One of the big perks of entering the Flushing Meadows Tennis Academy that used the U.S. Open tournament courts in Queens, New York, for its classes was that every summer the students enjoyed contact with professional tennis players entered in one of four major annual tennis tournaments by being given volunteer jobs at the two-week venue. Two new eighteen-year-old students just coming out of high school programs, David Wu and Jason Lee, had quickly gravitated to each other because of their similarities and interests and, for that same reason, had found themselves in ball boy jobs at the U.S. Open tournament.
The ethnicity of both stood out in what once was an all-white gentlemen’s sport. David was Chinese-American and Jason’s family had immigrated from Jamaica. Other similarities had brought the two together. They were both of small stature for developing professional tennis players, which had made them both scrappers who took risks and learned to move fast on the courts. Their speed as well as their size and the knowledge they already had for the sport were what had qualified them to be ball boys for tournament play. At eighteen, they normally would be too big and not agile enough for such duties.
What solidified their friendship, though, was that they both knew they wanted to be actively and submissively gay and were drawn to muscular men older than themselves, preferably pro tennis players—and they both were old enough to make that decision for themselves now. They both had started messing around, necking with local tennis players, and giving head, although only Jason had, as yet been ass fucked.
Both young men were sassy, on the make, full of themselves for being accepted into the Flushing Meadows Tennis Academy, and more than ready to rub elbows and other body parts with male tennis stars. They were delighted to have been made part of the coming U.S. Open and both were determined to score with professional tennis player in those two weeks.
On Wednesday afternoon of week one of the U.S. Open Tennis Tournament in the closing days of August, David stopped Jason in the ball boys’ locker room before they were to go out onto the Louis Armstrong Stadium for a U.S. Tennis Open second-round afternoon match between the twenty-six-year-old Italian, Marco Spinelli, heir to an Italian shipping vessel empire and a notorious bad boy, and the American Steve Melton. Both of the ball boys were perfectly formed beautiful angels.
“You know what we discussed about Spinelli,” David said. “I bet you couldn’t.”
“I bet I can,” Jason retorted. “Piece of cake. He’s got a reputation for it.”
“Well, I’ve read it’s OK in Italy, where they’re a lot more open about this, but I bet he wouldn’t try it here with those working the tournament, with one of us—with a ball boy. I think they’d mostly think the ball boys were off limits anyway—that they’d be too young.”
“If he does it at all, he’s hooked and will do it anywhere with any small guy. It’s a matter of letting him know we’re legal. Gossip is that size matters with him, that in his case, he likes them small,” Jason said. “He himself is a big dude. Over six-seven according to the tournament book and nearly two hundred pounds. A real hunk.”
“So, what, you want to do the bet or not?”
“Sure. What’s the bet, then?”
“If you can, you have to return this used, with him initialing the packet.” David surreptitiously pulled a Trojan Magnum condom packet out of his bag.
Jason laughed. “What do you have that for? And what makes you think Spinelli needs a Magnum?”
“His photos have been on the Internet. I know you’ve seen them. We’ve looked at them together. You tell me whether you think he needs a really big one or not. As you said, he’s a really big boy for this sport. It stands to reason he’s big everywhere. You’ve seen a hell of a lot more erections than I have. Is he big or is he big?”
“OK, you’re right. But why again are you carrying that around? You haven’t done it. I’ve done it. You haven’t.”
“There always will be a first time,” David said. “I’ve had it with me since the day I turned eighteen—just in case. That’s the bet. Take it or leave it.”
“What if I don’t get Spinelli to do me?”
“Then you have to let Egan Smithe do you. You know he wants to.” Egan Smithe was one of the tennis academy financial managers. He had something to do with setting up the ball boy roster, and he’d made no bones about wanting to do eighteen-year-old Jason, who he knew had let some of the local tennis pros screw him.
“Yeah, but Smithe’s an old, fat, ogre.”
“He has a dick. That’s the bet. If you don’t really think you can get Spinelli—”
* * * *
It really wasn’t that hard. Marco Spinelli was a bad boy in many ways and that was one of them. Eighteen-year-olds were fair game for him, the smaller the prey the better. Spinelli treated them as fair game everywhere, and there were rumors and Internet gossip about him taking them young and small, none of which seemed to faze him a bit. Eighteen was more than “good to go” for him.
He was an arrogant son of a gun with every reason to be so. He was a gorgeous Italian—sleek and sensual, Mediterranean dark and sultry. Sex on a stick and independently wealthy. He had no trouble getting what he wanted. Any young man prone to go under a man would give it all up for Spinelli without a second thought. He had not only fame, fortune, and looks, but a big cock too. He knew what to do with it and he was an endurance champion. He had shown that he easily could go five sets in tennis and three quick fucks in bed afterward.
