Gusztav felt the splashing wetness of the sticky cum as it inundated his ass. He knew that the hot, potent tide was filling his butthole and bathing his twitching prostate in a sensuous, soothing warmth.
“Ah, hot cum! Fuck, you bastard,” he grunted. “Fuck my ass, you goddamn stud! Uh, yeah, shove it all the way up my hole. Shoot it full of that fucking stud jizz of yours, empty that big dick in my hot, horny ass! Uh, your stuff is scalding hot, dude! How I love it, how I love to feel another man’s hot cum squirting into my ass!”
“You’re wild, man! Fucking wild!” Markus declared. “Dirty—yeah, you’re almost as goddamn dirty and nasty as I am. Which is saying a hell of a lot!”
“Fuck me! Come in me!” Gusztav yelled.
Gusztav’s sturdy body shuddered in a succession of wrenching and writhing motions, physical proof that the combination of Markus’s own humping and the exploding sperm inside his ass had indeed set off Gusztav’s own climax. His prick jettisoned its load, which had until that moment barely been contained within his painfully swollen and aching balls. The deluge of fresh semen poured out of his throbbing, sputtering cockhead and it streaked both men’s chiseled bellies and massive, protruding chests with thick globules and sticky white ribbons of Gusztav’s rich male cream.
Even after he stopped ejaculated, Markus went on pounding away back and forth inside his new sex partner’s manhole, until, at last, his erotic frenzy slowed and stopped.
“Jesus,” Gusztav gasped, when at last both men had calmed down. “That was intense.”
“Very,” Markus agreed. Pulling his cock out of Gusztav’s ass, he lay down beside him, hugging him, pressing his lips to his sweaty pecs and licking his stiff nipples. “I didn’t know I had it in me, to be able to exert myself like this, after working all day and then hitting the weights at the gym.”
Gusztav grinned. “Well, I sure as hell knew I had it in me! You really reamed out my ass,” he gloated.
“Well, you see,” Markus joked, “I’m sort of the unofficial welcome wagon, down there at the gym. I take it upon myself to fuck all the new members. If they’re good-looking, and they have hot bodies. I try them on for size, break them in. See if they’ve got what it takes to fit it. To be my musclebros.”
“Did I pass the test? Did I make the grade?”
“With a hot ass and with flying colors, musclebro. Welcome to the club!”
Gusztav chortled. “That’s very generous, very good-hearted of you. But then—big muscles, big cock, big heart. I guess they go together!”
Chapter Two: A Muscle Man’s Mentor
In between work and his regular visits to the gym, Markus managed to lead a fairly active social life. One afternoon, he received a phone call from one of his good friends, a man named Jozsef.
“It’s been almost a week since the last time I saw you,” Jozsef said. “Six days, to be exact.”
“I know,” Markus replied. “Do you keep track?”
“I do. I keep a diary on my laptop. I make note of every time we get together.”
“That’s flattering. Including all the details of our get-togethers?”
“All of them.”
Markus laughed. “That must be interesting reading. It’s probably downright pornographic.”
“Come now, be serious for a moment, Markus. Can I see you this evening?” Jozsef asked, plaintively.
“Of course.”
“You say that so casually!” Jozsef complained.
“Why shouldn’t I be casual about it? What’s wrong?” Markus asked.
“You’re cruel,” Jozsef accused him. “You torment me. You tease me, stringing me along. While I know you’re screwing around with other guys—much younger guys than me. Whom you like better than me.”
“This shit again? How many times must I tell you—? Fuck! Must you be so paranoid? And am I so bad? Come, now, I’ll make it up to you, tonight,” Markus coaxed. “I’ll spend the whole night with you, if you want.”
“Will you?”
“Sure.”
“That’s right, throw me a crumb. Bad,” Jozsef sputtered. “You’re just bad, a very bad boy.”
“I thought you liked that about me,” Markus said, suggestively.
“Well—yes—I admit it. I do! Have dinner with me. Then we can go to my place. Will you really spend the night? Sleep with me?”
“Sure. But I’ve got to warn you. I’m feeling very randy. Don’t expect to get much sleep.”
“Oh, you tease!”
“Shall I meet you for dinner? Where?”
