Remi started to pull out of him so that they could change their positions; but Guiche sat down hard on his cock and he squeezed his asshole tightly around its bulk, refusing to give it up even for a few seconds!
“No,” Guiche whimpered. “Don’t take it out of me, Remi. Just hold on to me, and I’ll lie back. Keep your cock in me. I think I’m limber enough to sort of squirm around, with your whang still stuck up my ass!”
And so he was. Guiche rotated his body slowly and gingerly around the fulcrum of his buddy’s cockshaft. Remi tried to help by sitting up and putting his arms around Guiche’s waist. Moving cautiously, to make sure the erection wouldn’t slip out of him accidentally, Guiche leaned backward until he was indeed prone on the mattress and Remi was now on top of him.
Guiche’s legs locked around Remi’s back, his heels pushing down on Remi’s buttocks to drive his cock deep inside him. Remi stretched his legs out behind himself, and then he rose up above Guiche, bracing both of his hands on the bed to give himself leverage. He was jammed between the other young man’s thighs, his cock now once again throbbing away all the way inside Guiche’s ass!
“That’s better, isn’t it?” Guiche asked.
“Fuck, yeah!” Remi gloated. “Now I can see your face while I fuck you!”
“What, you couldn’t see it before, when I was sitting on your dick, facing you?” Guiche retorted.
“Not this well. And I sure as hell couldn’t do this.” Remi leaned down and kissed Guiche on the mouth.
“Um,” Guiche mumbled, against his fucker’s lips. “Fuck me, baby. Come on, pretty boy. Show me how much of a man you are, what a stud you are. Take my hole. Use my hole. Ram that big dick deep into me, now, and don’t stop. Don’t stop for anything!”
Remi reared back, and then he lunged down on Guiche with such force that he hurt his balls when they slapped against Guiche’s upturned butt cheeks. His cock now seemed to be driving right through Guiche’s anus and straight up into his rectum from below, going in even deeper than it had been able to penetrate his body in their previous position.
Again and again, Remi lunged into Guiche, his dick quivering more violently with each fresh assault in made on Guiche’s butt. It was like spearing his prick into a tub of warm, soft butter! Guiche’s anus felt so smooth and slippery around his fuck tool, so yielding each time Remi pulled it out or thrust it back in, that he found himself trembling on the verge of a desperate ejaculation. He didn’t want to come so soon. He wanted to stay hard inside that hot, sexy asshole which Guiche was so eagerly opening to him!
With his eyes now clenched tightly shut in concentration, Remi took Guiche anally again and again, exulting in his possession of his friend’s body.
Guiche’s cries of pleasure drove Remi on even harder, stirred him to fuck faster and probe deeper with each new excursion he made into that hot ass. Remi was giving himself to Guiche, just as the good-looking young male prostitute was surrendering to him. Through his cock, his potency, Remi was entering completely into the other young man, uniting himself to Guiche and joining the two of them, body to body, soul to soul, in the fierce, unrestrained intimacy of sex between men.
It was much more than an act of sex, though. Their passionate fuck seemed like a breakdown of all the barriers which some segments of society might try to set up between men like them. Remi had fucked, and been fucked by, any number of guys since he’d come out to himself, accepting his homosexuality. But with none of them, so far, had he experienced anything quite like what he was experiencing with Guiche now. There was a sense of giving himself unreservedly. His partner’s response had a searing intensity which equaled Remi’s own lust. With each lunge of his prick, Remi felt more of his physical and spiritual essence going deep into Guiche!
He felt Guiche’s hand beating against his stomach as Guiche jerked himself off. Guiche’s handsome face was twisted with wild desire, and his whole athletic body strove to take Remi’s cock and melt around it to form a single erotic entity.
Guiche wanted the fuck to go on forever; and Remi, too, wished that were only possible! If only he could fuck Guiche, be a part of him like this, stay inside his body like this, forever! But he knew from the sharp, almost painful tingling in his cock which came from holding back even this long, that he couldn’t last much longer. He had to unload.
“I think I’m going to come, Guiche!” he blurted out.
