Rebel_Ballsy Boys 1

by K. M. Neuhold

  I breathe a small sigh of relief. I’ll work the money issue out; I always do. Most importantly, I need to keep my eye on the prize.

  Being bounced from foster home to foster home, the one consistent was that they were all more than happy to toss me a video game console and encourage me to stay out of their way. I came to love the increasing complexity of games over time. I loved solving the puzzles in Resident Evil, I was intrigued with the deep storyline in The Last of Us, and I even appreciated the artistry of Journey.

  And by the time I was sixteen, I knew without a shadow of a doubt that I wanted to create games. I wanted to learn all the behind the scenes drama, the blood, sweat, and tears that created the world I wanted to wrap myself in. There’s no way in hell I’m going to let a few thousand bucks stand between me and my dream.

  I saunter across campus, basking in the buzz of energy that always accompanies the beginning of a semester. Everyone is still fired up and sure this is going to be their best year yet. They excitedly grab their friends and discuss future plans for weekend parties and student jobs that will change their life.

  A small tinge of jealousy hits me in the chest. I have plenty of enthusiasm for my future, parties and otherwise, but what I don’t have is friends to share it with.

  I have a good reason for keeping people at a distance, and the fact that I’m so self-aware must mean I’m emotionally healthy, right? But that doesn’t stop me from being lonely from time to time. Don’t get me wrong, there are people I chill with from time to time, but no one I’d call to bail me out of jail.

  I shake off my melancholy as I bound up the steps to my Ancient History lecture.

  * * *

  When I get back to my apartment after my afternoon classes, I find five responses to my Reddit post. Cha-Ching. Four of the replies request standard “Don’t hurt him/her, just let them know it’s over between us”, and I message each back for details and to let them know where to send their payments. But the fifth message catches my attention.

  Tom: I need you to dump this guy I’ve been seeing, and I need it to be humiliating. There’s a song and dance and a costume that I’ll pay you an extra hundred bucks for. But I need this guy to feel like an idiot.

  Sounds to me like I’m the one who’s going to feel like an idiot. But for two hundred bucks, I’ll be the biggest idiot in the world.

  Troy: Done. Just need a name and address and you’ll need to send me the $200 up front.

  4

  Troy

  I grumble to myself as I pull on a fucking banana suit. When Tom explained to me exactly what he wanted, I told him it would be three hundred instead of two, thinking he’d change his mind. But he was happy to fork it over, and now I’m dressed as a banana, getting ready to show up at some dude’s place to tell him he’s dumped. You’d think there’d be an easier way to make money. Unfortunately, a minimum wage student job isn’t going to cut it.

  I check the address Tom sent me, and I head out to break some poor schmuck’s heart. I earn a number of strange looks as I walk the few blocks in my banana suit.

  When I reach the correct apartment building, I’m lucky enough to catch someone on their way out so I don’t have to buzz to get in. I make my way up to the third floor and find the apartment number Tom gave me. I take a deep breath, steeling myself for what an ass I’m about to make of myself, and then I raise my hand to knock. Seconds later, the door swings open, and I suck in a surprised breath.

  My stomach swoops, and my cock immediately starts to plump as I find myself looking into the unmistakable baby blues of none other than Ballsy Boy Rebel. Fuck, he’s even sexier in person.

  His mane of sandy hair is wild and begging to be used as a handle for cock sucking. His pouty lips are tempting and bitable. And fuck me, his broad shoulders and well-toned arms are sorely lacking passionate claw marks. I can’t say I’d noticed his hands before, but after the latest video with the new twink, I can’t help but latch onto his long, slender fingers that Pixie waxed poetic about.

  A lazy, flirty smile spreads over my lips before my brain kicks in and reminds me that I’m in a goddamn banana suit.

  Fuck my life.

  “Uh, can I help you?” Rebel asks, his forehead creased in confusion.

  “This is fucking embarrassing,” I lament, glancing down at the bright yellow costume I’m wearing. “Here’s the thing, Tom sent me here to break up with you. There’s this dumb song and dance that makes the costume a lot more relevant. But holy shit, you’re Rebel, and who the hell dumps a porn star?”

