“My dick isn’t going anywhere now,” Bob promised. “I’m going to ream out your hole!”
“Do it! Oh, do it! Fuck me,” Urban begged.
“Yeah, fuck him,” Daniel urged, between swipes with his tongue against Bob’s ass.
Abandoning himself to his lust, Bob began working his dick back and forth, feeling the tight, spasmodically aroused membranes lining the inside of Urban’s long, narrow anal tube constrict against the cylindrical bulk of his erection.
Urban was lost in anal ecstasy under him, writhing and moaning, shouting obscenities, rivulets of sex-sweat running down his handsome, lust-contorted face. Bob thrust his penis harder and harder, deep into the guy’s wildly humping ass, with each stroke!
All the while, Daniel was rimming Bob’s ass from behind, desperately licking his entire crack, trying to keep his hot tongue plunged inside the asshole itself despite Bob’s frantic humping motions against his sweat-shiny and red-flushed face.
“You pretty blond muscle fuck,” Bob taunted his buddy. “You pass-around bottom! Coach’s pet … Coach’s whore!”
Urban didn’t object. Bob hadn’t said anything which wasn’t true!
“Tell us something we don’t already know, Bob,” Urban suggested. “For example—which tastes sweeter, pussy boy? Mezey’s asshole, or his wife’s cunt?”
“You mouthy, smart-assed prick!” Bob raged. “I’m going to fuck you so hard, I’ll hurt you with my cock! That’ll teach you!”
“Do it, dude, if you’re man enough. Which I doubt. All I feel right now is a feeble little tickling in there, like when the doctor gives me a prostate exam.”
“Bitch! Bitch! Bitch!” Bob yelled.
“Fucker!” Urban shouted, right back at him. “Come on, dude, do your worst!”
Daniel tried to be the voice of reason. He interrupted his sucking of Bob’s ass long enough to gasp out, “Now, guys—play nice!” Then he resumed his hungry tongue-fucking of Bob’s spasming hole.
When Daniel felt Bob’s buttocks tense and go rigid, he no doubt knew Bob was about to unload his cock into Urban’s butt—so Daniel crushed his face hard against Bob’s slippery-wet crack and kissed his ass, his lips compressed against the bodybuilder’s sphincter muscle with a leech-like suction, his tongue rammed as deep into Bob’s hot hole as it could possibly reach.
That did it! As Bob started coming inside Urban’s ass, he knew that Daniel could feel the thick, hard perineum muscle between his legs tense and throb, helping to pump that sperm into his gym buddy’s asshole, and that Daniel could also feel Bob’s own butch asshole pulsating strongly against his tongue with each spurt of his jism.
As though it were dissolving into a jet of white-hot flame spat out from the tip of a welding torch, Bob’s cock seared deeply into Urban’s anal flesh, blasting a thick load, contained by the condom, into the fair-skinned stud’s shudderingly responsive rectum.
Bob’s taut belly and the fronts of his thighs banged down against Urban’s firm ass cheeks again and again, and with each slap his dick lost another fiery spurt of cum deep in the blond’s guts.
Bob emptied his balls completely, feeling his gushing jism lubricating the shaft of his prick inside the rubber encasing it while he went on fucking the other guy, his spurting tool sliding back and forth inside the other warm sweaty body long after it had been drained of its semen.
Daniel, too, continued to suck Bob’s ass for him while the bodybuilder from Budapest lay on top of Urban’s back, relaxing, his cock still hard, still jammed tightly up his buddy’s ass—spent, but refusing to go soft at first.
Finally, though, Bob gently pushed Daniel away, he rolled off of Urban, and the three men smiled at each other while they grabbed the hotel’s towels and slowly wiped themselves off.
Urban and Daniel both kissed Bob on the mouth and slapped him on the ass.
“Should we wake up Coach?” Urban whispered.
“No,” Bob replied. “Might as well let him sleep. And we’d better be getting back to our own room. Hey, here’s an idea, Daniel. You stay here. You can sleep in the other bed. And, in the morning, when Coach wakes up—probably hungover, and with a big piss hard-on—then you can take care of him.”
“Good idea,” Daniel agreed.
“Just make sure you get home before your parents guess what you’ve been up to,” Urban cautioned.
