Catalan Kid Ch 01

Catalan Kid Ch 01

Juan Arrives in Barcelona; Flashes Back on His Time with Curry

This is fiction. I take no responsibility for the coincidental description of the places and people--even if they seem to resemble "real life." All characters portrayed in sexual situations are over 18. © Copyright, Brunosden 2025.

1.

We've just arrived in Barcelona. The flight from Atlanta landed at noon, and it took us another few hours to get to the boutique hotel. It is located at the back of a mini-square, just off Las Ramblas--the busy shopping and entertainment boulevard, the spine of the vibrant city. There are four of us--Mom, Dad, my little brother and I. I'm 19 and just graduated from a tech magnet school in Birmingham (Alabama). My age (old) is the result of two things: COVID and the fact that I'm graduating with over a year of college credits in the physical sciences. This is my "graduation present"--a trip to Spain. Dad is of Catalan descent, an aeronautical engineer at NASA, and wanted to show us "his country" before I went off to Georgia Tech in August and the family would begin to split. I wish they had just given me the money and let me do it on my own. I certainly don't need a family vacation at this point in my life. Even at my age, I think I'm pretty mature, and it would have been nice to explore the city on my own. I don't need 24/7 chaperones. Or responsibility for a fourteen year old brother who of course is bunking with me.

I'm Juan Sanchez. I'm taller than my Dad, at 6-3, with longish dark hair (as long as they will permit), deep brown eyes, set in a square chiseled face, and a Mediterranean complexion that tans quickly and easily. (Mom is Brazilian, so the color comes easily.) I'm a runner, cross-country and long distance, and have the lithe body of one who does so every day. Light muscles, but the pecs are hard and the abs rippled with cuts, the abdominal vee deep--since there is no fat. And, I've got a runner's ass, and a long thick dick that has seen quite a bit of use recently. In fact, I consider myself to be quite the young Latino cocksman.

I think I should make one thing clear: I am not a tech nerd, even though I placed into and did very well at Birmingham Tech School, completing many AP courses and even earning over a year of college credits. There are certainly enough of those around me. I am really good at STEM. It comes easy to me. But, thanks to my Mom and Dad's example and urging, and my decision to go out for and excel at a number of sports, I've got a decent social life and I'm reasonably well-balanced.

It's five o'clock now and the quietude of siesta is ending (despite every effort of the Government to eliminate this ancient Spanish tradition). The street is coming to life. Shops are re-opening. Metal shutters are clanging open. Cafés are unfurling their umbrellas and awnings. Traffic is back and aggressively loud. Mom and Dad are still groggy from the jet lag, reading quietly in their suite, and my bro is still sleeping--he spent all night watching videos on the plane. He'll probably sleep until dinner. So I've got a reprieve for an hour or more. And I'm hyped and itchy to move.

I announced that I needed a run, a long one, to shake off the jet lag. So I had pulled on my running gear (short, slit nylon running briefs in my school's red color with a white stripe down the side, a loose vintage "Boss" tee, aviator glasses, and running shoes) and left the hotel. A quick look at the full length door mirror convinced me that I was definitely rad. I was out for a run, but if I "ran into" someone, that would be okay. It was only a block or so to the Promenade where the Ramblas meets the long sea-front expanse of museums, shops and entertainment of the Port Vell ("Old Port"), all connected by broad paved spaces fronting on the Mediterranean. It's not perfect for a long run because of the hard surfaces, but it would do, since it wasn't yet crowded with tourists looking for an evening place to drink or eat.

I loped the busy sidewalk to the intersection with the sea and headed south. Then, my speed increased as the pavement broadened and the pedestrian traffic thinned. I consciously attempted to get into the zone--that special interior place that runners reach where everything is blurred, quiet and unconscious--except the regular light steps of my long running strides. I ran for about 45 minutes at a decent pace, the sea on one side, commercial buildings on the other, all blurring into a chiascuro. There was life and activity, but it all blended into a panorama where no element had particular shape. I wasn't even winded.

