Grinning with fiendish delight at the irony of what Maxim had just said, Remi drew himself back and his fingers dug into Maxim’s back muscles as he began to pump his prickshaft slowly in and out of him.
Maxim squirmed under him, thrusting his ass up from the bed to meet the lunges of Remi’s cock. Remi couldn’t help thinking that, for such a big man, Maxim was surprisingly agile—at least in bed!
Sweat was making both men’s skins shine wetly. Maxim felt his fucker’s hot perspiration dripping down on him from his chest and armpits. Remi plowed faster. His dick thrust again and again, swelling inside Maxim’s rectum, pushing high up into his ass with each long, hard lunge.
Maxim reached out with one arm toward the nightstand, groped about its surface blindly with his fingers, and finally found the bottle of poppers. He brought it to his face, unscrewed the cap, and held the bottle under his nostrils, using a fingertip to pinch one nostril closed while he inhaled the popper fumes through the other. Then he switched nostrils. He took several hits before, letting out a deep groan of satisfaction, he replaced the cap.
“Oh, that feels good,” he gasped. “That makes my ass feel even hotter—looser—hornier for your cock! Want a hit, buddy?” Allowing his head to sink back on the pillow, he held out the bottle.
Silently, Remi took the poppers and snorted them himself. A smoldering heat seemed to spread through his nasal cavities and his groin simultaneously. His cock throbbed more fiercely inside his friend’s squirming ass. He set the bottle back down on the nightstand, grabbed Maxim by the waist with both hands, and humped him with buttock-bruising force.
He used the other guy’s asshole with sadistic relish for several minutes, fucking him as violently as he had ever fucked any other man. Not that Maxim seemed to mind. On the contrary, the big stud bartender seemed to love being fucked so roughly! The horny son of a bitch couldn’t get enough of it!
“Aw, fuck me, fuck me! I’m coming!” Maxim suddenly howled into the pillow which he still had pressed against his face. His entire body writhed and tensed under Remi’s. “I told you! I told you I was about to shoot! Fuck me, don’t stop. I’m going to shoot off!”
“Me, too!” Remi yelled, forgetting that this was a fuck by proxy, so to speak, and that he was supposed to be incognito. “I’m going to come, too! Come with me, dude! Now! Shoot your fucking load! Oh, my God, Maxim—I can’t hold it in any longer. I’m coming! I’m coming in your ass!”
“Christ!” Maxim exclaimed. He heard the voice coming from the man who was lying on top of him, screwing him. He recognized it. He froze in shocked disbelief. But it was too late to stop their fuck from ending in a pair of simultaneous orgasms now, even had he wanted to!
He felt Remi’s cock throbbing, violently, as it burst wetly inside his guts! It seemed to explode deep within him like a cannon shot—quivering and trembling, as it pumped again and again, to discharge all of its hot thick load into the reservoir tip of the rubber which Remi was wearing.
Maxim too started to come, helpless to prevent himself from shooting, as soon as he felt his fucker’s prick ejaculating so forcefully inside his rectum, flooding it with semen. His own fuck juice spurted from his cock and spread out over the mattress in a slimy puddle under his belly and chest and crotch, turning the rumpled sheet he was lying on sodden under him. One stray splash even flew far enough to hit him on his throat and chin, as he moaned with excitement.
With each swell and spurt of Remi’s cock inside his butt, Maxim responded with another hot volley of his own cum, until he was lying on a jism-soaked bed sheet, drenched in his own sweat and sperm.
Remi started to laugh breathlessly, with nervous, near-hysterical relief, now that the fuck was over and done with. He clung to his handsome friend and kissed him passionately on the shoulders and on the back of the neck. Only then did he pull his prick out of Maxim and sink down on the bed, into his arms. Maxim looked exhausted, and Remi felt fucked out, too.
With his head resting on Maxim’s sweaty chest, wrapped securely in the warm strength of his arms, Remi soon fell asleep again. So did Maxim. It seemed that both of them were heavy sleepers. And, for now, it was enough that they were together—together, in every sense of the word. Explanations—and possible recriminations—could wait until later.
