by Gavin Atlas
He lubed me up and then entered me roughly. I tried to welcome him inside by arching up to meet his thrust, but with my legs tied, the control was all his.
I was startled by a knock on his bedroom door.
“Come in!” Professor Landon yelled. Mr. Kelly and Professor Archer walked in, naked. Behind them were Dr. Bellamy and Professor Vargas! Oh my God! I was going to get gangbanged! I was lightheaded with ecstatic need.
“I hope this will make up for what your parents pulled,” Professor Landon said.
“Tonight you’ll show us how worthy you are of the full ride Fenton University is giving you,” Mr. Kelly said as Professor Landon pulled out of my ass to let Professor Vargas have a turn.
As usual, Mr. Kelly managed to make me feel shame mixed with pleasure. He’d never let me forget I got into college because I gave him my hole. Thank the universe for that.
I felt the astounding ache of being stretched by Professor Vargas. The thrill of losing my ass to yet another new man surged through me. That, combined with the echoing thought, Five tops, Christopher. You have to please five huge cocks, shot blinding heat through my skull.
I whimpered and cried out, looking from man to man, their eyes transfixed on Professor Vargas’s penis merciless pumping in and out. There was no need to be quiet here. They could make me wail and make my ass bounce as much as they pleased, and they knew it.
That thought made me lose control. I started to squirm in my restraints, letting Professor Vargas know I couldn’t hold back my orgasm.
“Yes, baby,” he said. “Yes, show me how much you love this. Oh! Oh!” The moment I began to convulse and come, my professor drove in deeper than ever, his body jerking and bucking as he reached climax.
The other professors smiled and stroked themselves. Oh, God, yes. Four more.
I panted and tried to shake off the hazy cloud of sex that had hold of my brain. I didn’t have much luck. All I could do was breathe and smile and breathe, enjoying the thrum of afterglow like never before.
I closed my eyes, wishing I could spread and raise my legs to offer my ass again, but of course, it was already being offered. I couldn’t think of a more blissful way to get an honest-to-God education, and I’d done it without a cent from my damn dad. These men and Mr. Laszlo took better care of me than my father did. As Doctor Bellamy began grinding into me with abundant need, I knew I was the luckiest college boy alive.
Fair Trade
As his taxi sped up the sparkling coastline, Andy rubbed his chin, trying to focus on business instead of sex. He opened the folder in his lap and attempted to reread the notes his father had given him, telling him precisely what to say, but Andy’s attention deficit was worse than ever. He looked up from his papers and took in the wild beauty of the thin, sinewy palm trees arching over the aqua waters. In his e-mails, Wayne seemed quite happy Andy would be returning, even if it were just as a representative of Harris Confectioners of Boston. In any other circumstance, Andy was certain he’d be the wrong family member for a business trip, but in this case, with the mutual attraction…wait.
Right here. This was the spot where he’d had his first kiss, or at least the first one that counted. Wayne had brought Andy here in his jeep. At the time, the chief sensation was shock. He knew they were flirting. Wayne was shirtless. A bright smile. A turn of the head. Bang.
Wayne hadn’t known how little experience Andy had until that moment. Wayne backpedaled and apologized, but Andy stopped him. He’d wanted it. Could they do it again?
Wayne did kiss Andy a second time, but it had been tentative. They had ended up cuddling, shirtless, on the grass and hidden from the road by a copse of palms. Andy remembered noticing the outline of Wayne’s large erection and the torment of his own. Wayne had done his best to calm the moment. They’d lain back and held hands, discussing Andy’s trouble with school as pelicans skimmed the waves. Wayne could tell Andy hadn’t been ready, he explained in later e-mails. But each time he’d written, he mentioned how beautiful Andy was and how he hoped to someday to kiss Andy again. Now Andy licked his lips and sucked in a deep breath as his taxi slowed and turned onto a long gravel lane.
How will Wayne react when he finds out about my dad’s instructions? Andy looked around, biting his lip as the taxi rolled to a stop, but when he emerged from the car and laid eyes on the handsome, sun-weathered owner of the Mirasol Plantation, his worry over his father’s crazy proposal evaporated. Wayne Lyndell might have reached his late forties, but his lean, well-muscled body looked as fine as ever. His mischievous, penetrating eyes and wicked smile sent shivers through Andy. He reached out to shake Wayne’s hand.
