“They do, sometimes,” Pierre admitted, frankly. “But we’ve known each other for so long, and we’re such good friends, that, shit! It’s almost like incest. Sometimes I’d rather do it with a stranger. It’s hotter that way. I can—uh—really cut loose, you know? Let myself go, and be a real sex pig.”
“Sounds exciting,” Laurent said.
Pierre got dressed, and they left the building and found a cab—with Pierre clutching and admiring his trophy, while Laurent made himself useful by carrying his gym bag.
During the short ride, Pierre, in an effusive mood, regaled Laurent with another tale—in which Pierre, of course, played the starring role.
“When I first met Bob, he didn’t know he was gay. Well, technically, I guess he’s bi. Can you believe that?” Pierre asked.
“Lots of guys swing both ways,” Laurent replied. “Not me, though.”
“Not me, either. Anyway,” Pierre went on, warming to his subject, “I don’t usually have much use for guys who are sexually ambivalent, you know? Who are undecided? Or even for the ones who are shy. When I see a guy at the gym who’s hiding his dick in the locker room or the showers, I get annoyed. To me, real men, whether they’re gay or straight or whatever, they’re not ashamed of their manhood and they don’t see any need to hide their boners from other guys.
“I’ve got quite a few straight muscle buddies who like showing off and giving the gay men a thrill. They may not be as big as I am, either in terms of their physiques or their dicks, but they’re still proud of what they’ve got, and they don’t give a shit if other guys see it and want it. Hell, they get off on displaying themselves and teasing the gay guys!
“When I first met Bob, he was one of those ambivalent dudes. He would always get hard in the showers after his workout, without fail. He had a reputation for being caught jacking off right there in the gym, in fact, but the other guys knew the deal, and you can get away with it as long as you’re careful. That’s how Bob and I got started pumping out our loads together, in fact.
“If you work out as hard as I do, Laurent, then you know that the first thing most guys want to do after a good session is shoot off some cum, and when an opportunity arises, you just take advantage of it. Bob caught me rubbing one out in the showers one day, but he just went right along with it, and we stood there under the spray and watched each other jerking off, blasting out both of our loads at the same time. That was hot as fuck, but kind of frustrating, too, because we didn’t actually touch each other, which is what I was looking forward to.
“The next time it happened, we stood closer to each other, and we talked dirty while we stroked ourselves. The time after that, we progressed to grabbing and playing with each other’s dicks. Bob told me later that he’d watched porn with some of his buddies, and they’d jerked off together, but that time in the showers was the first time he’d ever dared to touch another guy’s cock.
“I told him there was nothing wrong with being gay, or bi—in fact, it was great. Soon, he and I were getting together regularly, either at my place or his, for muscle worship sessions and more jerking off. It didn’t take me long before I showed him what other things two men could do together—sucking, rimming, fucking—edging each other, coming up with new ways to tease each other and make each other come. I guess I recruited Bob, introducing him to gay sex, but he’s never expressed any regrets about it.
“He and I are best friends, and workout partners. He’s still into pussy, and he gets involved with one girlfriend after another, always casual, short-term affairs, with no commitment on his part. His girlfriends don’t suspect that he’s bi and loves to play with me and other muscle studs.
“I have to take it easy on Bob sometimes, because he gets so hot at the sight of another naked muscle man that the moment we strip down and I start talking dirty to him, and we begin fooling around, he’s already in danger of pumping out his load. These physique contests must be sheer torture for the poor guy, with all that exposed muscle on display!
“Only a couple of days ago, when we were getting me ready for tonight, we went back to my place after our workout, and we just went at each other like animals. Somehow, I managed to edge Bob and keep him from coming for more than half an hour, while we both talked some of the dirtiest shit you’ve ever heard or imagined, Laurent, and we kept rubbing our own dicks and each other’s. At last, I couldn’t help myself. I squirted a fountain of semen up into the air, and then I bent my dick down and aimed it at Bob’s cock, wetting it with my cum. He used my sperm as lube while he jacked himself off to orgasm, too.