Daniel grinned. “No problem. I’ll call down to the front desk, and tell them to give me a wakeup call. That way, I can rouse Kolos from his stupor, screw him, and still have time to shower and catch a bus back home. It’ll all work out perfectly. God, I’m glad I met you two studs! What a great time this has been!”
Urban and Bob agreed. After embracing and kissing Daniel, they threw on their clothes, and they retreated down the hallway, to the discreet safety of their own room, to recuperate from the energetic, exhausting sex party in their own beds.
Bob felt too drained by the night’s activities, by the remarkably intense and prolonged sex he’d just enjoyed, to shower again. He could always do that in the morning. So he just undressed and collapsed on his bed, naked, not even bothering to cover himself, ready to fall asleep.
Inexplicably, he experienced a sudden awareness of guilt.
Damn, I just cheated on Adolar—again! I’m such a whore. Couldn’t help myself, though. Those three guys were just too hot, and the sex was too damn good. I don’t regret it, not really. And what the fuck? Adolar doesn’t have to know anything about it. I told him I was going out of town, with my team, for a game. Perfectly true, as far as it went. He needn’t know what else went on once we got here. What goes on in Debrecen, stays in Debrecen!
Then Bob caught himself.
Huh? How can I “cheat” on Adolar, when we’re not in a real relationship, and we decided from the start that we’re both perfectly free to screw around with other guys? To say nothing of other women. And the dude’s married, after all. He’d never leave Vanessza. Not for me. Not for any man.
Frigging muscle stud! He knows damn well I can’t resist him … that I’ll do anything he wants. Even fuck his wife … which I have to admit is kind of enjoyable. Aw, shit, I’m so confused!
I’ve got nothing to feel guilty about. Adolar doesn’t own me. I’m not answerable to him.
Still—I feel kind of bad, for some reason. Why?
Well, what’s done is done. Can’t be undone!
I must be too tired, too fucked out, to think clearly. I’d better get some sleep.
In the morning, Bob asshole felt slightly sore from the prolonged rimming which Daniel’s talented tongue had given it. But Bob consoled himself with the reflection that it was probably nothing compared to what Urban was feeling this morning, after the reaming Bob had given him!
When the soccer players trooped downstairs to the hotel’s dining room for breakfast, before catching their train back to Budapest, Daniel was conspicuous by his absence. No doubt he’d gotten home safely, with his parents not suspecting a thing—a fact which Urban confirmed later, when he talked to Daniel during the train ride.
For his part, Kolos certainly possessed an enviable resilience. He presided over the breakfast, looking as fresh and unfatigued as though he’d done nothing more strenuous the night before after the game than get ready for bed, and sleep—chastely alone.
“Parts of last night are a bit of a blur, to me,” he whispered to Bob at the station, as the team got ready to board the train. “I, uh, didn’t do anything I ought to be embarrassed or ashamed about, did I?”
“No, Coach,” Bob assured him. “You were just fine. We had a good time, all four of us. We can always count on you to coach us well, you know.”
“Thanks, Bob. That’s good to hear.”
“Ah—when you woke up this morning, with Daniel in the bed beside you—?” Bob inquired, hesitantly.
Kolos had a nostalgic look on his handsome face. “Oh, yes. We had a nice little ‘coaching session,’ just the two of us, before we showered, and we had to ge
t dressed, so he could go on his way, and I could come down and join you guys for breakfast. Daniel’s a fine athlete. Just like you and Urban. I’m very proud of you all. And very grateful to you, too.”
Chapter Twenty: An Amateur Porn Shoot
It wasn’t a Friday night in Budapest. No, it was a Saturday evening in the Hungarian capitol city. Barto wasn’t working at the adult video store tonight, and he and Szonja were doing what any respectable young married couple ought to be doing at home together. They had invited a man over for dinner, and now that dinner was over, they both had every intention of seducing him.
Not that Istvan seemed to be requiring much in the way of seduction. He was obviously more than willing. The moment he’d rung the doorbell of the couple’s apartment, and Barto had let him in and introduced him to Szonja, the alluring and seductive Szonja had embraced and kissed Istvan as though the two of them were old friends—or rather, as though they were old lovers. Her kiss had a fervor in it that could be considered inappropriate behavior for a married woman who was meeting a man for the very first time. But neither Szonja nor Barto had much use for propriety. Neither, for that matter, did Istvan. The moment the young college stud saw Barto’s beautiful, sexy wife, he seemed bedazzled by her.