“Oh, come now, silly,” Wayne said, ignoring Andy’s hand and grabbing him in a hug.
What would Wayne think of me if he knew what I’ve done? Andy wondered again. And what I’ve agreed to?
“Welcome back to Tobago, Mr. Andy Harris,” said Wayne. The hand on Andy’s shoulder was a shade between bronze and caramel. “You’re even handsomer than the first time I saw you.”
Andy blushed. He’d been nineteen when they first met, accompanying his father and brothers on the trip that had established the arrangement between Harris Confectioners and Mirasol. Now he was close to twenty-three, but Wayne’s gaze made him feel boyish and shy. “So, how are you doing, duckling? Doing better with reading and writing?”
Andy shook his head. “It’s still difficult. The medicine doesn’t help much.” Duckling. He’d forgotten about the secret nickname Wayne had given him for his short, fuzzy blond hair. He’d been too old for it four years ago, and now he was far too old. Andy considered saying, “Please call me, Andy,” but he didn’t.
Wayne touched Andy’s arm in sympathy and looked him in the eyes. “I’m so sorry to hear that. You know that makes the fact that you send me such nice long e-mails even more special.”
The warmth of the compliment filled Andy with a sense of security, but he couldn’t allow himself to indulge in it. He was a man now, not some boy in need of approval from a daddy. He was here on business.
“I think you know I have bad news,” Andy said, putting his hands in the pockets of his khaki pants.
Wayne let out a musical laugh. “Bah! Your father. He’s a character.” Wayne put his arm around Andy’s shoulder and squeezed. “Let me show you all the improvements before you decide you have bad news.”
An elderly assistant shouldered Andy’s duffel bag in silence and headed for the main house. Several workers bustled around them, some breaking open the large yellow-green pods to pull out the white pulp, and some laying out cocoa beans on wooden beds to dry in the sun.
When Andy was nervous, he played a game, furtively watching the people he walked past, trying to count each person who checked out his ass. Already, three women had looked up from their work and stared. Andy allowed himself a small smile.
A different thought registered. Couldn’t the higher price of Mirasol’s cocoa be lowered if they could use machinery instead of so much manual labor? Or would that cause unemployment? Andy started to ask, but the question vanished as Wayne began rubbing Andy’s lower back. Wow. Wayne was flirting with him, and no one batted an eye. In the Caribbean, that was a surprise.
Wayne led Andy over the top of a small grassy hill. As they reached the summit, the plantation’s green tropical valleys stretched before them. During Andy’s first trip to Tobago, he’d thought the island was the most beautiful place he’d ever seen, and this valley had been the zenith of paradise. A hawk, silhouetted against the distant sea, soared above the bright red-orange flowers of the African tulip trees. The plantation was as breathtaking as he remembered.
Then he felt perplexed. “Aren’t those banana trees? Have you decided to diversify your crops?”
Wayne grinned and raised his eyebrows. “You are observant, Mr. Andy. We’ve learned a new trick. The banana trees grow faster than cacao, protecting the pods from too much sun. It not only gives us a higher yield, but better flavor than ever.”
/> Andy nodded. Wayne led Andy down a steep grassy hill along a worn path threading through groves of cacao. Their hands were touching. Another hawk flew overhead.
“They’re semi-tame,” Wayne said, putting a hand on Andy’s shoulder again. “We have a falconer or more accurately, a hawk master. The local parrots have developed a taste for the pods, and the hawks chase them away. We also use a bio-organic pesticide we import from Asia. So, you see? Better than ever.”
Andy nodded. “We still need to discuss my father’s decision.”
Now Wayne slid a hand around Andy’s waist and wrapped his other arm over Andy’s chest. There was no longer any way to pretend their attraction of four years ago wouldn’t figure into the negotiations—exactly as Andy’s father had anticipated. Andy reminded himself he couldn’t enjoy this. He had to do his best to be professional, but the affection in Wayne’s touch felt so soothing.
