“Yeah, that’s right. It’s even better this way, isn’t it?” Gusztav exulted. “Take me like this, now. Fuck me, Markus, fuck that big dick into me until we both shoot off!”
Markus had to admit that the other man’s excitement was contagious. He reared back and then he lunged down on top of Gusztav’s beautiful body again, impacting on Gusztav’s flesh with such force that his tender, swollen balls hurt when they slapped against his sex partner’s shamelessly upturned and widespread ass cheeks. His dick seemed to sink not only all the way into Gusztav’s ass, but to penetrate deeper that it had been able to reach in the previous position.
“Yeah!” Gusztav growled. “I like that cock! I like the way it feels in there. God, that’s how I want you to fuck me, man! Do it just like that. Hard and rough! Don’t worry about me, I can take it. I love it! Fuck me! Pound that big dick into me. Please—oh, please, fuck me just like that, until we both come!”
“You’re incredible,” Markus gasped. “So wild!”
He took Gusztav at his word. Markus fucked him like a rutting stallion, showing him no mercy—not that Gusztav seemed to want any! Drawing upon reserves of sexual energy and staying power which he hadn’t realized he had, again and again Markus lunged into Gusztav’s ass, his fuck tool quivering painfully with each fresh assault it made on that hot, tight, delightfully responsive asshole. It felt as though he was shoving his prick into a narrow, deep tub filled with warm, melting butter, which lubricated his hot dick and made the fucking motions he made feel even more exciting. Gusztav’s manhole felt exquisitely soft and smooth around the shaft of his rampaging cock, slippery, yet clenching him tightly every time Markus pulled in or out.
“Fucked—hell, yeah,” Gusztav gloated. “Thanks to you, stud, I’m really getting fucked!”
“Glad you like it,” Markus panted, as he labored.
“It’s so good. Almost too damn good. Don’t stop. But I can feel myself getting close.”
“Me, too.”
“Then come! Come, oh, come!” Gusztav demanded. “Come in me, shoot in my ass!”
Markus was about to do precisely that. It wasn’t a conscious decision. His body had taken over, and his ejaculation was now inevitable. Unable to hold back the flow of semen, he kept his eyes squeezed tightly shut in concentration, and he thought about nothing except the fantastic sensations which were rippling up and down his dick as he fucked Gusztav. Gusztav’s hoarse cries of pleasure drove him on to fuck the guy even harder, with real brutality. Markus felt Gusztav’s hand beating rapidly against his stomach as Gusztav jerked himself off, obviously anxious to ejaculate at the same time Markus shot off deep in his ass.
Markus opened his eyes when he felt his cockshaft pulse extra hard in warning. He was going to come! Gusztav’s face, he saw, was twisted with wild desire, his whole body writhing in his efforts to suck Markus’s cock deeper inside him and melt around its bulk in the throes of orgasm.
“I’m going to come, buddy,” Markus gasped. “Oh, Christ, am I ever going to come!”
“Yeah,” Gusztav whimpered, beating his own cock savagely with his fist in response to Markus’s warning. His free hand shot up, grabbed Markus behind his neck, and pulled his mouth down to his. “Kiss me, you fucker,” he demanded, before the two men’s mouths met in another brutally demanding kiss.
An instant later, Markus felt the first hot splash of Gusztav’s expelled sperm, blasting up between them, smacking wetly against his belly. He pushed his own exploding cock deep into the other guy’s ass and he let go, while it, too, lost all of its potent juice, in spurt after spurt of thick, creamy sperm.
Um, I can’t imagine myself being any more satisfied than I am right now, at this moment, a happy Markus gloated. There’s nothing like hot sex with a gym buddy, with a musclebro. And—lucky me—I have more than one of them!
Book Two: For Both Profit and Pleasure
In which, among other developments, a doctor receives a house call, and he prescribes himself an extreme form of “muscle therapy.” Perhaps inspired by this encounter, Markus decides to “self-medicate” by recruiting some extra muscle for his own use.
Chapter Seven: Doctor’s Orders, Given and Taken
Markus was always glad to receive a phone call from Lajos or one of the other employees who did the booking at the escort agency. It always meant money in his pocket.
