Bisexual Bodybuilders Vol 4

by Emeric Varady

  “Yes, oh, yes,” she gasped, tossing her head from side to side on the mattress so that her long hair flung itself across the sheets. Her body welcomed him, drawing his manhood deep inside her.

  Adolar began to stroke. He was loving her hard, the way she liked it. Her vaginal muscles were so well developed that she could bring most men off at will simply by clenching them too forcefully. She fought to maintain some semblance of control over her body in order to prolong this agonizing pleasure.

  Adolar, like many men, gay, straight, or in his case bi, wasn’t above indulging in some far-ranging fantasies, even when he was with a partner and both of them were in the throes of mutual passion. Right now, Adolar was thinking about a certain young bodybuilder whom he’d fucked quite recently, there on the set.

  Bob! he thought savagely. You hot-assed little muscle bitch! The next time I fuck you for fun, I’m going to fuck you just like this! I’m going to make you beg for it—remind you that you’re my boy! Oh yeah, baby, I can still feel your hot tight little ass, squirming around my big dick, grabbing hold of me like this, getting me hot, so fucking hot, making me want to come! Oh hell, I’m getting close! Already so fucking close! I don’t know if I can hold out much longer!

  And he couldn’t, not for long. He could feel his climax start to surge up in his loins, forcing him to exert his will power to delay the flow of sperm, to pace himself and continue fucking his beautiful, voluptuous, sexy female sex partner.

  “Don’t stop,” Ildiko pleaded. “Oh God, don’t stop!”

  “I don’t want to stop.” Adolar continued to thrust back and forth inside her.

  I’m going to make you come, too, pretty boy, he thought, still picturing Bob’s face and body in his mind. I’m going make you shoot your load all over the place, all over both of us. Hot damn! Bob’s right over there, watching us fuck. I wish he was here in the bed with us … I wish this was a threesome. But then his character would be fucking his mother! Kind of kinky, even by the studio’s standards. But the next time Vanessza and I get that boy in bed with both of us—I swear to God we’ll drain him dry! Fucking hell, I can almost taste his sweet hot cum in my mouth—!

  Remembering what it felt and tasted like to have Nate’s semen flooding the interior of his mouth, imagining that he was ingesting one of the young muscle stud’s loads at the moment, Adolar began to shudder in the warning throes of approaching orgasm. Ildiko let out a stifled little squeal as she came again, helplessly.

  It was cum shot time. Adolar withdrew his prick from her seething pussy, tore the condom off his cock, and sprayed his semen all over Ildiko’s breasts and belly and thighs.

  “Ooh, that’s what I like!” Ildiko squealed, writhing while the cum rained down on her. “It’s so hot and wet! It’s stinging me, like needles! Oh, yeah, baby—shoot that stuff all over me!’

  A few moments later, spent, Adolar eased himself off her.

  “That was—!” she gasped.

  “Don’t say it,” he muttered. He’d gotten so carried away that he’d come close to losing control, which was unusual for him during a porn shoot.

  “Incredible.”

  “I came too fast,” he apologized—speaking not only to the character Ildiko was playing, but to Imre and Peter, as well. God damn you, Bob! Adolar decided. It was all Bob’s fault for getting him so overexcited!

  “I don’t recall watching the clock. On the contrary, darling. While you were fucking me, time seemed to stand still.” Ildiko turned on her side and gazed up at Adolar with passion-dazed eyes.

  “It sure did. And I wouldn’t worry about Denes,” the wicked stepfather told his wife. “I’ll have a little man-to-man talk with him. Maybe that’s what the boy needs. Some fatherly advice, and an older man, to be a sort of male role model.”

  Adolar took Ildiko in his arms and kissed her. A bisexual guy couldn’t ask for a more beautiful, sensuous, or exciting woman to work with. At times like these, Adolar was fully aware that he was enjoying the best of both worlds.

  “And … cut!” Peter sang out. “Awesome, you two! Just awesome … as always!”

  A few days later, back in Budapest, the video’s producer and director were discussing the editing of the footage they’d shot. They’d invited Adolar and Bob to join them, for lunch.

  “I’m very pleased,” Imre declared. “I’m sure that His Wicked Stepfather is going to be a big success.”