“Dropping those first loads calmed us down a bit, and after we’d rested, we got into some wild sixty-nining, and after that, we took turns eating out each other’s asses, and fucking each other up the ass. I considered it all part of my contest preparation. What the fuck, sex is a good way to burn off calories, too! Oh, we’re here,” Pierre broke off, as the hotel came into sight.
Chapter Eight: Feast of Flesh
When he and Pierre entered the hotel room, Laurent saw that Bob had transformed the small table in the room, and the nearby writing desk, into a strange sort of combination bar and buffet.
There was no alcohol, just bottled water, fruit and vegetable juices, and milk. And enough of each to quench the thirst of a half-dozen men, surely. An open egg carton held a dozen hard-boiled eggs. Stacked on top of each other, next to a manual can opener, were four of the largest cans of tuna Laurent had ever seen, bigger than anything routinely stocked on a grocer’s shelves. One plate was piled high with boiled, skinless chicken breasts. Another was heaped with thick, wide strips of brown al dente whole-wheat pasta, without any sauce or seasoning.
Bob noticed Laurent’s bemused reaction.
“Supper is served,” Bob announced, drily.
Pierre grabbed a chicken breast and began to gnaw on it. “Aw, fuck,” he mumbled, around the meat in his mouth. “This is almost better than a good pump—almost better than sex—almost better than coming!”
Bob grinned at Laurent.
“Not quite, if you ask me,” he said. “But then, I don’t compete. I don’t need to deny myself—not food, not booze, not late nights.”
Pierre, having already stuffed several chicken breasts into his mouth and down his throat, was now chugging milk, directly from the container.
“Well, if you guys will excuse me,” Bob said. “I’m going to go check out a couple of the bars here in town.”
“Which ones?” Laurent inquired.
“I’ve got a list.” Producing a scrap of paper, Bob showed it to Laurent—who took a pen from the desk and added a name and address.
“Try this one, first,” Laurent advised. “A guy as hot as you are, Bob—you should make out all right there. Tell them I sent you!” he joked.
“Thanks!”
Bob left, and Pierre continued to attack the spread on the table and the desk.
“Christ,” the big bodybuilder exclaimed. “I’m so fucking hungry! I’m starved. Been eating practically nothing for weeks on end, preparing for tonight. I’m dehydrated, too. Couldn’t afford to drink too much water, because it’d bloat me. I feel lightheaded. Like I’m going to faint—!”
“You’d better go on eating and drinking, then,” Laurent advised, feeling alarmed. It wouldn’t do for his john to pass out on him. He didn’t relish the thought of having to call the paramedics!
“I intend to, now that I can. Just hope you won’t be offended at the sight of me pigging out. Don’t mind me.”
“No, go right ahead.”
“If you’d like something, yourself, just go ahead and order it from room service.”
“No, thanks, I’m fine.”
Laurent watched, fascinated, while Pierre gulped down liters upon liters of bottled water, and gobbled the raw tuna and the hard-boiled eggs. This, apparently, was all just an antipasto, before he set to work slurping down the plain pasta. Varying his intake of restorative liquids, Pierre also used orange, grapefruit, and
tomato juices to wash down all that food. Observing him, Laurent felt slightly queasy, his stomach flipping over in empathetic response. Pierre’s own stomach must be infinitely elastic, to sustain such abuse—as well-developed, as “muscle-bound,” as his arms, legs, or chest!
And—after this meal—he’s still going to be in the mood for sex? Laurent marveled. I’d be comatose, myself!
To the escort’s astonishment and disbelief, the man who’d hired his services had not only drained every container of liquid—he’d devoured every scrap of food!
Pierre burped—a sound like a trombone player blaring away at full volume on his instrument. “Aw, fuck! Now I feel halfway human again.”
“That’s some rigorous dieting regimen you must put yourself through, if this is how you make up for it, afterward.”
“Tell me about it! But now I can slack off, for a day or two.” Pierre scrutinized Laurent, intently, with a hungry look on his face, exactly as though the male prostitute was the next item on the menu. Which, so far as the bodybuilder was concerned, might be no more than the case! “Why don’t we get these fucking clothes off?” the muscle man suggested. “I’m paying for this goddamn room—for these beds. Might as well starting making good use of one of them. Don’t worry about Bob. He knows the drill. Whether he gets lucky or not, he won’t come back for hours. By then—we’ll have wrecked one of these beds,” Pierre gloated. “Give the maids something to clean up, in the morning, after Bob and I check out.” Suddenly turning impatient, Pierre added, brusquely, “Strip!”