  Rebel’s face falls. “What an asshole,” he mutters to himself. “Thanks for letting me know.”

  He starts to close the door, but on impulse, my hand flies out to stop it. “Rebel, I’m really sorry. Were you together a long time?” Why the fuck am I even asking that?

  “No, I hardly knew the guy. Which is why the theatrics seem particularly dickish.”

  I nod as if I understand what he’s going through, when in reality, the only thing my brain can seem to grasp on to is the fact that I’m standing within touching distance of Rebel. It’s not every day that an opportunity like this falls right into a person’s lap, and there’s no way I can let this pass without at least trying to fulfill one of my ultimate fantasies. Worst case scenario: he turns me down. But, best case scenario… Hell yeah, I’m going for it.

  “Yeah,” I agree. “You know, if you really wanted to stick it to him I could suck you off.”

  A slow smile spreads across those tempting lips, and his gaze flits over my costume again with amusement. In two point five seconds, he went from vulnerable guy to porn star Rebel.

  “And how exactly would a blowjob from a banana stick it to Tom?”

  “Dude, it’s a blowjob. Work with me here,” I press, my voice dropping low and flirty as I send a prayer to the god of perfect porn star cocks to let me have a taste.

  “Sure, why the fuck not?”

  Holy fuck, yes!

  I can’t believe my luck as I step into my favorite porn star’s home...still dressed as a mother fucking banana.

  “I’m going to lose the banana suit if that’s okay?”

  Rebel snorts a laugh and then shakes his head like he can’t believe what’s happening right now either.

  “As much as I was looking forward to fucking around with a banana, you’re welcome to lose the costume if you prefer.”

  “Thanks.”

  I don’t waste any time tearing the costume off and leaving it in a pile by his front door. Rebel’s eyes roam over me with an appreciative gleam as I stand in front of him in nothing but a thin white undershirt and a pair of black boxer briefs, already tenting in the front with my arousal.

  He licks his lips and smirks when our eyes meet again. “I didn’t think it was possible, but you’re actually cuter out of the banana suit.”

  “Shut the fuck up and whip out that legendary cock.”

  Rebel’s eyebrows raise, but he doesn’t argue as he reaches for the zipper on his jeans and slowly tugs it down. The sound of the metal teeth unlocking to give me access to the very cock I’ve jerked off a hundred times imagining sends a shiver down my spine. Rebel reaches into the confines of his jeans, and his erection bobs free.

  “Fucking hell,” I murmur as I drop to my knees to worship at the altar of the god of perfect porn cocks, who hath bestowed upon me this bounty. Now that I’m up close and personal, I grant myself a few seconds to just admire. It’s rare to see a cock as perfect as this. I’ve seen all kinds of cocks: fat, skinny, red, purplish, curved to the left, cut, uncut… You name it, and I’ve probably had it in my mouth. I yank Rebel’s jeans and underwear down around his ankles and take a second to appreciate the view.

  Rebel’s cock is heavy in my hand, girthy, and flushed reddish pink. He’s cut with a rough circumcision scar just below the head. He has pronounced, throbbing veins that I want to memorize with my tongue. And his balls, fuck, they’re even better in person than on screen. Some balls hang too low an
d flop around when you fuck, but not Rebel’s. He has heavy balls, resting high and proud.

  It’s kind of a trippy thought to realize for the first time I’m in the presence of a man who’s probably been with more people than I have. It definitely makes me want to pull out all the stops to impress him.

  “You’re clean and shit, right?”

  “Of course,” Rebel says, looking down at me with fire in his eyes.

  “Thank god, I hate having to suck on rubber.”

  My mouth waters as I flick my tongue out for my first taste of Rebel’s salty, warm skin. Rebel lets out a quiet gasp that sets my blood boiling.

  I wrap my fist around the base of his cock and bounce it a few times against my tongue until I taste a burst of tangy pre-cum and draw another heavy breath from Rebel’s lungs. I wrap my lips around the broad head and tongue the slit as I suck.

  “You’re a tease.”