“At Le Salon d’Or, if you like. At eight? I’ll make a reservation for us.”
“Fine. See you then. Until then—try to be more mellow, Jozsef, for God’s sake. Chill.”
Markus was used to Jozsef’s moods. At the moment, Jozsef was in one of his melancholy moods, involving a good amount of self-dramatizing. When he was in this frame of mind, he fancied himself the victim of unrequited love. Jozsef was an attractive, interesting man. Ordinarily self-possessed and very much in control of his life, Jozsef’s one weakness seemed to be Markus, for whom he definitely had “a thing.”
Jozsef Somogyi was a professional bodybuilder. Now in his early forties, he still competed occasionally. He was a well-known, respected figure on the Hungarian bodybuilding scene.
He was also a quite shrewd businessman. He made his money in a variety of ways. He owned two gyms in Budapest, one of them the one to which Markus belonged. That was how Markus had met Jozsef, after following his career as a fan. Jozsef did some personal training, specializing in an upscale clientele. He brought in some extra money with product endorsements and fitness modeling, although the latter was really a young man’s game. Still, Jozsef’s mature looks and still impressive physique appealed to a niche advertising market.
Jozsef had always turned down offers to do gay porn. But, ever since he was Markus’s age, he’d hustled. He’d had a succession of generous “sponsors” who helped him to pay his bills, in exchange for sexual services. He’d started escorting back then, and now, interestingly enough, he was just in demand as a stud-for-hire than ever. No doubt this was because he was exceptionally well-preserved for his age, and of course still extremely muscular. And because he possessed a large cock, a talented mouth, and an insatiable ass, as well as great stamina.
There was nothing “gay for pay” about Jozsef. Openly, proudly, and promiscuously gay, he really liked sex. Naturally, he had a preference for fellow bodybuilders, when he bedded other guys for free. But his strong sex drive enabled him to work himself into an erotic frenzy even when he was being paid for sex by a man who was elderly, out of shape, or ugly—or all three.
He’d once boasted to Markus, “Even if a guy is downright repulsive, I can get it up for him, keep it up for him, and come for him. Maybe I have to do some fantasizing, and maybe I have to think about the money—which usually does the trick for me, I’m ashamed to admit. It’s amazing, what an aphrodisiac a wad of cold, hard, tax-free cash can be.”
Once they became friends, Jozsef encouraged Markus to acquire “sponsors” and to do some discreet hustling, himself. Jozsef had the younger man sign up with the same escort agency he worked for. The agency, of course, took its cut, a hefty one, but operating through it had its advantages. The money was paid by the client up front, before the escort showed up at his place, or he had the john come to his dwelling.
With the client’s name and his credit or debit card information on file, the odds of hooking up with a weirdo, or getting into an actually dangerous situation, were much reduced. Tipping was expected, and because they were given to the male prostitute in cash at the end of the sex session, they were his to pocket. On the whole, working through a good agency was preferable to free-lancing.
Sometimes, though, a regular customer chose to bypass the agency, and start dealing with the hustler directly. That was virtually impossible for the agency to discover or regulate, and as a result it was the agency’s tough luck.
&nb
sp; Mentoring Markus, Jozsef taught him about these and other useful things, giving him the benefit of his own extensive experience. Under Jozsef’s tutelage, Markus became a popular escort, who was much in demand.
But Jozsef and Markus had a sexual relationship, themselves, as well.
Jozsef wasn’t exactly one of Markus’s “sponsors.” But the older man was generous toward his younger protégé. For example, he always insisted on paying Markus’s way whenever they went out together, for dinner or to entertain themselves. Jozsef steered many of his own johns Markus’s way, and whenever a client of Jozsef’s wanted to arrange a threesome, Jozsef always recommended Markus as the third participant. Jozsef liked to give Markus nice gifts, and not just at Christmas, or on his birthday.
Over the years, too, Jozsef had acquired innumerable gay friends and business contacts, not only in Hungary but abroad, many of whom were wealthy. He introduced Markus to these men, which vastly widened Markus’s own circle of casual flings, more serious lovers, paying johns, and influential, useful acquaintances.
