The gangbang would take place backstage, where several heavy-duty exercise mats had been arranged together on the floor to form one large padded surface. As porn sets go, this was a stark, unadorned one; but Endre wanted the emphasis to be on “all of your big naked bodies squirming and heaving together,” as he put it.
We successfully shot the little episode during which the idea of the gangbang was suggested—and my character, after a token display of reluctance, agreed to it.
Then Endre gave us our final instructions. “I want to see muscle, and I want to see cock!” he declared. “And for the cum shot, I want to see some real muscle bukkake. I want all of you guys to come all over Emeric. I want you to slather him in your cum!”
No problem.
With the camera once again rolling, we bodybuilders wriggled out of our posing trunks, and we stepped onto the mats. (I should mention that there no fewer than twelve guys—a round dozen—in addition to myself. Thirteen is supposedly an unlucky number, but it was anything but that for me, on this memorable occasion!)
I got down on my knees on the mats and we soon had an assembly line going, with me sucking on one muscle man’s cock after another. And some of those horny bastards came back for seconds!
What an orgy that was! All of that cocksucking was stimulating enough. But it was only the beginning of what developed into a real oral and anal ordeal for me—a marathon of sex.
After I’d serviced each of my fellow actors at least once with my mouth, they pushed me down onto the mats. They swarmed around me, our naked, oiled bodies forming a sea of muscle. My costars conspired to arouse me even more thoroughly. One guy, positioned at my feet, used both of his hands on me, toying with my swollen nuts with the fingers of one hand while he used two greased fingers of the other hand to probe far up inside my anus. He began finger-fucking me. I groaned, and my dick pulsated hotly in my fist, its tip dribbling pre-cum all over my busily working fingers.
My nipples were being pinched and tugged on, in just the way I liked it; and one of the muscle studs offered his fingers to my mouth. I turned my head toward him and I sucked his fingers inside my mouth. I licked and slurped on them, feverishly, while another disembodied palm caressed my flat stomach, smearing the light coasting of oil around over my abs.
Christ, I was hot! So hot for sex that I would’ve done anything, if only it held the promise of an eventual ejaculation!
I got fucked—by one hard, hot dick after another. It was another assembly line, and this time it was my asshole which was being punched repeatedly, like a machine part being drilled. My well-plugged sphincter throbbed hotly, and it felt as though it was on fire. My balls ached with their heavy load. I wanted to ejaculate so badly that it hurt.
Endre had instructed me to hold off on my orgasm for as long as possible, though. As a result, when I did come, the violence of my ejaculation took everybody on the set by surprise—including me.
Cum flew everywhere. On my face. On my chest. All over the guys who were playing with various parts of my naked, writhing body. And the amazing thing was that ejaculating scarcely seemed to abate my lust. I still felt horny! So I just kept on masturbating, without so much as a pause for breath, using my own slippery jism to lubricate my dick as I fucked my fist with it, and the cameras kept rolling.
Each of the other muscle men had screwed me, at least once. Now it was time for the big bukkake climax. Gathering around me, those horny, well-hung motherfuckers worked their dicks, which they aimed at me like so many firearms. One after the other, they came, all over me. I ended up slathered, all right, just as Endre had wanted me to be. I’d been given a cum bath, from head to foot. I looked and felt like some sort of a newborn insect, its beslimed body emerging from a chrysalis.
I jerked on my still-stiff prick the whole time the other men unloaded on me.
Incredibly, I could feel it building up slowly but inexorably in my loins—a second orgasm, throbbing hotly in my balls, surging through the core of my cock as I stroked it again and again, my powerful arm muscles flexing and pumping away. During those final few minutes of delirious pleasure, I forgot where I was, what I was doing … I forgot that I was being filmed, that other men were there in the room with me. I simply luxuriated in the lewd sensations of those hands on and inside my body, in the lust boiling up in my balls, and in the ache in my biceps as I fisted my dick savagely. Suddenly, I succeeded in coaxing a second thick of jism from my guts. I came, splattering myself with my own cum in creamy white puddles—and then I collapsed, groaning, exhausted, while those warm hands rubbed my semen over my skin, adding it to the jism in which I’d already been soaked.