“Sure.” Laurent began to undress.
“Want to see you naked. You have the advantage, dude. You’ve already seen me nude.”
“And very impressive it was.”
“You know what I want,” Pierre reminded Laurent. “What I’m paying you for. Sex! Sex, you fucker, hot, dirty sex! I want to do everything with you. But, first—get your pretty ass over here and start worshipping my freaking muscles! You know you want to. You know you want to adore this body of mine.”
“You bet I do,” Laurent vowed. “Please let me—!”
“Do it! Knock yourself out.”
By now, both men were naked. Pierre set his trophy on the nightstand beside the bed.
“You stay there, little buddy,” the bodybuilder told the trophy. “And I want you to meet my big buddy,” he added, taking his cock in his hand and giving it a few preliminary jerks.
“I’d like to make the acquaintance of your big buddy, too,” Laurent said.
“Get your pretty ass over here, and I’ll introduce you.”
Laurent found, to his relief and delight, that he had no need to fake it. Genuinely turned on by his john’s heroic, herculean physique, he was literally salivating when he approached the big man—respectfully, as though he was indeed some worshipper in a homoerotic pagan cult, preparing to demonstrate his devotion to a muscular deity.
Standing in front of the foot of the bed, Pierre proudly posed and flexed for Laurent’s benefits. He raised both of his arms above his head in the familiar, mandatory at physique contests, front double biceps pose, baring his armpits—which, of course, had been shaven clean of any trace of hair.
“Uh, it’s warm in here,” Pierre muttered. “I’m hot—I’m sweating. First my pits, man. Work on my pits first! Lick and suck them. Tickle me there, with your tongue. Taste that hot man sweat, running down from those pits. And sniff them, too—sniff my armpit smell and love it, bitch. Just like it was perfume in a bottle. You’re a whore, aren’t you? Then start acting like a whore. A muscle whore, the kind of a man cunt who goes crazy when he sees a stud with a body like mine—who can’t believe he’s allowed to do more than just look at it. Yeah, you can touch it—smell it—taste it, too! Go on, worship my muscles, show me how much you like them. How hard they make your cock—how they make the jizz start to drip out of your dick.”
“Oh, you’re magnificent,” Laurent mumbled, between licks and sucks at Pierre’s armpits.
“Damn right I am.”
“Please—please, may I lick your pecs, too? Your nipples look so suckable. Please, may I suck them?”
“Yeah. Get your mouth on my tits,” Pierre growled. “But don’t just lick and suck them, boy. Bite them! I want to feel your teeth, sinking right into the fuckers. Don’t worry,” he insisted. “I’m a real man. I can take it. Anything you can dish out! I’m immune to pain—”
Promptly, Laurent put this boast to the test, by closing his lips around the stiff cone of one of Pierre’s nipples and nipping it quite savagely with his teeth.
“Aw, shit!” Pierre howled. He threw his head back. His big body seemed to spasm from head to foot. He sucked in his breath, with a rasping noise. His hand shot up to the back of Laurent’s head, grabbing a fistful of his hair. But—instead of pulling Laurent’s face away from his tortured tit—the bodybuilder only pressed Laurent’s mouth more firmly against his hard, unyielding pectoral mound! “Bite me!” Pierre screamed. “Bite me, hard! Make it hurt! Fuck! Oh, fuck!”
The physique star, Laurent realized, was kinky—a real sex freak! But, caught up in the lewdness of the moment, Laurent was more than happy to accommodate the guy!
He attacked the other nipple, too, torturing it with his teeth. Pierre liked that! A lot!
“Bite those nips,” he whimpered. “Uh, make them bleed! I can take the pain, dude! I like the pain! ‘No pain, no gain!’ Bite me! Draw blood!”
This was rather more kink than Laurent customarily got into, but Pierre’s frenzy was infectious. Caught up in the big man’s unbridled lust, Laurent sank his teeth into the man’s stiff cones of tit flesh one by one, torturing them, moving his mouth rapidly back and forth between them.