  “Yeah, I think we’ve got another hit on our hands,” Peter agreed. “You’ve done it again, Adolar. But then, you always come through for the studio. And Bob—what a debut! You’re a natural.”

  “We ought to do a sequel,” Adolar suggested, casually. “Why stop now?”

  Imre was excited. “What a great idea! With you, Ildiko, and Bob in the cast again, of course. But we can introduce a new character. I know! Bob, your character, the stepson, has an older brother—who comes home from college—or better yet, from the military. Yeah—like you and Adolar, he’s all pumped up, as a result of all that military training. Adolar, you seduce him, too. And Bob, you fool around with your “big brother.” The climax is a threesome in which the stepdad fucks both of his stepsons.”

  “Um, the family that plays together—!” Adolar quipped.

  “Now, all we have to do is find another hot bodybuilder, another new ‘discovery,’ like Bob, to play the brother,” Peter said. “Somebody who looks enough like Bob to be plausible as his sibling,”

  “Well, guys … I have an older brother, actually,” Bob informed Peter and Imre. “He’s bisexual, too, just like me. His name’s Istvan. You’ve met him, Adolar.”

  “Yeah. He’s hot as fuck!” Adolar declared, with relish.

  “Is he a bodybuilder, too?” Peter demanded.

  “Sure.”

  “Does he look anything like you?” was Peter’s next question. “I mean, as good?”

  “I’m the better-looking one,” Bob boasted, without shame. “But I guess Istvan’s a little bigger than me.”

  Imre was excited. “Think he’d do it?”

  Bob smiled. “Oh, I think I can persuade him.”

  An accurate prediction!

  Chapter Thirty-Six: Muscle Bros

  Istvan’s recent sexual experimentations had made him a lot more open-minded. He agreed to make his own porn debut. Anything Bob could do, he told himself, he could do better—whether it was pumping iron in the gym, frolicking in the bedroom, or working in the sex industry!

  Only the incest thing gave him, briefly, pause.

  “Having sex with my kid brother—icky,” he said.

  “Oh, thanks,” was Bob’s sarcastic response. “Don’t delude yourself that’s you’re exactly the man of my dreams, either, you know.”

  Istvan permitted himself a knowing smirk. “No, that would be Adolar.”

  “Aw, shut up. As for the whole sex thing,” Bob added, maliciously. “When you and I have to do it together, just fake it. That’s what I plan to do.”

  “Saving yourself for Mezey, huh?”

  “Csak az én szerencsém, hogy egy hülye fasszopó, mint te a testvére [Just my luck, to have a stupid cocksucker like you for a brother],” Bob lamented.

  “Furcsa. Én körülbelül-hoz mond ugyanaz a dolog van! [Strange. I was about to say the same thing about you.]”

  To preserve continuity, the sequel would be shot at the same location, the luxurious private home. The new video was titled A Bűnös Mostoha [His Sinful Stepsons], and the studio was determined to make it even more luridly sexual than its predecessor.

  Reporting for duty alongside his brother, Istvan found the preparations for the filming quite interesting, and he focused his attention on them in an attempt to fight back his stage fright.

  “Nervous?” Bob asked.

  “Not about the sex, so much,” Istvan replied. “About doing it for the camera, maybe, a little.”

  “You’ll get over it. You’ll be all right once Imre and Peter stop all this dickering around and we can get down to busin
ess.” The producer and director were fussing about the set, making sure that the lighting was right.

  Once again, one of the house’s guest bedrooms was being pressed into service as Bob’s character’s bedroom, where a lot of the video’s action was scheduled to take place.

  Imre and his assistants made the bed, encasing the king size mattress in a fitted bottom sheet, and providing two large pillows. Imre chose a sheet in a vivid hot pink color, and matching pillowcases, both freshly laundered and ironed.

  “These bed linens will look great, with you guys’ skin tones, which this pink will really set off,” Imre declared.

  Adolar was observing this preparations, looking skeptical. “Quite a production this is turning into,” he said, more than a little sarcastically. “To say nothing of the fact that any doubt it’s a gay production has just been effectively banished. Coordinating with the skin tones, indeed!”

