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happy friday everyone and good morning doing a test run hoping we fixed all the bugs that were detaining us from going live.... #TS #LATINA #TRANS #SEXY #BIGBOOBS

Soon live tonight on latexcamera and fully prepared to mesmerize you once again. 🥰

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Owen was sitting on top of the toilet in the last stall, his boots spread wide, sucking his lollipop. “You want a taste?” he taunted, holding out the lollipop, his tongue stained cherry red. I wanted more than a taste. I wanted to fucking devour him.

“Your sorry ass is coming out with me tonight,” my roommate Finn had insisted earlier that evening.

“Ugh. Just leave me alone,” I protested.

“Dude,” Finn scoffed. “You haven’t left this apartment since Reese dumped you two weeks ago. You need to get out. You need to get laid. It’s the only way you’re gonna move on.”

“Fine,” I acquiesced, rummaging through the pile of neglected laundry in the corner of my room for something to wear.

“Put on your CK jeans—the tight ones,” Finn insisted. “They make your dick look huge.”

Thirty minutes and one Uber ride later, we were standing in line to get into Club Throb, the new gay club in the Village.

“Christ,” I groaned, spotting several guys in line wearing cowboy boots and Stetson hats. “You didn’t tell me it’s country western night.”

“Like it fucking matters,” Finn objected. “The only goal here tonight is to get your dick wet.”

Once inside, the dance floor was a sea of twinks, clad in boots and Daisy Dukes, grinding up against any warm body that parted their waters while Tim McGraw blasted from the DJ booth.

“See anything you like?” Finn asked as we sipped our vodka tonics at the bar and looked out at the dance floor. “There’s gotta be some piece of ass out there who you’d like to fuck.”

“Nothing yet,” I lied, for my eyes had settled on one particular guy on the dance floor. Tall and statuesque in a pair of boots, he looked cute as fuck with a lollipop stick hanging out of one side of his mouth. Dancing alone in the middle of the floor, a spotlight illuminated his every move. And then it happened—he looked toward the bar and locked eyes with me. I gave a bashful smile as he rolled the lollipop from one corner of his mouth to the other. And then he was parting the floor, making a bee line towards me.

“I’m Owen,” he smiled as he approached me, never taking the lollipop out of his mouth.

“Uh—I’m Martin,” I stammered. “And this is my roommate—” I turned toward Finn, but he had already abandoned me, leaving me to sink or swim on my own with Owen.

Never good at small talk, I suddenly felt dumb and awkward in front of Owen. Standing in front of me, his shirt undone to show off his lithe body, I realized he was several years younger than me, probably just barely old enough to get into the club. I found myself looking down at his boots, which appeared to be too big for him.

“They’re my dad’s boots,” Owen explained, noting I was staring at them. “I borrowed them for tonight. You kinda remind me of my dad,” he smiled.

“Jesus,” I laughed. “Because I’m older than you?”

“No,” Owen shook his head. “Because you’re, like, really handsome. You wanna dance?”

“Um—sure,” I answered, still taken aback that this cute, young guy was into me. “Lemme just finish this drink first.”

Unwilling to wait, Owen grabbed the vodka tonic out of my hand and, tipping it back with the lollipop still in his mouth, downed the drink in one, quick gulp. “Now it’s finished,” Owen winked, slamming the empty tumbler down on the bar top and leading me out into the crowd.

Our chemistry on the dance floor was unreal. Owen pushed his body against mine, grinding into me. He smelled amazing—an intoxicating mix of sweat and Sauvage cologne, with a slight undertone of cherries from his lollipop. Gyrating his ass against my crotch, my big dick hardening in response, there was no question that Owen was down to fuck.

“You wanna get out of here?” I shouted into his ear, struggling to be heard over a Rascal Flatts song that was booming through the club. “Come back to my place?”

“No. I want you inside me now,” Owen shouted back. “Meet me in the men’s room, last stall.” But before I could protest, Owen had slipped away from me, charging through the crowd towards the men’s room.

I’m no prude. I know guys fuck in the men’s room at gay clubs all the time, but shit like that had never been my scene. I felt conflicted. I liked Owen, and I really wanted to fuck him, but I couldn’t wrap my brain around a tawdry, toilet-stall fuck. Just then, my roommate Finn appeared at my side.

“What happened to the hottie, the one you were dancing with?” Finn asked, scanning the club.

