Charles Campion, known to everyone but his mom as Bad, stretched back in his chair and checked the clock. Almost time. Five, maybe seven more minutes before the kid’s shift in the mail room. He checked the feeds for the rest of the cameras in the main campus building. (The “Hub”, as it was called, though the decorative domed roof in the center of the courtyard lent itself to nicknames like “The Clit” and “The Nipple” and “The Nub”.)

The door at the bottom of the frame in camera three pushed open. Bad sat up.

Not too tall, not too broad. But not short, and not too skinny. The kid was perfect. Bad’s occasional forays into stalking—which he limited to standing across from the mail room door when the kid happened to be getting off work—had confirmed that the boy’s pale skin was smooth and his hair just this side of too long.

He was a twink straight out of Bad’s wet dreams, and Bad wanted him.

The kid worked with a little shithead wrestler, whom Bad had once pulled off a freshman girl in the corner of Commons. Short, stumpy, obsessed with himself; at first Bad watched the mail room camera when The Kid was working because he figured the second they shut the main window, WWF-wannabe would be all over him. Hadn’t happened yet. If anything, WWF shot covert glances when he didn’t think The Kid was watching.

Bad didn’t know what to think about that. The real violent ones were usually closet cases. Hard to work out what WWF-wannabe was, drunkenly feeling up girls, casting lust-filled looks at his twink coworker.

Interestingly, WWF-wannabe was nowhere to be found today.

The Kid opened for service by himself. Bad watched until bored (but those delicate wrists in rope, that head tilted back, baring a stretch of vulnerable throat, fuck), then took off on a round. He’d been with Campus Safety since the big shake up ten years back, that whole “oops, did we forget to report some rapes?” scandal.

(Bad had sat in on a sexual assault response interview exactly one time. He’d been younger, newer, and his supe thought it might not be bad to have a fag in there, just for insurance purposes. Bad had been curious. Might even be a little sickly hot, listening to some story about a guy going apeshit and taking what he wanted. He left the room after about fifteen minutes, puked, and never sat in on another one.)

These days nothing much happened, and he preferred sitting on his ass at the screens than he did driving around looking for frat boys to harass. He was auditing a couple of business courses, and this way he got everything done at work, which left time at home for other pursuits.

Round one took him past the mail room window, where he heard The Kid explaining that “Tony” was out sick and no one could cover for him.

Bad returned to the security booth with a terrible, wonderful idea weaseling its way through his brain. Out sick meant wannabe-Tony wasn’t going to be back for the rest of the shift. And the mail room window would close for lunch in two hours.

The Kid always took his lunch inside. He wasn’t unpopular, Bad thought. But the mail room was empty, Tony always left, and every now and then The Kid would have a quickie jerk-off session while surfing porn on his phone, which was delightful. (He’d listened to the other sec officers, but none of them seemed to have noticed. Possibly because they were eating lunch instead of staring at the cameras.)

It was too damn bad he couldn’t see the images on that tiny screen. Not that Bad doubted his skills, but it’d save a little time if he knew exactly what tree he was barking up.

He looked at the time again. An hour and forty minutes until that window came down. He was ready. Hell, he’d been ready for months, since the start of the term, when The Kid arrived on his first day of work in a neat little vest and a pair of tight jeans. Bad had rubbed one out five minutes after getting home, thinking about the things he could do to that round little ass.

An hour and a half, an hour twenty, fifty-seven minutes.

When it got to thirty minutes, Bad stood up, hiked up his pants, and shut off the feed to camera three.

What the hell. A one-show-only naughty thrill on his lunch break. No big deal.

* * *

The round went well, and brought him up along the side of the building just in time to hear the mail room window slide shut, a big metal rolling shutter that locked at the bottom on the inside.

Bad’s heart was pounding and he was half-hard just from the proximity of The Kid.

Get it the fuck together. If the kid’s not interested, you can always jerk off in the head before you go back to the booth.

Still, he felt weirdly nervous, knocking on the back door to the mail room and waiting for The Kid to answer.

Movement, a chair scraping, a throat clearing. The door cracked open. “Oh. Hey. We’re, uh, closed. Unless—did you need something? Officer?”

You on your knees. Begging for it. “Can I come in for a minute?” He added a glance down, then up, not lingering, but making it clear: Yes, I’m cruising you. What do you say, kid?

The Kid’s eyes darkened. For a second he said nothing at all and Bad thought he was about to be dismissed. Politely, probably, but a polite rejection wasn’t any less a rejection.

Then The Kid stepped back. And laughed, a single huff, as he stood there while Bad entered and shut the door.