Now, the three of them were sitting in the living room, enjoying a round of stiff after-dinner drinks. Szonja had encouraged Istvan to sit on the sofa between her and Barto, so that Barto could “casually” drape an arm around Istvan’s shoulders, in approved buddy-buddy fashion, and Szonja could rest one of her hands just as “casually” on Istvan’s knee, and give it a squeeze. Istvan didn’t protest, or try to pull away from either of them. He was enjoying himself.
As they drank, they talked. Not entirely by coincidence, the subject of bisexual-themed porn videos came up. Istvan, encouraged by his hosts, rambled on a bit, about how much he’d enjoyed seeing Adolar Mezey in action.
It was ironic. Only a short while ago, Istvan had despised the notorious Mr. Hungary, even holding him up to ridicule, and thoroughly disapproving of his brother’s friendship with him. Now, though, Istvan’s attitude had altered dramatically. He envied Bob, and he was tempted to ask his kid brother to introduce him to Adolar!
“You can make your own, you know,” Barto said.
“Your own what?” Istvan asked.
“Your own porn videos. Homemade amateur porn. Szonja and I have started to do that, with the video camera she gave me for my birthday. It’s a blast.”
“No kidding?” Istvan was intrigued. “Are these videos only for your own, private consumption?”
“So far,” Szonja admitted.
“That’s too bad. I’d like to see one of them,” Istvan said.
“We’d be glad to show you one. Although you mustn’t expect to see the kind of production values that a porn star like Mezey gets, to make him and his playmates look good. But,” Barto added, with a laugh, “take my word for it. It’s a hell of a lot more fun to make one than it is to just sit back and watch one!” He smiled at Istvan. “How’d you like to star in our next one?”
“Me?” Istvan was all wide-eyed innocence and modesty.
“Yeah, you. You and Szonja. I can film you two doing it together. Why not? You’re not shy, are you, Istvan?”
“No, I’m not shy. If anything, I guess I’m a bit of an exhibitionist!”
“Well, you’re in good company,” Szonja assured him. “So are Barto and I! We love to show off … I love to perform with another man, while Barto watches. It’s even more exciting when Barto uses the camera, and he records the fun so we can view it later, as often as we want.”
The three of them talked about it some more. But, by the time Barto brought out his video camera to show it to Istvan, the latter had already made up his mind. He was willing to do it. He was going to appear in an amateur adult video!
Szonja and Barto had already prepared their bedroom in anticipation of entertaining their guest in there. The bed was freshly made and turned down. Condoms, lube, and a stack of towels were set out on the nightstand beside the bed. Now that they’d committed themselves to filming, all they had to do was make the lighting in the bedroom considerably stronger and more uniform. They did this by turning on the ceiling light fixture, and bringing in a photographer’s lamp on a tripod, which Barto aimed so that it threw a pool of bright light directly on the bed. He had a second tripod, upon which he could mount the video camera, if he chose.
“Welcome to the studio,” he joked. “The home of zero-budget porn productions!”
In the bedroom, Istvan studied the setup as he began to strip. He was a polite guest, who folded each article of his clothing after he removed it, and he deposited his things neatly on top of one of the chests of drawers. When he was standing there completely nude, both Barto and Szonja savored the sight of his muscular body and large cock. His penis was already stirring, abandoning its flaccid state and beginning to arc up and away from his groin in semi-erection.
Barto busied himself getting the camera ready.
It was only then that Istvan began to have second thoughts.
“Hey,” he said. “There isn’t any chance my grandmother is ever going to see this video, is there? She’d kill me!”
Both Szonja and Barto burst out laughing.
“I think I can guarantee that she’ll miss your film debut,” Barto promised. “But if your grandmother ever decides she needs any porn, bring her to the store and introduce her to me. I’ll give her a special senior citizen discount.”