I paused at the turning and halfway point, dug a few Euro coins from the tiny pocket inside the running shorts and bought a plastic bottle of cold water. My high school Spanish failed me with even this small task, as Catalans really don't speak Spanish. But with pointing and Spanglish, I managed to get a bottle of "agua fria sin gaz."

I sat at the edge of the serpentine wall, a low rounded-top parapet, that separated the pavement from the sandy beach, facing the sea, the sun still high in the sky, but behind me. It was peaceful in a strange way--there was so much ambient noise that it all coalesced into a low constant hum with the staccato whoosh of light waves washing the shoreline. The beach wasn't crowded, but there were a few groupings of attractive, scantily clad Spaniards enjoying the sea and the sand. Many were making out as though no one else was on the beach. I was in my element. Bait, waiting to catch a delicious Mediterranean fish. It had been a few weeks.

I pulled off my tee and took a deep swallow of the cold water, closed my eyes, stretched out my legs to display one of my best features--long muscled legs, rested my head against a concrete light post, and vegged. The mirror glasses permitted me to look around without seeming too obvious. Of course, this position advertised my basket, my cut abs and tanned hairless chest to anyone walking by.

It didn't take long for me to get my wish. Seconds later I felt a warm presence next to me on the parapet. My eyes drifted right behind the reflective glasses and took in a young man, probably a few years older than me, wearing nothing but the briefest swim suit that I had ever seen in public, more like the smallest of silky jocks. It was wet and clung to his body leaving nothing to the imagination. His pecs were glistening with the droplets of the sea. I noticed that he carefully scanned my entire body, concentrating on my tight running shorts. He realized that I was looking at him at the same time. He smiled, and his face lit up. "Bona Tarda..... Americano, si?"

(Not exactly the most creative pickup line that I had heard, but maybe he didn't need more. Fuck, he was sex on a stick. "Si, Buenos tardes, yo soy Americano."

"School boy Spanish, I see. That won't get you far in this city. We are aggressively Catalan, the nobility of Spain. And we try not to speak Spanish--which as you may know, the Portuguese call the 'language of donkeys.' I'm Ricardo." He stuck out his hand to shake. I took it. He held on for a little longer than I would have expected; his other hand moved to my shoulder to pull me in--he was going to kiss me, I think, but I pulled back--and, he moved even closer so that our bare thighs were touching. We were already "bros."

He noticed the tee which had fallen to the ground when I picked up my head. The logo was clearly visible. "I'm a fan of Bruce, myself. He's very popular here."

The next few minutes were predictable. He asked and I answered--where I was from, how long I'd be in Barcelona, and finally, whether I'd like to see the "real" Barcelona with a native guide. I did not mention the family.

During the interrogation, I assessed Ricardo. (And I'm pretty sure he was doing the same to me.) He was stunningly, move-star-like, handsome, with gleaming teeth behind red puffy lips, dark eyes, curly short black hair, lightly-muscled (probably from athletics) with an incredible 8-pack and v-belt, darkly tanned, thin waisted and hipped, and, fuck, he was hung. The bikini he was wearing provided no basis for illusion--it was all real, up front and on display. He was definitely hung. The thin stretchy fabric didn't even conceal the uncut knob at the end of the long horizontal sausage resting on two hard-boiled eggs. They all filled the basket quite nicely. And his pubes had been waxed so no hair drifted up from the band which rested well below his waist.

(Later when he stood to leave, I noted that he was only a little shorter than I, and, perhaps more importantly, that the t-strap of his bikini framed his muscular ass perfectly.) He was really quite a specimen. A model. Maybe even a male whore. I didn't really know the tells since Europeans are so much more comfortable in their bodies--their nearly naked bodies. And I was already looking forward to getting to know him. He must be gay. No hetero looked that good or advertised his assets so blatantly.

2.

