on his cock and our bodies joined. Fuck, Dillinger could completely control my body with his dick. He wrapped a long, muscular leg around me, allowing him to keep my body still as he fucked me. Soon he was piston drilling me with a consistent, pounding rhythm.

Dillinger slid his hand down to my limp cock, but he lingered on it for only a second before returning to grip my abs. I hadn't given a moment of thought to my dick, which was weird because something was going on in my asshole that was unlike anything I had experienced and felt wildly erotic and sexual. As good as my ass felt, my dick should have been rock hard. I pondered grabbing my piece and stroking it, knowing that I could get hard in an instant. My butt felt so damn good.

As if reading my mind, Dillinger said, "Get yourself hard. I'm going to fuck your boi pussy until you cum, so if you want to be able to walk tomorrow, get moving on your dick."

I didn't have to be told twice. I eagerly grabbed my cock and worked it.

As I stroked away, I tried thinking about fucking my girlfriend. She had awesome tits, and unlike some girls that couldn't take my eight inches or were put off by foreskin, she loved my junk. My cock drove her wild. I liked that she was into sex as much as was and got off when I pummeled her. I loved how she would wrap her long legs around my back, grab my ass cheeks with her hands and pull me farther into her, lifting her pussy up so I could go deeper.

And yeah, I fucked her in the ass, too. The first time was a mistake; I was drilling her from behind and was close to cumming when I slipped out as she moved a bit. When I jammed my dick back inside her, I went into the wrong hole. I came moments later, not realizing where my cock was but knowing it felt incredible because she was so tight. Later, she gushed about how she loved it when I took her ass. I felt sheepish. But after the first time, I fucked her in the ass as much as in her pussy. She claimed she liked it because I was much more turned on when I butt-fucked her. Hell, I loved that her ass was twice as tight as her pussy.

But try as I might, thinking of her ass, her pussy, her tits or whatever, I couldn't hold her image in my mind, and I wasn't getting hard.

My thoughts wandered back to the sensations from my asshole as Dillinger fucked my virgin butt. Thinking about rutting in my girlfriend's pussy did nothing for me. Thinking about Dillinger ramming my hole with his humongous cock was doing something, however. The more I thought about Dillinger's black python inside me, breeding me like a whore, the more my cock responded.

I had begged for this, wanted it and was getting off on it. I didn't want soft tits to suck, I wanted Dillinger's hard body pressed against me, his powerful leg immobilizing me as he slammed his cock inside me. His broad black hands clutched my chest and abs. The man was totally in control of my body. And, fuck, I wanted him to use me, to turn my hole into his personal cum dump.

"Fuck my ass!" I groaned as my cock inflated into a raging hard on. My dick was slippery with pre-cum. I never beat off – my girlfriend demanded that every load my balls produced get pumped into her pussy – but this felt incredible and it wouldn't be long before I shot my wad.

"Fuck me!" I begged, "fuck me harder!" I didn't actually think Dillinger could fuck me any harder, but I was wrong. He skewered me with a massive thrust and for a moment I thought Dillinger's cock was going puncture my guts. His pace accelerated and he drilled me like a jackhammer, his cock flying in and out of my hole. My gay friend Jesse raved about getting slam fucked, and now I knew what he was talking about.

My girlfriend liked it rough, but nothing I had ever done with her compared to what Dillinger was doing to me. He was brutal and animalistic as he used my hole. I loved it and couldn't get enough.

Instinctively I started to squeeze my ass as I pumped my cock. Damn. I had no idea my ass was that sensitive, but the pain from Dillinger's intrusion was long gone and something weird was happening to me. As Dillinger rode me, the combination of my fist stroking my cock and Dillinger's bull cock breeding my virgin hole was almost too intense.

"That's right," Dillinger whispered in my ear. "Grip my dick with your ass. Pull it all the way inside you. Work your boy pussy. You're gonna bring me off as you blow your boy juice."

All I could do was to moan, "Uhn, uhn, uhn!" I was on the verge of climaxing at any moment, but it wouldn't come. It takes me longer when I'm drunk, and I was trashed. My fist flew up and down on my cock as Dillinger's giant black dong impaled my ass mercilessly. My cock was far removed from anything resembling a wet pussy, far away from every moment of sex I had previously enjoyed, but I was higher than a kite.

I don't remember how long Dillinger fucked me, but my breathing got shorter and I began to get close. I had almost no warning as my balls exploded and I clenched my ass around Dillinger's fuck pole. He buried his cock all the way inside me and I shuddered involuntarily. Dillinger must have been holding back, waiting for me to climax, because he needed only a couple of thrusts before releasing his own load deep in my guts.

I caught my breath, still stunned at what had happened. Had I really begged Dillinger to fuck my ass? Begged him to fuck me harder? Why did his big dong feel so damn good inside me? What was going on with me?

