Tyler Sinclair arched his head back on the bed in the somewhat seedy Ypao Breeze Inn room on Guam's western Tumon tourist coast and moaned deeply. The sailor was in deep and was slow pumping him. He'd been slow pumping him for an eternity, edging him, holding off on his ejaculation, intent on getting his money's worth. Tyler had already come, taking care of himself with his own hand. But the Sailor wanted the biggest bang for his buck. Whenever he reached the edge, he stopped and held them there, Tyler's pelvis being arched up to the big sailor's pelvis, the young whore's legs spread and bent, his feet pressed into the edge of the foot of the bed.
The sailor could take his time. He'd paid for time, not for a single liftoff. The first fuck had been quick, insistent, quickly over. The sailor was savoring this one.
Tyler's cellphone was on the nightstand. He could see it now that his head was arched back. It was vibrating. A call was coming in. He could feel the sailor tensing, ready to blow, but also ready to edge himself again. Tyler put his hips into motion in the crucial seconds, going up on his elbows, thrusting his hips forward as the sailor thrust his cock forward. He called out, "Fuck, yes, you beautiful black brute. Let me have your cum. Blast me with your fuckin' big cock. Show me what you got. Make me feel it!"
Jolted by the sudden stroking of his manhood, the sailor went over the edge. In three jerks he filled the bulb of his condom, pulled out of Tyler's ass, and, after giving Tyler a slap on his butt, had risen from the bed and was padding off to the bathroom. He didn't even realize that it had been Tyler who had brought the fuck to a conclusion.
When he heard the shower start, Tyler rolled off the bed, went around to the nightstand, and pushed some buttons on the cellphone.
"Did you call me just now, Mr. Houser?" Lee Houser was someone important who lived in a mansion hanging off a cliff on the coast north of Tumon. He did a lot of things, including running a stable of high-priced male whores. Tyler wasn't in that stable, but he'd like to be. Houser rented out to the wealthier class of johns on the island, mostly businessmen here permanently. Tyler serviced cash-strapped horny sailors on shore leave at the naval base to the south. He depended on word-of-mouth references.
Tyler had recently spent a night in Houser's bed with another sub after substituting as a model in a charity men's fashion show Houser had held in his house. The mixed American-Japanese man had fucked Tyler four times in the night—with the longest cock Tyler had ever taken. It must have been nearly a foot long hard. It was thin, but hard, and it had gone right into the quick of Tyler. Every time, it had conquered him, sliding in slowly to the quick as he held there docile, panting lightly, gasping, concentrating on how far up into his gut it was. Then Tyler felt himself emitting the long sigh as it was slowly withdrawn nearly the whole way. He would clutch at the man's buttocks then, feeling the loss of the cock. And he then would lie back docilely, gasping as it glided in deep again. And again and again, Tyler surrendering completely to the man's long cock a long time before the man flooding him deep with cum.
Houser had barebacked him. Tyler had had to be tested right before doing the fashion show. Houser wasn't the only one who fucked him that day. The models had been auctioned off to the men who'd come to the show—and Tyler had been put in a taxing porn vid too.
Houser had complimented Tyler on how he had performed. Tyler hoped that would pan out to some gigs with high payers. And here the man was, on the cellphone.
"Can you break away for a week?" Houser asked over the phone. "There's a Korean businessman here who is going to Honolulu for a week and who wants a companion. It would be $5,000 for you to give him whatever he wants as often as he wants while you're with him—plus all expenses. Plane fare, hotel, meals and all. You'd have to take an HIV test tomorrow. He barebacks, he's demanding, and he's seriously hung. I can't say you won't be fully earning the five thou. You'd be doing me a big favor, that I'd be returning if you do good. You'd need to be at the airport at 9:00 p.m. It's a night flight."
Tyler was sitting on the side of the bed, facing the bathroom door, when he set the cellphone back down on the nightstand. The sailor padded out of the bathroom, holding a towel around his waist. He let it drop to reveal that he was in erection again. He wasn't the most handsome sailor Tyler had serviced but he was built. He was on the short side—as was Tyler—and was stocky, but he was muscular and didn't have much fat on him. He had a cock and balls to be proud of. He was the proverbial black bull. Black curls swirled all over his body, with a trail coming down from his hair-covered pecs into his trimmed bush. He shrugged at Tyler in a "What can you do?" silent expression of half apology for what he then was going to do. He'd paid by the hour, not by the fuck.