I guess I should back up for a minute and fill in some history. Given my genes and early pubescence, I had always attracted female companions--I was taller than most of my classmates, taller even than the earlier-to-develop girls. I was dark, mysteriously so. And I had facial hair before I was sixteen. And the cock and pubes of a man by the time I was fifteen. At first, I was embarrassed in the locker room to be so precocious, but I soon learned that being endowed and mature was nothing to be ashamed of. So to the others in the locker room, I was something pretty special. I developed body hair earlier than most and my dick filled out to a decent size as quickly. Because of my height and apparent maturity, I had had a whirlwind of dances and parties, always with a date. I was popular and social. And looked up to by many of my teammates. I was already a man among boys. With the opportunity for choice denied to many of my classmates. My social life was set. I easily moved into an alpha role. I was really very pleased with myself. I dated successfully, learning slowly how to seduce a desirable girl. Guys in the locker room began to ask me for advice.

Then, just as senior year started, after my eighteenth birthday, a guy transferred in from Jackson. He was a stunner! More than a stunner, a fuckin, smokin' hot stud! I had never thought of myself as having any gay tendencies. But just seeing this guy raised my blood pressure--particularly in one of my lower extremities. My classmates, mostly female, but a few guys as well, were drawn to him like a bee to nectar. His deep seductive drawl, ready smile and sculpted physique virtually guaranteed him a spot in the pantheon of popularity--even as the new guy on the block. He was mocha skinned, without a blemish, slim hipped, probably of mixed ancestry. Definitely GQ material. Later I learned that he had a Brazilian Mom, as I did, and an Argentine engineer Dad of Italian descent.

Without realizing it, I fell in lust. It never even occurred to me that he had de-throned me as the most popular and desired in the class. I was drawn to him as I had never before been drawn to a boy. From that moment, I began to think that maybe I was bisexual. Actually, I didn't "think" very much at all. Unless you call the automatic response of my little brain thinking. I was confused, but the draw was very clear. I was as attracted to him as to any of the girls that I had been dating. Maybe more. Just thinking about him made me hard. I even went home the night after he appeared first in the locker room and trimmed my pubes and shaved my balls before jerking off, thinking of him stroking me.

He joined the track team--as a short distance sprinter. It turned out that he was fast, very fast, and soon was taking prizes and leading our team to track meet victories. So, he was obviously around the locker room and showers when I was. He also went out for wrestling and apparently did equally well on the mat although his physique didn't really say wrestler to me. I had plenty of visual images of him, striding about the lockers or standing in the showers. He seemed to have no modesty at all. A towel, if any, was always thrown over a shoulder. All of which I recalled later for spanking the monkey. Within a few weeks, as I stroked, I could visualize him easily--standing naked beneath the showers, with a delicious bubble butt and an enormous dick arching over large balls as he soaped un-self-consciously, even sporting an occasional semi. And the long muscles in his thighs, developed over years of running and wrestling training were simply spectacular.

I couldn't picture us doing anything together--even with the help of some porn videos. But, there was this underlying hunger, deep down, to touch him and be touched by him--particularly my cock.

At first, I was careful in the gang showers. None of us wanted to pull a boner with other boys around. It was a conservative high school--uniforms, no LGTBQ+ club, no obvious out gays, no leather, no piercings, and only a few discrete tats. So I avoided him, kept my eyes down, and wrapped in a towel--all the time when not under the water. One teammate noticed the change in my character--I had gone from exhibitionism to modesty. From king of the hill to second string. He whispered that I was jealous and didn't like the comparison. But, I just laughed it off.

Then, one day, when I was finishing later than usual since I had pushed to complete a half-marathon, I was standing under the shower, soaping my hair, my eyes closed. I was in that special zone that hot water can produce after strenuous exercise. I guess I was pumped and stretching my arms above my head certainly expanded my torso. The place was quiet although it looked like a hurricane had come through, depositing dirty jocks, towels and an occasional running shoe throughout the space. And it stunk of young male musk. Not exactly an unwelcome odor. If they could bottle it, I'm pretty sure it would sell even better than Old Spice. He came up silently behind me and touched my shoulder with his hand. The touch and his heat jolted me. I startled, since I thought that I was alone.

I turned and opened to see him standing as close as possible, staring directly into my eyes with dark brown, almost black pupils that pierced into my soul. He was obviously naked, and he too had been working out, presumably with the wrestling team. He hadn't yet showered. So he smelled of young heady testosterone.