Dillinger pulled out in a few minutes and rolled over to his side of the bed. My asshole felt like a gaping, empty chasm. I was almost certain Dillinger said, "Hot ass," as his dick slipped from my hole. But I was so zoned out that I might have imagined it.

The floor next to the bed was a giant mess, painted by thick, glistening streaks of my jizz. I shoot a ton, but this time I might have set a record. Before leaving for New York, I hadn't fucked my girlfriend for five days, which was insane. I don't remember when I'd gone that long without cumming. White cum ropes extended a good 18 inches from the side of the bed. Luckily Stian had wood floors or I would have soaked the carpet.

I couldn't leave the cum to crust on the floor, so I forced myself out of bed. Probably a good idea, because Dillinger's jizz was beginning to run out of my ass. By the time I made it to the rest room, the backs of my legs were wet with leaking spunk.

I dug cum from my butthole, but it took forever. Every time I thought I was finally cleaned out, another stream of white ball juice leaked out. I guess it shouldn't have surprised me, because in the brief look I had of Dillinger's balls, they looked like giant, fat eggs. They felt pretty damn full, too, every time they slapped against my ass cheeks.

Hoping my butt was finally cum-free, I returned with a hand towel to mop the floor. As I headed back to the rest room to dump the cum-soaked towel, I saw the photograph of Stian, smiling as he celebrated his victory in the Olympics, his arms held high. I was unlikely to ever meet the dude, but we had something in common. We both had been fucked by Dillinger. And loved it.

Had Stian's aura somehow engulfed me, making me hunger for Dillinger to do the same thing to me that he had done countless times to Stian? Had there been something about the prospect of sleeping in Stian's bed that turned me into a horny gay slut begging to have my ass breached, bred and seeded? Stian seemed to be giving me a knowing smile from his photograph. I shook my head and collapsed into bed. Exhausted, I was asleep within a minute.

I woke with a massive hangover, a ruined asshole and the aroma of cum still permeating my nostrils. I was disoriented and didn't quite believe my recollections of the previous day. I had arrived in New York without any question in my mind about being straight. For that matter, I didn't have any questions about Dillinger being straight, either. Admittedly Dillinger's revelation that he was gay and his casual description of fuck-buddy sex with Stian had been a surprise. But still, that had been relatively mild. And then there was the Boot. And the Heel.

What the hell had happened at the Boot and the Heel? Acting like I was desperate to have sex with him, a black dude made a blatant pass at me and then threatened me; a second black dude face fucked me and made me swallow his cum; a third black dude stuck his cock in my mouth and announced he was going to rape me; and finally a fourth black dude – Dillinger – had rescued me, but then fucked my butt and seeded my ass. Of course, that was only after I had begged him to ball me and implored him to pound me harder. Dillinger had the biggest cock of all; my ass felt like a freight train had run through it. Dillinger said last night that he was driving the train, and that was exactly what his donkey dong had felt like. What was going on? My first 12 hours in New York felt like 12 years. The six hours after I first set foot in the Boot had destroyed whatever self-image I brought with me from Montana.

I struggled from bed, hoping Dillinger wouldn't say anything about the previous night. He didn't. He acted as if nothing had happened, which gave me the space to work on assimilating things. I needed that.

I needed it more than I thought, because more-or-less immediately I overcompensated for my solo night of gay sex. Stian had left a gym pass, and Dillinger suggested we get in a quick workout before my interviews and his meetings Friday afternoon. I contemplated nursing my hangover, but decided Dillinger was right about getting my ass moving.

After I agreed to the workout, however, I realized the remnants of the only T-shirt I brought to New York was probably still soaking up piss on the floor of the Heel's rest room. My gym clothes were limited to a jock strap and shorts. Dillinger shrugged and told me to wear the polo shirt I wore on the plane until I was in the gym and then go shirtless.

Damn. I've heard guys talk about gyms being cruisy. The gyms at Westcliffe could sometimes be a little cruisy, but the place in New York was a meat market. Practically from the moment I walked into the gym, I felt like I was back at the Boot, except women were hitting on me rather than men. A woman in her late 30s or early 40s named Daisy took a particular interest in me, and before I knew it, I was headed from the gym to her bed. It was complicated.

I was flattered when she raved about my body, telling me how lanky and muscular I was and how awesome she thought my chest and arms were. Dudes on campus were always talking about sex with older women – cougars – but I had never done that and suddenly I had a golden opportunity. I wanted to see what the fuss was all about. Beneath the surface, however, my desire to get laid related more to reassuring myself about my masculinity and being straight after getting my face and ass fucked the night before.

As we left the gym, Daisy said, "I can tell you have the stamina and the raw energy to satisfy me. You're like a tightly wound watch, ready to spring loose." I was embarrassed because I think Dillinger overheard her, although he kept his usual impassive expression, merely telling me that he probably wouldn't be at the apartment that night or the next. In the back of my mind, it occurred to me that if I was tightly wound, Dillinger's cock being up my ass was the reason why.