During the match, which Spinelli won handily, Jason, through looks and flirting and letting Spinelli touch his hand longer than necessary when he provided the ball or the towel, and by floating gracefully around the court chasing balls with Spinelli ogling him and fantasizing about him, had no trouble making Spinelli want him. Jason, in turn, made it quite clear the Italian tennis pro could have him. Once when Spinelli reached out for a ball Jason was holding, Jason smiled and said, “You’ve got nice balls already.” They’d been flirting, so there was no question that he was speaking in innuendo.
Spinelli smiled back and said, “Yes, I do, but you haven’t seen them. Want to see them after the match?”
Jason’s answer was just to get in, “I’m eighteen and have no plans for after the match. I could have a look,” and that was that. Given opportunity, they both realized they had a deal.
They met, not by accident, an hour after the match was over. As Spinelli was leaving the court, he stopped where Jason was standing to pin down that he wanted the young man.
“Nice. I haven’t had much chocolate,” he said to Jason as he came up to him. “Are you a player? You say you’re eighteen. Do you take cock? Can you handle a big one?”
There it was, baldly out on the table.
Jason had to pin this down fast, so he was equally direct. “I haven’t been laid by an Italian. You’re a big, sexy stud. I’d love you to do me. And big is better.”
No need for further negotiations. Jason told the tennis player where he could find a usually deserted section of corridor under the stands that he could pretend was just a way he was trying to find to get out to where the courtesy cars were waiting to take players to their hotels if that was necessary.
It wasn’t necessary. They kissed and felt each other up in the corridor. Spinelli would have risked fucking the black ball boy right there, up against the wall. But Jason needed an initialed condom packet and a used rubber, which would be hard to manage here, so he begged off, which made Spinelli want to spike him even more.
“Can I carry your bag out to the car taking you back to your hotel?” Jason asked, fluttering his long, thick eyelashes at the Italian.
“Sicuramente puoi—You certainly may,” Spinelli said, patting Jason on the butt.
Then, when they reached the area where the cars to the hotels were waiting, Spinelli said, “Entra. Voglio mostrarti il mio hotel—Get in. I want to show you my hotel room.”
They both knew what that meant, and a little chill went up Jason’s spine. It wasn’t just that this was so easy. It also was that he melted to a dominant man. The Italian was giving him orders. Jason got in the car.
The dominating mode and speedy setup continued when they entered the hotel room. “Striscia. Sdraiati sul letto. Allarga quelle gambe. Dammi il tuo buco—Strip. Lay down on the bed. Spread those legs, and give me your hole,” the Italian demanded. At the same time, Spinelli was stripping off his own clothes.
“No drink or nothing first?” Jason asked.
“ho detto sul letto. Mostrami il tuo buco. Adesso—I said on the bed. Show me your hole. Now!” Spinelli growled, stripping off his briefs and turning toward Jason, erection in hand. “Andiamo, ragazzo nero. Facciamolo. Sul letto. Allarga quelle gambe di cioccolato—Come on, black boy. Let's do it. On the bed. Spread those chocolate legs.”
One of the player’s strengths was, in fact, his quick serve.
Jason gasped. David had been right. The man needed a Trojan Magnum. The boy whimpered and started to moan, but he stripped as Spinelli demand. It wasn’t that he hadn’t been fucked in the ass before. It was that he hadn’t been fucked by a shaft that thick and long before.
And he hadn’t been fucked by a man as arrogant and demanding as this stud was going to be.
Before he was completely undressed, Jason pulled the condom packet out of his pocket that David had given him. He held the packet up, his hand trembling enough that Spinelli laughed. “I’ll do it—whatever you want,” he said, “if you use this and initial it afterward.”
Spinelli laughed again. He didn’t ask the young man why. He was accustomed to be asked to autograph all sorts of things. He just said, “You knew I’d need this size?” He took the condom packet from Jason and slit it open.
“Yes, I’ve seen the photos on the Internet,” Jason answered.
“And you’ve read the gossip too?”
“Yes.”
“So, you know I’ll need more than just that one.” He pulled two more Trojan Magnum packets out of the pocket of his shorts. “See, I do use them.”
Jason gasped, his eye got as big as saucers, and he began to tremble, but when Spinelli repeated, “Lay on the bed, spread your legs, and show me your hole. It’s time I had some chocolate,” the boy did so. Spinelli walked over to him, naked, his body muscular, sleek, and magnificent, his erection enormous, and he fingered Jason’s hole. Jason flinched and groaned. Spinelli penetrated with a finger. The hole blossomed open. A second finger pushed in and the man spread the hole open. White fingers disappearing into black hole. Jason whimpered, “Be good to me, Daddy.”