What Jozsef asked in return was, of course, sex with Markus, on a fairly regular schedule. He and Markus had an unspoken, unwritten agreement to the effect that they’d get together for sex approximately once a week. No wonder Jozsef consulted the calendar and kept track of their trysts!
Well aware that he had a good thing going with Jozsef, Markus did everything he could to keep the man happy. Sex with Jozsef was hardly a chore, after all. The guy was hot, and Markus was getting for free what other men were willing to pay for.
If Jozsef got a little needy, clingy, and possessive at times, then that was a small price to pay for enjoying the benefits of his patronage.
A young muscle man in Budapest could do much worse than Jozsef, when it came to encouraging an older bodybuilder to take an interest in him. Jozsef was sexy as hell!
Vain about his physique, and deservedly so, Jozsef didn’t make the mistake of going to extremes to try to look younger than his age, above his neck. He didn’t color his hair to remove the gray strands with had begun to streak its rich brown hue. He’d recently grown a neatly trimmed mustache and a Van Dyke beard, both also streaked with gray, which looked good on him.
The facial hair emphasized his maturity and made him, Markus thought, even sexier. Jozsef took good care of his skin, moisturizing it regularly, but he accepted the little laugh lines which had developed at the corners of his eyes and mouth. For him, skin-tightening cosmetic surgery was still a long way off, even assuming that he’d ever consider it.
He could have his pick of younger gay men, and Markus was flattered and grateful to be one of his favorites.
Le Salon d’Or was one of downtown Budapest’s finest restaurants. It didn’t have a dress code, because it wanted to attract as wide a spectrum as possible of locals and tourists, but its interior was as elegant as a diner could wish. The subdued lighting, with low-wattage candlelight bulbs in virtually all of the fixtures, shed a warm golden glow upon the premises. The walls were hung with mirrors, alternating with old architectural prints, both in heavy gilt frames. The tables, draped in rich cloths, were set with the finest quality china and glassware, with a bouquet of fresh flowers set in a small vase on each table.
The maître d, the sommelier, and the waiters were all hired on the basis not only of their professionalism, but because they were attractive, mostly young, men. As a result, Budapest’s gay men, and gay tourists and visitors who found themselves in the city, often made a point of dining at Le Salon d’Or.
Markus, knowing that Jozsef would probably show up at the restaurant well dressed, made an effort to look his best, too. Getting ready for his date, he showered, and then he searched his wardrobe, looking for clothes which were casual, but of good quality.
He first put on what he thought of as his “good” underwear, briefs and a tank top made from a very soft, luxuriant, expensive white cotton. Next came a pair of socks—alpaca socks, from Peru, with vibrant rows of multicolored horizontal stripes.
His slacks were khaki, pleated in front.
His shoes matched his belt—brown alligator.
Over the tank top, Markus pulled a sweater, also alpaca and from Peru, a subtle weave of multicolored geometrics.
The sweater and the socks were gifts from Jozsef. So was the gold chain which Markus slung around his thick, sturdy neck, and the matching gold bracelet he fastened around his right wrist. His Breguet wristwatch, which he now buckled around his left wrist, was also a gift from Jozsef. Markus knew which side his bread was buttered on! He was careful to make sure than his benefactor knew how much he appreciated his generosity.
A spray of cologne, and a swipe of his comb through his hair, and Markus was good to good. He grabbed a soft brown leather jacket, and he left his apartment. He was feeling eager to enjoy a good dinner—and, inevitably, after the meal, to enjoy equally good sex!
Jozsef had arrived at Le Salon d’Or ahead of time. He, too, was “casually” attired to all outward appearances, although in fact he was wearing quite a few million forints, the equivalent of thousands of US dollars, on his back.
“See? Here I am,” Markus said, as he approached Jozsef’s table. “And on time. I’m glad to see you. I’ve missed you. Very much.”
Jozsef, instantly mollified, accepted this schmoozing, and he was happy.
“Sit,” he urged Markus. “You’re beautiful, as always.”
“Don’t embarrass me.”
“I’m being sincere. You think I don’t remember what it was like, to be young and magnificent, admired and desired by everybody?”
“Your memory must be faulty,” Markus insisted, “because you’re still magnificent and admired and desired by everybody.”
“But I’m no longer young.”