I was so fucked out, so drained by my two orgasms in a row, that I didn’t even hear Endre say, “Cut!” All that really registered in my sex-befuddled mind was a sense of relief when those familiar hot lights were suddenly shut off, and they no longer blinded me. The big gangbang scene was, as they say in the movie industry, “a wrap.” I’d done the job, and I’d accomplished it in the course of a single long, incredibly erotic take. More to the point, I’d apparently survived the experience, without having sustained any permanent anal damage!
And I had to admit that, now that the ordeal was over, I’d enjoyed myself—immensely. So much so, in fact, that the moment Endre leaned over me to offer me a towel and a bottle of water, I asked him whether he thought there was any possibility of me portraying the willing object of a gangbang again, in my next video.
“Listen, baby cakes,” Endre told me, laughing, “If I have anything to say about it, you’re going to become a big name in this industry. And I have every intention of coming along for the ride.”
The truth was that Endre had developed a soft spot for me. He thought I had the potential to become more than just another young stud in the studio’s stable. He became my mentor, and it was he who soon persuaded the studio heads to offer me a long-term contract, with terms which were more advantageous to me. No porn actor ever had a better colleague or friend.
Chapter Nine: Muscle for Rent
Moving to Budapest turned out to be a mixed blessing—as I’d anticipated. I may have been a provincial, but I wasn’t entirely naïve.
Compared to Debrecen, of course, Budapest was a metropolis. During the first months after I moved there, I experienced an inevitable degree of cultural shock. Everything in Budapest seemed bigger, faster-paced, more cosmopolitan, and more sophisticated than what I was used to back home.
At first I felt like a rube, out of my element. But the excitement of urban living soon got to me, and it provided ample compensation. There was always something to see, something to do. The city’s nightlife was tempting, but I sampled it cautiously. I was in the habit of getting plenty of sleep, to allow my body to recuperate after my workouts.
I had a nine-to-five job in an office. It wasn’t all that intellectually stimulating, but it paid a decent wage, and I was able to afford a bare-bones studio apartment. Later, I began earning enough income from bodybuilding contests and product endorsements, from modeling, from escorting, and as a personal trainer, that I no longer had to work a full-time job. But at first I was habitually strapped for cash, and I had to economize. Independence, I learned the hard way, didn’t come cheap!
I was well aware that Budapest was home to a thriving male prostitution industry. There were certain spots where the street hustlers hung out, trolling for tricks. There were gay bars which had the reputation of being “hustlers’ bars,” which the male whores patronized. But, of course, any really good-looking, smart guy who wanted to peddle his mouth, dick, and ass, either worked for an escort agency, or he free-lanced, via a website of his own.
I had no moral qualms about exchanging sex for money. My attitude was that it was a business, like any other. And, accordingly, it should be conducted in a professional manner.
I was promiscuous by nature. I was openly and unashamedly gay, and I really enjoyed having sex. I was perfectly willing to hook up with some total stranger for a f
ew hours of mutual pleasure. Why shouldn’t I get reimbursed for doing so?
And I needed the money. Back in those days, that was the overriding consideration.
Having made the decision to prostitute myself, I also decided to work for an agency, as opposed to freelancing. This had several advantages. The agency collected the money, upfront, before you even met the client, and you received your cut afterward—direct deposited into your bank account. It was all very open and above-bound. To avoid problems with the law, it was clearly stated on the agency’s website that the customers were paying for “companionship” only. Any sexual activity was subject to negotiation between the client and the escort. And, if the client chose to give the escort a cash tip at the end of their interaction, that was a matter between the two of them.
The men who made use of the escort agencies tended to be more upscale, with more disposable income, than the johns who made a habit of picking up street hustlers. The agencies’ clientele had more to lose, because they were often closeted, and as a result they were more cautious and discreet.
