“Uh, there are so many to choose from! Let me think—! Yeah. I’ve got a good story,” Pierre said. “Sometimes you hear from guy who talks a really good scene, you know? Who says he’s really into male bodybuilder worship, and he can’t wait to meet up with a real stud for a session. But then you never hear from the son of a bitch again, so fuck him! I thought that was going to happen with this guy named Frederic, who likes to be called Fredy, because he kept texting me—sexting me, really—promising a hell of a lot, but never following through.
“For weeks, this freaking prickteaser would sent me filthy sex messages and dick pics of himself, telling me how amazing he thought my body was, how he wished he could be as big and powerful and manly as I was, and how much he wanted to be my bitch and service me. Well, talk is cheap! I did my best to string him along and encourage him, but every time I tried to set up a meeting for us, he’d wimp out and back off, with some lame excuse. Finally, I lost patience, and I told him to either meet me the next time it was convenient for me, or fuck off. Then he gave in.
“We’d set up a day and time, and Fredy was supposed to show up at my place, suitably submissive and penitent, ready for me to take charge of his ass. I was skeptical, but I got myself ready, just in case he did appear. I got naked and I worked my cock, edging myself, for nearly an hour, pushing myself ever closer toward orgasm. But then I denied myself that pleasure, and I forced myself to stop playing with himself. I took a shower, and then I wrapped myself in just a towel. I was seething, just about smoking, I was so goddamn horny!
“Fredy knocked on my door, not a moment too soon. I hate it when a goddamn muscle sub keeps me waiting! And when they do, they get punished for it, believe you me! He was nervous, but he was also eager. The moment I invited him in, he started telling me how amazing I looked, standing there in just that towel. I took him into my living room, where the oil was set out on the coffee table, waiting for him to use, and I commanded him to strip naked and show me his body. He hesitated, but he did it. I could tell he was the kind of arrogant fucker who really, secretly, wanted to be bossed around by me. Even though he may not have admitted that yet, even to himself.
“When we were both nude, I walked around him, studying his physique, making snide comments about it, describing his deficiencies, telling him where he needed to make improvements, and comparing him unfavorably, body part for body part, to me. I handed him the oil and told him to apply it all over me, from head to foot. He devoted the next fifteen or twenty minutes to exploring and admiring my body, his slick hands touching and massaging me everywhere, rubbing his dick against me every chance he got, babbling about how incredible my physique was and how desperate he was to please me.
“I told him he was a worthless piece of shit and that he’d better start worshipping me, unless he wanted me to beat him up! Fuck, did that threat ever get him hot! Being new to male bodybuilder worship, the punk didn’t know how to take it slow and build things up gradually. He wanted to grab my dick and get things going full-blast right away. I tried my best to calm him down and keep him from getting too worked up, but I was kind of all sexed up myself, and so I couldn’t quite manage it. He knelt in front of me like any dirty, hot-mouthed cocksucker and he begged me to fuck his face. I gave the bitch what he wanted. I’d barely shoved my cock between his lips and started pumping it back and forth inside his mouth, rubbing it against his tongue, before his own prick squirted jets of cum up from his groin, wetting his hairy chest and abs, a fountain of semen gushing all over him. Fredy hadn’t even touched his cock. That’s how horny the motherfucker was, thanks to me!
“I got tough with him then. I punished him for coming too quick. I made him suck my cock and my balls and my ass, lick and suck my armpits and my feet, use his hands, his lips, and his tongue to stimulate every part of my body. The next time he ejaculated, he did so at my command, and it was only then that I deigned to give him my own load, shooting my sperm all over him. He was mine after that—I owned his punk ass—and believe me, Laurent, I’ve made good use of it ever since.”
The hotel room’s doorbell chimed.
“Aw, shit, must be the delivery boy!” Pierre exclaimed. “Where’s my wallet?”
“In your pants?” Laurent suggested. “There on the floor?”
“Oh, yeah.”
Shamelessly, blatantly nude, Pierre answered the door. The delivery boy, who was young and cute, was unfazed. No doubt, he’d seen it all. Pierre paid him, and gave him a generous tip, flirting brazenly with him all the while, before, reluctantly, he sent the lad on his way.