He opened with an innocent, "Can I borrow your soap?" And when I paused, stunned by his close proximity, he added, "I know you've been eyeing me. I have a sixth sense when someone is watching me. I know how good I look. It comes with the territory. It's been my gift and my burden for a few years. So why are you avoiding me, Juan? Have I done something to offend you? I don't bite, you know--unless that it something that you're into." (Fuck, he knew I had been eyeing him. He even knew my name. Obviously I hadn't been as discrete as I had thought.)

By then, both of our cocks were stiffening. He reached down and grabbed his balls and bounced them in his palm, apparently in some sort of greeting--or challenge. I stammered a reply while scanning the magnificent hairless chest only inches away. Then, my eyes dropped and I saw that he was already well beyond a semi. Fuck, he was big. Already over six and still growing. He was definitely a grower as well as a shower, thick, long and dark. Finally, after only a few seconds, that seemed like an hour, as I stood rigidly in place, not reacting to his request, he reached down with one hand and fisted our shafts together as the other went around me and grabbed the bottle of body wash from the shelf on the wall. He squeezed sending a shock wave up my spine. He backed off, leaving me with a dick that was rapidly going rigid. Just his touch! Fuck!

"I see I was right. You are intrigued. That's a good sign. Well, you definitely can't avoid me now. I think we need to get to know each other if we're going to be teammates. I understand we both have Brazilian mothers. Something else in common. And we all know what they say about Brazilian men--built better for more fun." He moved to the shower head next to mine and started to soap, giving enough attention to his cock that it expanded to full erect size. He turned toward me. "You can feel it if you want." I hesitated. It was definitely a monster. The biggest I had ever seen, even in porn. So I reached over and stroked it. My fingers didn't come close to touching and my fist covered way less than half its length. Fuck, it was so big!

"Now that we've met officially, let's get a soda after school today. We have the same last class, AP Physics. We can go from there. I'm not taking no for an answer." He turned away, then back, "By the way, you've got a really nice bod. And a decent dick. I think we can have some fun together if you're game."

He really didn't ask. He had taken charge. We did talk that afternoon and several times later. After only a week of easy companionship, I realized he was far more mature in matters of sex than I. I had taken a number of the girls in our class around the bases, but had never touched a guy, or tried anything unusual. He admitted to being pan-sexual, a player, and attracted to me. He claimed lots of conquests and experience--and I had no reason not to believe that he was telling the truth. So I took the leap and agreed.

Circumstances then intervened to provide us with a chance to get to really know each other. It was Thursday afternoon. We were returning from an away meet, sitting together on the school bus, which was designed for preschoolers--so it was pretty tight. His left hand was on my thigh, massaging very slowly. I had put my sweatshirt over my lap to conceal my erection. His folks were going back to Jackson for a funeral the next day and would be away for the weekend. Maybe I'd like to come over to his place Friday after school--and maybe stay over for the night. I paused for a few seconds. Then he squeezed my dick and a popped a bead or two of precum. And I accepted the invitation, knowing that something big was going to come up. Or at least I so hoped.

Needless to say, it did. I cleared the weekend with my folks, telling them that coach had enrolled some of us to a special running camp weekend. I was going to bunk with a teammate since he had a car and would drive us to the daily events. I went home with him in his car on Friday after school. We started with conversation, played a few video games. Then he suggested video porn and proceeded to show some MMF material. I wasn't a stranger to gay porn--but rarely got to use it on the big family screen. But, in his den, the screen was wall-sized and the figures were nearly life-sized. Neither of us was sure of the other, and MMF stuff is a good ice breaker. You can comment on the tits and the twats, while you stared at the beefy male cock taking her as another guy drilled him. And you can watch each other, as dicks stiffened in your pants.

Curry's arm snaked around behind my shoulder as we watched and sipped beers. He pulled me in, and our lips met. He pressed a hard tongue against my mouth, and I opened. His tongue invaded and took my mouth hostage. Soon we were sucking each other. Fuck, he was a terrific kisser with a talented tongue and great suction.