Lajos explained the purpose of his current phone call. “Just wanted to remind you that you and Jozsef will be seeing Dr. Mészáros tomorrow evening.”
“You bet. I’ve got it marked in my appointment book.”
“I’ll already called Jozsef to remind him. Dr. Mészáros is one of our regulars, and recently he’s asked for only you two—and usually both of you at once. So we want to keep him happy.”
“We sure do. Might as well milk it, while it lasts,” Markus said, more than a little cynically. “Until the next young muscle whore comes along, and the doctor decides he’s tired of me and he wants some variety.”
“We don’t use the word ‘whore’ around here,” Lajos reminded Markus, facetiously. “We prefer ‘escort’ or ‘companion.’ But if the jockstrap fits—!”
Markus laughed. “Don’t worry, Jozsef and I know the drill. We’ll do everything in our power to keep the doctor calling you.”
The next evening, on their way to their appointment in Jozsef’s car, Jozsef remarked to Markus, “I hope you’re well rested. The good doctor has a way of wearing us out.”
“Yeah, he believes in getting his money’s worth,” Markus agreed. “Not that I blame him for that. I ended up pretty damn limp-dicked, the last time.”
“There’s always my ED pills.”
“ED?”
“Erectile dysfunction.”
Markus snickered. “You have that problem? You, of all people? So much for your reputation as a muscle stud.”
“It’s not a ‘problem’ for me, you young smartass. Not yet. Knock on wood! Ferenc keeps me supplied with prescriptions for that, too, though. I’ve been known to pop one before a date with a john. Just as insurance. Why do you think I usually don’t drink alcohol, when a john offers it to us? It’s not a good idea to mix that kind of drug with booze. If you’d ever like to try one, just let me know. I’ve got the bottle right here, in my pocket.”
“No, thanks. I’ll rely on my natural potency, thank you very much. And Ferenc always has nice, high-quality hooch. I like to have a belt or two with him before we get down to business. Still—we ought to suggest, sometime, that he hire a third guy, to give the two of us a chance to catch our breath.”
They were discussing Dr. Ferenc Mészáros, their successful, affluent, and oversexed john. He was still quite a young man, in his mid-thirties.
Ferenc liked bodybuilders and, at one time or another, he had probably hired for sex every muscular man who hustled in Budapest. But, as Lajos had remarked, Jozsef and Markus were his current favorites. He’d once admitted to them, frankly, that he liked the contrast between them—Jozsef’s maturity and experience, to say nothing of his aura as a pro bodybuilder, and Markus’s youth and freshness. Markus may have been no virgin, but he could still project an unabashed, unspoiled boyish naïveté when that was what a client liked. As a team of male prostitutes, he and Jozsef worked well together to give Ferenc the best of both worlds.
As a man who trained hard himself, with the assistance of a personal trainer, Ferenc had a physique which was very impressive in its own right, although it wasn’t quite of potential competitive bodybuilding quality.
Ferenc was the only john either Markus or Jozsef had who didn’t tip in cash. The physician wrote them prescriptions for oral steroids. Often, too, he had samples of such products, given to him by pharmaceutical companies, and he passed these on to the two bodybuilder escorts.
Ferenc had a lucrative practice, and a reputation for being good at his work. His personal life—which, admittedly, Markus only glimpsed during their sex sessions—seemed to be a bit chaotic. Ferenc drank a
lot and used recreational drugs. He had an extremely strong sex drive, and he could be a demanding customer. Ordinarily polite and soft-spoken, he tended to become aggressive and reckless when the clothes came off and the cocks got hard.
But having a reliable source for “the juice,” as Markus thought of the steroids, was all-important to him, overriding any other considerations.
The doctor lived in an exclusive, upscale apartment building—on an upper floor. His windows provided spectacular views of the city, either during the day, or, like now, lit up at night. He had a taste for rather Modernistic furniture—lots of plain wood veneer, steel, chrome, glass, and leather. The effect was visually a bit stark, but the seating was actually quite comfortable.