“I’m always good to my guys. You open right up. You’re not a virgin,” Spinelli said, sniffing his slight disappointment.
“No,” Jason answered.
“So, I don’t have to be gentle, at least.”
“No.” This “no” was a bit more forlorn.
Spinelli laughed, dropped to his knees between the young man’s thighs as Jason lay on his back at the foot of the bed. He went immediately to work stroking the young man’s chocolate-brown cock off—white fingers sheathing and sliding on black cock—and eating out his ass, opening him up.
“Corpo piccolo ed elegante, pene nero, buco di cioccolato. Caramella dolce—Small, sleek body, black cock, chocolate hole. Sweet candy,” Spinelli whispered, as he quickly prepared the young man for mounting.
Jason whimpered and moaned. He arched his back and extended his arms straight out from his body in a sacrificial stance, bunching the mattress up in his fists, and writhed under the relentless Italian as Spinelli worked his cock, balls, and hole.
It wasn’t long before Jason came for Spinelli under intense attention. When he had, Spinelli stood, hunched over the young man’s trembling body, between his thighs, forced himself inside Jason’s channel as Jason panted hard and cried out the difficulty of taking him. Once forced in, deep, he held until Jason relaxed, stretched, opened more, and stopped sobbing.
“Guarda in basso per tutta la lunghezza del tuo bel corpo. Guarda il pene bianco all'interno del buco nero, in movimento, dentro e fuori—Look down the entire length of your beautiful body. See the milky white cock inside the chocolate brown hole, in motion, in and out.”
Jason gave him a deep moan. This was unlike any fuck he’d had before. Then the Italian stud began to pump, grabbing the young man’s ankles and hooking them on his shoulders. He fucked the hell out of the youth, giving him no quarter. The big man smothered the body of the smaller black guy, manhandling and manipulating him into the positions he wanted at will. Thrusting, thrusting, thrusting, bringing Jason off and then thrusting, thrusting, thrusting again to his own prodigious, multiple orgasms of a totally fit athlete.
Drilling the whimpering boy. Owning him.
He didn’t give Jason any quarter the next time, either, as he changed condoms, put the young man on his hands and knees, mounted his ass from above and behind, and fucked him like a dog. The passage took him better this time, and Jason’s cries were more in passion than in pain.
“Bene. Molto buona! Grande!—Good. Very good. Great!” Spinelli roared his approval.
Jason agreed. He was being fucked by a hunky Italian tennis star. He was in heaven. He’d never imagined that fucking could be this great.
The third time was easiest of all, and sheer pleasure for both of them. Jason had left the bed, thinking Spinelli was sleeping, exhausted. But Spinelli was a tennis champion. He wasn’t exhausted. He was just planning the next position. The young man was a sweet lay—milk chocolate candy.
Jason had gone over to the floor-to-ceiling window of the Manhattan hotel room, overlooking the Hudson River, and pressed his forehead to the glass, trying to gather himself, both trembling in exhaustion and exhilarated that he’d been fucked by a hunky tennis star. Jason wanted to be a tennis star someday himself. That’s why he was volunteering as a ball boy. This was the most studly and celebratory man who had fucked him. He was only eighteen and already celebrities were fucking him.
Spinelli came out of the bed, saddled up behind Jason, and encircled him with his arms, one hand cupping the young man’s chin and pulling Jason’s head back into his chest. The other hand palmed the youth’s belly and gently pulled up, rolling Jason’s pelvis up and lifting his feet off the floor. Jason was fully captive to the man now. This was why the big Italian liked fucking small men; he liked to totally dominate them. Spinelli was in erection again. He slid inside the young man’s now-gaping hole, and, as Jason gasped and moaned, began the long, deep thrusts one more time. Spinelli manipulated and moved the exhausted young ball boy in his encompassing embrace and on his cock at will, fucking him and fucking him and fucking him.
The next day, in the ball boys’ locker room at the U.S. Open venue, David came up to a beaming Jason. “You don’t have to tell me. I saw you get into a car with the Italian hunk yesterday and I see the grin on your face today. I see how you’re hobbling and not moving the best in chasing balls on the court. But I still want to see the initialed rubber packet. That’s still the bet.”
“Just one?” Jason asked. His grin broadened even further as he pulled out three initialed, slit condom packages and, in a plastic baggy, three used condoms. “You want to have a DNA check done or are you going to trust me on this?” he asked.