“Prickteasing little bubble-butted bitch,” Pierre commented, as he set the two pizza boxes down and opened the top one. “For two euros, I’d have dragged him in here, thrown him down on this bed, and raped him. And he’d have liked it.”
“It might be unfair to expect the boy to compete with a hardened pro like me,” Laurent joked.
“Huh!” Pierre grunted. “Hardened being the operative word!”
As though he hadn’t eaten for a week, Pierre began devouring slices of the pizza. Laurent helped himself to several slices, too, before the voracious bodybuilder beat him to them and consumed the contents of both boxes. The pizzas—extravagant concoctions of thick crusts topped with sausage, pepperoni, beef, bacon, and pork, with onions, garlic, and melted cheese, and topped with a thick tomato basil sauce—were delicious, and filling.
“That was good,” Pierre declared, licking his fingers clean. “Now—back to bed. I’m not done with you yet.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Laurent confessed.
“Nothing a stud like you can’t handle. Now—the two of us are going to have some real fun! In fact—you’re going to do everything for me that those muscle pups I told you about did for me. And then some!”
Laurent grinned. “Including the fleshlight play?”
“Fuck, yeah! I’ve got them right here in my luggage.”
Chapter Ten: Poolside Passion
“Ah, you really know how to fill a guy up! What a cock you’ve got there! You’re fucking me so well, just the way I like it. Yeah, stud, let me have it, make me your bitch! Make me beg for it!” Zizi cried.
Laurent pounded his prick into the other man with real erotic fury. His eyes were glazed over, his breath came in labored gasps, and perspiration dripped from every pore of his body, raining down upon Zizi’s equally overheated skin. The two men’s mouths sucked and bit each other’s flesh, and their bodies twisted against each other, lubricated by their own wetness.
Each time Laurent thrust forward, Pierre pushed up to meet his onslaught. They’d established an ideal synchronized sexual rhythm, hammering their bodies together, groaning and gloating as they raced along the road to explosive mutual satisfaction. It was man-to-man sex at its hottest and most abandoned.
Abruptly, Zizi let out a shout of raw animal lust. “Too much! Too damn good! I’m coming!” he roared. Even as he spoke, his semen surged up through his cock, spat out from its tip, and frothed over his torso, soaking his hairy chest and heaving stomach muscles. The hot, dry night air was suddenly filled with the manly scent of cum.
Impelled past his own endurance by the sight and sound, the feeling and smell, of Zizi’s orgasm, Laurent joined him in unloading, forcing his dick deeper into the man’s spasming anus than before.
“Coming, too,” he reported, tersely. “Can’t hold it back! I’m full of cum, and you’re going to get it all. I’m shooting, right up your hot ass, man, filling you up! Take it! Take it all!”
“Every bit,” Zizi agreed. “Give me all of it. I want it all, I want all of your juice—!”
It was another hot, dry night on the outskirts of Nice. Zizi had booked Laurent for one of their regular get-togethers. They enjoyed their familiar routine. Good food, good wine, swimming nude in the pool, followed by sex. This time, impulsively, instead of retreating into the bedroom, the two men were coupling outdoors, on a padded mat spread out over the flagstones of the terrace beside t
he pool and the potted plants. Zizi and Laurent always enjoyed good sex together, but on this occasion their al fresco fucking seemed unusually intense.
Perhaps they’d both been inspired by the fact that, over dinner, Laurent had amused Zizi by telling him—in explicit detail—about his recent night in Marseille with Pierre Munteanu. Ordinarily, Laurent didn’t drop names, or tell one of his johns about another. But Zizi wasn’t just another john. Laurent thought of him as a friend—although, admittedly, a friend who paid him for sex—and he knew he could rely on Zizi’s discretion. And the fact that the pro bodybuilder was gay was an open secret, at best, so it wasn’t as though Laurent was outing him.
“The next time I throw a party,” Zizi suggested, “I really ought to invite this guy Pierre, and his buddy Bob, to come down here from Lyons and join us. I can even put them up in one of my guest rooms, overnight. Think they’d accept?”
“I don’t think they’d need much persuasion,” Laurent said.