His other hand reached around and pulled me into his lap, chest to chest, in a tight embrace. It was the smoothest move that I had ever experienced. He was definitely a practiced alpha. And fuck, we were both so hot! I was necking with a boy, a man really, for the first time in my life. It felt strange, but somehow exciting. He knew how to kiss. So unlike the tentative kisses of boys afraid to chase a potential female conquest off by being too rough at the beginning. He was already taking what he wanted, confident that I was okay with his presumption. I could feel his enormous cock sliding under my ass, throbbing with impatience. Fuck, it felt like I was sitting on a baseball bat. I tingled with excitement. And felt just a bit of fear--a first for me.

It didn't take long. We were hard, obviously so. And getting hotter. He pushed me off his lap, pulled off his shirt, reached down and caught the elastic of his shorts and pulled them off, taking the jock at the same time. His cock caught on the elastic and was pulled down. Then it sprang up and bounced off his gut, one eye staring right at me. He was everything I had remembered: long, thick, with trimmed pubes, a big peach shaped head and kiwi sized wrinkled sacs holding treasures--the biggest dark dick I had ever seen, even in porn--definitely a weapon of mass creation and mass destruction. I actually shivered in fear (or was it anticipation?) of what it could do to me. His muscled, tanned body was incredible. He looked over at me, commanding with his eyes. He was like a predator animal, hypnotizing prey into submission with just an intense glare. I followed, never loosing eye contact, and stripped mechanically. Then he pulled me back into his lap, in a straddle, with his hard dick planted nicely in my crack. We necked again as he made love to my ass with his hot, silky dick, slipping it back and forth. The action droned on behind us, emitting moans, groans, "fuck's" and "yeah, there's."

He shifted, and when I rose, he pulled his cock out from under me. It stretched up beside mine. He grabbed both and began the mutual stroke. The heat was building. And both of us were rock hard, dribbling precum from our slits. He was big, so much bigger than me, and I wasn't really so small. I had a nice long thin pole, maybe seven and a half when really aroused without a noticeably larger head. He was longer and much thicker, maybe twice as thick. The dark hood rolled back revealing a deep purple peach-shaped head, glistening with pre-cum. It was a stunning weapon, worthy of a trophy. And I was definitely aroused. Now I definitely understood what they mean when they say a dickhead has a mind of its own, a personality of its own--and a purpose all its own. Both of us were already at the edge. He released our cocks and pulled us into a clinch. Then he ground our dicks together on our guts, the classic mating dance of young hung studs getting ready to consummate the deal. His hands went to my ass cheeks which he pulled apart. And a finger started playing with my rim.

"I'm ready to do this, Juan. I think you are too. I'm gonna take your ass. But, first we're both gonna blast. We're way to hot for this to work for your first time. So he pushed me on my side as he began to frot. The precum lubed his fist as he stroked softly, then fast and hard, bringing us both to an incredible unloading. Our chests were covered with spunk and the aroma floated all around us. Then he stretched out over me and teased my lips and my nipples for the few minutes it took for us to recharge.

He flipped us over and again resumed his stimulation of my rim. "I'm gonna rip you up, boy, just the way you want me to. I'm gonna pound and stretch. I'm gonna crowd your nut until you beg me for release. I'm gonna bottom. And then, I gonna fill you with so much of my spunk that you are gonna drip for hours. And you're gonna pop again without my touching your cock. You want that. I see it in your eyes. I presume that is why you decided to come here today. You do want this cock, don't you? Am I right?" He grabbed and shook his hard meat at me, threatening like with a sword. "I think so. But you gotta tell me. You want it? I like to hear a guy ask for it. You are a virgin, aren't you, Juan?"

I paused, drawn to him, but fearful. It would be my first. He would be my first. And I was starting at the top. I responded, almost in a whisper, "At least with boys. I've only done it with girls and always wrapped. Never in the ass. And, the girls in this town are really not into assplay. So my hole is virgin except maybe for a few well-used toys. You're gonna have to go slow, real slow. And even then, I'm not sure I can take that monster."

