“Don’t worry, buddy,” Guiche replied, perhaps more than a little cynically. “I’m going to do it just the way you like it!”
And he was as good as his word. He pounded Remi’s ass nonstop, until both guys were panting for breath, their skins flushed red from their exertions, their bodies wet with sweat. Remi took everything Guiche had to give him, willingly, without complaint. He reveled in his buddy’s use of his body.
Guiche, too, lost himself in the act. Remi was a hot, tight fuck. Despite that crack Guiche had made about Remi’s long hair, Remi had a firmly muscled, athletic body, a nice big cock and a matching set of hefty balls, and a pair of hard, round, unambiguously masculine buttocks—between which Guiche was now industriously driving his cock. Remi’s long hair, which was spread out around his head on the pillow in disarray at the moment, did give him an incongruously feminine look at times. Screwing him like this, with Remi lying on his belly and with his face buried in the pillow, Guiche thought, was almost like fucking a muscular girl … a “chick with a dick,” in fact! The fantasy got Guiche even more excited. He fucked Remi harder. But Guiche didn’t really want to fuck a woman, no matter how attractive, sexy, and good in bed she might be. He only liked guys. He wanted to have at his disposal a man’s ass to fuck, to sink his cock into, the way he was fucking Remi’s ass now.
Remi came first. He was often rather quick on the trigger, and this occasion was no exception. His cock spewed out its thick gobs of fuck cream, which dampened the bed under him in long wet streaks. Groaning, Remi wriggled his violated butt, pushing it back into Guiche’s groin. His sphincter throbbed hotly around the still-pounding cockshaft on which Guiche had him impaled.
“Did you come?” Guiche asked.
“Yeah! And I’m still coming! Fuck me through it, Guiche. Don’t stop. Fuck me through it!” Remi repeated, in a frenzy of orgasmic excitement.
Above Remi’s sweating back came the sound of deep grunts and groans, as Guiche continued to hump him for several minutes. Then Guiche, too, began to ejaculate. Remi felt the other stud’s prick stab even deeper than usual into him, just before it exploded. The seminal detonation was contained within the reservoir tip of the rubber on Guiche’s dick. But Remi could feel the cock swelling and throbbing inside him. His anal walls contracted around its bulk, intensifying the pleasure for both of the participants in the fuck.
Guiche fucked his way through his ejaculation. Then, worn out for the time being, he lay slumped on Remi’s back, breathing hard, his dick still lodged in the other guy’s asshole, its tip still spurting out sluggish little drops of cum into the condom. Their sweaty bodies rubbed together lazily, and their sex odors mingling in the air. They breathed together, and Guiche slipped both of his strong arms around Remi’s torso and hugged his back against his chest, pushing his face toward Remi’s so that he could kiss him first on the side of his neck, and then on his mouth.
Without allowing Guiche’s cock to slip out his ass just yet, Remi turned his head and upper torso around enough so that they could kiss with full, open-mouthed abandon, lips pressed firmly together, tongues lunging in and out of each other’s open, yearning mouths.
Finally, though, Guiche broke the kiss. He breathed out a long, shuddering sigh of satisfaction, and eased himself out of Remi’s ass and off his body. Guiche stripped the condom from his prick and tossed it onto the nightstand, next to the box of condoms and the bottle of lube.
“Good?” Guiche asked.
“Great,” Remi told him. “You’re the best.”
“How’d you like to be second best?”
“Huh?”
“We need to shower,” Guiche said. “You go first. And then we’ll sit down and have a drink. And continue our discussion—about what it’s going to take to persuade you to start working with me.”
“You’re just not going to give that a rest, are you?” Remi griped.
Guiche grinned at him. “No. Not until you give in, and agree.”
“And obviously, you keep using sex to wear down my resistance,” Remi accused the hustler.
“Yeah. Is it working?”
“I’m not altogether immune to it,” Remi admittedly, ruefully.
Chapter Six: Guys Going Bump in the Night
Remi occasionally went to CityBoyz on the nights when he wasn’t working, going there as a customer, rather than an employee. So did Maxim. For Remi, it was a bus man’s, or rather a bar back’s, holiday. He enjoyed relaxing and being waited on, instead of busting his ass, behind the scenes.
