Hot Nights in the South of France
by
Henri Couesnon
Copyright © 2018 Henri Couesnon
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales, or to persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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Published by: Henri Couesnon
Cover design by: Muzio Scaevola
Table of Contents
Author’s Introduction: The Night Air of Summer
Chapter One: His Wanton Ways
Chapter Two: The Best Escort in the South of France
Chapter Three: Shower of Pleasure
Chapter Four: Daddy’s Bad Boy
Chapter Five: Fishers of Men
Chapter Six: Tourist Trade
Chapter Seven: Extreme Muscle Worship
Chapter Eight: Feast of Flesh
Chapter Nine: Another Muscle Monologue
Chapter Ten: Poolside Passion
Chapter Eleven: Sex on the Sand
Also by Henri Couesnon
Author’s Introduction: The Night Air of Summer
Sultry summer nights in the south of France! Is there anything to compare to them? I don’t think so. But then, I grew up there, so no doubt I’m prejudiced.
I remember warm, weighty, humid air, scented with salt from the nearby sea. This air seemed to hover, invisible yet tangible, densely around us as we sat outdoors at night. It was oppressive, and yet at the same time it was oddly soothing. We felt as though we could take a sharp knife and cut out cubes of that nocturnal atmosphere, to carry off and keep, as talismans, so we could later inhale the scent at will.
Those were innocent nights. The trouble is, when boys grow up, and they become men, they don’t always stay so innocent. They can turn out to be bad.
Well—there’s bad, as in guilty of comparatively harmless little peccadillos, including sexual lapses. And then there’s bad, as in big time sins and crimes!
Laurent, the protagonist of this story, would probably be condemned as pretty damn bad, by uptight bourgeois standards. But he stops short of real criminal activities. His sins, if you think of them as such, are sexual.
Who am I to judge?
Is Laurent based on a real-life friend of mine? Come now, I’m not telling. Everybody knows I’m the soul of discretion.
Nostalgia—ah, how poignant our memories can be!
Chapter One: His Wanton Ways
The man’s name was Xavier, but his intimates all called him by his childhood nickname, which was Zizi. He came from a very wealthy family of industrialists, and, able to hire people to run his factories for him, he was in the enviable position of not having to work for a living. Scrupulously, he devoted an hour or so each day to monitoring and managing his money, usually with the help of his financial advisers, whom he consulted by phone or over the internet. The rest of the time, he could spend amusing himself. And that was exactly what he did.
Still in his thirties, Zizi was a handsome man, who pampered himself, keeping in good shape with the assistance of a personal trainer. He liked to travel, and, when he was at home in the south of France, to entertain.
His parties tended to be lavish, and an invitation to one of them was a coveted prize. Zizi was openly gay, single, and unabashedly promiscuous. As a result, the get-togethers he hosted were often all-male affairs, always with lots of attractive young men on the guest list. To spice things up a bit, Zizi sometimes hired one or more professional escorts, to mingle with his guests and provide some additional eye candy. Not surprisingly, these parties could turn into sex parties, before the night was over, with naked men disporting themselves amorously in every room of the house, and indeed outdoors.
It was on one of these occasions that Zizi had first met Laurent. A friend had recommended Laurent to him, claiming that Laurent was the best escort he’d ever hired. Curious, Zizi had engaged the male prostitute’s services, to help liven up his next party.
Talk about going above and beyond the call of duty! Not only was Laurent a stunningly handsome man, with a fine physique and an apparently indefatigable, exceptionally large cock—the stud was a sex machine! You flipped his switch, and he just kept going. Laurent had coupled in gleeful abandon with several of Zizi’s friends, before the host claimed his prerogative and availed himself of the hustler’s services himself. Laurent had worn Zizi out—and then, proving himself to be a true fils de joie, he’d gone right on showing the guests a good time, long into the night.