* * * *
David, naked, stood at the window of the hotel room overlooking the Hudson River at night. He was trembling so hard that he had to lean into the window, forehead and palms against the cool glass, fighting with himself whether he really should stay here or grab up his clothes and escape. Jason hadn’t given him any idea of what the Italian hunk could do, would do, other than smiling, humming, and saying that, eventually, David would have a good time—and that he’d leave the hotel room spinning, reeling from side to side, and hobbling. David wasn’t sure that was reassuring.
Spinelli was in the bathroom, taking a quick shower. When he came out and saw David at the window, he dropped the towel. He was in full erection. David gasped. Spinelli smiled. “Molto bella. Non ho mai scopato un ragazzo asiatico prima. Ci divertiremo—Very nice. I’ve never fucked an Asian boy before. We’re going to have a good time.”
Spinelli had commanded “Striscia. Sdraiati sul letto. Allarga quelle gambe. Dammi il tuo buco—Strip. Lay down on the bed. Spread those legs, and give me your hole” as soon as they entered the hotel room and then had gone into the bathroom.
Scared, David had stripped, but he went to the window. He didn’t go to the bed. He wasn’t sure of this. This had been the bet and he’d lost, but he wasn’t sure. He’d never been fucked before in the ass. He’d given men head and he knew he’d give them his ass someday—but he was only eighteen. This was what he wanted, however. And he said yes, and he’d let the dreamy Italian bring him up here. He steeled himself. This was it. This was the time. But then . . .
Before David could decide he wouldn’t do this, he was doing it. Spinelli was behind him, kneeling behind him, wrapping his arms around his legs, a hand going to palming his belly to hold him in place, the other hand taking possession of the young man’s cock and stroking him off. Spinelli buried his face in the Asian youth’s crack, going after his hole with his tongue. Held in place, David trembled and moaned.
When David had come, Spinelli rose, held the smaller young man close, one hand palming the youth’s lower belly, rolling his pelvis up and lifting David’s feet off the floor, establishing total control of the smaller body.
“Molto bella. Non ho mai scopato un ragazzo asiatico prima. Ci divertiremo—Very nice. Flexible and yielding. I will love Asian ass,” the big Italian murmured.
His right hand put his erection in position and then rose, cupping the young man’s chin and pulling his head back into Spinelli’s chest. David’s smaller, eighteen-year-old body was suspended in front of the hunky Italian, nearly pressed into the window. David was under Spinelli’s complete control. He was already in pain with just the bulb of the cock pressed into his hole, but it was too late now to try to back out, even if he could, and he did want to get over this barrier. He did want to go under hung male tops.
It was more difficult—much more difficult—taking possession of David’s channel than it had been for Jason, but Spinelli persevered and forced it, despite his captive’s panting, writhing, sobbing, and moaning, slowly but relentlessly filling, stretching, spreading, owning the Asian youth’s ass. Once in full possession, he waited for David to relax and open totally to him—but when he didn’t fast enough for the Italian hunk, Spinelli fucked him anyway.
To Spinelli, of course, it was all about Spinelli’s pleasure.
The strong Italian lifted and lowered the youth’s body on the thick, hard, Trojan Magnum-covered shaft, slow at first and then, as the young man’s channel started to loosen and open to him and David settled down into low whimpers and sobs, faster and faster, with longer and longer slides, reaching deeper and deeper, until Spinelli tensed and jerked and flooded the bulb of the rubber with his hot Italian cum.
“Adoro quel culo asiatico dolce e stretto!—Love that sweet and tight Asian ass!” Spinelli cried out, obviously pleased with his conquest, as David collapsed under him, panting and whimpering, puddled on the floor before the window.
David didn’t tell him until later, when he was lying stretched out on the bed partially on his side and partial draped over Spinelli’s body, having just been fucked again, that, until tonight, he had been a virgin to anal penetration.
Spinelli was pleased but that didn’t change anything. “Ah, he said, I noticed you were a little hesitant and unsure about it. That explains it. You know what the best cure for that is, don’t you?”
“No, what?” David asked.
“The best cure is to keep doing it—often.” He laughed, put the ball boy on his belly, mounted his ass, and fucked him a third time. Spinelli had a pattern to uphold and he wanted to fully use the Asian boy’s ass while he was still virginally tight.
The next afternoon, in a match in which neither David nor Jason reported in as well enough to chase balls for, Marco Spinelli won his third-round match decisively, with a commentator saying, “Whatever he’s doing to play that well, he should certainly keep doing.”
There was little chance Spinelli was going to stop balling young men whenever he got the chance and as long as he could get it up. He had David and Jason again before he finally got knocked out in the semifinals in the following week—as well as a young racket stringer, John; the driver, LeRoy, who drove him back to his hotel one night; another ball boy named Curtis; and a cute Brandon who flirted with him when he asked him to autograph a tennis ball.