“What can I help you with, Officer—Campion?”

Bad stepped up until the kid had to crane his neck a little to meet his eyes. “Where’s the guy who usually works with you?”

“Out for the day. Maybe tomorrow, too.”

Was The Kid trying to flirt with him?

“What’s your name?”

Another long pause. “Red. I guess I’ll just keep calling you Officer, right?”

The hell?

Bad closed his hands around the kid’s neck, not tightly, but enough to make it clear who the fuck was in charge right now. And the second his hands closed in, the kid’s—Red’s—body language changed. He sighed, shoulders rounding, taut muscles under Bad’s hands going soft.

“You can call me ‘sir’ if you’d prefer. You want to go for the full discussion, Red, or do you want me to use my imagination?”

“If you have condoms, you can do whatever the hell you want. Sir.”

Bad ran one hand up the back of Red’s head and tugged on his hair. “You got a sense of humor, do you, Red?”

“I’ve heard a sense of humor’s one of the top things people look for in a mate.”

Using only the kid’s hair, Bad turned him until he was looking straight up at the little eye hole camera. “You know what I have a sense of humor about? Watching twinks like you jerk your little pricks when you don’t think anyone’s watching.”

“Shit! You can’t—that’s not—” Red tried to move away, but Bad didn’t let him. “I could get you fired.”

“By going to the administration and complaining that I watched you masturbate during your lunch break in the mail room?”

A brief hint of the trickster stole through the kid’s expression of horror and outrage. “Okay, fair point. Did you like that, Officer? Watching me?”

“If you belonged to me, little boy, you’d never be able to touch that thing. It’d be mine, my property, and mine alone. If you wanted to take a piss, you’d have to ask me first. If you wanted to tuck it into your shorts when you got dressed in the morning, you’d need my permission. If you woke up hard without asking me, Red, I’d punish you.”

“Oh my god, you’re like every porn story ever. Are you serious right now? Because it’s hot, but it’s also pretty goddamn creepy.”

Bad pushed down on the boy and he went to his knees willingly enough.

“Creepy hot works for me,” the kid said.

“Open your mouth and keep it open,” Bad ordered, ignoring the backchat.

Red obeyed without hesitation. With a little bit of attitude, actually.

“Put your tongue out and keep it there. You want condoms for oral, too? You can speak.”

“I don’t like the taste of latex, but I’d like genital warts on my mouth even less.”

“I’m clean. Tested every six months, clean every time, take precautions.”

“How old are you?”

Bad narrowed his eyes down at the kid on his knees.

“I can’t tell, and some older guys don’t really get it, about STDs or whatever. Fuck, I don’t know what the hell was going on in the seventies, but no thanks.”

“The seventies. Kid, I was born in 1984.”

Red laughed, and had the decency to blush a little. “Sorry. Can’t tell. Um. I was born in 1994.”


“Open. Your. Mouth.”

Well, at least he knew how to follow directions.

“Hands behind your back. No, stay upright. Good.” He pulled the kid’s face to the front of his khakis and rubbed his cheek over Bad’s prick. “Does it feel big, Red?”

Red nodded, making certain his nod caught an up-down pull on the prick in question.

“It is big. In fact, it might be too big. It might be too much for you. Did I tell you to close your mouth?”

The kid swallowed, opening his mouth again. Bad tugged him upright and let go. He opened his fly, shoved down his shorts.

“Take a look.” He took hold of himself and waved his prick in front of Red’s eyes. Was the kid impressed? Maybe. Or maybe he was good at pretending. Bad didn’t much care which.

“Put your tongue out. All the way out. That’s right. Nice and wide, Red. Open up.”

The kid swallowed hard, eyes riveted.

Tap, tap, tap. He lightly slapped his prick against the flat of the kid’s tongue. “Blow. No, mouth open. I want to feel your breath.”

A warm puff of air engulfed his prick. He rewarded the kid by painting his silky upper lip with precome.

Nose flaring, Red leaned forward just a hair, as if trying to take in more.

“Oh, you like that, boy, don’t you? Let’s see if I can find you a little more.” He shifted just enough so he could fully stroke himself (and so Red could watch). “I watch you all the time. I love those faggy vests you wear, Red.” The eyes darted up. “Well, they are.” Fuck, this was good, having his prick in his hand and the object of his need at his feet. “I like your hooded sweatshirt, too. God, Red, you can’t imagine how hard I’ve tried to see what the fuck you were looking at on that damn phone, but the cameras aren’t that good.”

This time he brushed a line of stringy precome right down the center of Red’s tongue. The kid swallowed convulsively but didn’t close his mouth.