"So, I'm gonna do the honors. Bareback." His questioning stance morphed. His inner alpha consumed him. His face darkened. His eyes lit up. Then, in a deep slow almost drawl, he commanded, "I'm about to turn you into my cum slut, boy. When I'm finished with you, you'll only want CJ here. You'll worship him at his altar whenever I ring the bell, won't you boy? I'm gonna do a good job of prepping. Then, I'm gonna take your cherry, boy. Later maybe I'll let you do me if you want. But, I can't promise you my cherry--it's long gone." These were statements, not questions. But, I was game anyway, and boys of my age always underestimate the risks and potential for pain. Besides I was still on a post-orgasmic high and aroused enough to try again.

I was stunned at his audacity. He was going to take me. Just like that. I nodded again. "Say it boy. Tell me that you want my big hard dick inside your ass. That you've been waiting for it." He massaged my ass cheeks again and pulled them apart. A finger penetrated, and I gasped.

"Yes, I want it, Curry. But you gotta go slow. You're my first." He dropped back into the sofa cushion and stretched out his long legs, tightly together, pulling me onto him, thus vee-ing my legs, and making me spread to do so. His hands went to my cheeks and lifted and pulled them apart. I fell into his rock hard chest, resting on my knees, feeling our rigid dicks stretching into our guts. I felt the cold lube on his fingers as he opened me--probably the best feeling that I had ever had in my life. Fuck, a guy's fingers were inside me for the first time, stretching, stroking and claiming my hole.

He did go slow, moving from one, ultimately to four fingers, coated in lube, sawing in and out, finger fucking me while enlarging. I think the lube must have had some topical anesthesia because the pain slowly began to fade, or maybe it's a natural process. Without experience, I wasn't sure. Meanwhile his lips and tongue continued their assault on my mouth. I was floating on a sea of adolescent sexual desire, that intense, immediate, do-me-now kind of feeling that just takes over your psyche, and your body. It felt like my asshole was empty waiting to be filled. And my cock was like a rocket waiting for liftoff.

When I was really hot and hard, nearing the end of my rope, he pushed me off and positioned me onto the back cushion of the sofa. I noted that he had draped a towel over the leather, obviously confident that he'd get this far with me. He spread my legs as wide as they would go. "Grab the back of that sofa, boy. And spread as wide as you can. It's time bro. If I wait any longer, I'm gonna cum outside your ass. I'm guessing as a long distance runner, you're in it for the distance; but, I'm a sprinter. I get it on and get off fast. But, then I can do it again. Aren't you lucky!" Then he stepped up behind me and began to push. At first there was only pressure and pain. I wasn't opened enough to accept him. He pulled the cheeks apart, and pushed again. The head popped in and he froze. It burned and hurt. Fuck, he was so big. He had jammed a tennis ball connected to the handle of the racket in my rectum. Why did my first have to be so big? He knew. So he pulled me tight to his chest and let me freeze with only his knob inside. He distracted me with fingers playing with my tits, hardening the nipples. His lips sucked on my earlobes and then the nape of my neck. Oh fuck, that felt so good. I was melting into him. Totally losing myself.

Slowly the pain subsided, and he slid in deeper. His cock rubbed my prostate and I felt the shock and the pleasure. He used a hand to grab my neck to turn me. Then he bent in and took my lips again. I felt his cock move and expand, rubbing my nut, painful at first, then sending waves of raw pleasure through my body. He murmured, "Like that, eh chico?" His chest forced me hard into the back of the sofa cushion. He started slowly to launch up deeply into my chute, stretching, hitting nerves that I didn't even know I had, and punishing the prostate, bottoming, then speeding up and pounding. I had never felt so fuckin' alive in my entire life.

I was really leaking, but he was catching it in his right fist, coating fingers. Then he raised the fist to my nose and I inhaled the musk, drowning in the aroma. His fingers dropped to my lips and I sucked my pre-cum from his fingers. I looked over at a mirror. My face was dark and my lips had swollen in passion, sucking on his tasty fingers.