“My father says—”
“Shh,” Wayne whispered as he rubbed his hand over Andy’s firm pectorals. “You are in such a hurry. All in good time.”
Despite the high heat, Andy shivered from the sensation of Wayne’s breath on his neck. He’d become accustomed to a lot of attention, often aggressive attention, from men back in Boston and elsewhere, but Wayne’s confidence combined with his height and searing gaze again made Andy feel lightheaded.
Wayne ruffled Andy’s hair. “Duckling,” he said. “Do you mind that I call you that?”
Say yes. You’re a businessman. Say yes. “No, I like it.”
Wayne’s laugh was deep.
They climbed back up the hill and walked slowly to the main house. Wayne kept a half step behind Andy. Now he had the experience to know when men did this, they were admiring his ass. He suppressed a smile, but it had been a while since he’d been so excited to have captured someone’s attention with his body. The muscles in his thighs tingled with every step.
“Would you like to take a break from the heat and go swimming?” asked Wayne.
“I didn’t bring a suit,” Andy responded.
“You don’t need one.”
Here we go, thought Andy, might as well make him say it. “You have one you can lend me?”
Wayne didn’t bite. He just looked at Andy, smirked, and rolled his eyes.
Okay, Andy thought. Wayne’s the one who crossed into the territory of sex, right? If something happens, it will be fine. Much more than fine. He inhaled and tried to speak. He couldn’t do it. He had to confess his father’s proposal. Then, after so great an insult he’d never see Wayne again.
“Mr. Lyndell, I have to tell you my father plans to obtain cocoa from West Africa in the future. Your prices have gotten too high.”
“Ah, I see.” Wayne gestured for Andy to sit on the veranda in a wicker chair padded with faded cushions patterned with pink roses. A housekeeper in a coral-colored uniform smiled at Andy as she placed a wicker basket on the adjacent table. It contained an assortment of chocolate bars, all single-source products made with cocoa from Mirasol. There were perhaps twelve five-ounce bars, and in a gourmet store in Boston, that array of candy would cost well over a hundred dollars. Each bar was covered in a crisp wrapper designed in shades from salmon to a brilliant fuchsia, depending on the percentage of chocolate liquor. Andy’s mouth watered. Again, he was the wrong brother for this trip. His siblings were the connoisseurs, discerning the proper combinations of bitter and sweet. Andy liked chocolate, period. To control his weight, he’d had little since he was eighteen, with the exception of his first visit to Tobago.
“So fair-trade cocoa no longer matters to your father? He does not care that most of the field workers in Africa are children who are paid next to nothing? Or nothing at all? And did he forget we grow trinitario beans exclusively? If his candy comes from the huge plantations in Africa, don’t you think it’s likely he’ll get lower quality forastero mixed in?”
Andy looked away. “Times are tough. But…he’s hoping he can find a way to continue using fair-trade ingredients.”
Wayne ripped open a bar. “You’re the featherweight if I remember. The one who likes milk chocolate.”
Andy looked down, smiling and feeling sheepish. “Am I a featherweight for that?”
“True connoisseurs prefer dark chocolate. We wouldn’t even have a milk chocolate product except for you.”
Andy had been about to take the bar from Wayne’s outstretched hand, but that comment stopped him. “What are you talking about?”
Wayne tapped the wrapper. It read in white letters “The Andy Bar. Limited Edition Milk Chocolate.”
Andy couldn’t believe it. “Mirasol…makes that for me?”
Wayne let out another deep laugh. “It is named for you, yes, and it is based on what we mixed together the first time you were here. I would like to claim it’s just for you, but my accountants won’t let me be that whimsical, so it has been sold in Europe for a year. The manufacturer says your taste buds have done quite well for them so far.”
Andy was flattered. In fact, stunned. Wayne put the bar in Andy’s palm. He stared at the words. The bar had been produced in Germany by a company whose name Andy couldn’t pronounce. If Wayne had another customer for Mirasol’s cocoa, he wouldn’t need Andy’s father to stay in business. They’d have no reason to lower their prices, and his trip to Tobago would be a total failure. What would he say to his father? Andy bit his lip and tried to calm down.
