Taking Advantage
It's evening. Since he left them at the beach, Van has spent a couple of hours working out in the bare concrete gym next to his house.
Now he's sitting in the hotel bar with the American couple. Even though he's the local, it's the Brazilian who doesn't fit in the expensive hotel, with his tight vest t-shirt showing muscle and tattoos, ripped jeans, black hair with blond highlights.
Chris and Ryan are in chinos, bright holiday shirts; they fit in fine. Slightly nervous about what they're about to do with Van, they're drinking more than they would ordinarily.
When they get to ordering a third round of beer Van puts his hand over Ryan's glass.
"Is not good you drink a lot. Boys need to prepare, to be clean. Go to the hotel room, now, get ready. I and Chris gonna stay here."
Ryan enjoys Van bossing him around, but he glances over guiltily at his partner. Chris smiles, says quietly, "Don't worry about it, babe. It's a different culture. And you do need to prep."
So Ryan goes. Meanwhile, Van orders whiskies for Chris and himself.
They get through them quickly and Van orders a second, then a third round on Chris's bill. Chris takes good care of his body, he isn't used to drinking a lot. He needs to piss frequently. Each time Chris goes to the bathroom, Van tips most of his own drink into a plant pot.
Van just wants this guy drunk enough that he'll be out of the picture when he fucks Ryan. And Van can sense how to play Chris. He tells him rough, male, almost-true stories of his time working in Canada delivery driving: partying, brawling, run-ins with the police, Van always coming out on top.
As he finishes his second whisky, Chris thinks that it's good the way Van's making Ryan wait for them in the bedroom. He could get into this macho shit. Chris does his own alpha male display, explaining to Van the ecology of the New England property-tech sector, the position of dominance his small company is increasingly taking in the market.
Van tries not to yawn as Chris talks on. When they've finished their third whiskies, he looks at Chris's glazed eyes and says "Now we are ready for Ryan?" Chris nods, drunk and horny.
************
Chris opens the door and Van pushes past him into the room. Ryan, dozing naked on the bed, clearly prepared himself. He's put a pillow under his crotch so his butt is pushed up, just waiting to be fucked. The skin on his back and legs is pink from the sun he's got at the beach; the round curves of his ass retain their perfect pale whiteness.
Van enjoys the sight of Ryan's small, well shaped body, and wakes him with a slap on his white ass. Then he effortlessly pulls Ryan back and up so he's on his knees at the end of the bed, his butt level with Van's crotch. Ryan looks hungrily back at the muscular Brazilian, who's peeling off his vest.
Chris stands in the doorway, struggling to think through the alcohol. He'd sort of hoped Van and he would talk about who got Ryan's ass first. Instead, he's watching Van tug his already hard cock out from his jeans, starting to rub it against Ryan's hole, the bottom guy gasping.
Abruptly, Chris goes to the other side of the bed, strips, crawls onto the bed. Ryan glances at him, frustration passing over his face as he looks at Chris's familiar, still-limp cock. Chris can sense what Ryan's thinking - is he supposed to open his mouth, get Chris hard, when he's got a beer can about to go inside him?
Suddenly, the whisky Chris has drunk starts pounding at him in nauseous waves. He can't do anything else but give up. He stumbles back into the armchair on the other side of the room.
Ryan's put the lube next to the bed and Van, after stepping out of his jeans, reaches for the tube. He ignores the condom packet next to it as he wanks the lube over his dick.
Chris, still feeling ill, watches as Van greases himself up then pulls Ryan's butt cheek aside, applies more lube to the hole, slides one of his thick fingers briefly inside. Then he lines up, holds himself against the pussy with one hand, reaching forward with the other to cup Ryan's soft neck.
And he thrusts, forces the swollen head of his dick into Ryan, breaking him open. Ryan yelps, then tries to breathe as Van grabs his hips, slowly pulls him back, inch by inch, to skewer him onto his tool. Ryan grits his teeth, moans - it's so big it feels like the first time he took dick.
When Van's bush is tight against him, Van lets himself fall forward, rests his full, heavy body weight on the small man, who's still gasping with shock.
From there Van starts work. He shoves Ryan round the bed, fucking him on his back, on his knees, then again face down on the bed. Just as Van's feeling his load building, he pauses. He suddenly remembers there's another person in the room.
On top of Ryan, his dick deep inside him, Van turns his face towards Chris, sat in the chair. Van grins at him. Then he slowly does a push up, pulls out, holds himself like a predator over Ryan's body. Van lets Chris see the pulsing size of his wet dick, the bulk of his chest, the tense thickly haired muscles of his arms, legs. He waits a few seconds and then jabs himself fast and hard back into the bottom guy, who cries out.
Chris looks away. Van, now pounding hard, laughs.
After that Van lets himself go for it, sweating, panting, thrusting - it doesn't take long before he's ready. He suddenly stiffens and reaches forward, pulls Ryan up tight against his chest, shoots three, four, five times inside him.
He rests for a moment the pulls out, lets Ryan go, stands up. He turns back to look at Chris in the chair. Still panting, he nods down at Ryan's ass - "you can do now, if you want."
He roughly drags Ryan round on the bed, pulls the cheek apart, so Chris can see his boyfriend's hole. It's red, wide open, dribbling cum. Chris is certain now that Van is humiliating him: Ryan is - for tonight - far too well used, at least for a man of Chris's more limited girth.
