He resumed his steady pounding of me. I was hotly aroused. I could feel the sperm pressure building up in my cock and balls, which felt grossly, obscenely swollen, and very sensitive. Being so turned on was almost painful. Adam’s face and chest glistened with sweat as he raised and lowered his sexy body over mine, his thick, heavy cock sliding back and forth within the tight grip of my anus. I knew I wouldn’t be able to postpone my orgasm indefinitely. He was hitting my prostate with each thrust he made deep into me. My hole seethed and spasmed around his shaft. I could feel my semen coming to a boil inside me.
“Harder,” I demanded. “Fuck me harder.” I shuddered as he pressed my legs even farther back, his cockhead grinding against my prostate. “Oh, fuck, yeah—that’s how to do it. That’s how to fuck my ass!”
“If only I could take you back to Vienna with me,” he lamented. “I’d fuck you like this every night. And then I’d let you have my ass, too. My wife not might appreciate that, though,” he added, with wry humor.
“Well, this isn’t Vienna, and your wife isn’t here. You may as well make good use of me, while you have the chance,” I suggested.
“Yes … hell, yes!”
I wrapped my hand around my tormented prick, applying a stimulation to it which was almost more than I could bear. Furiously, I stroked myself, in time to Adam’s thrusting. I could feel my body tensing, my nuts swelling larger and thicker, and my anal muscles clenching themselves desperately around his cock. Adam stared down at me, lost in his own intense pleasure, although he was fully aware of mine.
“Are you getting there?” he asked.
“I sure am. And fast. You’re doing it to me. You’re driving me wild.”
“Let it happen,” he coaxed me, breathlessly. “Let yourself come. I want to see you shoot.”
He fucked me more roughly, driving me insane with lust. My rigid cock fucked my fist.
“I’m going to come,” I gasped.
“Do it!”
Our labored breathing filled my ears as Adam slammed away, going in hard and deep, pulverizing my prostate. My ass clamped down around his thick, hot cock. I jerked myself savagely, my sweaty hand sliding up slick and tight over my pulsating prickhead. I shouted as my body convulsed in orgasm. My dick began spurting, emptying itself in long, slow, draining spasms, which felt as though they were emptying not only my balls of my jism, but my entire body of its internal fluids.
Adam had stopped thrusting. He kept his cock inside me, though, feeling my anal muscles spasm around his shaft. When I was done ejaculating, Adam withdrew—slowly, panting for breath as he regained his composure.
“Now you fuck me,” he panted.
“You bet.”
“Do it with your cock, if you can. If not—I’ve got a big dildo in my luggage.”
“I don’t think we’re going to need the dildo.”
“No? Can you get it hard again, so soon?”
“Try me,” I bragged. But then I had second thoughts. “Let me lick your ass, first,” I suggested, lewdly. “To get your hole ready for my cock.” I knew that rimming him would get me excited again. My cock had lost some of its rigidity, but it was already reviving.
“I’m not going to be able to last long before I blow my wad,” Adam advised me.
“That’s okay.”
He rolled over onto his back and he pulled his knees up and back to touch his chest, and as he did so, his rock-hard dick arched up over his belly. He was in the same position I’d been in while he’d screwed me.
“Don’t touch my cock,” he warned me, as I buried my face in his butt crack. “I’m too damn close.”
Then he groaned loudly as I stuck my tongue between his open ass cheeks and I began licking his sweet, tight sphincter ring. He was hot and damp with sweat all over now, his groin emitting a tantalizing musky scent. I bent him farther back, opening his hole to my probing tongue. He wriggled and gasped, heat radiating out of the interior of his body, while I licked the rim of his anal aperture. Kissing his ass more firmly, I forced my stiffened tongue in deeper, at the same time spreading his buttocks wide apart with my hands. I dug in and enjoyed the feast. His sphincter relaxed and my lips pressed themselves lewdly against his pucker, creating a firm seal. I kissed his ass, and I rimmed him hungrily.
“Oh, your tongue feels so good in there,” he assured me. He was squirming beneath me, his bunghole grinding restlessly against my face. “Suck my ass! Rim it, muscle boy. Rim it, and rim it deep and hard!”