  I release the head with a popping noise and grin up at Rebel. “Not a tease, just getting warmed up. I figure you’ve been sucked off by the best; I need to make a good showing here.”

  “Not really a wrong way to suck cock,” Rebel assures me.

  “But there’s undoubtedly a right way,” I quip before tightening my grip and giving him a long, firm stroke. “By the way, I don’t mind it rough, so feel free to grab my hair, fuck my mouth, whatever moves you.”

  And then I open wide and wrap my lips around the steel rod of a cock that’s beckoning me.

  Fuck, he’s big.

  My lips are stretched tight around his weighty girth, his cock heavy on my tongue. I can only imagine how good it would feel pounding my ass. I suck in a lung full of oxygen through my nose, not sure when I’ll have the chance for another full breath, and then I grab Rebel by the hips and pull him all the way into the back of my throat.

  “So good,” Rebel grunts, and his fingers tangle in my hair, holding me still with his cock buried down my throat.

  When his grip eases a fraction, I’m able to pull back and suck in another lung full of air before taking him deep again. My hands begin to roam over the vast expanse of Rebel’s smooth and tempting skin as his fist in my hair guides the speed of my mouth taking him deep over and over. My eyes water, and my jaw aches, and I love every fucking second of it.

  Rebel spreads his legs as I trail one hand up the inside of his thigh and between his legs. I palm his full balls, rolling and tugging them.

  “Christ, that’s good,” Rebel gasps.

  I’d grin in satisfaction, but my mouth is pretty full so I moan in appreciation instead.

  Everything about sucking Rebel’s cock is better than I ever imagined. I want to spend the rest of my life with it rammed down my throat. I don’t need to eat or drink or fucking breathe—I just need to choke on Rebel’s cock.

  His grip on my hair tightens, and his hips start to flex, fucking my throat in long, fast thrusts. My cock jerks and throbs in the confines of my boxer briefs, my balls already tight and aching for relief.

  Another salty burst hits my tongue. I slide the hand that’s on his balls back and tease the rim of his hole with my middle finger.

  “Fuck yeah, finger my ass.”

  Without hesitation, I push my finger inside. Rebel roars out a moan, and his whole body stills before his cock begins to pulse against my tongue, and my mouth floods with his thick, salty cum. I suck down every drop he gives me, and then I lick his cock clean, not wanting to waste a drop.

  “So, how’d I measure up?” I ask eagerly.

  Rebel sags against the wall and chuckles. “Are you looking for a points breakdown?” he teases.

  “Fuck yeah, I feel like I just competed in the blowjob Olympics. I need to hear the judges’ comments.”

  “Excellent technique, some of the best deepthroating I’ve ever had, and an impressive dismount. A solid nine point eight.”

  “Nine point eight?” I repeat with indignation.

  “Always have to leave room for improvement,” Rebel explains with a wink. “Now, do you want me to suck you?”

  “Actually, ever since that video with the new twink, I’ve been dying to know what your hands feel like,” I admit.

  “A handjob it is,” Rebel agrees, kicking his jeans away and stepping forward. He pulls down my underwear without further need for conversation.

  I should fuck around with porn stars more often. They know how to get right down to business.

  “You have a nice cock, too,” Rebel comments as he wraps his hand around the base of my cock in a firm grip.

  Blowing him got me worked up enough that this won’t take long. I clutch the front of Rebel’s shirt as he sucks and licks my neck, his hand tugging with slow purpose. On each upward stroke, he adds a twist at the end, making me gasp and pant.

  I cant my hips, my head falling back on a raspy moan. Rebel jerks me harder, reading all my non-verbal cues. Fuck, he’s good.

  My skin heats, and my balls draw up tight as I gasp out some incoherent mixture of prayers and curses, my seed spilling over Rebel’s fist. I sag against him as my legs turn to Jell-O and my brain to mush.

  Holy hot damn, I think I’m spoiled for regular men.

  5

  Rebel

  He’s cute. Strike that. He’s gorgeous. Absolutely fucking gorgeous. His eyes stand out the most—he’s got this intense look in a pair of golden eyes that drill into you, like he’s seeing much more than what you’re showing him.

