The Cuckold
At the gas station
Van ignores the blast of a car horn behind him. He's been working the gas station for six hours straight. Now, just for five minutes he's resting on the forecourt's one, half-broken chair. He feels dusty, dirty. His bright red uniform shirt, damp from the humid heat, is sticking uncomfortably to his bulky body.
He closes his eyes, tries to relax, lets his mind turn to its usual filler material: some clean young blond guy he's seen in porn, a tight, smooth butthole that just needs Van's dick to open it up. He starts to rub himself a little bit through the heavy nylon material of his work pants.
"Anda ca seu preguiçoso," "Hey, get your lazy ass over here."
The yelling, impatient driver blows his horn again to make the point. The guy's in a Mercedes; late 20s, the same age as Van. As Van walks over, the man shouts what fuel he wants, then Van presses the buttons, fills the tank, takes the payment. All day it's been this, over and over again, the only break the occasional crappy old car needing its tires or oil checked. Van hates all of it.
A few tens of miles away, out of the city, there's a beauty spot, a lagoon. That's where Chris and Ryan went today. The place was spectacular, the water in the pool deep blue-black, the neighboring beach empty, bordering a sparkling ocean. Chris and Ryan sat in the one rustic bar, sipping cocktails made of fruits with flavors they never knew existed.
Chris was pleased. On the spur of the moment he'd hired the car, come up with this day trip. He wanted to get last night - the weird session with Van - out of his and Ryan's heads. And it worked; they got properly back into holiday mode.
The driving had been a bit difficult but Chris successfully managed the truck-heavy, potholed roads leading to the lagoon, Ryan helping with the GPS. On the way back, tired, Chris finds it more of a struggle and it's a relief when they're finally back in the city, on the road downtown.
Ryan directs them to a gas station where they can refill the rental before returning it at the hotel. Pulled up on the forecourt, Chris opens his window, then bends down in the seat well, searching for the lever to release the gas cap.
When he looks up, Van has a thick, tattooed arm resting on the top of the open window. His flat, not-especially-handsome face leaning in, grinning. "Oi. Hey."
Van saw them as soon as their fancy SUV started to turn into the forecourt. His first reaction is embarrassment, to hide; not wanting the Americans to know he works this shitty job.
But as their car pulls up, Van realizes. This is his chance. Chris - the richer American, the one who'd thought he could fuck alongside Van, like equals - had blocked him this morning on the app. But Van knows Chris is weak. Face-to-face, he can bring him back in line. For once, luck has gone Van's way.
Van loses the grin, pretends this isn't a surprise at all, talks to them through the car window like children.
"Why you are doing this? driving? The roads are bad. Is dangerous. In this city you make for the wrong turn and "pow"." Van mimes a gun pointing at Chris's head.
Chris just stares at him. With the shock that, in the huge city, Van has somehow found them, he can barely form a clear thought.
Van fuels the tank without further discussion, shoves the card machine at Chris. When he's paid, Van opens the door.
"Out. Is not safe for you. I gonna drive."
Chris shakes his head, starts to pull the door closed. But Ryan says eagerly, "Well maybe it is a good idea. The driving isn't easy, hun. And he'll know the way."
This is too much thinks Chris. With the stress of the drive back and now Van reappearing, he can feel the calm he'd felt at the lagoon evaporating. It doesn't help that Ryan, clearly, wants the Brazilian back in their hotel right now: that's kind of hurtful.
Chris breathes. He's not going to let himself get stressed. He is going to be in holiday mode, go with the flow.
He'll let happen what's clearly about to happen - Van will drive them back and then the three of them will play around, fuck, like yesterday. That's what Ryan wants. Chris knows Van will try to mess with his head again but, so what, he can cope with the man's silly games. He can even admit to himself how much he enjoyed sucking Van's dick last time.
He and Ryan will laugh about it all when they're home in a week.
"Fine." Chris tosses the key to Van.
On the way to the hotel, Van tries not to think about the fact he's walked out of his job for the second time in a week. He punches the gas pedal hard, lurches the SUV round tight corners. He's never actually driven a car this big before.
Chris winces as the car squeals, but Ryan doesn't notice. With the strong smell of Van - sweat, mixed with gasoline - circulating round the car's AC, all Ryan can think about is having the Brazilian back on top of him, fucking him.