Chapter Eight: A Houseboy’s Duties
After Remi and Maxim finally woke up, and had to face each other, rather sheepishly, in the cold, clear light of day after their outburst of mutual lust, Remi did indeed feel more than a little apprehensive.
He supposed he’d taken advantage of Maxim, who would have every right to be pissed off at him.
Still, Remi was unrepentant. He’d always had a crush on the bartender. And now he and Maxim had just shared their sexuality in the most intimate way two men could. Remi couldn’t regret that! And it wasn’t as though the promiscuous Maxim was in any position to pass judgment on him, for having given in to his urges.
At first, though, Maxim—as Remi had anticipated—was a bit defensive and belligerent.
“You little shit,” was his tender way of greeting his overnight guest, when they woke up in bed together. “I can’t believe this. At first I thought I was just having a sex dream. But it was real. You were really in bed with me, on top of me, with your dick in my ass—fucking me. You raped me, you son of a bitch!”
But Remi wasn’t about to let Maxim use rape to describe his admittedly rather aggressive early-morning anal assault on him. He knew Maxim well enough to realize that this was only Maxim’s way of trying to put all of the blame for the incident on him.
“Rape, my ass,” Remi jeered. “Somehow, I missed the part when you were crying ‘rape!’ Maybe because all I could hear coming out of your mouth was ‘fuck me, fuck me!’ Don’t be such a hypocrite. You loved having my cock up your ass, and we both know it.”
“Watch your mouth, punk, before I shove my fist down your throat. We’ll see how you like that! I ought to beat the crap out of you, for that stunt you pulled.”
“I’d like to see you try.”
“Oh, you think you’re pretty damn ballsy now, do you, now that you’ve—?” But Maxim didn’t complete the sentence. He broke off, biting his lip, and looking chagrined.
But Remi wasn’t in a mood to let the other guy off that easily. “Now that I’ve what?” he asked, coolly.
“Now that you’ve started hanging out with that whore, Guiche.”
“What’s that to you? Are you jealous?”
Maxim glowered at him. “Jealous? Of you? You wish! Don’t flatter yourself. Bastard,” he muttered, under his breath. “Oh, you dirty little bastard, you!”
Remi smirked. “Something’s just occurred to me. Maybe you’ve got a thing for Guiche, yourself? And that’s why you always feel this need to badmouth him?”
“Shut up! Get the hell out of here and let me get dressed,” Maxim said. “I don’t want to look at you, or talk to you, until I’ve had my goddamn coffee.”
“Jean Baptiste made a pot, before he left. I’ll see if it’s still any good, and if it’s not, I’ll make us a new one,” Remi volunteered, as a gesture of conciliation.
“Thanks,” Maxim muttered. “I guess that’s the least you can do, after sneaking in here and screwing me while I was still half asleep!”
Remi retreated to the living room, where he found and threw on his clothes. Then he went into the kitchen. He dumped the old pot of coffee into the sink and got a fresh brew started. Maxim soon joined him—also dressed, and looking a bit groggy.
“Want some breakfast?” Remi asked. “I’ll make it.”
Maxim peered at him, suspiciously. “What are you doing—auditioning for the role of houseboy?”
“I’m just trying to smooth things over a little, and make up for—you know. What happened.”
Maxim grunted. “Well, if you can cook as good as you fuck, go right ahead and make yourself useful. I’ll have scrambled eggs and bacon. And toast.”
“I’ll have the same,
I guess.”
“Knock yourself out.” Maxim sat down at the kitchen table and began to gulp down the strong black coffee. “I suppose we’d both better have a hearty breakfast, to get back our strength after that fuck you threw into me. Shit! My butt’s still sore.” He punctuated the statement with a nervous little laugh.
Remi relaxed a bit as he busied himself at the stove. If Maxim could joke about it, that was a good sign.
“I’m sorry about sneaking into your bedroom like that and taking advantage of you,” Remi said.
“Forget it. It’s hardly the first time I’ve allowed myself to be taken advantage of, in one way or another. We were both kind of … excited, obviously. Guys can do all sorts of stupid and reckless things, once they let their dicks start doing their thinking for them, instead of their heads.”