  His hair was sort of styled when he arrived, but after I held his head while fucking his mouth, he’s got the whole just-out-of-bed look going, and it fits him like a too-small condom on a ten-inch cock.

  I wipe my hand off on my shirt, then pull it over my head to throw it on the floor. I’ll put it in the hamper later. It’s not like banana boy here has never seen me naked.

  And fuck, I just now realize I don’t even know his name. Holy mother of all awkwardness. Dammit, I fuck guys for a living. I’m way cooler than this.

  “Were you planning on telling me your name anytime soon or would you prefer me to call you banana boy?”

  He grins. “Troy. My name is Troy. Nice to meet you...Hendrix.”

  Oh, god, I forgot. Tom gave him my real name, which few people have. Dammit. Living under an alias is a lot harder than it seems.

  “Yeah, well, would you mind calling me Rebel? I try to keep my personal name, you know, personal, and since you already know what I do for a living…”

  He shrugs. “Sure. I probably would have anyway, since that’s how I think of you.”

  “You think of me that often, do you?”

  This guy does not blush. Instead, he sends me a cocky grin. “Let’s just say I’ve seen all your videos more than once.”

  When I started in this business, I would get weirded out when people would say shit like that. Because when people say they’ve seen all my videos, they mean they’ve jacked off or masturbated—I have a lot of female fans as well—while watching me. That was a little unnerving at first, to be honest.

  Now, I’m used to it. Men and women come up to me all the time to tell me they love me, and I appreciate it from all genders, equal opportunity guy that I am.

  Troy stretches and his shirt rides up to gift me a peek at his stomach. Nope, haven’t had my fill yet of this guy.

  As if he can read my mind, Troy says, “You wanna hang out for a bit? I’ve got some great weed.”

  “Sure, why the hell not.”

  Weed is not something I allow myself to enjoy often. Drugs don’t mix well with this business. You gotta keep your body in great shape and your head clear and in the game. But I’ve got nothing else planned for today, and despite the fabulous blowjob I just received, I’m still pissed at Tom.

  I cannot believe that motherfucker dumped me like that. Sending someone in a banana costume. Fucking asshole. I have no doubt he discovered what I do, because that’s the only reason I can come up with for him wanting to humiliate me like this. But fucking hell, what a dick move on his part. Can
I pick ’em or what?

  I guess that puts the score at six ex-boyfriends, though in my mind Tom hadn’t made it to boyfriend status yet. Shit, he dumped me before we even got there—and fucking paid someone to do it for him. A little pick me up sounds damn good right about now.

  “Do you think we could move it farther inside than the hallway?” Troy asks.

  I laugh. “You want to move...inside?”

  He doesn’t miss a beat. “Say the word, man, and I’ll be inside in a jiffy.”

  “In a jiffy? Fuck, I hope you last longer than that. Besides, who says you’ll ever get a go at this fabulous ass?”

  He pretends to be confused. “I thought we were talking about your living room?”

  “Sure we were. Come on in.” I make my way to my living room, which looks kinda messy, but not like a total pig sty. “You want something to drink?”

  “You got any soda? Alcohol and weed don’t mix well for me.”

  “Coke or Sprite?”

  “Coke. Thanks.”

  I grab us both a Coke from the fridge, while he makes himself comfortable on my Ikea couch. I love Ikea. Aside from the fact it’s highly affordable, their couches have washable covers. You wanna know how handy that is after a quickie?

  I bring a small glass jar as well to use for our cigarettes. When I walk in, Troy is busy making two nice, fat joints. I set our drinks on the coffee table—also sponsored by Ikea, thank you very much—and plop down on the couch next to Troy.

  Wordlessly, we light up, and I sigh with pleasure as the first buzz hits. Mmm, perfect. A hot guy and a thick joint.

  “So, what do you do?” I ask after a minute or two.

  Troy snorts. “I’m smoking a joint and hanging out with Rebel from Ballsy Boys.”

  Maybe it’s the weed, but I find that extremely funny, and a not exactly attractive giggle escapes from my lips. “No, you shithead, what do you do? In life, I mean. Or for a living. Whatever. In general.”