On this particular evening, Remi was talking to some of his friends when he ran into Maxim in the bar, as well. Maxim, also off duty, was there with a man whom Remi had never seen before. The guy was a big bruiser—tall, broad, thickset, with massive, showy muscles, which were obviously the product of heavy weight training in a gym.
Maxim and his companion were both wearing what might be described as “leather lite.” Maxim was attired in jeans, motorcycle boots, and a T-shirt, the latter worn under a black leather motorcycle jacket, unzipped all the way down the front. Maxim’s heavy chest, and his flat stomach, corded with firmly defined abdominal muscles, was thus put well on display.
His friend was less subtly dressed. The big, muscular man wore leather chaps over his tight, faded jeans, which were tucked into a pair of immaculately polished black leather boots. He, too, wore a black leather motorcycle jacket—but he wore it, open in the front, over a well-defined torso, which was bare except for a leather and chrome body harness, consisting of leather straps and chrome rings intricately fastened together.
His big brown nipples were pierced, with thick, heavy-gauge stainless steel rings inserted in them. His navel was pierced, as well, and it sported a curved barbell-type piece of jewelry. The man had a ruggedly handsome face, a bit on the rough side, but exceptionally virile.
Maxim insisted on ordering the next round of drinks, for the three of them.
“Remi, I’d like you to meet Jean Baptiste,” Maxim said. “He’s an old friend of mine.”
“Enchanté,” Remi told Jean Baptiste, as they shook hands. “I haven’t seen you before. Do you live here in Montréal?”
“I do now,” Jean Baptiste said. “I just moved here, from Quebec City. I’m starting a new job here.”
“Jean Baptiste and I met when I went to Quebec City for a weekend,” Maxim informed Remi. “We’ve hooked up a few times, since then. Now, with him living here, we’ll be able to see each other much more often.”
“That’s nice,” Remi said. “Ah—is there any kind of a romance going on between you two?”
Jean Baptiste laughed. “There’s a sex thing going on between us—that’s for sure.”
“Yeah, we’re fuck buddies,” Maxim confirmed.
“Oh? Good for you,” Remi responded.
“Jean Baptiste is like me,” Maxim said. “He likes to play the field. He’s going to break a lot of hearts here in Montréal, one by one.”
“I prefer to bust guys’ cherries—also one by one,” Jean Baptiste protested. “Seducing straight guys and converting them to the cause—that’s one of my specialties.”
“Is it?” Remi, somewhat at a loss for words, asked. “How nice for you. And also for them, I’m sure.”
The three men drank and talked.
“Since you’ve got the night off, like I do—” Maxim told Remi.
“Yeah?”
“Why don’t you come to my place, and hang out with me and Jean Baptiste? You’ve never been to my apartment, have you?”
“No,” Remi admitted.
“Well, no time like the present. After all, we can drink for free, there,” Maxim pointed out.
They left the bar. While they’d been inside CityBoyz, it had started to rain, outside. Now, the precipitation was coming down in heavy, wet sheets.
“Shit!” Maxim complained, as they ran to where his car was parked.
“A little water shouldn’t bother you tough leather studs,” Remi teased the other two
men.
Maxim laughed. “Smack his butt for me, will you, Jean Baptiste?”
“I’d enjoy that,” Jean Baptiste said. “I don’t know if Remi would.”
Maxim lived in the Pointe-Saint-Charles district, commonly known as “The Point,” another neighborhood, once rundown, which was experiencing gentrification. Maxim’s apartment was modest, but comfortable. He and his two guests sat in his living room, drinking beer. Maxim also produced pot, which they smoked.
“So, Remi,” Jean Baptiste said, in a deceptively casual tone of voice. “I understand you’ve been a bad boy, lately?”
“How so?” Remi asked, defensively.
“Keeping company with the notorious Guiche.”
“Guiche isn’t notorious,” Remi protested.
“No?”
“He’s—misunderstood,” Remi suggested.
Jean Baptiste burst into laughter. “I guess that’s one word for it!”
“What business is it of yours, anyway?” a defiant Remi asked.
“None whatsoever.”
Maxim interceded. “Now, boys,” he urged. “Let’s not get into a debate about morality.”
“Or immorality,” Jean Baptiste murmured.