Wayne’s dark face lit up in a sweet smile as he broke off two blocks of the chocolate and pressed them to Andy’s lips. A childhood of being fat passed through Andy’s thoughts before opening his mouth. Wayne smirked as he placed the chocolate on Andy’s tongue, and then ran his thumb and forefinger down Andy’s chin and to his throat.
“Milk chocolate is made with forastero cocoa. It’s much more difficult to work out a recipe with the richness of trinitario, but…what do you think?”
The delicious burst of flavor spread, a jolt of pleasure traveling from Andy’s tongue to the rest of his body. Once, he’d loved Cadbury’s as an everyday treat. Later, the ultimate experience became a Valrhona lava cake he’d tried in Manhattan. It was the only time his brothers had complimented him on finding a worthwhile flavor.
This was ten times better. The combination of milk and sugar and cocoa with a hint of salt was delectable. There was a fruit flavor hidden in the background, vaguely familiar but unidentifiable. An exhilarating fusion. He could practically taste the love that had gone into crafting a sweet just for him.
Andy swallowed. “This…this is unbelievable.”
Wayne kissed Andy on the lips. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry to be so bold with you, but I’ve been thinking about you for four years.”
Andy wanted this kiss to last longer than the mere second it did, and he wanted to show Wayne he was nothing like the inexperienced teen Wayne had kissed four years ago. Wayne’s intense stare triggered fantasies: Wayne fucking him, perhaps right here on the veranda or perhaps while on a hike in the mountains or after a shower, or—God damn my father. The situation he’s put me in is going to ruin everything for me.
“You’re going to be angry,” Andy said. “My father wants to keep using your cocoa in his products, but he doesn’t want to pay the new prices. He sent me to…to, ah, do whatever necessary to persuade you to keep your prices the same.”
Wayne sat back in his chair, and Andy felt a chill settle on the veranda.
“Are you telling me that your father has instructed you to have sex with me for his purposes?”
Andy said nothing. The shame of what Andy had more or less agreed to burned in his throat.
“I was certain your father knew of my attraction to you, and I have never been fond of his tactics. But this is disgusting.”
Andy covered his face with his hands, and Wayne put a hand on Andy’s arm. “I’m sorry. He is your father, and I shouldn’t talk about him in such a manner.” He squeezed Andy’s wrist. “I imagine you weren’t supposed to tell me this?”<
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Andy nodded.
“And how do you feel about your father’s scheme?” Wayne’s voice still resonated with hurt.
Andy swallowed. “I agreed to it because…because I’ve wanted to see you.” The truth began to pour out. “I don’t know what you know, Mr. Lyndell, but I’ve been such an embarrassment to my family since…since I did some things for money that I shouldn’t have done.”
“Oh?”
Andy couldn’t stand the thought of explaining. “My father threatened to cut me off for being gay. I could pretend I did those things because it was too hard to find a job with my severe attention deficit, but, really, I wanted to do what I did. When my father found out, he threw me out, then changed his mind, thinking I could do less damage to the family reputation if he kept me on a leash.”
“You mean the girlfriend you mention in your e-mails? Your father instructs you to date her?”
“I have to be seen with her at functions. She knows about me, and she’s paid well, but she’s not happy.” Andy looked up at Wayne, knowing he had to apologize. “I’ve wanted to come back here for so long, Wayne, but I’m a coward. I’m afraid I’ll wind up homeless if my father does cut me off, and I’m…I’m sorry I haven’t been braver.”
Wayne’s face was still a stony frown, but he stood and walked around to the back of Andy’s chair. Then he gripped each of Andy’s shoulders and began kneading them, providing a massage that was both rough and intimate. “I think I know of the things you did. They are not shameful to me. You are a good fellow, Andy.” Wayne moved back to the side of Andy’s chair so he could bend down and slide his hand under Andy’s thighs, his other hand on Andy’s back. Then he lifted Andy in his arms. “My Duckling. My Andy Bar.”
As Andy was carried through a series of rooms to a large bedroom, he felt a sense of security he hadn’t felt in years. The bedroom windows were wide open and a Caribbean breeze scented with frangipani wafted in.