“You are such a whore,” Michel griped. “Look at you, encouraging those two innocent young lads. Leading them on.”
“Oh, with you as their boss and mentor, I wonder just how innocent they are,” Laurent speculated. “They’re such hard workers. I think it’s about time they were given a chance to play hard, too.”
“There’s only one problem, Laurent.”
“Yeah? And what might that be?”
“Not only do both of these horny young motherfuckers want to screw you. So do I. For old times’ sake!”
“I fail to see the problem. I’ll take on all three of you,” Laurent vowed, heatedly.
“Whore!” his friend exclaimed.
“I think we’ve already established that fact. Common knowledge, as they say.”
“Now, according to you, you slut, our only problem,” Michel gasped, feverishly, “is to decide who goes first!”
“No problem,” Laurent decreed. “You’re the captain. The boss. I think it’s your prerogative, to fuck my ass first! The hired help—they can slide into me afterward, on your cum,” he suggested, lewdly.
“Yeah,” Michel growled. “You tease! Your hole—it’s mine!”
“All yours,” Laurent agreed.
“Going to fuck you, but good,” Michel threatened. “Hard and hot and long! Then the boys can take you, too. Yeah, they can have their sloppy seconds. Pound your whore ass some more—!”
Before that memorable day was over, Laurent learned what it truly meant to give up his ass to other men, to get fucked—for free, for sheer pleasure, without any thought of financial recompense. He abandoned himself, mindlessly, unreservedly, to raw sex. The boat rocked under him, under the blazing, pitiless Mediterranean sun, which beat down upon his nude body and those of his naked sex partners, making them all sweat. Fish oil, left over from the previous day’s catch, was, appropriately enough, pressed into service as a handy and efficient anal lube. As the three horny young fishermen mounted and screwed him, one after another, each of them coming back for seconds, Laurent experienced nothing but pure bliss. He realized just how much he liked cock in his ass, how much he loved to be used, how much he relished giving and receiving lusty, uninhibited, totally unrestrained and wholly male sexual pleasure.
They paused in their lustful activity to haul up the nets, and deposit the fish in the bins provided for that purpose, built into the hull of the boat. Then, after sailing to another part of the sea and putting out the nets again, they had lunch, accompanied by plenty of wine. Fueled by the alcohol, all four men were ready for more erotic diversion, as the hot afternoon wore on. Laurent was fucked again—repeatedly, thoroughly, decisively, and to his complete sexual satisfaction—by Michel’s white cock and the Algerian brothers’ black ones. But he didn’t discriminate. He gleefully and appreciatively took on each and every cock, no matter what its hue. Rarely had his hole been so well used in such a short time.
But his own prick wasn’t neglected. He was sucked, by all three of his shipmates. He got on his own back on Michel, Azhar, and Ammar, fucking each of them in return, sooner or later. The sea air seemed to act as an aphrodisiac, stimulating all four men, inspiring them to awesome feats of sexual stamina.
“You’d make a good cabin boy,” Michel told Laurent, at one point. “The kind of slut sailors keep around, to make good use of when they’re out to sea.”
“So, I’m better than a hand job, am I?” Laurent retorted.
“You’ll do. Damn! Does that ass of yours ever get enough?”
“Keep trying, you guys,” Laurent advised. “I’ll let you know, if and when I reach my limit.”
After sunset, the boat returned to Marseille, loaded with fish. Laurent helped the other three men haul the catch to the fish market, located near the docks, where various wholesalers bid on the catch, paying in cash. The fish, packed in shaved ice, distributed locally or shipped north throughout France, would end up in markets in the morning, or on the menus of restaurants.
“We did well today,” Michel told Laurent, showing him a sheaf of banknotes. “I have to give Azhar and Ammar their cut. I don’t really pay them a wage, you see—just a percentage of the profits. You’ve earned a share, too.”
“No,” Laurent insisted. “This was nothing but a fun day, for me. And I’ve already had my reward. Several times over! Not sure I’ll be able to sit down comfortably, during the drive back to Nice.”
“You can crash at my place, overnight,” Michel said.
“No, thanks, but I’d better get home. I have a lunch date tomorrow.”