“No, let’s talk about it, now that you’ve brought up the subject,” Remi demanded. “How is what Guiche does—turning tricks—any different, really, from a hotshot leather man like you, Jean Baptiste, a top, working over a different bottom every night?”
“He’s got you there, buddy,” Maxim suggested.
“Now, just wait a minute,” Jean Baptiste suggested. “What I do with my tricks—it’s consensual sex, between adults.”
“And what Guiche does isn’t?” Remi asked, pressing the issue.
“I don’t know the guy, except by reputation. Except by his bad reputation,” Jean Baptiste admitted. “Still—having sex with just anybody, for money—you’ve got to admit it’s nasty.”
“I admit nothing of the kind,” Remi retorted, stubbornly.
“Well, you’re ballsy, and you’ve got the courage of your convictions. I have to say that for you,” Jean Baptiste acknowledged.
Changing the subject, the three men discussed that ever-popular topic, sports.
Remi consulted his wristwatch. As pleasant as it was to hang out with Maxim and Jean Baptiste, it was also getting a little late, and he was more than a little drunk and stoned.
“Well, this has been fun, guys, but I’d better start thinking about heading home,” he said.
Maxim looked at the windows, upon which the rain was still pelting. “It’s still raining like a bitch out there. I’m not going to send you out there in that and have you stand at a bus stop, waiting. Not even if I lend you an umbrella! Of course, I can always drive you home. I’d be glad to. But you don’t have to get up and be anywhere first thing in the morning, do you?”
“No,” Remi said.
“Unlike me,” Jean Baptiste interjected. “I’ve got to go into work. And I have to be on time. Can’t afford to fuck up this new job, not while I’m still on probation.”
“Well, you can spend the night here, Remi, the same as Jean Baptiste,” Maxim suggested.
“Can I?” Remi asked.
“Sure. Why not? Just one thing. Jean Baptiste and I will sleep together, in my bedroom. I’ve only got my bed, with a full size mattress, in there. It’s big enough for two guys—if they’re friendly,” Maxim said, frankly. “But with three, it can get kind of crowded. But this sofa opens up into a folding bed, and it’s actually quite comfortable. I bought it because I knew it’d come in handy when I have more than one overnight guest, from out of town. It’s all yours.”
“That’ll be fine,” Remi assured Maxim.
“Great! Let me get you some sheets and pillows and blankets.”
Working as a team, the three men moved the coffee table out of the way, opened the sofa bed, and quickly made it up.
Remi excused himself, to go use the bathroom.
“Look in the medicine cabinet,” Maxim told him. “You’ll see a couple of new toothbrushes, unopened. Help yourself to one of them. I always keep a supply of extras on hand—for unexpected overnight company.”
Jean Baptiste laughed. “Maxim, you slut!”
“I resent that,” Maxim said, in a mock-haughty tone of voice. “I prefer to think of it as fulfilling my duties as a host.”
“You can fulfill most of them, once we’re in bed together,” Jean Baptiste suggested. “Meanwhile—do I get a new toothbrush, too?”
“If you’re good,” Maxim decreed.
“Buddy, I’m always good! As you very well know.”
Amused by the two friends’ banter, Remi retreated to the bathroom. There, he took a long, leisurely piss, and then he did attend, scrupulously, to his oral hygiene. Returning to the living room, he unselfconsciously stripped naked, in front of the other two men—both of whom, but Jean Baptiste in particular, observed his undressing with undisguised interest.
“Sweet,” Jean Baptiste declared, scrutinizing Remi’s nude body from head to foot. “No wonder you’ve decided to start selling it.”
Remi blushed. Maxim had obviously been telling his buddy Jean Baptiste all about Remi and Guiche. “Aw, come on, man,” Remi pleaded. “Don’t bust my balls.”
“No offense meant,” Jean Baptiste insisted. “Unlike my buddy Maxim, here, I don’t have any prejudice against hustlers, and I wouldn’t dream of putting a guy down for doing that. Hell, if you’ve got it, exploit it—that’s how I look at it.”
“Have you—?” Remi asked, hesitantly.
“Hustled? Occasionally. More or less by accident. A guy offered to pay me, and I said, ‘sure, why not?’ My problem is, I like sex too much to make a business out of it. Whenever I hook up with a really hot guy, I get so turned on, I’m almost ready to pay him. Luckily, so far I’ve never had to. It’s always been the other way around, on those few occasions.”