At first, I told the agency that I’d do out calls only. I was nervous about letting johns know where I lived—in addition to the fact that my apartment was neither located in a “good” neighborhood, nor was it attractively furnished. The truth was, I’d be ashamed to entertain a paying customer there. (The men I hooked up with free tended to be unfussy about the décor.) Later on, when I moved into a bigger and better place, I did start accepting in calls.
I had to post a “profile” of myself on the agency’s website. I offered myself for sale there as a serious, hardcore bodybuilder who was also a total muscle slut who would do just about anything for money. As a result, I was extremely popular, if I do say so myself. I made it a firm personal policy that I would turn only one trick per day—almost always in the evening, of course, when I had an hour or two of free time at my disposal. Anything more than that would be too tiring, and it might interfere with my day job, my gym training schedule, and my need for rest. But there were times when the agency made me an offer which I couldn’t refuse, and I ended up servicing two clients, one after the other, on the same night.
My work as an escort was mostly routine. The johns wanted me to strip for them and pose for them, naked, flexing. They’d admire my body. They’d worship it with their hands, lips, and tongues. I’d be expected to spring a boner. They’d suck me off. No problem! I’d get hard, stay hard, and come on cue. I’d collect my tip, and I’d leave.
I had no trouble performing for these johns. I had a high sex drive, and—somewhat to my surprise—I usually enjoyed the sex, as opposed to thinking of it as a task which I had to complete to my partner’s satisfaction.
But there were times when I really enjoyed my work. I suppose I was naïve, but for quite some time I was astonished by how attractive many of the johns were. I didn’t understand why they had to pay for sex. Of course, these men didn’t have to pay for it—they chose to hire escorts. They did so because they were married, or closeted, or simply as a convenience, an alternation to going out cruising and taking a chance on being disappointed, or worse. Some guys just got off on having sex with a male whore. They could be less polite and reserved with him that they could be with most gay guys who were giving it away for free.
A guy named Elemer was usually on duty, manning the agency’s phone line, when I was on call. Ironically enough, Elemer was straight, although he sure knew how to talk to gay men over the phone and put them at their ease. He told me, laughing, that the clients often wanted to book him, after talking to him.
I’d received enthusiastic reviews from my johns (the agency did keep track of such things), and as a result Elemer soon sent an especially important piece of business my way. This client, whom Elemer referred to as “Adam the Austrian,” was a wealthy Viennese whose business brought him to Budapest several times each year. Each such visit lasted two or three days, during which Adam was involved in a nonstop round of business meetings and conferences. Even his breakfasts, lunches, and dinners tended to be taken with his associates, and so these meals became business meetings as well. By the time his last evening in Budapest rolled around, Adam was always desperately in need of some recreation.
He was always careful to keep this evening free, so he could enjoy himself before returning to Vienna in the morning. He booked an escort well ahead of time, for an all-nighter.
It was, Elemer explained to me, a prestigious gig, one which the other escorts coveted. You were taken out to dinner in a fine restaurant, and maybe you’d go to the theater afterward, or make the rounds of a couple of nightclubs. Eventually, of course, Adam would take you back to his hotel, where the two of you would fuck like rabbits, on and off, all night long. Adam, Elemer assured me, was handsome, sexy, and possessed of remarkable stamina.
“He likes to do everything in bed, and he expects the guys he hires to be every bit as versatile,” Elemer warned me.
“I think I’m up to it,” I said.
“He often asks me for a recommendation, and he’s always curious about any new guy we hire. I’ll send him your photo.”
Adam obviously liked what he saw, because he booked me for his next visit.
By now, I’d acquired a more extensive wardrobe, and I could dress up when required. Looking quite smart, if I do say so myself, I went to Adam’s hotel room.
I was impressed by my first sight of him. He was in his forties. Unlike some men, he looked, dressed, and acted his age, making no attempt to come across as much younger. For example, his dark blond hair was beginning to gray, but he didn’t color it. He was also lively, and a good conversationalist. He put me at ease at once.