“With a john?”
“Yeah,” Laurent confessed, rather reluctantly.
“I’m not saying a word,” Michel said, mock primly. “Well—at least take some fish home with you,” he urged. The fishermen always reserved a few prize specimens of their catch, for their own use.
Laurent returned home late that night, not only with a limp dick and a well-fucked and rather sore ass, but with two plump fish, wrapped in paper, which he put in the freezer compartment of his refrigerator, to cook and eat later.
That’s the most sex I’ve had, without being paid for it, in a long time, he realized. Felt good, though. Felt damn good! Michel, that big-dicked, oversexed bastard! I’d forgotten what a stud he is. And those two well-hung Algerian boys he’s got working for him—he’s sure trained them right!
Chapter Six: Tourist Trade
Laurent flew to Hamburg, to take part in a gay porn video being made by a German studio.
He’d worked for this studio twice before, so he knew what to expect. The Germans were extremely efficient and goal-oriented. They never wasted any time on a set, if they could help it. They were all business, while a sex scene was being shot. Once the footage was safely in the can, though, they did tend to lighten up, and then there’d be time for socializing and joking around. Those were the occasions which Laurent liked. There was a convivial atmosphere of gay camaraderie which was most enjoyable.
The porn actors were expected to conduct themselves like professionals, and they were treated with respect, accordingly. Laurent was put up in a modest, but comfortable, hotel. He was, rather amusingly, assigned an “assistant,” named Gunther, who shepherded him, picking him up at the airport in his own car, taking Laurent to his hotel, and then taking him to the places where he’d be doing his filming.
Laurent would appear in only one sequence of the video. It was a threesome, in which he’d work with Leuthold, a German guy he’d performed with once before, and a man named Nathan, who was an unknown quantity to Laurent.
Leuthold was an extraordinarily beautiful young man with a male model’s face and a flawless bodybuilder’s physique. He claimed to be gay for pay. He only, he insisted, engaged in homosexual acts when he was hired to do a video—never in his private life. He had a girlfriend, to whom he was committed. Laurent had no way of knowing whether this was true or not. But he had to admit that, when Leuthold was gay for pay, the guy was really, convincingly, wholeheartedly gay, earning every bit of his money. He was an animal, who’d do anything sexual with other men, while giving every indication of enjoying himself immensely.
Laurent couldn’t wait to work with the stud again!
He was introduced to his other costar. His name was Nathan, although he preferred to called Nate. He was an American, like Laurent imported for the shoot, and he was a young black muscle man, bulgingly muscular, with a charcoal-hued skin. His handsome face was surrounded by an elaborate hairdo—long dreadlocks, some tied up, others left to dangle freely down around his thick neck and broad, rounded shoulders. He rather resembled, Laurent thought, a male Medusa!
“Some guys don’t like the dark meat,” Nate drawled, ironically, when he and Laurent were introduced.
“Not me,” Laurent assured the African-American stud, quickly. “I love men of color. We have lots of them back home, where I come from, in Marseille. I’m looking forward to working with you. Very much.”
“Like a big black
cock, do you, huh?”
“Love it,” Laurent said. “Have you got one?”
“Huh! You’ll soon see, for yourself.” Appraisingly, Nate’s black eyes looked Laurent up and down. “You’ll do,” he decreed, succinctly, at last. “You look like you’re a hot fuck.”
“I am,” Laurent said. “Not boasting, you understand. Just stating a fact. In my line of work—you need to have a product which the customers want.”
“You hustle?” Nate guessed.
“Yes.”
“Me, too. Some johns want a black stud. It’s a niche market, maybe, but it’s a profitable one.”
Nate and Laurent got along splendidly. They had their whoredom in common. They understood each other.
The video had a story line, of sorts. Leuthold and another German actor played fuck buddies who, after discussing the relative merits of men of different nationalities, made a bet with each other. The winner would be which of them could, in the course of a week, have sex with the greater number of foreigners. At the end of the week, when the two friends compared notes, they discovered that the score was even. A tie! And so, shrugging, the two promiscuous buddies went to bed together. And there, they rediscovered the joys of all-German sex.