“He—uh—he wants me to fuck his ass in the men’s room,” I explained hesitantly.

“Then why the fuck are you standing out here?” Finn demanded. “Get your ass in that men’s room and fuck the shit out of that hot, little twink. Dude. You need to live a little.”

Finn was right. I needed to live, and I needed to get over my bad breakup with Reese. Fucking Owen in the men’s room at Club Throb was just what the doctor ordered. Pushing my way through the crowd, I made my way to the men’s room.

Owen was sitting on top of the toilet in the last stall, his boots spread wide, sucking his lollipop. “You want a taste?” he taunted, holding out the lollipop, his tongue stained cherry red.

“Yeah,” I replied, taking his lollipop into my mouth, a burst of cherry on my tongue as I pushed the stick to the corner of my mouth. “But I want more from you than this fucking lollipop.”

“It’s all yours,” Owen responded, standing and dropping his pants, bracing himself against the toilet, his firm ass presented for my use. His hole looked wet and puffy—unquestionably used.

“You already had some cock in here tonight?” I asked, my finger probing his cummy hole.

“Yeah,” he turned back and winked. “One or two—or five,” he laughed. “Why not make it number six?”

Normally, I’m not the type to go around fucking sloppy cum dumps. But I couldn’t turn down Owen’s ass. He was hot as fuck, and his pink cunt, rimmed with a fine layer of downy fur, was just begging to be defiled. With his lollipop still in my mouth, I unzipped my pants, pulled out my hard eight-incher, and mounted Owen with one, quick thrust.

“Fuck, you’re thick,” Owen gasped, bracing himself against the toilet. “Damn, you’ve got a hole stretcher.”

“Glad you like it,” I replied, raising his ass to go deeper. His wet cunt felt incredible and was exactly what I needed. Grabbing Owen by the shoulders, I began a calculated assault on his ass, with the goal of dumping a massive load inside his used hole.

“Yeah, fuck me,” Owen moaned. “Fucking destroy my hole.”

Giving him his wish, I began to jackhammer his hole at a frenzied pace. My balls were slapping hard against his ass, when I looked over my shoulder and realized I hadn’t closed the stall door. A voyeuristic crowd of guys had gathered in the men’s room to watch us.

“Yeah—fuck his ass,” called out one guy.

“I’m next to plug him,” laughed another.

Plowing Owen’s ass with a crowd watching and cheering me on from behind was a major turn on. I wanted to last longer in his amazing cunt, but it was a losing battle. The cum rising in my shaft, I knew my load was imminent.

“I’m about to bust,” I warned Owen urgently, giving him one, last, deep thrust.

“Yeah, breed me,” Owen begged.

“Seed that faggot,” shouted someone in the crowd, just as my nuts contracted and expelled my load deep inside Owen, flooding his guts.

“Fuck, that was good,” I exhaled, pulling out of Owen, my load dripping from his wrecked hole with an audible splat on the tiled floor. “Lemme buy you a drink,” I offered Owen as I stuffed my spent cock back into my jeans.

“Um—I think I’m gonna stay in here a bit longer,” he replied, eyeing the eager crowd of horny guys who had gathered in the men’s room.

“Oh—uh—sure,” I agreed, suddenly feeling a bit dejected. “You want your lollipop back?” I offered, taking it from my mouth.

“You keep it,” Owen winked.

“I’d rather have your number,” I replied, sucking on the lollipop again. “I’d love to see you again.”

“Sure, man,” Owen agreed. “Give me your phone.” Owen quickly tapped out his number in my list of contacts, and returned the phone to me.

“Thanks,” I offered sheepishly, stepping aside as the next guy entered the stall, his pants already unzipped, his hard cock eager to be inside Owen’s wet, used hole.

Staggering back into the booming sound of the club, I tried to find Finn. I finally spotted him on the dance floor, grinding up against a burly bearded guy in leather chaps. Good for him, I smiled to myself. Leaving the heated frenzy of Club Throb, I stood in the cool night air of the sidewalk and summoned an Uber. Snug in my bed a half hour later, my balls emptied, I slept like a baby.

I waited three days before calling Owen, as I didn’t want to seem too desperate to see him again. With my heart in my throat, I dialed his number. A woman answered. The number he had given me was to a candy shop in SoHo, specializing in lollipops. She didn’t know anyone named Owen.

Fucker.