"We were going to use a condom with the hookup" is somehow all that Chris can think. He watches as Ryan curls himself into a ball on the bed and start to finger himself, sliding his fingers into the warm froth of Van's seed inside him.
Meanwhile, Van walks across the room, takes a beer from the fridge, steps out onto to room's balcony.
He stands naked in the warm night air. He sips his beer. Mostly he's pleased with himself as he comes down from his orgasm: Ryan's ass had been as good as he hoped.
There's just a bit of doubt in his mind. He was going to take it slow. The whisky worked well, meant he got Chris out of the way when he fucked. But now Van's just laughing at the guy. Perhaps he should take the win, leave the hotel now.
No, Van thinks, he's the man, and he wants to put the rich American in his place some more. Besides, he's got another load in him.
He finishes his beer and comes back in. Chris hasn't moved from his chair and Van walks over, stands silently in front of him, so Chris's eyes are level with the Brazilian's slightly plump, hairy belly.
Chris tries not to look down at Van's dick but of course he can't stop himself. It juts out, no longer fully hard but still massive and thick. It's wet, sticky: the smell of cum and sweat fills the air.
"Suck if you want", says Van as Chris stares. Chris recognizes this is cheap cuck shit straight out of porn - cleaning the juice off the dick that's just been in his partner. Still, he wants it.
He tries to cling on to a bit of dignity, looks up at Van - "Go and wash yourself, then maybe." Surprisingly, Van agrees, letting his arrogance now take the form of sweet friendliness. "OK baby." he says, running a finger gently down Chris's face.
When Van comes out of the bathroom, his dick is dry, still semi-hard. He stands on the other side of the room. "Come on baby, it's here for you, clean". Chris pauses, glances over at Ryan, still playing with his own hole. Ryan smiles at him kindly. Then Chris does what he's been told to, walks over to Van, drops down onto his knees. Luckily, his back is to Ryan. Chris opens his mouth wide, and soon it's fuller than it has ever been.
******
The next morning, Chris is moody. Ryan is fine, spooning muesli and fruit hungrily into his mouth. He just has to wriggle from time to time in his seat to ease the soreness in his asshole.
"Hey, it was fun last night." says Ryan.
Chris nods. He can't quite bring himself to discuss exactly what had happened with Van. "Yeah but you know, it wasn't exactly what I was looking for."
Ryan smiles at him. "You don't have to be a top all the time. You're still my man. Sucking Van a bit doesn't change that."
Ryan's right, he thinks. They're both gay man, what does sucking a cock mean? But it wasn't just that. Chris knows Van tricked him, got him out of the way so he could have Ryan's ass to himself. And he'd laughed at him when he was doing it. He feels humiliated.
And he can't put the blow job behind him. In half his mind he's replaying over and over the memory of kneeling in front of Van, the feel of his lips stretched so wide round that big brown veiny cock.
He can still almost feel it pushing against the back of his throat as he struggled to take as much as he could of it inside him. Van hadn't guided his head, just spread his tree-trunk legs, stood there with his thick arms folded behind his neck and let Chris pleasure him.
"Chupa meu caçetão, putinha." "Suck my big dick, slut."
Chris had liked it.
Van had shot in his mouth and he'd swallowed all of it. Then, just as Chris took his mouth away, a final dribble of cum had trickled from Van's still-pulsing dick to land on the man's bare left foot. Van had nodded down at it, and Chris had obeyed, immediately knelt down, licked up those last drops.
Chris shakes his head, he's not thinking about that. He carries on, says to Ryan, "Still I think that's it for Van. You had fun, and that's great. But lets try and find another guy, that works better for both of us."
Ryan starts to object, "But.." But he's not a fast thinker and he doesn't have a clue how he's going to persuade Chris to bring Van back into their bedroom.
Chris looks at his phone. There's already a message from Van there. He doesn't read it, just sends the shortest possible reply. "Thanks for last night. See you around." He smiles to himself.
On the other side of the city, Van is still in bed when his phone beeps. He reads Chris's message with a sinking feeling. He tries ignoring the obvious dismissal, suggests a place to meet up. He discovers he is blocked.
Bicha de merda. He throws his phone across the room, adding another crack to its already damaged screen. Van's fucked this up, the same way he fucks everything up.
He's too much of a bull, goes in too hard, too fast. Van had had stop Chris from fucking last night - there was no way Van was going to share Ryan's nice ass. But the rest of it, showing Chris how much of a bitch he was, should have been something Van built up to over days.
From the corner of the bedroom his phone beeps again. Reluctantly, Van goes over to it, There's another message, from his boss at the gas station, sent from the guy's personal number. He half-sacked Van only two days ago, bout now he urgently needs someone to come in today, will pay extra. Without his plan to live off the Americans this week, Van needs the money.
Van replies just "OK", he's not going to thank the man. He showers, then picks up his gas pump attendant uniform from the floor - his mother hasn't even fucking washed it - and pulls on the bright shirt, too tight over his wide chest, the thick nylon pants and plastic boots.
Ten minutes later, he's leaving the house. He grabs his battered scooter and rides the few kilometers to the gas station where he works, beside one of the polluted highways that lead out of the city.