Istvan smiled at Szonja. Then, with a movement so smooth, so swift that she didn’t have time to think of resisting, he took her in his arms and kissed her hard on the mouth. Her lips remained closed tightly for an instant, but then they opened and her hands went up to him, pulling him nearer, harder against her. Her tongue met his inside their joined mouths.
She molded herself against his firm chest as his hands slid down her sides, resting on the curves of her hips. Breaking away from him, she stood there staring at him, gasping for breath, her mouth still savoring the taste of his kiss.
“Don’t waste it,” Barto urged. “Save it for the shoot!”
Szonja excused herself, and she went into the large walk-in closet next to the bedroom. She had the space set up as a dressing room. She wanted to change into something more alluring for the camera. She undressed, not looking at herself in the mirror at first, because she was almost ashamed of her raw sexual need, which she was sure must be blatantly apparent on her face. She slipped into a pair of her prettiest black silk panties, added sheer black stockings held up by a garter belt, and completed the outfit by encasing her torso in what the lingerie boutique she’d bought it from described as a “cupless underbust corset,” black satin trimmed with hot pink lace. The underwiring built into the tight-fitting corset-like garment pushed her bare breasts upward and outward, making her look like a high-class whore—which, of course, was the look she was striving for. Now she did look at herself in the mirror as she fixed her makeup and brushed her hair.
She returned to the bedroom. Istvan was lying on the bed naked. He had the sheet drawn up to his waist, and his hair, his broad shoulders and deep chest, and his well-developed arms all contrasted vividly against the pale bed linens. His erection served as a tent pole, lifting the sheet from his groin. Staring at him lustfully, for a moment Szonja couldn’t move or speak!
But Istvan was gazing just as incredulously, as worshipfully, at her. “You look beautiful,” he breathed.
“Yes, doesn’t she?” Barto agreed. He was already holding up the video camera, ready to record.
“Thank you,” Szonja said. “How should we begin, Barto?”
“Why don’t you just go over to the bed, but slowly. You and Istvan maintain eye contact. Keep it kind of provocative and smoldering at first. Tease each other. Let a little suspense build. And then, Szonja, you finally join him on the bed … and the two of you do whatever comes naturally. Whatever you like.”
Barto
looked and sounded so serious that Szonja couldn’t help teasing him a little, by making a joke. “But what’s my character’s motivation, Mr. Director?”
“Your ‘motivation’ is your cunt and Istvan’s cock,” her husband retorted. “It’s what happens when they get together. What else do you need?”
“Not a damn thing! I’m ready when you are, honey.”
“And are you ready, Istvan?” Barto asked. “You sure look as though you are!”
“I was born ready, buddy,” Istvan boasted.
“I’ll be recording sound as well as video, so don’t be afraid to talk dirty,” Barto reminded Istvan. “And if you stumble over your words or make a movement you think is awkward, don’t sweat it. Just keep going, unless I say ‘cut.’ This is cinéma vérité, remember. We want to keep it real—and raw.”
“But romantic,” Szonja insisted.
“Whatever,” her husband said. “The important thing is that we all have a good time. Okay—ready, set—and action!”
Szonja followed the suggestions Barto had made. She played the role of the seductress to perfection, posing for Istvan, flaunting herself in front of him, provoking him. Moving like a stripper on stage, she wriggled out of her panties and tossed them aside, but she left her garter belt on. Her pussy and her ass were now fully exposed, and she wasn’t shy about showing them off.
But then, to Barto’s delight, Istvan, like Szonja, proved to be quite adept at improvisation. Without taking his eyes away from Szonja for so much as a second, he sat up on the bed, and, with a dramatic gesture, he swept the sheet away from his lower body, exposing himself. Szonja gave the camera a great “reaction shot” as she stared at Istvan’s boner.
Istvan reached down and began to play with himself. Now he was the one who was doing the teasing. He masturbated for Szonja’s benefit—and for the camera’s—and then he slid out of the bed and walked toward her. Naked, he was muscular but not excessively blocky, with no hips to speak of and a flat, hard stomach—and, to Szonja’s delight, massive genitals, every bit as big as her husband’s. He had a beautiful round, hard, man’s ass. That was what she liked in a man—his cock and his butt. She liked the way Istvan was built. She also liked the fact that he obviously admired and wanted her, too.
Bisexual Bodybuilders Vol 2 Page 9
