"Straight" College Boys in Vegas (Patreon)

OnlyLit Link ;)

Everyone is 18+ and fully consenting.

Chapter 1: Inherited Assets

My buddies have always known that I have the biggest dick in our friend group. Back in the day, at a sleepover at Pete's house, we all decided to compare directly, and five of us stood in Pete's basement with our shorts down, dicks hard, doing the gayest thing we had ever done. I won clearly, and nobody had to say it out loud. I didn't showboat, and it just became something the guys poked fun at. At first it was embarrassing, because it made people look at my bulge and stuff like that, but after it drew a little attention from girls, I liked it.

Pete probably pointed it out the most of anyone. He was a gym rat, basically a toxic muscle boy, and he had the body to show for it. I lifted whenever he dragged me along and skipped it whenever he didn't. 

We had a threesome once. Pete’s first “girlfriend” lasted maybe a couple weeks, this girl who was down for pretty much anything, which is how I ended up in Pete’s bedroom one night with both of them. We rocked her world, honestly. She said so herself. But every time I glanced over, Pete wasn’t looking at her. He was looking at me and my big dick, leaning in close when I finished. So I always thought he had a cuck thing. At least that's what porn had ingrained in my rotted brain. I never said anything about it. 

When we graduated high school, we both stayed local for college, at different schools, same as most of our friends. We still hung out most weekends. Partway through freshman year, Pete's grandma died. I had met her, this tiny lady who acted like a lizard, just kind of quiet and there at his house sometimes. 

Apparently, she was loaded. 

It turned out she had been sitting on a fortune the whole time, because her will skipped straight over Pete's dad and dumped almost everything on Pete. He never told me the number, but apparently it was real fuck-you money.

He threw a party soon after that wrecked his mom's backyard. Somebody put a lawn chair through the fence, and in the morning he peeled bills off a roll to pay for it while his mom screamed at him. I gave her a hug afterwards.

"Take care of him," she said, shaking her head.

"I'll do my best," I said with a wink.

He brought a few of us along when he toured nice houses with realtors, and these guys in pressed suits kept calling him “sir.” Pete, in a tank top with his traps out, being called sir, felt strange. He talked about dropping out of college, and none of us could tell him it was a bad idea. We were kind of jealous that he could if he wanted. 

One afternoon I was lying down after a big lunch, with my phone resting on my chest. I scratched my balls, thinking about beating off. I was almost done deciding whether I had the energy or if I should just take a nap, when my phone buzzed against my sternum.

Pete: Vegas. Now. I'm paying for everything.

Me: Like tonight?

Pete: Flight leaves in two hours. Already bought us first class. Pack a bag. But don't worry about clothes.

Me: Who else is coming?

Pete: Asked around. Everybody's busy.

My best friend was rich and bored, and for whatever reason I was the one he wanted on the plane with him. I packed a bag before I could talk myself out of it. 

"Two bros in arms," he said at the gate, like a toast.

····[]····

We landed after dark and a driver was already holding a sign with Pete's full name on it, which set the tone immediately. He grinned at me with his big dumb jaw, traps shaking with a giggle as they swallowed his neck, and he said, "We're not gambling in airplane clothes."

The first stop was a store inside the hotel where nothing had a price tag on it. Pete told the guy at the front, "Dress my friend. He's broke and I'm not," and plopped down in a fancy chair outside the fitting room. 

I came out in whatever they handed me and he made me turn around for every outfit. He shook his head at most of them. Twice he got up and fixed what I was wearing while it was still on me, tucked the shirt in at my hip, smoothed the collar flat against my neck, and then stepped back to look at me. Apparently being rich had made him an expert on fashion overnight, and he was grabbier with me than he had ever been in his life. He almost cupped my balls adjusting the front of one pair of pants, and his hands always stayed on me a second after he finished fixing whatever he was fixing.

At one point he came into the fitting room with me. He didn't knock, he pulled the curtain back and stepped in while I had my jeans half off. I laughed. 