Guiche’s dazed eyes flew open and his free hand struck out blindly to grab Remi behind the neck, twist a thick lock of his long hair around his fingers, and pull his fucker’s mouth down to his.
“Yeah,” Guiche pleaded, hoarsely. “Go ahead and come! Come in me, you fucker—come in my ass. But kiss me while you do it. Kiss me while you come!”
Their mouths met in a furious, bruising kiss; and only an instant later, Remi felt the first hot splash of Guiche’s sperm shooting up at his belly and chest. He drove down into his friend’s asshole with desperate force, and he held his cock deep in Guiche’s guts. Then Remi, too, shot his juice, in wave upon wave of wet, molten liquid lust!
Guiche’s asshole felt like a hot, wet mouth clamped around the shaft of Remi’s unloading cock, sucking it dry, determined to wring every last thick, salty drop of jism from its core. Remi couldn’t believe the intensity of his orgasm. He fired his seed into the tip of the condom he was wearing on his cock. His body thrashed about on top of Guiche’s, trapped in the viselike grip of Guiche’s powerfully muscled thighs. Like a fish suddenly snagged on a hook and yanked from the water into the suffocating air above the surface, Remi flopped about wildly on top of Guiche’s chest.
His tongue was still stuck deep inside Guiche’s mouth. His cock jackhammered back and forth within the tight grip of Guiche’s rectum, until Remi was sure that he had no more semen to lose.
Only then did both boys go limp, relaxing after their fierce mutual pleasure.
Groaning, struggling to get his breath back, Remi thought about that memorable occasion, the night when he’d first seen Guiche. At the time, the hustler had seemed unattainable to Remi, far outside his reach.
Chapter One: The Guy with a Guiche
Most of Montréal’s bars closed by 3:00 AM. Some stayed open for an additional hour or two, especially during the summertime, or on weekends.
CityBoyz was a leather bar, located on a narrow side street off the Rue Ste-Catherine. On Friday and Saturday nights, CityBoyz always stayed open until 5:00 AM. This made for a long night for its employees. After last call, they were expected to remain and help with the cleanup, for at least an hour. As a result, it was dawn before they finally headed home.
The bar’s management liked its employees to be not only hard-working and efficient, but good-looking, outgoing, and uninhibited. The bartenders invariably worked stripped to the waist, except for whatever bits and pieces of leather gear they chose to adorn themselves with, such as body harnesses, arm and wrist bands, or collars. The bar backs were provided with T-shirts bearing the bar’s name and logo, front and back. But they too were encouraged to work stripped to the waist, on warm nights or on the frequent occasions when they found themselves bustling about enough to work up a sweat.
Tonight, Remi was shirtless. He wore jeans and rubber-soled boots, the latter ensuring him traction should a spill result in a temporarily wet floor.
Around his neck was a slim silver chain, supporting a pendant in the form of a blunt-edged razor blade. The short chain allowed the blade to rest against Remi’s breastbone, between the upper swells of his well-developed pectoral muscles.
He often wore this necklace, for two reasons. It had been given to him by a former boyfriend, so he had a sentimental attachment to it. And he thought it looked good on him. The pendant lent an edge—so to speak—to his rather delicate, pretty-boy facial features, which were heightened by the fact that he tended to wear his hair long.
As a mere bar back, Remi didn’t rate a salary. He worked under the supervision of one of the bartenders, for a percentage of
the latter’s tips. Remi’s bartender was a guy named Maxim. But Maxim was a popular bartender, and so on a good night Remi made out well.
After replenishing the ice in the bins and making sure that Maxim was well supplied with bottles of beer and clean glassware, Remi finally had a chance to relax for a few moments and catch his breath. As he did so, he surveyed the crowd.
There were some attractive numbers present that night. As usual, there were college students, who kept to themselves in their cliques, trying to impress one another with how macho they could behave, even in a gay bar. There was a sprinkling of tourists, out to try to get laid during their visit to the city. The local hardcore leather guys—whether they considered themselves tops, bottoms, or versatile—occasionally deigned to converse with one another, although as a rule they preferred to prowl solo.