The art work displayed on the walls consisted almost entirely of male nudes, many of which were not only depicted full-frontal, but unapologetically, blatantly erect. More naked men, in the form of small bronze or stone sculptures, were perched on tabletops or among the other items on the shelves of bookcases.
In anticipation of receiving his visitors, the doctor had showered, but he hadn’t bothered to get fully dressed again. He answered the door stripped down to his underwear—snug-fitting jockey shorts and an equally tight tank top, both an expensive designer brand and made from thin soft cotton material, and with both undergarments showing spots of soaked-through perspiration in places, because Ferenc had pulled them on while he was still hot from the steam of the shower. His hair, freshly shampooed, had been toweled only partially dry, and curled in damp tendrils around his head, framing his handsome face.
His features lit up at the sight of the two muscle men on his doorstep.
“Right on time, men, as always,” he exclaimed. “It’s so good to see both of you again. Come right on in. You know I like you to feel perfectly at home here. First order of business—drinks. Then I want to hear all the latest gym and bodybuilding gossip. Especially which muscle stud is fucking whom.”
The three men seated themselves in the spacious living room, surrounded by the two-dimensional naked men on the walls and scattered about elsewhere as three-dimensional objects of art, with the city’s lights glowing down below, visible through the large expanse of floor-to-ceiling windows. Ferenc never closed his drapes during the escorts’ visits, not even the curtains on his equally oversized bedroom windows. Admittedly, a voyeur would need to be hovering outside in a helicopter, or stationed in one of the other tall buildings nearby with a telescope or a pair of binoculars, in order to see what was going on inside any of the rooms in Ferenc’s apartment.
Ferenc had seated himself on the long leather-upholstered sofa beside the glass-topped chrome-legged coffee table, leaning back comfortably with his bare legs spread wide and the soles of his bare feet pressed into the soft wool pile of the enormous, intricately abstract-patterned rug which covered most of the living room’s floor. On the coffee table in front of Ferenc were a bottle of expensive imported whiskey and three glasses. He was drinking from one of the glasses, which was generously filled with the amber liquid. He had that relaxed posture and that slightly glazed, unfocused look in his eyes which suggested he’d been imbibing the whiskey quite freely, before the two escorts’ arrival.
“Have a drink,” Ferenc urged Markus. “If you don’t want whiskey, I’m well supplied with just about everything else. Name your poison. I know that you, Jozsef—you’re such a prude, you usually don’t indulge.”
“I’m trying to keep my body fat down, that’s all,” Jozsef claimed. “I’ll have a bottle of mineral water, if I may. To keep me hydrated. During certain physical activities which I’m looking forward to,” he added, suggestively. “I wouldn’t want to dry up suddenly, at a critical moment.”
Ferenc chuckled. “Well, go into the kitchen and help yourself. There’s plenty of water in the fridge.”
During Jozsef’s brief absence, Markus poured himself a stiff undiluted whiskey. Seated beside Ferenc on the sofa, he sipped the liquor appreciatively.
Rejoining the other two men, Jozsef sat on an armchair, positioned at a right angle to the sofa, and he drank directly from a plastic water bottle.
They did indeed talk gym and bodybuilding gossip. Jozsef knew which internationally famous pro bodybuilders were gay, and with whom they were sleeping. He was a font of lewd information about the other gym members’ sex lives. He also had, or at least he claimed to have, extensive insight into Hungary’s thriving gay porn industry. This was interesting, considering that Jozsef had always refused his many offers to do porn, himself.
Obviously, his reluctance to expose himself in that medium hadn’t prevented him from keeping his finger on the pulse of the country’s notorious all-male smut business! Markus wasn’t sure how much of this lively spiel of Jozsef’s was based upon solid information, and how much might be mere speculation. But he had to admit that Jozsef didn’t miss much, and his salty small talk was undeniably entertaining. Ferenc simply ate it up.
True to form, he also kept hitting the whiskey. As usual, he seemed to want to be sloshed when he had sex.
Markus kept up his own end of the conversation, by volunteering details about his recent erotic encounters with Gusztav and Arpad, among others.