"Are you serious?" 

He laughed too, sat himself down on the little bench in the corner, and stayed. I didn't kick him out. I smiled the whole time after that, stripping fully naked between outfits while my best friend watched me. He had become a whole different animal.

And some of the outfits were super gay. One pair of pants was cut so tight it was like he was trying to show off my bulge for me. A couple of eccentric shirts had a clear strip that showed my nipples, and Pete cracked up at every one of them, rating them like a judge while I spun for him. One outfit came with a literal thong, which I threw at his head, and he threw it right back. When I unfolded a jock strap I actually laughed out loud. It took me a second to even know what it was. It's funny because it holds your dick and balls in a sack in the front, a real banana hammock, while leaving the guy otherwise naked. I put it on anyway, flexed at the mirror, turned sideways to check my own ass. I even took a few selfies in it. I honestly looked good.

He froze for the first time all night.

"That one works on you," he said.

"How many girls will fuck me in this?" I said.

"All the good ones," he said back.

He bought himself one shirt and bought me a whole pile of stuff, with shoes, and a belt he picked out by threading it through my loops himself while I stood there with my arms out like a kid letting his mom dress him.

We hit the tables after. Pete played blackjack in true gambling fashion, shoving out stacks without doing any math, and a guy in a suit comped our drinks before we finished the first ones. When I won anything, Pete grabbed the back of my neck and shook me, and when he won he pulled me into his chest hard enough that I smelled the new shirt on him. 

I looked good in my new suit, in the mirror behind the bar. He kept catching me checking myself out, and smiling at me. 

We hit a few different clubs after that, and I had pussy on my mind. I felt like a million bucks, with my literal millionaire buddy with me, and I wanted to crush something. 

But we struck out at every single one. 

And it was because of Pete. He could not keep his hands off me. He'd press up behind me while I talked to a girl, hook his chin over my shoulder, and shout right into the music that his boy was packing, like a wingman but with brain damage. He even grabbed my bulge right in front of a girl, telling her something about how I have a "Superman cock" and she "won't be sorry".

One girl who looked like a model stared at his hand on my waist and left before I finished my sentence. He was being an idiot, but I love the guy, and he was grinning with his whole stupid face, so I let it go and had a good time anyway, while the girls kept their distance from me and the freak show.

····[]····

We went back up to our two-room suite. I had my own bed through the far door, but we ended up on his, both of us sprawled in our new clothes with our shoes kicked off. He grabbed the remote, skipped straight past the movies, and pulled up the hotel porn. He bought the most expensive one without checking the price and it started playing instantly. I felt my dick wiggle on its own, my natural response to seeing a girl sucking a giant dick on a screen. I glanced over at Pete, my face in a nervous laugh already.

"This is a first."

"Rich people watch porn on vacation, y'know." 

I giggled like an idiot and so did he. It felt like a bachelor party, two guys in suits on one bed while a blonde girl moaned on a TV the size of the wall.

"You getting hard?" he said, eyes still on the screen.

"Yeah."

He grabbed himself over his pants. "Me too."

I was straining against the dress pants he had picked out for me, and when I glanced over he was tenting his just as bad, his dick in his grip through the fabric.

"We'll go by Vegas rules," he said, explaining nothing further as he whipped out his dick. 

I do not fully know why, but I unzipped too. A few years after Pete's basement, our dicks were out in the open again, side by side on his bed.

Pete set the remote down and shifted himself down the bed without one word. I figured he was getting up for water or something, and my hand actually kept moving until his shoulder bumped my thigh and his face stopped right over my lap. He glanced up at me once, TV light on his face, totally calm, his thick shoulders bunched up under the new shirt, and took me into his mouth.