As always, there were twinks in attendance. Remi had come to a conclusion about these youths, based on his observations of them ever since he’d started working at the bar. It never seemed to fail—the more boyish, androgynous, or downright effeminate a twink was, the more likely he was to be in hot pursuit of the most tough-looking leather master who happened to be in the place. Often, the twinks got ignored, or brushed aside—sometimes politely, sometimes rudely. But persistence could pay. Remi was still surprised by how often some pretty, giddy lad ended up leaving the bar with a big, rough bruiser decked out in full leather.
What these unlikely pairs ended up doing in bed together was anybody’s guess. It amused Remi to speculate that the exaggeratedly manly top found himself on his back with his legs in the air, begging his pretty young pickup to fuck his butch ass and turn him into a twink’s bitch.
Remi, as a rule, resigned himself to heading home alone after his shift. For one thing, by that time of the night, or rather of the morning, he was tired, and he just wanted to go to bed alone and sleep. Another consideration was the fact that by the time the bar’s closing hour—aptly nicknamed “panic hour”—rolled around, the pickings tended to be slim. The drunk and the desperate stayed for last call. The more desirable patrons were usually long gone by then.
Still, there were times when a customer managed to engage Remi in conversation, and flirt with him, as busy as Remi was. When Remi really liked the guy, instead of giving him his phone number and inviting him to call him on some other night, when he was free, Remi might encourage the man to stick around until closing time. After completing his clean-up duties, Remi would meet the guy on the sidewalk outside the bar, or at some other rendezvous such as a nearby coffee shop which was open all night, and they’d go home together.
These dawn hookups often turned out to be among Remi’s more memorable ones. A guy who was willing to hang around and wait for him to get off work, instead of looking for another sex partner, obviously did want to be with Remi—which Remi found flattering. And it was interesting how the prospect of a sure thing, of definitely going home with a guy he liked, could help to overcome Remi’s fatigue. Rallying, he often treated his pickup to quite an energetic bout of sex play. If he collapsed afterward into a deep, well-earned sleep—well, that was understandable.
Before he got back to work on this night, Remi played the fantasy game of trying to decide which of the bar’s patrons he’d most like to have sex with, in the unlikely event that he could pick and choose from all of them.
He didn’t have much difficulty singling out one particularly alluring number in particular.
Unlike so many of the bar’s patrons, this young man wasn’t dressed in leather attire. Nor did he seem to have selected his outfit in order to attract attention to himself. In fact, he looked as though he hadn’t given his clothes much thought at all, but had thrown on whatever garments were near at hand before going out. He wore jeans, obviously well-worn and faded by repeated washings, and training shoes, which by contrast looked new and expensive. His torso was bare under an ordinary, cheap, plain gray, hooded long-sleeved sweatshirt. The hoodie was unzipped all the way open in front, so that it exposed his stomach and chest. He had a relatively hairless torso, with big pecs and enviably hard, clearly defined abdominal muscles.
The young man was handsome—male-model handsome, although there was a hint of sternness in his facial expression which made him seem not merely decorative, but very masculine. He had a dusting of beard stubble on his cheeks and chin, and around his lips. He had beautiful eyes, dark and brooding—classic “bedroom eyes.” He didn’t dart those sensual eyes of his about restlessly, checking out the other men in the bar, the way so many of the customers did as they cruised. Rather methodically, this guy fixed his attention on one person or object at a time. There was a quietly self-confident, self-contained quality about him.
Hot dude, Remi concluded. Yeah, a very hot dude. I’d fuck him, given the chance.
He consulted Maxim, who of course knew all of the bar’s regulars by sight—and who had memorized their individual drink preferences. Tonight, as usual, Maxim’s display of his pecs was drawing many appreciative glances from the customers. A few of the drinkers also deigned to check out Remi’s smaller, but also nicely muscled, torso.
“Who’s the beauty, over there?” Remi asked the bartender.
“Which one? Every guy in this place probably thinks he’s God’s gift to other men.”
“I mean the one in the hoodie, standing by the poster on the wall, talking to the older dude.”