“Good boy.”

Eyes beseeching.

“No, you haven’t earned the right to suck me yet. But you have potential, I’ll give you that.” Bad paused. He made it seem dramatic, but during that brief moment, he actually considered changing his plan. But no, this was the fantasy. This was what he got himself off thinking about.

“Take the vest off and unbutton your shirt.”

Red, fingers already obeying, frowned.

You know nothing, kid. Twenty years old. No one knows shit at twenty years old.

He dropped the vest on the desk over his head and unbuttoned his shirt, top-down.

“Take that off, too.”

Fuck yes. 100% Grade A American Twink. Bad could even picture the brand he’d stick on the kid’s ass. Fucking FDA-approved. Not the broadest shoulders, but not caved-in either. Ribs visible, but not protruding. And that fucking stomach, with the little trail of hair disappearing into his waistband.

Christ, kid, we should do this again sometime so I can show you what it’s really all about.

“Keep your eyes on my prick.” He jacked himself right in front of the kid’s eyes, so he had to go almost cross-eyed to watch. “You like it in the ass, Red? You like a big strong man pounding your hole like a fuckin’ jackhammer?”

Red, glazed expression now, nodded slowly.

“Yeah, I bet you do. Too fuckin’ bad, kid, because we don’t have that kind of time.” Or I don’t carry lube around in my uniform pockets. But I just might start. “I bet you like sucking the spunk right out of a guy you’re blowing, don’t you? I bet you always pick the ones you can bring down to your level, the ones you can fuckin’ overwhelm so they lose control. Don’t you, Red?”

No response.

Bad jacked himself and smeared precome over the kid’s nostrils, just because he could, and because it made him fucking horny as hell to think the kid would walk around the rest of the day smelling him.

“You never go after the real men, though, do you? You never go after anyone with a hope of controlling you.”

Red’s eyes shot up. He nearly closed his mouth to reply, then stopped.

“Good boy.” Bad took Red’s hair in one hand and jacked himself harder with the other. “I’m gonna come all over you, little boy. I’m gonna come all over you and rub my spunk in everywhere so you can’t escape from me. You’ll smell like me for the rest of the day, Red. You’ll smell like the floor of the mail room and my cock. You like that, little boy? You want to smell like a man for once in your fuckin’ life?”

The kid didn’t move, didn’t breathe, didn’t blink. Then, slowly, he nodded his goddamn head.

Bad slid his prick along Rex’s tongue, nudged it against his gums, ran it along the insides of his cheeks, trying not to give over to the sensation of all those textures on him, all that saliva, all that heat. “Everywhere, marked with my come. Go out tonight, Red. Go to some fucking club, but don’t shower first. Go out and dance and get sweaty and nasty and when you blow some fucking idiot slut in the men’s room, I want you to remember this, remember how much you wanted to be taken, to be marked, to be owned.”

He groaned, hand moving faster, fucking the kid’s tongue, pushing back far enough to challenge his gag reflex, then pulling out again. This was so much fucking hotter than he’d thought it would be, so much better, so much darker. He thought his little twink would be sweetly submissive, but Red had an edge he hadn’t anticipated, and it was so fuck-worthy it made Bad’s toes curl.

“That’s right, that’s right, fuck, kid, you fucking make me—fuck—

He aimed down, splashing the kid’s chest, stomach, neck. Bad had a brief fantasy of coming over his hole like this, then shoving it all inside, making the kid wait while he filled him, manually, with every drop of fucking come until he was full, until his little hole winked white. Godfuck.

“That’s so fucking good,” he said, and reached down, palming a glob over one pointy nipple.

The kid twisted away.

“Get back here, you little shit.” He grabbed Red’s hair again and held him still, but Red didn’t try to squirm now. He went beautifully, perfectly docile in Bad’s grip. “That’s right, all over you. Painted in my come. Sticky with it, itchy with it, reeking of it. Fucking sexy little bastard.” He ground the heel of his palm down over the kid’s nipple again, and he gasped, but didn’t move. “Good, good, that’s right, it’s nice to not be in charge, isn’t it, Red? It’s nice to be fucked by a strong man who knows what you need.”

The kid’s chest rose quickly and his poor little prick strained against his pants as Bad took a moment to torture his other nipple, then continued rubbing his own spunk into skin. Belly, chest, sides. He let go of Red’s hair to hold up his arm so he could rub semen into his pits.

“This is gonna smell real good later, kid. You’re fuckin’ filthy, filthy and come-covered. I want you to go out somewhere you’ll sweat tonight. And do not fucking shower first. Go out in some tight fucking twink shirt and dance with your arms up just like this so everyone can smell me all over you.”