Subsequently, Zizi became one of Laurent’s regular clients. Zizi booked the sultry male courtesan at least three times a month—four, when he was feeling especially frisky, and in the mood to give himself an extra treat. Zizi always hired Laurent for an in-call, at his home, and for all night. There was nothing cheap about Laurent. He commanded top fees, and hiring him so often put a slight but real dent in Zizi’s bank account. In addition, Zizi had arranged, on several occasions, for Laurent to accompany him on trips. These jaunts cost a small fortune, because in addition to paying all of Laurent’s expenses, Zizi was expected to compensate the escort for the fact that he wouldn’t be available to his other clients, while he was busy traveling with Zizi. But Zizi didn’t care. He had come to realize that a man could become addicted to another man, just as he might develop a helpless, irresistible craving for alcohol or recreational drugs. He was hooked on Laurent—but contentedly so.
And Laurent was that unusual phenomenon—an honest whore. When he and Zizi went out on a date, Laurent gave Zizi his undivided attention. In bed, Laurent never stinted, or gave less than full measure. Zizi had made Laurent some gifts of very expensive jewelry, including an Audemars Piguet wristwatch. He’d expected Laurent to sell the items, which Zizi thought of as bonuses, but in fact Laurent kept them, and he made a point of wearing them, when he was in Zizi’s company.
Zizi’s villa was located on the outskirts of Nice, north of the city. It was rather far from the seashore, which was an undeniable disadvantage, but by way of compensation it had a swimming pool, along with a garden and views of the nearby mountains.
It was a typically hot, dry night in this Mediterranean climate. Zizi, knowing how popular Laurent was, had taken care to book him well ahead of time. The two men had enjoyed a leisurely dinner, accompanied by plenty of wine—a fine cabernet sauvignon, which went well with the two main courses. In one skillet, Zizi cooked chicken thighs, with shallots. In another, he prepared bruschetta spaghetti, with the pasta cooked directly in the sauce. Zizi was a good cook, who enjoyed experimenting with new recipes in his kitchen.
After dining on the terrace, by the light of thick pillar candles set in hurricane lamps, Zizi and Laurent both stripped down and changed into swimming trunks. Zizi kept an assortment of such trunks, in various sizes, on hand for his guests to use—when they didn’t simply swim in the nude, which tended to happen, sooner or later. The trunk
s were all Vilebrequin styles, which Zizi preferred—outrageously expensive, but top quality, and always striking, especially when they were being modeled by a hot-bodied guy.
Laurent wore lime-green trunks with blue turtles swarming all over the background. Zizi sported trunks of a deep indigo blue, with pink starfish superimposed on the blue. After getting wet in the pool, they sat beside it, drinking more wine, gradually getting decidedly buzzed—mellowing out, feeling no pain.
Above them, the night sky was studded with stars. The terrace, poolside, was dotted with large terracotta pots at regular intervals, each pot planted with aloes, agaves, and other low-maintenance, low-water succulents. Nocturnal insects darted through the dense night air, restlessly, alighting only to fly away again. Otherwise, it was very quiet. The neighbors’ properties were far enough away to give Zizi plenty of privacy.
“God,” Zizi declared, in a voice rich with contentment. “These are my favorite times. Just being here with you—relaxing—enjoying your company. Without a care in the world.”
“And I always enjoy our times together,” Laurent responded—sincerely. Some of his regular clients were, inevitably, more fun to be with than others. Zizi was a genuinely nice guy, always a pleasure to be with. Laurent almost hated to take the man’s money—but he did.
“How hot you look in those turtle trunks,” Zizi observed, with a semi-drunken giggle.
“How hot you look, wearing those starfish,” Laurent responded.
“An aquatic, marine life theme—on both of us—”
“I don’t know why we bother, though, when none of your neighbors can see us, and we might as well swim bare-assed naked,” Laurent suggested, lewdly. “Which has been known to go on here, as I recall.”
“Shuck those high-priced trunks, if you want to,” Zizi urged.