As he spoke, he grabbed my hair in a firm grip, and, grunting, he pushed his ass up toward me and forced me to go on kissing his ass. Not that I was the least bit reluctant to lick and suck that tasty manhole. I worked on it until I was sure he was ready to be fucked. More than once, his fingers strayed to his quivering dick, giving it a timid stroke. Each time, though, he pulled away again. It was obvious that he was already dangerously close to ejaculating, and that any real pressure applied to his erection would set it off.
After a few more licks of my tongue against his ass, he confirmed my suspicion.
“I can’t hold off for much longer,” he warned me. “My balls are aching. I’m going to have to come soon. Fuck me, Emeric. Don’t make me beg for it. Fuck me—please!”
I still felt so depleted after my climax that I wasn’t sure I could rise to the occasion again so soon. But watching Adam so out of control kept me hard while I humped the mattress. I pulled on a rubber and I began lubing us both up, applying the lubricant to the latex covering my cock, and then to Adam’s asshole. I stretched his pucker open with my slippery fingers while I used my other hand to rub and tease his hypersensitive ball sac.
“Feels like you’re ready for me,” I gloated. Massaging his testicles, handling them as gently as I would a pair of close-to-bursting seed pods, I worked his asshole open the rest of the way. The tip of his dick dripped jism. “Your balls must be ready to explode,” I taunted him.
He groaned in assent. “I can’t take much more of this,” he complained. “It’s torture. Sexy torture! Have mercy on me.” He shuddered, gasping and arching up as I lightly tickled my finger tip around the perimeter of his rapidly flexing manhole. “Stop teasing me. Come on, get your cock in there. I want to come while you’re fucking me. Oh, I need to be fucked so badly!”
I relented. His cock was seeping pre-cum in a steady trickle. His face was flushed red with lust and frustration. He cried out in a way that sounded both agonized and relieved when I started to enter him, the head of my fiercely throbbing fuck tool slowly forcing his sphincter to stretch around its bulk.
“Fucked,” I panted. “You want to get fucked? You’re going to get fucked!”
“About time. In me—yeah—put it all the way in me,” he begged.
He lifted his butt toward me, bearing down, accepting the penetration, encouraging it. His breath caught in his throat with a rasp as I slid up into him.
“Ah!” he shouted. “Big fucking cock! Big fucking cock, shoved up my ass! Jesus! You’re all man, you goddamn muscle whore. You’re really filling me up. Oh, it hurts. It hurts, but it hurts so good! So hot! Fuck me. Don’t hold anything back, you bastard. Fuck me with everything you’ve got! Take my ass! I want to be sore, when you’re done.”
We settled down for a long, slow, hot fuck. I gave him what he wanted, pressing our bodies tightly together, timing my strokes in and out of his anus to coincide with the jerking motions which his fist was now making on his blood-engorged cock.
“Hot ass,” I praised him.
“Oh, big, hard cock,” he responded, whimpering. “I still can’t believe it. I thought that a guy with all those big muscles must be compensating for having a small dick.”
“Guess you were mistaken,” I quipped, blithely. “I’ve got nothing I need to compensate for.”
“You can say that again. Don’t stop. Go on reaming me out. I can’t get enough of that cock of yours. Damn! Elemer told me you were good. I didn’t think you could possibly be this good, though!”
>
Well, I now had a reputation to uphold. I was determined to do my best to satisfy this man. I was going to give new meaning to the concept of Complete Customer Service!
I pulled almost all the way out of him, and then I eased myself back in as slowly as I could. Adam writhed and yelped, his hot asshole clamping down around my dick. His whole body quivered. His sphincter seemed to nip at the base of my buried shaft, and I jumped in surprise as my cock tensed in anticipation of coming.
“Shoot for me,” I urged him, forcing myself to hold back. “I want us to shoot together.”