Pierre loved it! He really did seem to have an extraordinary pain tolerance.
“Bitch! Whore!” the bodybuilder screamed, his voice now incongruously high-pitched and shrill, like a girl’s. “Don’t stop! Oh, don’t stop! Chew on those frigging nips! Hurt them! Ah!”
Laurent gnawed on the raw nipple flesh. Pierre took the abuse, and indeed he reveled in it. Finally, though, he’d had enough.
“Now—get down there—lower! My abs,” Pierre demanded. “Lick my abs! Poke your fucking tongue in my belly button, clean it out! Yeah—now my cum gutters, dude. I want to feel that hot mouth of yours, that nice juicy wet tongue, on my cum gutters! Don’t you worry, you muscle-worshipping bitch. Soon—real soon—you’re going to be down there even lower, in my crotch. Sniffing my crotch smell. My butt stink, too. Licking my balls. Sucking on them! Sucking my dick. Yeah, licking and sucking my ass! Whore! Oh, you whore!”
Soon, Laurent was lying flat on his back on the bed, with Pierre squatting over his head, getting ready to lower his butt onto Laurent’s face, so the escort could rim him.
“Uh! Sit on my face, big man. Let me suck that muscle ass of yours,” Laurent begged. He took a tentative swipe with his tongue between Pierre’s glutes, tasting the man’s sweat in his butt cleft, rubbing his tongue over the bodybuilder’s anal pucker, too, and tasting it as well. “Hot ass! Frigging hell, it tastes good! Going to eat it out—!” Grunting, Laurent proceeded to do so, treating Pierre to his most energetic and enthusiastic rimming. Hotly aroused, he worked one of his fingertips through his own sphincter, probing his anal depths.
“Yeah, suck that ass of mine, while you finger yours,” Pierre demanded. “Get yourself good and hot. I’m going to fuck your hole for you, and you’re going to love every minute of it!”
Laurent didn’t doubt that. Not at all!
There were times when he truly enjoyed his work, and this was one of them.
Chapter Nine: Another Muscle Monologue
Incredibly, when he was done fucking Laurent, Pierre seemed to be just getting his second wind! The guy was truly, literally, insatiable!
“Nice ass,” the pro bodybuilder complimented the escort. “I’m going to want to nail that hole again, before we’re done. Meanwhile—” Pierre looked, optimistically, around the
room. “Is there any food left? I’m still hungry.”
“I think you ate everything Bob set out for you,” a fucked-out Laurent observed.
“Damn! Well—I’m in the mood for pizza,” Pierre declared. “Are you?”
“Actually—yeah. I could eat something, anything. I need to keep my strength up, with these demands you’re making on me.”
Pierre laughed. “Know a good pizza delivery joint, here in Marseille?”
“As a matter of fact, I do.” Laurent gave his muscular john the name of the establishment. “I don’t know the number, though, not offhand.”
“Never mind.” Pierre picked up the hotel’s phone. “I can get it from Information.”
Soon, Pierre was ordering not one, but two, large “meat lover’s” pizzas, with “extra everything,” as he put it. “Pile it on,” he advised, to the employee he was speaking to over the phone.
After hanging up, Pierre lounged nude on one of the beds, while Laurent, also naked, sat on the other.
“Now, while we’re waiting for the delivery boy to arrive,” Pierre said, cheerfully, “you can give that dick of yours a well-deserved rest. But don’t get too comfortable. I’m going to want you to perform for me again.”
“I’ll do my best,” Laurent promised. “You have a very high sex drive, don’t you?”
“Got testosterone to spare, I guess,” Pierre agreed. “But you’re no slouch, buddy. Must come in handy, in your line of work? Being able to get it up, keep it up, and come more than once?”
“Usually,” Laurent admitted. “In all honesty, though—you’re testing me, with your stamina!”
Pierre snickered. “That’s the risk you take when you fuck around with a real muscle stud like me—with a real alpha male.”
There was such a gleeful innocence about Pierre’s high opinion of himself that Laurent couldn’t find it offensive.
“Before the delivery guy gets here,” Laurent suggested, “tell me about another one of your muscle stud adventures.”
Hot Nights in the South of France Page 10