“Then this could be the night,” Maxim joked. “Just leave the money on my nightstand, okay?”
“Oh, you’re a laugh riot, dude,” Jean Baptiste scoffed. “If I want to be with a pro, then I’ll spend the night out here, with Remi.”
“You’re embarrassing me,” Remi protested. He got into the sofa bed, and pulled the bedclothes up over his lower body, covering himself from the waist down.
“Sorry, kid,” Jean Baptiste said—although he didn’t look or sound particularly penitent. “I just enjoy yanking my buddy Maxim’s chain. You’re collateral damage, the victim of my scattershot wit—that’s all.”
“Come on, you comedian,” Maxim said, gruffly. “Let’s go to bed. Got everything you need, Remi?”
“Absolutely.”
“We’ll see you in the morning, then. Sleep tight.”
“I will. Goodnight, guys.”
“Goodnight,” Maxim said, and Jean Baptiste echoed him.
As he and Jean Baptiste left the living room, Maxim switched off the light. Remi was left alone in his bed, in the darkness, with the steady rainfall still drumming monotonously against the windowpanes. He heard the other two men’s voices, indistinctly, as they shared the bathroom. He heard the toilet flush. A moment later, he heard Maxim’s bedroom door open and close.
Remi stretched out nude on top of his improvised bed, under the layers of warm covers. His imagination was now free to wander.
Lurid, pornographic images flashed through his mind—of Maxim and Jean Baptiste lying naked on a bed together, in a sixty-nine position, sucking hungrily on each other’s dicks. Of the two men swallowing each other’s cum. Remi visualized them playing with each other’s assholes, fingering the tiny puckered apertures, penetrating and finger-fucking them. An even grosser picture suddenly formed in his imagination. Jean Baptiste lying on his belly with his legs spread, with Maxim lying on top of him, shoving his cock up the big man’s butch ass. Remi could almost hear Jean Baptiste moaning, “Fuck me, Maxim! Fuck my ass!” Begging for dick, like a slut. Begging for it, the way R
emi now always did whenever Guiche screwed him. “Fuck me! Oh, fuck my hole!”
Finding the thought of the other two men sleeping together, presumably after enjoying some hot, energetic sex, strangely stimulating, Remi lay there in the quiet and the dark for a moment, listening—but he couldn’t hear anything further. Frustrated, he impulsively decided to shoot the works, so to speak. Now, he might as well take a calculated risk. He got up quietly, left the living room, and padded nude and barefoot down the hall, pausing in front of Maxim’s closed bedroom door. If he got caught standing out there in the hall, bare-assed naked, by the two men, he could always claim he was making a trip to the bathroom, which was in fact located nearby, at the end of the hall. But Remi doubted they’d be coming out of the bedroom soon.
His audacity was well rewarded. He could hear what was going on in the bedroom, and much more clearly than he’d anticipated!
Remi listened excitedly to the sex sounds the two men were making. Their voices carried faintly through the door, above the hum of a fan which Maxim had obviously switched on, to circulate the air through his room—and also, perhaps, because he thought a little “white noise” might help to mask the telltale noises he and Jean Baptiste were making. It was like hearing only the soundtrack of a gay porno film, without the visual images—which images, however, Remi’s hyperactive imagination was more than able to supply.
“Suck it,” he heard Maxim whisper, in an urgent, pleading tone of voice. “Oh, suck it for me, buddy! Yeah, just like that … get that hot mouth of yours all the way down on it. Oh, sweet Jesus, Jean Baptiste! That feels so good.”
Grunts and slurps emanated from the other guy’s mouth as he fed on Maxim’s prick.
“Beat off while you blow me,” Maxim demanded. “Work that prick of yours with your fist. We can change places in a minute. Then I’ll suck yours and jerk mine.”
Without thinking about it, Remi lowered his hand to his own groin. He stood there, his head tilted toward the door, his ear listening avidly—and doing his best to interpret the probable significance of what he heard. Now Jean Baptiste, in a low, hushed voice, was encouraging Maxim to suck him—and Maxim’s mouth made quite a lot of noise while he employed it on his buddy’s cock. Maxim even gagged, several times; but judging by the sounds which immediately followed the retching, he refused to let go of Jean Baptiste’s cock, but persevered.
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