“So what? Who cares?”
“It’s a consideration, in some quarters.” Jozsef said, enigmatically. “But never mind. What wine shall we have?”
“What are we going to have to eat?” Markus asked. He’d sat down and picked up his menu, which he studied.
The restaurant offered a full menu of traditional Hungarian dishes, but it also prided itself on its nightly specials, which tended to be international recipes, and often adventurous and innovative. They were listed separately, on printouts tucked into the menus.
“There’re some specials tonight which sound intriguing. The ‘crispy pork chops with buttered radishes,’ for example. I think I’ll have that,” Jozsef said.
“And I may have the ‘lemon chicken cutlets with garlic, red pepper flakes, and capers.’ That sounds good.”
“A white wine would be appropriate, then. A harslevélu, maybe?”
“Perfect,” Markus agreed. He was no oenophile. He liked his wine, especially when it accompanied a good meal, but the truth was, he’d drink about anything.
They gave their orders to the waiter, and their wine selection to the sommelier. With filled wineglasses set in front of them, they relaxed.
“We’re the two best-built men in this place,” Jozsef observed, with satisfaction.
“Yes,” Markus agreed, “although that’s not saying so much, given the quality of the competition. Most of these men show all the signs of soft living. They’d benefit from a few hard workouts at the gym.”
“So, tell me,” Jozsef said. “Do I have a rival yet?”
“Huh? A rival? What are you talking about?”
“Have you fallen in love with anybody? This week?”
“Oh, that.” Markus scoffed. “Not likely. You know me, Jozsef. I like to have fun. I like to play the field. I don’t want to be tied down.”
“Maybe you love me, though, just a little,” Jozsef coaxed him, plaintively.
“You know damn well I do. You and I—we have real feelings for each other, don’t we? Maybe not in a silly, starry-eyed way. What are we, a couple of dumb young club-hopping twinks? I think not. Jesus, Jozsef, I wish you weren’t so insecure, sometimes. It makes me feel as though I’m disappointi
ng you. Letting you down, somehow.”
“No, I wouldn’t want you to change,” Jozsef insisted. “It’s just that, when a man gets to be my age, he starts thinking about certain things. Taking his relationships more seriously.”
“You’re hardly old. You’re in your prime. Not quite there yet, actually.”
“Nice of you to say so.”
“I mean it.”
“You’re sweet, Markus. To the extent that a big, muscle-bound, muscle-headed young guy like you can be sweet,” Jozsef teased him.
Markus laughed. “Thanks a lot.”
Jozsef’s mood, Markus noticed, had lightened, and when their meal arrived they enjoyed it, while carrying on a lively conversation about other matters.
Afterward, they took a cab to Jozsef’s apartment building.
He lived rather well, off of his occasionally ill-gotten gains. In this, as in other things, Jozsef served as a role model for Markus, who aspired to a similar lifestyle—eventually. All in good time!
Without being pissy or ostentatious, Jozsef’s apartment was nicely furnished. He wasn’t a man who’d sacrifice comfort to style, though. The overstuffed sofa and the matching armchairs in his living room were meant to be not only sat on, but sunk down into and lazed about in. There were ottomans, on which to put your feet up.
Jozsef wouldn’t have been human if one area of the living room wasn’t devoted to a display of mementos of his bodybuilding career. And, because that career was still ongoing, the display was constantly being updated. The wall was hung with photos of Jozsef, either in competition or posing for photographers in their studios. Other photos, many of them autographed, showed him with other pro bodybuilders. His many trophies were arranged in rows on the shelves of a bookcase placed amidst the wall display.
“Shall we have a nightcap?” Jozsef asked.
“No, thanks. None for me. I think I had enough of that good wine.”
“Want to fuck?”
“Yeah.”
Jozsef grinned. “Good man. I like a dude who isn’t shy about what he wants. Come on, then.”
Jozsef’s bedroom suggested the same sort of slightly shabby chic as the rest of his place. He had an old, large brass bed, comfortably equipped with pillows, sheets, pillowcases, a blanket, and a quilt. The floors were broad bare wooden boards, lightly varnished, darkened by age, with worn old area rugs on top of them here and there.
Musclebros Page 2