“I do want to get wet, again. Think I’ll go in naked, this time.”
“Please do so. I could use a quick thrill,” Zizi pleaded.
“You strip down, too. Come in with me.”
“I’m kind of drunk. I could drown.”
“I’ll save you.”
“Are you a certified lifeguard?”
“I’m a certified mouth-to-mouth and mouth-to-cock resuscitator,” Laurent joked, brazenly.
Shedding the designer swim trunks, both men got into the pool, nude. They swam about languidly, or simply treaded water, but they also got playful, splashing and ducking each other, and indulging in some shameless dick-groping and grab-assing, below the waterline.
Climbing out of the pool, they didn’t bother to avail themselves of the nearby towels, to dry themselves. The night air would do that for them.
Dripping wet, they resumed their seats, nude this time, and they drank more wine.
“When are you going to abandon your wanton ways, and become my full-time, live-in lover?” Zizi asked, facetiously.
“When you ask for my hand in marriage, and make an honest man of me,” Laurent retorted.
Zizi laughed. “It’s not your hand I’d like to be married to. Hand jobs are all very well and good, so far as they go, but still—! There’s more. Much more. Do you think you could ever be monogamous?”
“I don’t know. I never have been. Have you?”
“Well—no. And I’m not certain I could start now Jesus, Laurent—I’m half drunk.”
“Are you? I think I’m more than half, myself.”
“You’re a bad influence on me. You encourage my vices.”
“As though they need any encouragement.”
“Ouch!” Zizi protested. “You know me too well. I’ve lost whatever mystery I may have once possessed for you.”
“Oh, there’s a lot to be said for familiarity, too,” Laurent said. “I feel comfortable with you. I couldn’t say that about some men.”
“So what you’re saying is—you’ve broken me in, like a new pair of shoes?”
“Or a male virgin’s butt?” Laurent suggested.
“Buddy,” Zizi scoffed. “It’s been so long since I was a virgin—!”
Laurent enjoyed their banter.
Zizi always hired Laurent for all night. The escort’s fee was accordingly large, compared to his hourly rate. But Zizi paid it without complaint, and in addition he always tipped Laurent generously. He was a man who believed that he deserved his pleasures, who indulged in them freely, and who didn’t mind paying for them. And Laurent was an altogether exceptional pleasure, well worth the price.
When a client was compatible—and Zizi was very good company—Laurent enjoyed such overnight gigs. There was no need to rush, the john invariably provided plenty of food and drink, including breakfast, and even the horniest of men couldn’t have sex for hours on end, nonstop. However intense the physical activity became, there’d be rest intervals, during which the two guys could relax and talk. Laurent was a good listener, a good conversationalist—a skill which was essential, for an escort on his level, who was often expected to provide more than just sex. He sold companionship, as well.
“It’s getting late. Let’s go inside, shall we?” Zizi suggested, softly.
“Sure.” Laurent knew that what his patron really meant was, let’s go to bed. Play time was over. It was time for Laurent to perform, and earn his money. Laurent was ready.
In the luxuriously furnished and decorated master bedroom, the bed was turned down, waiting to be occupied. Zizi had a quite sophisticated lighting system installed in most areas of his house. Here in the bedroom, dimmer knobs by the door, and also on the wall within easy reach of anyone who was seated or lying on the bed, controlled not only the ceiling light and the table lamps, but additional bulbs hidden behind translucent wall panels. Zizi turned on only the latter, dimmed them to a pervasive soft, rather eerie glow—and then he chose a color. Tonight, he was in the mood for blue light, which was supposedly soothing, conducive to sleep. Not that Zizi had any intention of literally sleeping with his guest, for the time being!