Adam was such a hot fuck, I could no longer trust myself to maintain any degree of self-control. I wanted to prolong the fuck, but I’d build up too insistent a load. I had to come! I humped him more violently, and that did the trick. A moment later, he yelled, hoarsely and incoherently, and his dick spurted wildly within his fist. His semen flew up between our bodies as he convulsed beneath me, and then my own overexcited cock began to empty its load into the rubber I was wearing.
I earned every forint of my fee that night. Adam and I slept for a few hours, but in the middle of the night, he woke me, and he used his lips and tongue and his hands to get me hard again. I fucked him for a second time. Then, in morning, when we woke up, he wanted sex again. I obliged him. Finally, reluctantly, we hauled our weary asses out of the hotel’s bed, which was a morass of rumpled, semen-soaked sheets. We showered together, and we fooled around some more in the shower as the warm water rained down over us.
We got dressed and had breakfast in the hotel’s dining room. Adam gave me a generous tip. Better yet, he asked for my services again, the next time his business brought him to Budapest. He became one of my regular johns. He really was a delightful man, and I enjoyed every moment I spent in his company, whether in or out of bed.
Chapter Ten: My Muscle Virgin
Despite all of my other activities, which consumed a great deal of my time and energy, I didn’t neglect my weight training. My workouts at the gym always came first.
It wasn’t long after I moved to Budapest that I passed an important milestone. I obtained my pro card. Now, I was no longer just another ambitious, star-struck amateur bodybuilder. I could compete against other pros, in the big time.
Shortly after that, I participated in a major physique contest, which was held in an auditorium downtown.
I trained extra hard for weeks in anticipation of this competition, and I was rewarded when I placed second in my weight class.
No one likes losing, but I had to admit that the guy who beat me out for first prize in our class deserved to win. His physique was just better honed than mine, and he was a better poser. I’ll say one thing for myself—I was a good sport, and a good loser. I was angry at myself for having not taken the first prize, of course, but my resentment was directed at my own shortcomings, not at my successful rival. The better man had won. I was going to have to work even harder. Less slacking off, more reps. Less sex (alas!), heavier weights.
Backstage, after a physique contest, the contestants fall into two categories—the winners, and the losers. The winners, of course, are ebullient. The losers—who make up the majority—can be divided into two subcategories. Those who are good sports, or at least good actors, congratulate the winners. The poor losers sulk, or are visibly angry, and they want to shower, dress, and escape from the locker room as quickly as possible, so that they can lick their wounds in private, and bad-mouth the winners to anyone who will listen.
I made a point of congratulating the guy who’d beaten me, and then I treated myself to a long, hot shower—a necessity, to get all of the oil out of my pores.
Showering next to me was a young blond number with whom I’d made small talk before the contest. His name was Konrad, and he was a middle weight. His impressive physique was topped by an incongruously boyish, indeed cherubic, face. He had pretty blue eyes. I was rather taken with him, on a purely aesthetic level. He seemed to be a sweet boy.
Konrad was rather shy, and I could tell he was star-struck. He was still in that phase in which a bodybuilder looks up to the older, more experienced bodybuilders and wants to become just like them. (Some guys, in fact, never get beyond this phase.)
We chatted some more while we got dressed.
Having kept to a strict diet in preparation for this contest, I was now having vivid, obsessive fantasies about food. Furthermore, I was dehydrated, as a result of my efforts to reduce my body fat and water retention down to a minimum, and posing and flexing onstage under the hot stage lights hadn’t helped. I felt light-headed, which was quite common after a competition.
Some bodybuilders, immediately after a contest, made a point of going out and gorging themselves on their food addiction of choice. I couldn’t blame them. I was fantasizing about fast, filling food—about ordering two or three large pizzas with all the toppings, and devouring them one by one, with a whole chicken coop’s worth of chicken wings as a chaser. But I forced myself to be more sensible. I’d eat, of course, but in a way that wouldn’t bloat me and undo all the hard work I’d put myself through.
“Are you hungry?” I asked Konrad.
“Starving!” he blurted out.
I smiled. “So am I. I don’t trust myself to make it home without passing out. I’m going to stop on the way and get something to eat. Would you like to join me?”