A quickie with Daisy somewhat restored my self-confidence, which was probably good in light of my upcoming interviews. The interviews went really well, and I was still in the building lobby after the final one when Daisy texted congratulations and said she wanted to take me to dinner to celebrate. Dillinger wouldn't be around at Stian's apartment, and even if he had been, I didn't want him to think he had to babysit me for the weekend. I told Daisy I would meet her.

On the way to dinner, we passed a men's clothing store stocked with clothes that were dramatically more expensive than anything I owned. Daisy spotted a baby blue polo in the window and announced she wanted to buy it for me because the color perfectly matched my eyes. I tried to beg off, but she insisted.

The store looked like an Abercrombie & Fitch knockoff on steroids. I guess the marketing idea was to step into the gap Abercrombie left when it dropped shirtless male models. The help in the store consisted ripped guys in nothing but flip flops and underwear. Most guys get dressed to go to work; these guys got undressed. Their underwear ranged from boxers to bikini briefs and, in one case, tiny pair of colorful briefs that completely exposed the dude's bare ass. I couldn't believe the guy would agree to wear that getup, but he seemed fine with it, grinning and joking as customers giggled and scoped out his hard buns. He had quite a fan club; the store was packed with women and a few guys that seemed predominantly gay.

Daisy insisted I try the blue polo shirt on, and when I asked about a dressing room, the guy helping us just gave me a frown that said, `I'm standing here in nothing but my boxers and you're worried about taking your shirt off?'

I tried on the shirt in the middle of the store while getting ogled by plenty of customers. I don't know why they were staring at me when the store aisles were stocked with virtually naked, beefcake sales help, each dude friendly and flirty. Daisy loved the attention, making me try on a smaller size and discussing whether it fit my body better with the guy helping us. Given our age difference, I wondered if people thought Daisy was my mother, but the way she felt me up when supposedly checking the fit of the shirt made it seem more like I was her gigolo.

I was completely embarrassed long before we left the store and relieved when we finally escaped. Walking to dinner, however, I puzzled over my reaction at the store. The guys in their underwear were hot by any standard, but they did nothing for me. I had no sexual interest in them whatsoever. In some sense my lack of reaction only confused me. If my experience with Dillinger had been an indication I was really gay, then I should have thought the dudes were hot. Why had I wanted Dillinger to fuck my ass so badly when hot guys didn't do it for me?

Dinner was followed by a wild night of sex with Daisy. Most of the girls I fucked at college were only somewhat into sex, good for one or maybe two rounds, sort of tentative and embarrassed. Daisy, however, was crazed and couldn't get enough of my cock. After getting my ass pounded by Dillinger, I was in the mood to return the favor; I couldn't get enough of Daisy's pussy. I must have dumped four or five loads in her.

The next morning, Daisy announced she was giving me a tour of New York. I felt like I had to agree, although I didn't mind having someone show me around. The day turned out great and we saw a ton, even if we barely scratched the surface.

Daisy insisted I wear my new polo shirt, and I felt awkward when Daisy steered me to the men's store again at the end of the day and bought me the same shirt in canary yellow and a pair of jeans that did an even worse job of hiding my ass than the pair that had been destroyed in the Heel. She insisted she merely wanted to give me a gift for having given her such a wonderful time, but the fact that she had paid for everything since I met her – meals, admissions to the sites, you name it – made me feel like I was her pet. A well paid and well cared for pet, mind you. Maybe the gigolo thing wasn't that far from the truth. Not that Daisy couldn't afford it; she owned a pre-war coop identical to the four-bedroom, six-bath apartment Dillinger had joked about when we discussed Stian's tiny place.

During dinner, Daisy announced that she was inviting a girlfriend to spend the night with us. I overheard her on her cell phone saying, "Kayla, remember how we bemoan men in New York being one fuck and done? Midnight, lights out? Get ready for something completely different. Turbocharged sex." Dillinger wouldn't be at Stian's apartment, and sleeping alone in Stian's bed wasn't particularly appealing, so I went along.

I wondered what I would have wanted to do if Dillinger had been sleeping at Stian's. Would I have been hungry to get fucked again? But that wasn't an option and I was excited about a ménage-a-trois. Getting two hot women in bed is the prime sexual fantasy for 99% of straight college men, and I was no exception. Maybe I only wanted bragging rights, but it felt like a rite of passage that I had to undertake.

The night was another wild one. Daisy's friend Kayla was half black and half Latino and had big tits that were amazing. I couldn't keep my hands or mouth off them. Kayla went on and on about how great my body was and how big my cock was. At one point, Daisy asked her about that, because Kayla mostly slept with black men and Daisy said she always heard black dudes were hung.