I watched as his muscled thighs drove hard, up and in, as though there were a starting block that he needed to push off from. I couldn't believe how deep he drilled--and that I could take all of that monster inside. He stretched the chute, bottomed hard and held. I felt his molten balls touching mine, kissing them really. He froze again, this time stretching my chute and sending out waves of pleasure. He was so fuckin' big and hard. I was totally stuffed, caged in his strong arms, and drunk with my own musk and his.

Finally he speeded up. He pulled out and jammed again. He shouted his release. I felt the spasms as he exploded deep inside, filling me with his hot spunk as I shot mine onto the leather cushion. Shot after shot of long white creamy ropes. It felt terrific. That feeling of a hot big cock deep inside my ass was unbelievable. Fuck, it felt natural! His cock had brought me off without a hand touching it at all. My entire body tingled with pleasure. My ass was really sore. But, I instantly wanted more.

It had taken only a few brief minutes. We were both young sperm factories after all. I didn't want it to end. I squeezed my ass cheeks tightly to hold him inside. He snickered, "I guess you really liked that. I think I've unlocked your cum slut persona. You are mine boy. CJ never fails me." He held in deep and hard, and then, maybe a minute later, he began to stroke again. Fuck he was going for a double like he had promised! This time he lasted a little longer, but ultimately the result was the same--several hot spurts of creamy cum lodged deep inside my gut. I was drenched with his cum. My hole feeling a soreness that I had never felt before. And My whole body was weak with my submission to his strong muscled chest on my back.

He had in fifteen minutes turned me into his willing slut. He had another conquest to notch onto his belt. He knew what he had done to me. At first, it chilled me to know that I was so easy. But, the memory of the intensity of the feeling soon flooded my young brain. Fuck, I wanted more of that. Who cares if I'm his sub for awhile? Or if I'm a little sore. He looks incredibly hot, but he feels even hotter. When he reached around my chest and pulled me into him, holding his big fat dick deep inside, I felt secure and wonderful--and unbelievably full. "My spunk is breeding you now, Juan. You are definitely mine, aren't you?"

I was afraid to acknowledge, but I knew he was right. Finally I nodded acceptance, and murmured out a "Yes." He used a strong hand to pull my face around and our lips locked. Once again his tongue took possession. Once a hunky hung guy has done you really well, you're definitely ready for an encore.

The weekend was a feast. As planned, I slept over--although we did very little sleeping. He kept me nude all weekend, while he mostly strutted around only with a jock or less. We wrestled, nude and oiled. Of course, he won mostly. I wasn't a wrestler, and he knew all the moves--ending many of the pins with a penetration of my ass or my mouth as he held me immobilized like a pretzel. I sucked, deep-throated and swallowed. And of course, we fucked, over and over, in his large bed. Various positions. He went slow at first and lubed generously. But, I was rapidly opening to him. All but once, he topped. He did give me one chance to top, enough to convince me that I liked being the bottom, but so that I'd be seduced into a relationship for the rest of the year.

We swam in his family's pool, sunned nude in the private back yard, and learned to be totally comfortable with mutual nudity. His hands were on me all the time, caressing, holding, stroking, taking ownership of my body and my pleasure. I was hard all weekend. And my ass was burning with his constant use. Somehow I didn't feel that I was submitting. Instead, my body craved his attention, and he knew how to provide it.

I had surrendered my cock and my ass to this dusky boy. And fuck, my soul! By the end of the weekend, we were a pair. I had arrived under the assumption that we were mutual seducers, and that we'd give as much as we'd take. But it was soon obvious that Curry was orchestrating everything. It didn't really matter who had seduced whom. It was a budding, but pretty one-sided relationship. He was my mentor and master. As between us, definitely the alpha. And I was his to do with as he pleased. And contrary to every feeling that I had had before, that is exactly what I wanted. But, I didn't feel that he had fooled me, or dominated me, or somehow reduced the boy that I was when I walked into his home. I had asked for every bit. And I didn't regret it at all. He had turned me into a sexual animal, a submissive sexual animal.