  “Don’t knock it,” Imre responded, unperturbed. “In what we’re doing, the visual effect is all-important. We want to get it right.”

  “Well, I feel sorry for whoever laundered that sheet,” Adolar said. “God knows it’s going to be messed up soon enough.”

  Istvan had noticed, with a sense of relief, that at least it was comparatively cool down there in the basement, below street level. But now he became aware that this advantage was being gradually, but palpably, vitiated. Not only were all the fluorescent tubes in the ceiling light fixtures turned on. No fewer than four big photographer’s lamps, each on a tripod, were arranged around the bed, one aimed at each corner of it, so that they bathed the mattress and the area immediately surrounding it in a relentless bright glare which killed any shadows.

  “Those lamps seem a bit warm,” Istvan remarked, uneasily.

  “They’re hot,” Bob warned his brother, speaking from experience. “Be prepared to sweat.”

  “Which is okay, so don’t fight it,” Peter interjected. “I like to see realistic sex. So perspiration is fine.”

  “Easy for you to say,” Istvan said. “You’re not the one who’s going to be broiling under all that light.”

  “That’s why I brought along all this bottled water,” Imre said, in a soothing tone of voice. “You guys can help yourself. Drink all you want.”

  “Yeah, we want to keep the body fluids up,” Bob interjected, wryly. “I assume it is okay to get that sheet messed up, like Adolar just said?”

  Imre laughed. “Feel free. Occupational hazard. And we can always change it. I’ve got extras.”

  As a finishing touch, Imre studied the nightstand next to the bed. It had been cleared of its usual items. Precisely in the center of the table’s top, Imre now set a huge plastic pump bottle of gel sex lube, as though it was an art object on display.

  “Now, that’s a visual focal point. To say nothing of tasteful and elegant,” Bob quipped.

  “Everybody’s a critic,” Imre mumbled.

  “Sorry,” Bob told him. “Istvan and I are starting to get a little edgy, that’s all. We want to get started.”

  “Well, we’re just about ready,” Peter advised. “So you men may as well get undressed.”

  The brothers stripped.

  “Is my hair okay?” Istvan asked.

  Bob grunted. “Nobody’s going to be looking at your hair, bro!” He turned to Peter. “Any last-minute instructions, boss?”

  “Just one. Mostly for your benefit, Istvan. Bob already knows the drill. Remember we’re recording audio, too. Talk as dirty as you like, but because you two have decided to use pseudonyms, don’t slip up and call each other by your real names. We can always beep it out, or overdub it, in post-production, but we’d rather not. And remember that Adolar is supposed to be your stepfather, so talk to him the way you’re talk to your stepdad in real life.”

  “Well, I’ve never had a stepfather,” Istvan pointed out, “let alone gone to bed with him.”

  “Use your imagination, dude,” his brother advised. “Come, let’s just do it. Let’s start rolling. Let’s just fuck!”

  “Ready?” Peter asked Janos, the cameraman.

  The burly crew member grinned. “Very.”

  Peter nodded.

  “Istvan, Bob—stand by the foot of the bed, facing each other. Don’t forget to smile at each other. Maybe give us some dialogue. Then—slowly—you move toward each other and get into a clinch. Lots of kissing and caressing. Move deliberately—no abrupt movements, please, because they can look jerky on film. ‘When in doubt, drag it out.’ Other than that—well, just do what comes naturally.”

  “Or unnaturally, in our case,” Bob joked. He seemed revved up, experiencing an adrenalin rush, raring to go. Istvan determined to do his best to emulate his attitude.

  “All right, take up your positions. Yeah, that’s good. Hold it. And—action,” Peter, in his capacity as the director, called out.

  “Hey, bro, let’s fuck,” Bob suggested.

  As improvised dialogue went, it wasn’t much, but it certainly set up the scene.

  “I don’t know,” Istvan replied, acting coy. “Maybe we shouldn’t.”

  “Fuck that shit! You’re horny, aren’t you?”

  “I’m always horny.”

  “Well, so am I!”