“And you’ll come, too. I’ll pay you, of course, but you can think of it as really a night off, during which you’re free to do whatever—and whomever—you want. You know how much my friends like you, Laurent. In bed and out. Okay—especially the former! For which you have only yourself to blame, you sexy bastard. We’ll make it a real orgy.”
“Sounds exciting. Just keep in mind—you’ll need to stock up on eggs, tuna, and pasta, to keep that voracious and somewhat peculiar appetite of Pierre’s satisfied. One of your gourmet dinners or breakfasts would be wasted on him, I’m afraid.”
“If he’s as hot as you say he is—I’ll take that chance.”
“Bob is hot as hell, too. I’d like to fuck him. And he has the advantage, compared to Pierre, of seeming to be comparatively normal.”
Zizi smiled. “From what you’ve told me about Pierre’s quirks, I’d say I’d be willing to put up with them. For the sake of his other, good qualities. As for normality, I’ve always found it to be somewhat overrated! Say, it’s starting to get a little cool out here. Come on, let’s go inside and go to bed. I’d like to give that muscle worship thing a try. Mind if I practice it by worshipping you?”
“I’d be delighted,” Laurent assured his patron, graciously.
Chapter Eleven: Sex on the Sand
In one of Nice’s supermarkets, Laurent was grocery shopping.
It was another one of his infrequent days off. He had no date scheduled for that afternoon or evening. He planned on spending some time at home, relaxing. He’d decided that, while he was at it, he might as well stock up on foodstuffs. He could, if he got ambitious, prepare himself a decent homecooked dinner.
It’s really not much fun to shop for food for one person—or to cook just for one, Laurent thought, as he tossed various items into his grocery cart. Of course, I can just put this stuff away at home, save it for later, and eat out tonight.
Laurent felt restless.
Outdoors—I really ought to do something outdoors, this evening. Fresh air, all that sort of thing, as opposed to staying cooped up indoors.
I should buy some things suitable to eat outdoors. Picnic food! But having a picnic all by myself doesn’t sound like much fun, either. I ought to ask some guy to join me. Me, on a date! Giving it away for free. That’d be quite a novelty. But maybe it’s just what I need. I’ve been in such a rut, lately. I really could use a change in my routine.
For some reason, he thought about Michel. Impulsively, he took out his cell phone and tried his friend’s number, right there in the store.
Michel responded at once. “Hey, Laurent. Good to hear from you. You’ve recovered from your boat ride, I assume?” he teased Laurent.
“My butt’s back in working order. How was your day? The weather was fine today, wasn’t it?” Laurent asked.
“The weather was great—and so was the fishing.” Michael sounded quite animated. “We’re headed in, already—early, because we’re absolutely riding low in the water, weighed down by our catch.”
“Oh, I’m happy for you. What’re your plans for tonight?”
“Other than counting my money, after I do my business at the market—nothing, so far.”
“Tired?”
“No, not at all. I’m probably too revved up to be tired.”
“Want to get together?”
“Hey, that’s an idea! Yeah, why don’t we?”
“Here’s what I propose. I’ll drive to Marseille and meet you at the market. By the time I get there, you should be done with your wheeling and dealing. We’ll have some dinner, my treat. Anywhere you like. Unless—I’m doing my grocery shopping, in fact, right now. I was thinking about driving along the coast to one of the beaches, you know, one of the out-of-the way ones. And having a swim and a picnic supper there. Build a fire, experience the whole outdoor, ‘getting back in touch with nature’ thing. Would you like to do that?”
“Oh, that sounds like fun, especially at the end of a work day. Let’s do it, okay?”
“Okay. I’ll bring the food and the wine.”
“I’ve got what’s needed to start a fire, right here on the boat. No need to rub two sticks together! And I’ll bring the fish, if you’re in the mood to eat fish. I’ve got some monsters here which I’d already set aside, for my own use.”
“Maybe we should invite Ammar and Azhar to come along. Although then we’d need a second car.” Laurent’s Peugeot was a two-seater, of course.
“No, they’ve already told me they’re looking forward to getting home early for a change, and having dinner with their family. You’ll have to settle for my company. Hope you won’t be bored.”