Damn, the kid was responsive. He was unconsciously humping into the air as Bad talked, eyes half-shut.

“That’s right, you twisted little twink. That’s just right.”

The job was done, and with nine minutes to spare. Too bad Red wasn’t getting any lunch today.

“Put your fucking clothes back on.”

There, right there. Bad stood, watching every single emotion pass over the kid’s face. He was ashamed, aroused, appalled. He was a little scared, but not too much. He was sick that he’d done what he just did, but he was also so fucking turned on by it he was desperate to do it again.

“Any requests, Red? And don’t even think about asking to come. I want to watch the rest of your shift while you try to hide your hard-on from everyone who comes to that window.”

Red deflated. “No, sir. I—wasn’t going to ask for that.”

“Then what?”

The kid glanced up, for a split second, then turned and bent over the desk, reaching around to pull his pants over his ass. “If you could—if you could finger me—later, it’ll help me get off—”

“You like a guy’s fingers in your ass, Red?”

“Yes, sir,” the kid whispered.

“I don’t have lube,” he warned, already advancing on his prize.


Uh huh. Bad leaned over the kid so his weight pressed little Red right into the desk. “Open your mouth.” He didn’t wait, shoving two fingers right inside, far inside, swirling them around, fighting Red’s tongue for dominance. He pinched the tongue between fingers and said, “Stop.”

Red stopped moving, inside and out.

“Good. I’ll tell you when I need your fucking help.” He fucked the kid’s mouth roughly, jabbing down his throat, making him gag twice before withdrawing. “Reach back and pull yourself open wide so I can see your dirty little hole.”

The kid, hands shaking slightly, obeyed.

Oh fuck. He wanted to say fuck everything, hold the kid down, and fuck him. But the kid would probably like that so much he forgot how wrong it’d be (condoms, right, condoms in the uniform pants at all times, starting tomorrow).

So instead, without touching anywhere else, he shoved his middle finger all the way inside Red’s tight little asshole.

Ugh. Fuck.”

Bad crooked his finger. “Excuse me?”

“Thank—thank you, sir.”

“That’s fucking right.” Jab, jab, jab, deeper still, knuckles pressing hard against assflesh, Rex’s fingers going white as he held himself open. Bad pulled out, momentarily reconsidered, then shrugged. Fuck it. This is what the kid wanted. He added a second spit-slicked finger and forced both in at the same time, which was harder than only one, so he pushed in with more strength.

“Ohhh,” Red moaned. “Ohhh, fuck, thank you, sir, fuck, fuck.”

“You got some mouth on you, kid,” he said, sawing his fingers in and out the tight, tight passage. “How’s this? Gonna touch your little baby boy pee pee later while you think about this, little Red?”

“Yesssss. Fuck.”

Bad pulled out, wiped his fingers on the inside of Red’s shirt, and stepped back. “Lunch is over, kid. Get back to work.

He opened the door and let it slam behind him while Red was still desperately pulling up his pants.

* * *

WWF-wannabe was back the next day, sniffling, blowing his nose, spreading his plague germs everywhere. It would have been entertaining to watch Red attempt to wipe down everything with disinfectant wipes without WWF noticing on some other day, when the alternative hadn’t been fucking Red during his lunch hour.

Just before the kid got off for the day, Bad found an absurd reason to go down to the mail room. He may have waited until WWF was taking a miserable break in the back corner, chugging an energy drink and loudly blowing his nose.

“Need to buy some stamps,” Bad said.

“Um. Okay. Sure. Do you—have a design preference?” Red, blushing, pointed out the two different styles.

“Flag’ll be fine.”

“All right.” The kid named the price, and Bad handed over a credit card.

“So. Do anything interesting last night?”

Red’s eyes widened, but the humor was back. He smiled at Bad, quickly turning back to his machine. “Um. Sure, yeah, you know. Went out.”

“Meet anyone interesting?”

“Not last night, no. But I had a pretty good time anyway. Here’s your card, and your stamps.”

“Thanks a lot.”

“Do you want your receipt?”

“Nope. Take care of yourself, kid.”

He pocketed the stamps (what the fuck was he gonna do with a whole book of stamps and Jesus, when did they get so expensive?) and walked away.

Nice to know little Red followed directions, even after the one-time-only show. But Bad couldn’t be dependent on student ass for a fuck. Still. The kid was convenient. Maybe he’d get lucky and WWF would come down with something requiring bed rest. A nice case of mono, maybe. A nice case of mono he in no way spread to his little partner in mail.


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