I stopped breathing. Wet heat closed over me and my stomach pulled in hard, and the only sound out of me was a short exhale, while my mind tried to think of what to say out loud. On the giant screen the blonde kept at it, and in my lap my best friend's head started moving, slowly and carefully, as the wet tightness of his mouth sank onto me. He was warm everywhere he touched me. His jaw, his breath, the flat spread of his tongue.

I put my hand in his hair. It was short and stiff with whatever he put in it, and I held on and guided him with little pushes. I didn't know what the fuck was going on, but it somehow felt like a natural end to the night. It hit me that I had been completely dense about Pete all night, maybe even for years now. And on top of that realization, all I was really thinking was damn, that feels good. 

I didn't totally understand it, but I wasn't about to stop him. 

"This is crazy," I said with a forced chuckle, and he didn't respond, just continuing to move his head up and down my thick shaft, making his mouth look small around my heavy girth. 

"I love Vegas," I said as I closed my eyes, leaning back and putting both hands behind my head. 

He hummed around me like he was talking, but that turned into more of a groan, and I realized how much he was enjoying what he was doing to me.

He pulled up for one breath, spat on me, and sank back down, and while he did it he climbed onto his hands and knees between my legs. One hand stayed braced on my hip. His other hand wrapped around himself, and I watched my best friend start jerking himself off with my dick in his mouth.

I almost finished on the spot.

He got sloppier and hungrier at the same time. He took me too far and gagged, his whole back seizing up for a second under the shiny new shirt, and instead of backing off he did it again, like he wanted to beat it. His lips dragged up me with real suction, his tongue pressed flat along the underside every time he dropped back down, and the wet heat of him pulled me to the edge faster than I wanted to admit. His fist picked up speed next to my calf. I could hear it, and I could hear him, low grunts leaking out of his chest between breaths, traps jumping while he did two jobs at once.

Something warm hit my foot. Another pulse hit my ankle, and his hips stuttered while his mouth kept moving. I looked down and caught the last of it squirting out of him across my foot, and when I understood what I was looking at, it shocked me. I hadn't thought about cum once this whole sesh, not his, not anybody's, nothing but my own dick and my impending orgasm. Pete had just nutted on my foot from sucking me. Watching him do it, weirdly, pushed me over the edge.

I tapped his shoulder twice, the universal code for pull up right now. He caught that wrist, pinned it to the bed, and took me deeper instead.

I finished hard against the back of his throat, long pulses that lifted my hips off the bed, and I grabbed a fistful of his hair and said something that was mostly his name. He stayed down and swallowed, his  lips buried in my trimmed pubes while his throat worked around me. He didn't move until my legs quit shaking. He kept his lips tight as he pulled off of me, taking the whole load without losing a drop.

He sat back, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and climbed back up the bed. He stretched out on his side facing away from me, new shirt and suit pants still on, and within a couple minutes, he was breathing deeply, his body rising and falling with the rhythm of sleep.

I lay there with my pants open and the porn still playing. I did not sleep for a long time. My whole cuck theory came apart while I listened to him breathe. There were no girls here to be jealous about. Back on that night in high school, when he and I shared that first girlfriend of his, he kept leaning in right when I finished, and I had chalked all of that up to some porn category of "cuck" in my rotted brain. But he had just been watching me.

····[]····

I woke up around noon, with daylight blasting through a crack in the curtains, the walls in this fancy suite seeming even taller than the night before, in the cold light of day. Pete was already up and out of the bed, standing next to me, facing away and scratching his balls openly, his hair flat on one side.

"Breakfast," he grumbled.

"It's already noon."

"It's all day."

We rode down the elevator in last night's suits, wrinkled to hell, and a hostess seated us in a restaurant full of actual rich people, old guys with watches worth more than my entire budget tuition. We looked like two best men who had ditched a dead body the night before. Pete ordered half the menu without looking up.

"How much do you remember from last night?" I asked.

"I wasn't drunk," he said quietly.

"Me neither," I said. "I was just giving you the option to deny it if you wanted."

He paused, and smiled. "So how'd I do?"