“I doubt I will be. See you soon.”
Laurent showed up at Marseille’s seaside fish market, in time to say hello to Azhar and Ammar, whom Michel had just paid. Smiling, the brothers bade Michel and Laurent goodnight.
“I stink of fish,” Michel pointed about, apologetically, as he and Laurent walked toward Laurent’s car. “I didn’t think of that, before. I’m likely to transfer the smell to your upholstery. Maybe we should stop at my place, so I can shower, first?”
“No, that’s okay. We’re going to bathe in the sea soon, anyway. And I must confess—I kind of like the smell. It’s manly. Gets my dick hard.”
“Kinky you.”
“So I’ve been told.”
“Love this car,” Michel remarked, as Laurent steered the Peugeot through the city’s streets, toward the highway. “If this is typical of the wages of sin—? Then maybe virtue is overrated, and I am in the wrong line of work.”
Laurent laughed. “You’ve got some balls, mentioning yourself and virtue in the same breath.”
“Next to you, though, I feel positively chaste.”
“Huh. If we weren’t such good friends, Michel, I might take offense at that.”
“It wasn’t meant as an insult. I’m envious, actually. Some nights—fortunately, tonight is an exception—I just want to get home and fall into bed. Alone. I can’t summon the energy even to jack off. And here you are, getting laid every night. Like clockwork. For money.”
“Well, not every night,” Laurent insisted. “Tonight’s an exception, for me too. At least as far as the being paid part of it goes.”
“Oh? You’re planning on getting laid?” Michel inquired, archly.
“The possibility has crossed my mind. Assuming, like you said, you’re not feeling particularly fatigued—?”
“As a matter of fact, I’m feeling more energetic by the moment. I’ve got to say this much for you. Your company is always extremely invigorating.”
Laurent and Michel both knew isolated spots along the coast, suitable for swimming, away from the public and private beaches. Agreeing on which one they’d try, they turned off the highway, onto a side road, and then onto a dirt track. This led along the tops of low, rugged bluffs overlooking the sea. At the foot of the inclines were narrow stretches of beach—consisting, usually, of three parts rocks, overgrown with shrubby vegetation, to one part coar
se-grained, pebbly sand—but they were beaches, nonetheless, and this one looked rather beautiful and picturesque now that the sun had set and stars appeared in the dark night sky. Without artificial lights to compete with them, the stars were unusually bright.
Parking at the top of a cliff, Michel and Laurent gathered the things they’d brought along, and they clambered down the slope to the water. They had the place all to themselves. There was plenty of dry driftwood strew about, which they collected for their fire, supplementing it with dead branches and twigs which they broke off the shrubs. Then they stripped down to their shorts and dashed into the sea, which was just starting to lose its daytime warmth, romping about in the water like schoolboys.
Back on shore, Laurent opened the wine, while Michel used lighter fluid and a disposable cigarette lighter to get the fire started. Then he unwrapped the paper parcel he’d brought with him, revealing a sea bass and a dusky grouper—both huge, as he’d promised. But that wasn’t all. There were also crayfish, and smelts.
“These guys must’ve been suicidal today,” Michel joked. “They just keep jumping into our nets.”
“My God,” Laurent exclaimed. “That’s a whole meal, right there! A seafood feast!”
Michel busied himself with a knife, cleaning the two large fish. The smelts and crayfish could be grilled whole.
“Show me what you’ve got there,” he urged Laurent.
Laurent unpacked his own contributions. “Figs for dessert,” he said, setting them aside. “Bread, of course. Cheese. Smoked sausage. Spicy pickles. Potato salad.” Including olives and feta cheese, the potato salad was enhanced with a fragrant tomato oil vinaigrette dressing. “Wild mushroom terrine. Oh, and caviar,” he added, producing a tin.
“Wow. ‘Oh, and caviar,’ the man says, so casually! You sure went all out. I shouldn’t let you pay for all that. Let me kick in half.”
“No, I’ve got it covered. You’ve provided the fish. And this is a special occasion. A treat for me. Just relaxing and enjoying myself, for a change. Without thinking about—any of my usual obligations.”
Hot Nights in the South of France Page 11