It was a rather asinine scenario, in Laurent’s opinion, but he was willing to take the money and run.
In the scene in which Laurent would appear, Leuthold’s character had come to a logical conclusion. Namely, that the most efficient way to increase his tally was to stop having one-on-one hookups, and concentrate instead on threesomes and group sex. (He was unaware that his buddy had come up with the same idea.) Laurent would play a French tourist, and Nate would portray an American merchant seaman who was in Hamburg on shore leave.
They did some shooting outdoors, on location, to set up the threesome. Nate and Laurent were each shown strolling along separate streets, doing some sightseeing—and checking out any good-looking pedestrians whom they passed. By coincidence, they ended up at the same sidewalk café, having drinks at adjacent tables, and cruising each other. Laurent pulled out a map of the city, and having trouble deciphering it—or pretending to do so—he enlisted Nate’s help. The American visitor to Hamburg, however, was just as perplexed as the Frenchman. Then Leuthold came swaggering along, obviously looking for a hookup. He came to the two men’s rescue, and soon the three men ended up in Laurent’s hotel room.
Lots of porn studios, Laurent had discovered, engaged in a form of “guerrilla filmmaking,” shooting scenes in actual hotel rooms. One or two of the guys checked in, the others joined them, smuggling up their equipment, and, with the room as a premade set, they were good to go. Provided the film crew didn’t make excess noise or do anything else to call attention to themselves, and also assuming they didn’t mess up the room too badly, the hotel management never suspected a thing. The maids had to launder disgustingly semen-soaked bedsheets, inevitably, but that could happen, no matter who checked into the room.
This particular German studio didn’t stint when it came to paying for such things, and they’d rented not just a room, but an actual suite, in one of Hamburg’s more upscale hotels—rather more exclusive than the hotel in which they’d put up Laurent, although he didn’t resent the fact. This gave them a large and elegantly decorated space in which to work. The French tourist Laurent was playing must’ve had a lot of disposable income, to afford to stay in such a place when he traveled!
With the hotel’s neatly made bed waiting to be occupied, and bathed in the strong light from photographer’s lamps set on tripods, the crew wasted no time getting down to business.
It had been agreed that, during the scene, the three performers would talk—preferably dirty—to one another in English. Laurent’s slight lilting accent in that language, Leuthold’s rather heavier Teutonic one, and Nate’s brassy American English, would give an exotic touch to the video’s audio. In the finished product, viewers would be able to select subtitles in a variety of languages, if they so chose. It wasn’t as though they really needed to follow the dialogue, word for word, in order to understand what was going on!
“We need to freaking get naked, dudes,” Nate announced, in his character as a horny seaman, when the cameraman started rolling.
“Oh, do we?” Laurent asked, rather coyly.
“Bare it, bitch,” Nate told him.
It took less than thirty seconds for Laurent, Nate, and Leuthold to strip out of all of their clothes. The three studs stood there in the luxurious hotel suite, naked, erect, and ready for action.
“What’re we waiting for?” Nate asked. “Come on. Get your butts on the bed, guys. I want to cop a feel. Yeah—that’s a pair of hot butts! I want to grab hold of them. Goddamn pretty white asses—give them to me!”
They sprawled on the rocking mattress, bouncing on it, and laughing for sheer erotic joy. Leuthold made a grab for Laurent, grasping his hard cock in his fist, stroking it, testing its size and weight and rigidity. He was hotly aroused by the Frenchman’s penis, by its exceptional length and thickness. Leuthold could scarcely get his hand closed around the circumference of the turgid shaft! He was already anticipating how such a virile ramrod would feel, shoved up his butch ass, reaming him out, putting his vaunted gay for pay status to a true test. His buttocks, and the bunghole tucked away deep between them, vibrated with lewd expectation of being violated.
Laurent took Nate’s erect member in his hand.
“Aw, shit, this is beautiful, one hell of a fine schlong,” he babbled. “Uncut, too, just the way I like them. Gives me a nice piece of foreskin to play with. I like to pull the frigging curtains back, like this—!” Suiting the action to his words, he skinned back Nate’s foreskin, baring his purplish-black glans, which Laurent stared down at, lustfully, submitting it to a thorough inspection. “Uh, such a big black cock!” he gloated. “Man, you’re hung!”