We went out to dinner. I noticed that he wore a wedding ring. But he didn’t seem to want to talk about either his family, or his work. (In this respect, he was the opposite of many johns, who want to talk about nothing else.)
After the restaurant, we went to the theater. Adam had obtained tickets to a performance by an all-male Italian modern dance company, which was in town as part of a tour. I didn’t know much about dance, but I enjoyed the sight of the toned bodies moving about onstage. And I envied their agility.
Back at Adam’s hotel, he ordered room service to send up drinks and snacks.
“Why don’t we get comfortable?” Adam suggested, after the things were delivered.
We got undressed, and we slipped on the pristine white terrycloth bathrobes provided by the hotel. We ate and drank. So far, this was more like a date than a job assignment. Eventually, though, Adam reminded me that it was time for me to get down to work.
“Let’s get started, shall we?” Adam suggested, after finishing his drink.
“Yes, let’s. Is there anything in particular you’d like us to do?” I asked.
“When I’m in bed with a good-looking guy like you, I like us to forget we’re both gentlemen. It’s more fun if we act dirty and nasty. Can you get into that?”
“You bet I can.”
He grinned, or rather leered, at me. “Elemer told me I wouldn’t be disappointed. And now I’m sure I won’t be. Let’s get it on, stud. You show me a good time, and there’ll be a little extra money in it for you.”
We shed our bathrobes, and then we made good use of the waiting bed.
We progressed rapidly from kissing to cocksucking, including some sixty-nine, before we moved on to rimming.
“I want that muscle ass of yours,” a sweaty, red-faced Adam announced, breathlessly, after he’d eaten the muscle ass in question. “I want to fuck you.”
“Please do,” I invited him.
He got himself ready with a rubber and some lube, and I moved into position, lying on my back with one of the pillows shoved under my head to raise it, and another pillow tucked under my butt to cushion it. I drew my knees back to my chest. Reaching down and grabbing my ass cheeks, I spread them wide.
“How’s this?” I asked.
Adam groaned. “Oh, that’s perfect.” On his knees on t
he mattress, he moved forward to aim his cock at my lewdly exposed butt crack. “Perfect,” he repeated. “The only problem is that I may come, just from the sight of that butch ass of yours.”
“Don’t come yet. Fuck me first.”
“I intend to. Get ready for a long, hard fuck, you goddamn muscle whore,” he told me.
He penetrated. Once he was inside me, he let out a gasp.
“What an ass!” he exclaimed. “It’s like a little boy’s. So hot. So tight.”
“It’s as well-developed as my other muscles,” I told him. “How does this feel, for example?” As I spoke, I flexed my sphincter, hard, tightening it around the circumference of his cockshaft. Adam gasped again, louder, as though in shock.
“Fuck,” he moaned. “It’s like a fist squeezing my dick!”
“You haven’t felt anything yet,” I promised him. I worked my anal muscles, using them to milk his erection. “You can start fucking me now,” I invited him. “Help yourself, Adam. Use that hole of mine.”
“I intend to. I can’t wait—!”
He raised himself on his arms, his cock sliding almost all the way out of me, and then he plunged himself back in again, filling me. I moaned with unfeigned delight when I felt him press hard against my prostate.
“Yeah. Just like that. You’ve hit it. Now pound it!” I cried.
“Oh, you’re dripping cum already,” he observed, excitedly. “You like it, don’t you? You like having another guy’s cock up your ass?”
“I love it,” I admitted, without shame. “I love to get fucked.”
“But the agency said you were versatile.”
“I am. Very,” I bragged.
“Then you’re going to fuck me, too, aren’t you, stud? Deep and hard?”
“Any time you want, and any way you want,” I vowed.
“Soon,” he groaned. “I’m going to want you to screw me, soon. But right now—I’m not finished, yet. I’m not done plowing your ass.”
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