"What can I say?" he asked. "I've been at sea for a while and I'm horny as hell."
There wasn't much else to say, so Tyler simply said, "Let's see what we can do about your problem, sailor."
He came to Tyler and stood there in front of the young whore, while Tyler, grasping the sailor's hips in his hands, took the cock in his mouth and sucked it to throbbing and the sailor to shuddering and groaning.
Not being able to take any more, the sailor reached down and grasped Tyler's ankles and dragged the small rent-boy back across the bed to the foot, where he put Tyler down on his belly, with his feet on the floor. Tyler saw, out of the corner of his eye, the sailor reach down and pull the black belt out of his white trousers, which were puddled on the floor at the foot of the bed. Breathing heavy, heavy with need, he roughly grabbed Tyler's wrists, tied them together behind his back with the belt, put himself in position behind the young man's ass, snapped a condom on, saddled up, and penetrated Tyler's passage with his cock. He slid right in, having reamed the whore to his specs earlier.
"Oh, shit, Oh, fuck, you're big," Tyler cried out. "You're a fuckin' black bull." He knew the sailor wanted to hear something like that, but it was true that he was monstrously big. And he was young, muscular, and virile. It's why Tyler went with sailors. It wasn't just for the money—which wasn't much, with sailors—it was because they mostly were young, virile, muscular, and came in from the sea randy, their eyeballs swimming in unreleased cum. They came in from the ocean with only one thing in mind—getting laid—and they were usually easily controlled as long as you waved your hole at them and surrendered to their needs—or at least could convince them you had.
Tyler didn't do it just for the money. He liked being fucked.
"But you'll take it, won't you?" he growled. "So sweet. With your size and those slim hips, I didn't know if you could take it. But you open right up for me, don't you, baby? Ahhh, that's nice." He grabbed Tyler's hips and started pounding away. As he got close, the young whore knew he'd edge off—that he'd do that as often as he could before he shot off. And there wasn't much Tyler could do about that in this position. He was completely at the sailor's mercy.
Tyler relaxed his channel, willing the muscles of his passage walls to milk the dick churning inside it, and enjoyed the fuck, thinking thoughts of the beaches of Hawaii. Surely an older Korean businessman couldn't take him any harder than this—and he'd pay a whole hell of a lot more than this black boy was paying.
* * * *
Tyler met Song Rhee for the first time in the airport departure lounge. He was tall, wiry, and not bad looking. He was maybe in his early forties. There was a look of mystery and danger about him but he walked and talked like a man in control. Although he acknowledged the young rent-boy was there, his attention until they got on the plane, in side-by-side first-class seats, him on the aisle and Tyler at the window, was taken up with business calls. He spoke in Korean on the phone, but it was clear that he was giving, not receiving, instructions and orders.
They engaged in neutral chit chat during the snack service, the Korean asking the personal questions, not revealing anything about himself, and not saying much. He spoke impeccable English, but you could tell that it wasn't his native language.
"I'm from San Diego," Tyler answered to one question and, "I came out here with a Naval officer. He went to his next assignment without me," Tyler responded to the follow-up question. He didn't elaborate on how he'd been a beach bum, riding the surf board, not going back East with his parents when they'd left San Diego, with the excuse that he wanted to finish the junior college course he'd started. He couldn't tell them that he didn't want to leave the boyfriend who was fucking him. The boyfriend left; the fucking didn't, and in short order he was doing it for money. Dirk, the Naval officer, had said he was in love with Tyler and wanted Tyler to go to Guam with him—where, he said, the surf was good for boarding. Tyler believed him and found himself in Guam, where Tyler found that the only thing the Navy guy hadn't lied about was that the surf on Guam was good for boarding. After a year, Tyler had been left high and dry—and in need of money. Thus, the sailors. End of the longer version of the story that he didn't tell the Korean. Rhee didn't seem to mind.
"I'm twenty-one," Tyler said to another question. "Yes, I know I don't look it. Do you mind?"