“Oh, that’s Guiche. Bottle beer, although once in while he orders a gin and tonic.”
“Guiche? That’s a funny name.”
“It’s a nickname, of course. I think his real name is Guy, or Guillaume. But nobody calls him that. Everybody calls him Guiche.”
“Why?”
“I’m told, by those who are in the know, that the reason’s obvious, once you’ve seen the guy naked. He’s got his taint pierced—you know, the muscle that runs between your balls and your asshole?”
“Oh, yeah. Technically, I think it’s called the perineum.”
“Well, excuse me. I forgot I was talking to such an educated man. So tell me—if you’re so smart, why are you working here?” But there was nothing mean-spirited in the way Maxim said this. He was teasing Remi, as he often did. “Anyway,” he went on, without waiting for Remi to respond, “supposedly he’s got a big ring inserted in it, and he likes to have it played with. That kind of piercing is called a ‘guiche.’ I don’t understand it, myself. I mean, I think tattoos and piercings can look hot on some guys. But they’re not for me. I’m not into pain. I get faint when a doctor comes at me holding a hypodermic needle.”
“So naturally you work in a leather bar,” Remi joked. “How well do you know this guy?”
“Not very well. We have a nodding acquaintance. I’ve talked to him a few times, when I’ve served him his drink. He’s a lousy tipper, by the way. A tightwad. I do know he’s a Quebeçois, like you. In fact, you two have something else in common. You’re both hicks from the sticks. Farm boys, who got tired of shoveling manure, so you came here to the big city to find your fortune. Or to find disillusionment, which is much more likely.”
Maxim was teasing Remi again, but Remi felt obligated to protest. “Saguenay, where I come from, is hardly the sticks.”
“Well, it’s not Quebec City, let alone Toronto. And I thought you told me you aren’t originally from Saguenay itself, but from some little farm town near it. An idyllic rustic community, too small even to show up on most maps.”
“That’s true. But I lived in Saguenay for a while, before I moved here. I had a job there. In a garage. Sure, I mostly worked on farm machinery—tractors, and so forth, instead of on cars. But still, I was a mechanic.”
“Quite the man of the world, aren’t you?”
“I’m getting used to life here in the big wicked city,” Remi retorted. “So what you’re telling me is … you don’t really know this guy Guiche well enough to introduce me to him.”
“Got the hots for him, huh?”
“He’s very handsom
e.”
“So are a dozen other guys in here tonight. What’s so special about him?”
“I don’t know. Something about him appeals to me. I just like the way he looks.”
“He’s out of your league,” Maxim said, bluntly.
“Gee, thanks.”
“I don’t mean it as an insult. I mean you’re better off not knowing him. He’s trouble. Bad news.”
“Oh? What do you mean? Is he some kind of a drug dealer, or something?”
“No, he doesn’t push drugs. Not to my knowledge. Although I wouldn’t put something like that past him. What I do know for a fact is that he peddles his cock and his ass. He’s a hustler.”
“You mean he’s a male prostitute?”
“A man whore, yeah. Oh, look at you. The country boy is shocked! I guess you aren’t as sophisticated yet as you thought you are.”
“I don’t believe it.”
Maxim shrugged. “Believe it or not. Either way, it’s nothing to me—none of my business. But I’ve seen him pick up men in here. After negotiating the price. He does it very discreetly, I will give him that. Otherwise, I’d have to get the bouncer to throw him out. We don’t need the vice cops coming down on us. I suppose he does most of his business on the Internet. Most male whores do, nowadays.”
“How would you know?”
“If you’re insinuating what I think you’re insinuating—forget about it. I have too much self-respect, either to pay for sex, or to sell my own body. The truth is, I checked it out one time when I was surfing the web, just out of curiosity. Our friend Guiche—he’s got a website. And he advertises on other websites, the kind which list ‘escorts,’ usually for a small access fee. See for yourself if you don’t believe me. The next time you’re on the Internet, all you have to do is run a search on something like ‘Montréal male escort Guiche,’ and he’ll pop right up. Prepare to be disillusioned, farm boy.”
CityBoyz Page 2