Making himself at home on the bed, Laurent stretched out, waiting for Zizi to join him. Unable to contain himself, Zizi got onto the mattress and took the escort in his arms, pulling him against him. He ran his palms over the smooth surface of Laurent’s back, making his way down to the other man’s sensational ass, exploring every curve and crevice, feeling the tautness of the well-developed muscles under the flawless, pliant flesh. Laurent, Zizi had long ago decided, was the proud possessor of the best ass in the south of France, to look at and to touch, as well as to fuck. Already acutely aroused, Zizi kneaded the sexy mounds.
Laurent’s penis responded to this light massage by rearing its head in expectation, the shaft engorging itself with hotly pumping blood, the head swelling. Soon, the massive erection was twitching restlessly, extended at its full, proud length, and its tip was leaking a tantalizing trickle of sticky, potent pre-cum.
Somehow, Zizi resisted the urge to fondle the pulsating prick. Instead, he decided he’d tease Laurent, edge him a little.
In the wash of bluish light cast by the translucent panels, he closed his fist around Laurent’s right ankle and lifted his foot, sniffing at it appreciatively and enjoying its faint aroma. Like the rest of Laurent’s body, it smelled fresh, with a hint of lingering chlorine from the pool.
Leaning forward, Zizi kissed the sole, passionately. Laurent writhed and giggled in response to the tickling stimulation. He lay back, propping himself up on his elbows so that he could watch the other man work on him.
Zizi continued the foot kissing, progressing from Laurent’s instep to his heel, and then licking forward again until his could apply the warmth of his sensuous lips to the area just below the toes. He flicked his wet tongue out like a lizard and he swabbed the bottom of Laurent’s big toe, and the escort squirmed with pleasure. Zizi gripped his ankle firmly, not allowing the foot to evade his insistent oral caresses, even though Laurent began jerking about restlessly on the bed.
Suddenly, lustfully, Zizi sucked the big toe inside his mouth, soaking it in his spit, b
athing it in his hot, slippery saliva, lashing his agile tongue over the sensitive piggy. He sucked on the stubby, fleshy protuberance, inserting his tongue-tip into the space between the big toe and the one next to it. He savored the pungent, intense flavor of sweat, his mouth watering in response to the stimulating taste. He sucked harder, as though intoxicated, washing Laurent’s toes with his hot saliva. He moved on to the next toe and then to its neighbor, licking, swabbing, sucking, never stopping, maddened by the taste of the foot flesh.
“Ah, you freaking pervert,” Laurent gasped. He was mad with lust. His head pounded, his pulses beat violently, and his eyes rolled back on their sockets. Expertly, Zizi was stimulating his feet, the most vulnerable parts of his body, even more susceptible than his genitals.
“There’s nothing perverted about being a gourmet, who knows a good thing when he tastes it,” Zizi retorted, between licks and sucks.
“That tickles—!” Laurent protested.
“Man up and take it,” Zizi advised, before he resumed the shrimping, even more passionately.
“Ah, you toe-sucking bastard!” Laurent shouted. Zizi had scarcely touched his neglected, throbbing cock so far, and yet, Laurent felt ready to climax, at any moment. His john was edging him—driving him insane with frustration. If a guy didn’t come when he was so desperately aroused, he might die! He felt as though his toes were an erogenous zone, connected directly to his cock and balls, as susceptible to stimulation as his genitals. Every swipe of Zizi’s hot tongue vibrated through Laurent’s foot and leg, shooting up to his crotch, inspiring a fierce answering throb through the blood-engorged flesh of his cock.
Pre-seminal fluid was leaking freely from Laurent’s piss slit, staining the taut ridges of his stomach muscles, and he tossed his head restlessly from side to side on Zizi’s bed, filling the silent air of the luxurious bedroom with his uninhibited moans. Laurent was as hotly aroused as he could ever remember having been with a john, even though their lovemaking was still in its early stages. He well knew that Zizi had further delights in store for them. He was a marathon runner, when it came to sex. This was just the first part of a long, lewd journey, for both of them! Laurent knew that he needed to try to calm down, to pace himself, to hang in for the long haul.
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