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“Fuck,” I grunted, tipping my head back as I blasted my load into his eager cunt. I didn’t even know his name. But did it matter? He was just another frat boy who came sniffing around for some dick. And I was happy to deliver.

“Don’t forget to call a realtor today,” my wife nagged as she left for work that morning.

“Ugh,” I groaned. “I don’t wanna move. I like this house.”

“You like living on frat row?” she quipped. “I’m sick of the constant noise, the wild parties, and drunk guys puking in our bushes at 3 am.”

“It’s not that bad,” I protested.

“Yes it is,” she insisted, rubbing her swollen, pregnant belly. “And I’m not raising our child next to a frat house.”

We didn’t exactly live next to a frat house, I wanted to point out, but there were about a dozen fraternity house on our street. That was the price for living close to campus. As a young professor, I loved being able to bike to my office and classes. So what if it meant dealing with a few frat parties in the neighborhood? Okay, maybe more than a few.

But the real reason I loved living near all those frat houses was because of how many frat boys were looking to get dicked down by a slightly older guy like me. Don’t get me wrong. Fucking my wife was great. But nothing compares to the savage brutality of shoving your cock up another man’s ass. I should’ve stopped fucking guys when I got married, but it was like asking a junkie to give up his fix.

It didn’t help that scoring a piece of ass in the neighborhood was just too easy. All I had to do was take off my shirt and do just about anything in my front yard—mow the lawn, check the mail, wash the car—and soon some horny frat boy would pass by and chat me up, eager to get in my pants.

That particular afternoon was no different. I was weeding the flowerbeds, shirtless of course, when a twink frat boy passed by on his way back from class, a backpack hanging from one shoulder.

“Nice house,” the frat boy commented. Yet his eyes were on my bulging crotch, sweat dripping down my treasure trail.

“Thanks,” I replied, adjusting my package, the flimsy material of my athletic shorts clinging to my big, sweaty cock. “The house was built in the ‘40s.”

“Wow,” he exclaimed, his eyes traveling up and down my muscular body. “They don’t make them like that anymore.”

“Want to come inside?” I offered. “I could give you a tour . . . of the bedroom.”

Five minutes later, the frat boy twink was on my bed—the one I share with my wife—with his legs spread wide, my big cock up his ass. While destroying his pretty, pink cunt, I noticed my wife’s eyes staring at me from her wedding picture on the bed table, which turned me on even more, making my cock harder. It felt good to be bad.

“You’re so big,” the frat boy squealed in delight, his eyes rolling back in his head as I pummeled his tight hole.

“You like this big cock?” I asked rhetorically. “You like this big cock in your pretty cunt?”

“Uh huh,” he replied, pulling his legs closer to his chest, opening his hole even more for me. “Your big dick feels so fuckin’ good inside me.”

“You gonna let me cum in you?” I demanded, my pace increasing, my balls slapping his ass with each thrust. “You gonna let me shoot my load up your ass?”

“Yes,” he begged. “Fucking seed me.”

I could take my time with a boy like him, make love to him slowly and deliberately like when I have sex with my wife. But the boy was not my wife, and that made all the difference. His pleasure meant shit to me. My only goal was to fuck his ass and shoot my load. Pump and dump. Innately, he knew that. Deep down inside, he just wanted to be used and dominated. It was a symbiotic transaction. And so I gave him what he wanted, what he needed—my cum.

“Fuck,” I grunted, tipping my head back as I blasted my load into his eager cunt, filling him with my seed on the same bed on which I impregnated my wife just a few months prior.

“That was fucking hot,” he exhaled as I pulled out of him, my pearly load clinging to the downy fur ringing his wrecked hole. “Can we—can we maybe do this again sometime?”

“Sure,” I lied, tossing him his clothes, eager for him to get the fuck out of my house now that the deed was done.

In truth, I rarely fuck the same boy twice. On a college campus full of horny young guys, there are far too many fish in the sea for me to want to eat the same catch day after day. Tomorrow will deliver a new frat boy to devour.

“Did you call a realtor?” my wife asked when she got home from work that day. She was oblivious to the clean sheets on our bed, the cum-stained, sweat-soaked sheets in the washing machine. “We need to sell this house.”

“Sorry, babe,” I apologized, wrapping my strong arms around her, my body freshly showered to remove the earthy funk of sweat, sex, and cum. “We’re not moving. I like it here.”

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