  With these exchanges concluded, Istvan soon found himself locked in Bob’s embrace, making love to him. This was pleasant enough, and Istvan could feel his nervousness begin to ebb away slightly, which came to his as a relief. The one thing Istvan wasn’t quite prepared for was how closely the cameraman tracked them. The guy did step back to take long shots from time to time, but his customary mode of operation was to get in tight. He darted about the foot of the bed, sometimes squatting or kneeling, and there were times when the lens of his camera almost collided with the two nude performers.

  Maintaining a lip-lock on Istvan, Bob reached down between their bodies and fondled his brother’s cock into erection. Bob’s own penis, Istvan discovered when he imitated the gesture, required no such stimulation. Already, it stood up and out, proudly rigid and ready to be put to use.

  Finally, still kissing him passionately, Bob drew his fellow performer toward the waiting bed.

  “Come on,” Bob whispered against Istvan’s mouth, barely audibly, but seductively. “I want you—! You want me—! So let’s just go ahead and do it.”

  They stretched out naked on the bed together, with Janos pursuing them, leaning over the foot of the bed and aiming the camera at them with tireless dexterity.

  They kissed some more and held each other tightly, their tongues darting deep into each other’s open mouths, their hands boldly tracing the contours of each other’s bodies. The two bodies in question were most impressive—hard-muscled, bulging, weight-trained physiques, herculean in their somewhat exaggerated proportions.

  With a moan of lust, Bob crushed Istvan closer to him, pecs against pecs, his lips touching Istvan’s ear, his tongue slipping into the opening, sending a shudder through the other young man when he licked his ear. In a moment, their lips touched again, and a warm glow washed over both men’s flesh. They melted together in their embrace.

  Bob, Istvan noted with satisfaction, knew what he was doing. He knew how to arouse another man. He was a total lover, his whole body corresponding to Istvan’s less assured caresses, the muscles and curves of his solid flesh thrilling Istvan as Istvan fondled him, all over. They moved slowly and methodically against each other, but with a growing excitement, relaxing nude against each other’s bulk.

  Without knowing it, they’d rehearsed for this moment, on many previous occasions, when they’d made love to other men. They reaped the benefit of those experiences now.

  Bob’s physique, like Istvan’s, was like a statue carved in rock, his arms and pectoral muscles looking as though they could crush the breath out of an opponent in a wrestling match, his thighs massive, his butt cheeks big and manly. All of his muscles were tight, and yet they were voluptuously sensual to the touch. As Istvan ran his fingers down the other ma
n’s chest to his side, and then around in back to grip his ass, he kissed Bob hard on the mouth, moving against him, conscious of the rigid cocks trapped between their bellies, rubbing restlessly against their abs.

  Each man’s dick pulsed hotly against the other’s turgid manhood. The two penises seemed to be engaged in an erotic wrestling match of their own, corresponding to the grappling interplay of the two naked men’s limbs. Istvan gasped when Bob pressed even harder into their embrace, his hips thrusting up to meet Istvan’s, his powerful legs twisted and locked around Istvan’s.

  They kissed again.

  They sucked on each other’s tongues, their hands alternately gripping and then stroking lightly all the secret places, all the intimate, responsive spots, which they’d discovered during their previous bouts of intense lovemaking. They were both deliriously aroused, and it wouldn’t take long for their mutual passion to reach the boiling point of a double climax, at this rate.

  But they needed to delay, to pace themselves, to draw out the sex act. They weren’t fooling around for their own amusement! This was, after all, a performance, for the camera’s benefit. As Peter had instructed them, “When in doubt, drag it out.” Good advice!

  Istvan moved down the other stud’s body, kissing his hairy chest, sucking on his nipples until they stood out hard and red. Bob was panting hoarsely for breath, while Istvan traced a pattern down his abdomen to his lower stomach, his mouth taking little nips at the other guy’s sinewy body, his tongue wetting the fine trace of hair just below the navel. Bob knew what to expect, knew that Istvan would soon be biting deeply into him.

  Istvan opened his mouth and sank his teeth into the firm hip muscle of the other man, at the same time slipping his hand around to grip one of Bob’s ass cheeks. And then, momentarily, Istvan rode Bob, as the guy’s big body rose from the mattress in response to the love bite. Squirming, Bob tried to escape from Istvan’s searching, demanding mouth, although he secretly enjoyed the rough treatment.