Laughing, Kayla said, "Honey, black boys aren't all hung like horses, believe me. I know. I'll put Shane's tool up with any of them. Plus, boys that are hung think all they have to do is shove it in and women will go crazy. Ha! Shane knows what to do with his equipment." I couldn't help but think of Dillinger's massive cock as Kayla talked about dick size. Yeah, he had shoved it in me, but the dude knew how to fuck an ass.

I can never tell with women, but during the night I concluded Kayla was either really good at faking it or she climaxed a lot. She answered that question over breakfast the next morning when she gushed about climaxing more times with me than she ever had before. Breakfast finished with a final round of sex as I pumped both women on Daisy's kitchen table before shooting my last wad on Kayla's massive chocolate boobs.

With my balls milked dry, I stumbled back to Stian's apartment to meet Dillinger. Looking back on my weekend with Daisy and Kayla, I was as doing my best to prove something and overwhelm my lingering memories of sucking cock in the Heel and getting butt fucked by Dillinger. My effort wasn't a success.

I arrived at Stian's apartment on Sunday before Dillinger did, and the place felt empty without him. My memories of begging Dillinger to fuck me and feeling his cock inside me flooded back. As I started to pack my clothes, I glanced at Stian's picture from the Olympics. Stian's smile seemed to say, `I know what happened here, dude. You got your ass pounded into tomorrow!'

Neither Dillinger nor I had slept in Stian's bed after the first night, and we had used his place only to change clothes. I noticed some dried spunk on the sheets; maybe it was mine but maybe it was some of Dillinger's that had leaked from my ass. I didn't want to leave that thank-you behind, so I washed the sheets and towels. When Dillinger arrived and saw me making the bed, he smiled and said, "Too bad. Stian would have considered jizz-soaked sheets and a crusty cum towel as the best gifts we could have left him."

I got the internship in New York and tracked down Dillinger back at campus to thank him for helping with the trip. I also made sure he knew I was grateful for saving me at the Heel and hinted that I was fine with what happened after, telling him I thought the trip to New York was great because it opened me up to new experiences. Yeah, I thought, opened me up like a can opener to new experiences like getting my butt fucked by a big black cock.

Dillinger never said anything about fucking my ass. Unlike my mood right after the fact, by that time I wished he would have talked about it, because maybe it would have brought some closure for me.

Dillinger had an apartment above an old gas station that had been converted to residential, and a couple of my buddies were rock climbers that lived below him in the gas station. I happened to be there one night and was describing – okay, bragging about – my ménage-a-trois with Daisy and Kayla when Dillinger entered; the only access to his apartment was through the gas station. He gave me a slight smile and nod as he headed up the stairs to his apartment.

Staring at Dillinger, it hit me. I wasn't gay. I was into women; I wasn't into men. I adored women, loved fucking pussy and got off on feeling tits.

Men didn't do it for me. My gay friend Jesse had a great body and constantly suggested we hook up, telling me I didn't know how hot sex could be until I tried sex with another guy. He made no secret of wanting to get my cock up his ass. As much as I liked Jesse, I had no interest in having sex with him. Or any other man. The thought of doing one the studs at the men's store in New York didn't do it for me. The thought of doing one of the dudes I knew at college gave me a limp dick.

Except the thought of doing it with Dillinger was riveting. I was interested in having sex with only one man. Dillinger. His body, dreadlocks, green eyes, demeanor, presence, confidence; it was an incredible package. If I got another chance, I wanted him to fuck my ass. Sure he was hung like a horse, but I wanted his cock inside me. I wanted him to feed me, breed me and seed me. Feed me his dick, breed me like a cow and seed me with his jizz. Not once, but as many times as possible. I was gay for one man, and one man alone.

I needed another night like the one in New York, at least the part at Stian's apartment; I wasn't headed back to the Boot or the Heel anytime soon. Maybe I would ask Dillinger to help me find a place to stay for the summer. And during the summer, maybe I would suggest that he stay with me when he was in town. Maybe I would offer him the use of my asshole. Maybe? Fuck yeah, I would. In a heartbeat. I wanted the dude to fuck my brains out. Dillinger had talked about pumping four or five loads into Stian during their hump day hookups at college. I wanted that.

Hell, why wait for New York? Dillinger had tons of friends in New York. Fuck buddies. In Montana I would have less competition.

What had Dillinger said in the cab that night in New York? I had a remarkably fine ass. I hoped it was remarkable enough to lure Dillinger back for seconds. He said the waiter had it right when hinting I would be fun horizontal. My cock surged at the thought of being horizontal underneath Dillinger, his hard cock deep inside my asshole.

I began to plot my return to Dillinger's bed.

THE END

I hope you've enjoy the story. Reactions? Please send them along. Coltonaalto@gmail.com

© Copyright Colton Aalto 2016