“Yeah, well, my dick must’ve been thinking overtime, a while ago.”
“Mine, too.”
Over breakfast, they talked—more intimately and frankly than Remi could remember them ever having talked to each other before.
“What do you think about Jean Baptiste?” Maxim asked.
“He seems like a nice guy.”
“I’ve always enjoyed hooking up with him. Living in two different cities made it a bit awkward. Now that he’s moved here, I’m hoping we’ll become regular fuck buddies. And maybe even more. I like him,” Maxim admitted, with a sigh.
“You like him a lot. I can tell. Are you in love with him?”
“I’ve been ‘in love’ with a lot of guys, at least while I was in bed with them,” Maxim said, with a certain rueful self-awareness. “I guess Jean Baptiste’s one of the few ones I’ve wanted to spend a lot of time with, even when we aren’t having sex. But let’s not talk about me. I’m a little worried about you.”
“There’s no need to be.”
“How serious is this thing between you and Guiche?”
“I don’t know. I think I’m into him a little more than he’s into me,” Remi confessed.
“Well, there’s a guaranteed recipe for heartbreak. I hope you have the sense to practice safe sex with him.”
“Sure. Not just with him. With everybody. Every time.”
“That’s a relief. I know you don’t want my advice, but, frankly—you could do better.”
“I’m not a child, Maxim. I know who and what Guiche is. I don’t have any illusions about him. He’s not all bad, you know. He’s got his own strange brand of—well, of honor. Which I know sounds like an odd word to use in connection with him.”
“Obviously you’re not a child. My mistake. You’re growing up fast. No longer that farm boy who used to work on tractors, back in Saguenay.”
“So—are we all right?” Remi asked.
“All right? What do you mean?”
“Are you still mad at me?”
Maxim grinned. “A guy who wakes me up with sex, and then makes me breakfast—how could I stay pissed off at him for long? You’re forgiven. In fact—while I’m still seeing how things may play out between me and Jean Baptiste—maybe we can do it again, sometime. When I’m aware of who the hell is in bed with me.” Maxim looked at Remi, searchingly. “Did you enjoy having sex with me?”
“You bet I did. It was great. Maybe it was over a little too fast, though. Otherwise—wow! Why you do ask? Didn’t you like it?”
“I didn’t dislike it,” Maxim said, evasively.
Remi laughed. “Yeah, you really seemed to be having trouble getting into it.”
The other guy squirmed a bit in his chair. “You don’t have to rub it in.”
“You look a little uncomfortable, stud. Is something wrong? Is your ass still sore? You having trouble sitting down?”
“You’ll have trouble sitting down,” Maxim threatened, “after I turn you over my knee and give that pretty little butt of yours a good spanking!”
“Yeah, you’d like that, wouldn’t you? Working at CityBoyz and watching all those leather studs come and go has put ideas into your head. It’s made you kinky.”
“It’s really Jean Baptiste’s fault. He’s a bad influence on me, just like Guiche is on you. He likes to—”
“To do what?”
“Nothing. Never mind.”
“Come on, Maxim, tell me,” Remi coaxed. “Like you said, I’m not a kid any more. I want to learn about all this leather stuff.”
“Well, Jean Baptiste does like to get into a little bondage and discipline, every now and then. Nothing heavy, you understand. Just a little harmless playacting, to heat things up a bit. He likes to play this game he calls ‘cop and perp,’ or ‘prison guard and inmate.’ One of us ties or handcuffs the other’s wrists behind his back, and then he ‘interrogates’ him, and ‘forces’ him to do things.”
“What sort of things?”
“Jesus, Remi, do I have to draw you a picture? What do you think? The one who’s restrained has to take orders. He has to do shit like lick the sweat off the other guy’s body. Suck his tits. Sniff and lick his armpits, and his crotch. Suck his cock until he chokes on it. Lick his ass. And finally, get fucked, in one position after another. Forced to submit to the other guy, in general, and be his bitch. Like I said—just game playing.”
“Fuck. You guys are real horn dogs!”
“Well, I don’t want you to get the impression that it’s nothing but dirty, nasty sex. Afterward, Jean Baptiste always gets really sweet and cuddly.”