“All cats are grey in the dark, they say,” Nate suggested, lewdly.
“You’re a real tomcat, I can tell,” Laurent replied. “Fucker! You fucking stud!”
“Yours, too,” Nate growled, huskily. “Let me have yours, too—!”
Nate clasped Laurent’s solid cock in both of his hands, in the process gently pushing Leuthold aside. The black man wanted the handsome Frenchman all to himself, for the time being. He gazed longingly at the white guy’s penis, eager to lock his moist lips firmly around its massive circumference, but holding back, delaying the actual oral-genital contact, in order to create some suspense. This was a porn video, after all. Men would masturbate while watching it. Pacing was important. It could be more effective, sometimes, instead of diving right into the sex, to let things build up gradually.
Accordingly, Nate admired—indeed, virtually worshipped—Laurent’s cock. He sniffed at it appreciatively, as though it was a fragrant flower. Seeing how the thick knob of the fuck tool he had in his hands was already leaking a clear, sticky drop of pre-cum, he touched the tip of his forefinger to the piss slit, picking up the drop and transferring it to his tongue, moaning when he tasted its unmistakable masculine tartness.
Leuthold, also aware of the desirability of taking things slowly, at least at first, stretched out beside the other two men, watching them tease each other—and him—with their languid, yet provocative, exploration of each other’s bodies. His own oversized phallus, which made him so well qualified to perform in porn, was so hard and inflexible that it hurt him, the buildup of sperm pressure inside his penis and testicles making his genitals throb in real agony. He gazed passionately at the other two male bodies, nude and powerful, black and white, providing such a vivid, exciting contrast in skin color to each other.
Leuthold hadn’t lied when he said he was gay for pay. He liked women—the softness of their bodies (he preferred his girlfriends to be on the plump side), their full breasts, their broad hips, their well-cushioned and jiggly behinds, and, above all, their juicy cunts. But his work in gay porn had taught him that men’s bodies could be arousing, too, and that h
e could respond to them. And he knew how another man’s body responded to stimulation—how his nipples and cock and balls, his anus, reacted when they were rubbed the right way.
Right now, just lying there and observing Nate and Laurent at play was exciting enough, but Leuthold knew that participation would be even better—and he no longer saw any reason why he should deny himself that pleasure. This was supposed to be a threesome, after all, and he’d better begin earning his fee!
Boldly, he reached out with both of his hands and he scooped up Laurent’s big balls in one palm, and hefted Nate’s black orbs in the other. The two men were lying opposite each other on the bed, and Leuthold was now sitting up, hovering over them, manhandling their groins. He caught his breath in his throat, absorbed by the weight of the two sets of virile testicles which filled his hands. Slowly, he worked his fingers around them, giving each of his costars a ball massage, enjoying the flexibility of the crinkled, hairy skin which covered the testicles. He couldn’t decide which man’s scrotum felt more exciting to fondle, the black stud’s or the white dude’s.
“Ah, God! How I love to have my nuts played with like that!” Nate exclaimed, while he continued to manipulate Laurent’s big cock.
“So do I, especially when a guy as sexy as you are is jacking off my prick for me,” Laurent declared. Returning the favor, he massaged the long, thick black penis with both of his hands.
Nate reached over with his free hand to stroke Leuthold’s hard-on. “Just look at this thing. So big. So hard. So goddamn manly!”
“Fuck, yeah,” Laurent agreed. “It’s a real beauty. Can’t decide which I like better, his or yours. Guess it’s a tie.”
“Why don’t we two work on our German friend together?” Nate suggested, his voice thick with desire.
“Great idea, dude.”
The two men made a dive for Leuthold, throwing him off-balance and onto his back on the bed. The mattress rocked under the three men’s combined muscular weight, shifting to accommodate their movements. Once they had Leuthold down and at their mercy, Laurent straddled the German’s broad chest to keep him from escaping—not that Leuthold was in any mood to try to evade the other two guys’ intentions!—and Nate pushed his way impetuously in between Leuthold’s muscular legs.
Hot Nights in the South of France Page 7