Van can smell himself too. Normally the first thing he'd do when he gets back from work is shower: hygiene is important. But he's guessing that the working man's sweat will help him get where he wants with this soft, rich couple. He's going to get to their hotel, and do what he needs to them, immediately. The shower will wait until after he's finished.
At the hotel
As soon as they're into the hotel room Van sends Ryan to the bathroom to prepare to be fucked. Left alone with Chris, Van looks at the taller, older man. "You gonna be good boy, yes?" He holds Chris's gaze.
Chris starts talking. He'll take charge for a moment, just to make it clear to Van that this isn't real life, it's just sex, just a game.
"Yeah Van, I'm going to play, no problem. You like this cuck stuff don't you?"
Van doesn't react.
Chris continues, "Cuckold." He laughs. "Where I'm the top guy but I have to watch you fuck my partner, and suck you. It's like we did last time. That's what makes you hot, isn't it. Role play's always kind of fun I think..."
Van, silent, just keeps looking at Chris, at the same time pulling his shirt off, sitting down heavily in the room's one armchair. He runs his hand over the hair and muscles on his chest, then leans back and starts unzipping his grease-stained work pants.
Chris knows what's coming - that huge, fat dick - and his mouth dries and suddenly he can't look away, think about anything else.
Van just nods at him. Chris after only a moment's hesitation, obeys, drops to his knees, crawls between the man's legs.
Van opens his zipper fully, pulls the length of it out, begins stroking himself to his full beer can thickness. Chris leans in and is hit by a strong smell of ball sweat, then - as Van slowly slides back his foreskin - of dick. Chris knows it's kind of gross, but still he's eager, opens his mouth wide. But Van puts a hand out to stop him.
"You want suck my caçetão, my big dick?"
Yes, Chris mouths, God, yes, he really does.
"So take the shoes, kiss the feet. Show you are good boy."
Van pushes Chris down so he's looking at Van's cheap, black laced, plastic gas station boots.
Chris struggles briefly but Van holds his head focused on the boots. So, reluctantly, Chris begins untying the laces. He eases the first one off Vans foot. The warm stink is intense. Then the other, the smell doubles.
What's Van doing? Chris thinks. There's nothing hot about this. Just give him the dick already.
Isn't that the deal, the game?
He bends down plants a gentle kiss on each warm, sweat-wet sock.
Van makes a lazy noise of disgust. "You have to do better. Take the socks."
It isn't fair, but Chris does what he's told, slides the left and then the right sock off. He stares down at the lines of dark hair that trail along the top of the man's feet.
Van holds the back of Chris's head and lifts his foot, rubbing the toes against Chris's lips. "Kiss them."
Chris sticks his tongue out, gets the very strong, rough taste of a man who's been on his feet, working all day. Chris gags at the taste. But he's still thinking, if he does this, surely he'll get the dick in his mouth next. It's just a game...
The bathroom door opens. Ryan comes out, his small, solid frame with its smooth, freckled, pale skin damp from the shower. He's wearing a small black jock that doesn't quite hide a narrow patch of tightly trimmed red-haired pubes.
It's exactly what Van's been needing all day. He grunts with appreciation, stands up, leaves Chris behind like a discarded toy.
Van leans against the wall, still stroking his big dick. "Turn. Show me the ass."
Ryan turns and then leans forward slightly, pushing his butt out, the roundness of its cheeks framed by the curving black straps of the jock.
"And the pussy."
Ryan pulls the cheeks apart, showing Van his hairless asshole.
Van, shirtless but still in his dirty work pants, steps forward then. He grabs Ryan from behind, puts his heavy arms around his shoulders and begins kissing his neck. Then, bending his knees, he slides his his sweaty dick into Ryan's clean crack.
A confused surge of anger goes through Chris, still sat on the floor: that hes been refused Van's cock; that he's humiliated himself again - the foot taste is still strong in his mouth; that a fucking gas pump guy is making the rules, about to screw his partner.
Chris stands up, starts talking. "That's it. Enough..."
But Ryan, with Van's dick rubbing against him, turns round to look over his shoulder at Chris. "No babe. I need this. It'll be over soon."
Chris slumps. Ryan's right. They've started playing, they should finish the game.
And Van looks at him, tells him, "lubrificant" and nods at the bottle on the other side of the room. Chris feels a weird surge of relief that he's still got some role to play.