I went home Sunday afternoon with a very sore ass, nipples that were red and swollen with his attention, both mementos of a hot weekend, and multiple hickeys, so many that I needed to conceal them with the collar of my polo rolled high on my neck. Dad commented as I dragged in, still drugged with the pheromones that had seeped into my skin, and I lied, "They worked us unmercifully all weekend. I can barely walk. I'm beat. I'm gonna shower and crash. I don't need dinner. Thank god I did my homework last week."

Curry's seduction obviously worked. After the weekend, I was very into him. We managed to get together several times a week, typically at his place since both of his folks worked. I learned to strip as soon as I entered his house. He wanted me nude, and his desire dictated my response. I wanted to be nude for him. He was always hard, it seems. And always full of spunk. Fuck, he was a sperm factory. Double orgasms are routine for him. We bunked together on track away trips. My ass was growing accustomed to his size. And my body was becoming accustomed to being pinned hard under him. I was definitely his bottom, his cum slut, as he had remarked on our first date.

Occasionally, he would tell me to fuck him. He wanted me to pound his prostate. Even then he orchestrated the fuck. More often he asked me to finger him to "get him ready"--what a crock, he was ready all the time. I enjoyed it, but realized I wanted his cock inside me more. We were careful at school and didn't exhibit any possessive gestures. And we didn't shower together--that would have been impossible. We never revealed anything to our classmates. I'm assuming some of them guessed, but no one ever said anything. I stopped dating girls, except for the mandatory senior prom--where of course, we doubled. We both scored in the hotel room. Then as the girls watched, he did me.

Once or twice I thought about our "relationship"--and it was a relationship. He was not a physical dom, a daddy or a sadist. He never embarrassed or debased me for the sake of debasement. Somehow, he knew that I needed to be controlled. And fucked, deep and hard. That I reveled in his taking charge. He never made me kneel before him and take his dick--although I did it often. He never hit me. He never hurt me--except when I pleaded for him to drive harder or deeper. Somehow he walked that line. I needed a top to do it to me.

And then, every few days, he'd change up and make me fuck him, claiming that he loved having his prostate tapped as much as anybody else. It was all very curious. I bottomed of course--because I wanted to bottom. I didn't have any negative feelings about myself. I didn't need to be punished. I just loved having my chute filled with a giant cock and my nut pounded by a hard thick pole. I convinced myself it was a choice. Why does choosing to be a bottom rank below choosing to be a top?

By the end of the school year, I knew that I was bi, well really gay, and probably a natural sub, but no one else knew or suspected. I loved being filled by his hardness and having my prostate stimulated by his very talented, ginormous dick.

Somehow we both knew that our fun times didn't add up to a long term relationship. We had a natural expiration date rapidly approaching. We both had places to go, people to meet, things to experience. And I'd have the option of choosing the lifestyle for me once I went to Tech. But, it didn't matter. I was having the sexual experiences of my young life. My psyche occasionally revolted at being a sub--I was an athletic champ and top student after all. But, I convinced myself that next year, I could change completely if I wanted. And then when he was in the room, I would melt, just imagining what was hanging behind that zipper.

As expected, Curry went Ivy, with a "light" concentration in tech. He was more of a humanist student. And we agreed to have some fun together at Christmas, comparing notes. I made my final preparations to attend Georgia Tech where I intended to study architecture and engineering--with advanced placement (Sophomore status) thanks to a variety of AP STEM courses that I had suffered through. He was headed off for the summer to a New England camp as a counselor--so a few days after graduation, we would part, promising to get together over the holidays.

Graduation night was spent at his place. And we fucked up a storm, suspecting that it might be our last for some time. I suppose it's good that guys don't get pregnant. We were doing it bareback, and he was depositing millions of little sperm inside my body at regular intervals. And I was soaking them up like the good little cum dump that he had created. I wasn't preg, but I sure was addicted. I was his, and I think he knew it. That night I slept soundly with his semi planted inside.

I'd have to see what comes next after Tech starts. I think I'm going to try to put on my alpha. Maybe.

Sorry about the digression. I'll tell you a little more about Ricardo next time. But, I guess you can tell how enraptured I am with Curry's cock.

TBC

BD