“I’ll bet he does! The bigger and the tougher they are, the harder they fall, huh? Damn—I’m envious!” A thought occurred to Remi. “Are you going to tell Jean Baptiste that you and I—ah—that we fucked?”
“Jean Baptiste and I don’t keep too many secrets from each other. He’s the type who doesn’t mind his fuck buddy having sex with other guys. In fact, he encourages it. And he likes to hear all the sordid details. It turns him on. When I tell him about your little early morning visit to my bedroom—that ought to get him going. He’ll want to get really down and dirty,” Maxim predicted, with a smirk. “Thanks for that, ahead of time!”
“And to think that you put down Guiche, for what he does?” Remi protested.
“Okay—let’s call a truce, when it comes to dissing your boyfriend. I’ll try to be a little less hypocritical and judgmental.”
Chapter Nine: Hot On and Off the Ice
The inevitable had happened. Guiche’s persistence had paid off. Remi had agreed to work with him.
“Okay, since the last time we talked—see what I’ve done,” Guiche urged Remi, proudly. “I’ve got everything set up and ready to go.”
Guiche opened his laptop, and called up his website. He’d added the nude photos which Remi had given him.
“Shit,” Remi muttered. “I’m still not sure I want naked pictures of me floating around out there in cyberspace, for anybody to see!”
“It’s a little late to start worrying about that,” Guiche pointed. “And you look damn hot in these photos.”
“I do, don’t I?”
Guiche snickered. “You fucking narcissist! Not that I say that as an insult. You need to have a good self-image, to succeed in this line of work. Now, check out the text I’ve added.”
Remi did so. The new descriptive material, once again in French sprinkled with a few English words, was complete with Guiche’s trademark triple exclamation marks.
Guiche et Remi, hot, versatiles, 8 et 8 uncut, serieux safe sex discrets!!!
Nous recevons en centre ville Montréal endroit propre et discret.
In-call 280, out-call 340, pour nous deux ensembles!!!
“There’s even a separate calendar for the threesomes, with all the dates and times you’ve told me you’ll be available,” Guiche boasted.
“Perfect. Well, I guess I’m committed myself. Now what do we do?” Remi asked.
“We sit and wait for somebody to make an appointment. In the meantime, you may as well get that haircut.” Guiche had given Remi the name and number of a hair stylist friend of his, who had his
own shop. It was another one of Guiche’s barter arrangements. “Don’t pay him,” Guiche cautioned Remi. “It’s already taken care of. You can tip him, though.”
Remi contacted Guiche’s friend the hair stylist—who, Remi had to admit, did a good job.
“So—how do you know Guiche?” Remi asked the hair stylist, who was a cheerful, good-looking, slightly fem number named Michel.
“Oh, I used to hustle, too,” Michel said, casually. “Until I acquired a following of other customers—the kinds who just wanted their hair done—and I started making a profit here in the shop. I’ve got a boyfriend now, who doesn’t like me to turn tricks. So you see—there is life after prostitution, after all. Guiche and I used to have some wild times, together, though. We did the threesome gig with a john, quite a few times. He’s so butch, and I’m kind of nelly—I admit it—so it gave the johns the best of both worlds.”
“Do you regret doing that sort of thing with Guiche?” Remi asked.
“Hell, no! If I was single again, I’d go for it again with Guiche, in a heartbeat,” Michel declared. “Let me guess. He wants you to do the threesomes with him, doesn’t he? That’s why he told me to make you look really good.”
“Yeah,” Remi admitted.
“You’d be good at it. You’re a hot guy. And you’ll be even hotter, when I’m done with you. Which I will be, in a minute.”
Looking in the mirror Michel provided, Remi was pleased. His hair was still rather long, the way he liked to wear it; but Michel had transformed it from a somewhat unkempt mane to a sleek, elegant-looking style.
Leaving the shop, Remi pulled out his cell phone and called Guiche to report on the successful outcome.
“I told you Michel was good. Come to my place, so I can see the result,” Guiche invited him.
But when Remi arrived at Guiche’s apartment, his hustler friend seemed excited, indeed agitated.
“Great news!” Guiche blurted out.
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