Van steps away from Ryan briefly, drops his pants. He stands, legs planted wide, naked to allow Chris to kneel in front of his muscular body. That the man is ready to fuck is obvious: the thick hard-on is visibly throbbing, its veiny width jutting out from the dense untrimmed bush, its fat brown head dangling a single long strand of precum.
Chris does what he has to, fills his palm with the lube and strokes it slowly, thickly up and down Van's shaft. When he's done he sits and looks at it proudly, the polished gleam of the oiled up piece, at how big and ready it is. Until Van, immediately forgetting him, steps back to deal with Ryan.
Van is less careful with Ryan than last time he fucked him. He presses the smaller man hard against the wall, roughly gropes his ass to line up his dick. Then he immediately penetrates him - driving rigid meat roughly into the warm pussy. He enjoys Ryan's cry and then squealing as the small man gets used to the thick iron inside him. Van's been dealing with shit all day, and now it's his turn to take what he needs. He fucks fast and hard, impaling, lifting Ryan high up onto his toes against the wall, kissing/biting the back of his neck.
Chris, ignored, acting out the cuck part, kneels close behind Van. His eyes are level with the man's muscular ass, its crack filled with dense black hairs. He watches each steady, powerful thrust into his boyfriend. Chris has never owned Ryan like this.
Van needs to get one out urgently, and it doesn't take long before he's shoving Ryan's face flat against the wall, giving one final push to get himself as deep into the hole as he can. Suddenly, he's totally still, apart from those thick ass muscles spasming as he injects his seed. The bottom guy lets out a small whimper as he's filled.
Van pulls Ryan away from the wall, turns him around, starts kissing him. Ryan responds hungrily. As he lets Van's tongue probe his mouth, Ryan opens his eyes only briefly, to catch sight of his boyfriend kneeling on this floor. Oh God, Chris, Ryan thinks. He'd forgotten about him. He closes his eyes again.
Van gropes Ryan. He runs one hand over the round ass, into the crack, gathering up some of the sticky leftovers of his own load. Then Van squeezes himself, his thick dick, tightly, collecting more cum into his fingers.
And, carrying on kissing Ryan, he holds out his hand to the side.
Still on his knees, Chris leans forward and licks from the Alpha's hand like a pet. He tastes the rich, sour semen mixed with a slight taste of oil and dirt from the thick fingers, swallows it down.
Chris reaches into his own pants, jacks himself eagerly as he licks. All he wants now - more than anything - is to have his reward for being a good boy, his chance to suck Van.
It's an offer that never comes. Instead, Van - pulling back gently from Ryan, - tells Chris to stand up.
Facing Chris, Van pauses, then idly gives a couple of strokes to his cock, watches Chris's brown eyes dart down to it, eager, excited, waiting for permission to kneel again.
Van slaps Chris's face, not too hard.
Chris doesn't say anything, just looks confused, hurt, his soft brown eyes more desperate than ever. Van grins. This is progress. The rich American doesn't know what's going on, he just knows that Van is in control. For the first time, Van wants to fuck Chris.
But not yet.
"The sex finish for you today. I gonna fuck with the boy some more. You can sit watch. Or take bath. I don care."
"But.."
The last shred of Chris's pride prevents him from begging Van in front of Ryan.
Instead he goes into the bathroom, washes his face and rinses his mouth. Then he urgently needs to jerk off. A jumble of thoughts about Van's cock make him shoot - the sight and smell of it, imagining it thrusting into Ryan.
When Chris comes out of the bathroom, Van has Ryan on the bed. He's back inside him, fucking him luxuriantly, slowly. "I'm going to the bar" Chris says to the two rutting men. Neither look up at him or reply.
Ryan finds him there later. They have a stilted dinner where they talk only about the trip to the lagoon, nothing about Van. Then they go to bed early, lie side-by-side looking at their phones.
They're avoiding the topic of Van but even so, its a bit like he's still in the room: close up, Chris can smell the man's sweat and gasoline stink smeared all over Ryan. Chris's dick stiffens each time he gets a waft of it.
Hesitating, Chris starts to talk, "That was.. a lot.." But then he doesn't know what else to say, what he wants, what he thinks they should do next.
Ryan is also silent for a moment before speaking. "Van says the city is dangerous, and it's better he knows where we are."
"He told me to install this." Ryan turns his phone towards Chris, opens an app; a red dot marked 'C&R' shows where they are in the downtown hotel and another one marked 'Van' shows the man's position somewhere out in the vast suburbs of the city.
"I guess he'll come find us tomorrow."