He accepted. I took him to a café which I often patronized. As a regular customer, I’d befriended the owners, the waiters, and the kitchen staff. I was treated well whenever I went there. The cooks were happy to modify the items on the menu in order to accommodate me when I was dieting, or to make something special just for me.
I surprised Konrad by ordering, first, a pitcher of ice water, with some lemon slices immersed in it.
“I’m dehydrated,” I pointed out to him, “and I imagine you must be, too. So the worst thing we could do right now is drink alcohol, or even coffee or tea. All of those act as diuretics, you know.”
And so we began drinking glassfuls of the water.
I’d already assured Konrad that he didn’t have to stick to the printed menu. “My buddy Bela”—who, I’d learned, was the cook who was running the kitchen that night—“will make us anything we want, within reason, no matter how bizarre it might seem to the average diner.”
Accordingly, Konrad ordered a typical bodybuilder’s feast—a large green salad with balsamic vinegar on the side, a steak without sauce, a baked potato without butter, sour cream, or salt, and an order of al dente pasta, served plain, without any kind of topping.
I told our waiter that I’d have a salad, too. “And ask Bela if he can whip up my steak tartare for me,” I added.
When our food arrived, Konrad dug in right away. He had taken several mouthfuls before he got a good look at my main course. “What’s that?” he asked.
“Steak tartare. It’s raw beef, chopped up fine, with a little onion and Dijon mustard and a raw egg mixed in.”
Konrad was aghast. “Aren’t you afraid to eat raw meat and raw eggs?”
“I do it all the time, at home. I wouldn’t order it out just anywhere. But here it’s safe. I trust Bela.”
“What does it taste like?”
“Try a bite.”
He helped himself to a spoonful, gingerly. “Why, it’s good!” he exclaimed.
“It’ll make a man out of you,” I joked. “Eat enough of it, in fact, and you may revert to caveman status.”
“I wonder whether the cavemen lifted weights.”
“Stone weights, no doubt. But not for recreational purposes. To hurl at their enemies.”
As we ate, Konrad told me a little more about himself. He admitted to me that he still lived at home with his parents, in one of Budapest’s suburbs.
“I hate the thought of that long bus ride,” he said. “I’ll be lucky if I don’t fall asleep and miss my stop.”
“Well, how’d you like to spend the night here in town, at my place?” I suggested.
; Now, believe it or not, I wasn’t thinking about seducing this lad. For one thing, I wasn’t getting much of a gay vibe from him, so I assumed he was straight. For another, I believe I’ve mentioned in a previous chapter that, after a contest, I was usually too tired to be in the mood for sex. This evening was no exception. Still, it’s surprising how being in the presence of an attractive guy can have a reinvigorating effect on one. I was genuinely enjoying Konrad’s company, and I wouldn’t have minded continuing our conversation.
And I remembered how grateful I’d been when older, more experienced bodybuilders had gone out of their way to encourage me, to advise me, or simply to say a few kind words to me. I could tell that Konrad looked up to me, the way I’d looked up to those guys. Now it was my chance to be nice to a beginner.
Konrad seemed excited by the casual invitation I’d extended to him. “Could I?” he asked.
“Of course.”
“My parents always insist on waiting up for me. I’m going to have to call them to tell them I won’t be home tonight,” he explained.
“Go right ahead.”
“It’s so lame—having to check in with my Mom and Dad,” he said. “You must think I’m so nerdy.”
“Nonsense,” I assured him. “Believe me, I’ve been there, and I’ve done that. I understand.”
“What should I tell them? I mean, I’m going to have to tell them something. I need to come up with some excuse, for not coming home tonight.”
“Tell them the truth,” I suggested. “More or less. That’s always best. That you met me, we went out and had a bite to eat together after the contest, and then I invited you to crash at my place. On the couch,” I specified, suppressing a smirk. “So much more sensible than heading home at this time of night. Give them my name and phone number, I don’t mind. That ought to put their minds at ease.”
Konrad made the call. When we were finished cleaning our plates, I paid our bill. Then I took him to my place, where we got comfortable on the broken-down, second-hand couch. Now that the risk of dehydration was past, we did treat ourselves to some cheap red wine.
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