“Oh, those sluts,” Jozsef said, dismissively. “I’ve seen them both down at the gym, coming on to every halfway decent-looking guy,” he said, rather spitefully. “You could do much better than either of them, Markus.”
Oh, shit! Markus thought. I should’ve kept my mouth shut. Quit while I was ahead! He raised his glass to his lips and he took a slug of the whiskey, to hide his sudden confusion and to buy some time. Jozsef was starting to act all irrationally possessive and jealous again, resenting the fact that Markus had other freebie sex partners in addition to him. And, worse, Jozsef’s behaving as though he owns me, in front of Ferenc—in front of a john, for God’s sake! He should know better. This could get messy.
Not for the first time, in either a personal or, as now, a professional capacity, Markus realized that Jozsef’s feelings for him would require careful handling, on his part.
“Aw, those dudes are nothing to me, really,” Markus lied. “Just sex. It’s like when you get an itch, and you can’t stand it, so you just have to scratch it.”
Ferenc laughed, boisterously. “Now, that’s the right attitude for a hot young muscle stud like Markus to have! Hit it and quit it. Love them and leave them. No harm, no foul. Don’t you agree, Jozsef?”
“Yeah,” Jozsef responded, enunciating the monosyllable in a decidedly sour, sullen-sounding manner. “Markus is perfectly free to do as he pleases, of course. Fuck whom he pleases. Whore around as much as he wants. He’s not answerable to me.”
No, I’m not, Markus wanted to retort. Remember that! Especially when we’re on the job, like now. But he restrained himself.
“Why don’t we continue this discussion in the bedroom?” Ferenc asked.
“Yes, why don’t we?” Markus agreed, jumping at the chance to change the subject from a discussion of his own, private sexual peccadillos, and get it firmly refocused upon the topic of what he and Jozsef were there in Ferenc’s apartment for. Namely, to service the doctor sexually, in exchange for money! Money which Ferenc would have already transferred to the escort agency’s account. Now, it was time for the two bodybuilders to give the man what he’d paid for. Namely, hot, uninhibited, whorey muscle sex!
“We can bring our drinks with us,” Ferenc said.
Ferenc’s bedroom had an enormous platform bed, with a king size mattress on it, the bed made up, this evening, with luxurious silken-textured sheets and pillowcases, all in a vibrant rose-red color. More framed paintings, drawings, and prints of alluring male nudes adorned the walls. Two nightstands flanked the broad expanse of the bed. Each nightstand held an Art Deco lamp, a naked bronze blackamoor with exposed genitalia, holding overhead the frosted glass globe of the lamp itself. The figures may have been politically incorrect by today’s standards, but they were certainly striking, exoti
c, and erotic.
On top of a chest of drawers facing the foot of the bed, a bronze figurine of a naked athlete stood, poised on one foot, with his other leg upraised and his arms opened and stretched outward. His lifted leg, his arms, and his erect penis had all been pressed into service to hold Ferenc’s collection of elegant French and Italian silk ties, which were draped carelessly over the statue’s various body parts.
Ferenc had a stack of trick towels set out on top of one of the nightstands, along with lubricant. Markus also spotted a familiar-looking cardboard box with no doubt contained old-fashioned crushable amyl nitrite ampules, which were still readily available by prescription in many European countries, including Hungary. He had to give it to Dr. Mészáros. The man always believed in being prepared.
“Now, why don’t you men get comfortable?” Ferenc purred, looking and sounding a lot like the cat who was about to attack the canaries. “It’s warm in here tonight. Let me see those muscles. So I can compare your two physiques. And—let’s snort one of these poppers,” he suggested, eagerly. “That ought to get us in the mood, and get this party rolling!”
Jozsef began to strip, and Markus followed his example. It was a rather strange situation, with the two of them standing there naked and Ferenc still, for the time being, in his underwear—and with Ferenc and Markus still putting away the whiskey, while Jozsef confined himself to his water bottle. Ferenc’s hot eyes, glazed over with a slight sheen of intoxication, darted restlessly from Jozsef’s body and cock to Markus’s, then back again. He was definitely getting drunk, and Markus began to hope that if the man became sufficiently impaired, he might not make too many sexual demands upon them. For a change!
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