A kinky story written by Pete Brown.
Illustration by Theo Blaze

The notices seemed to be all over the campus – “Need extra money? Have a couple of hours to spare in the evening? Fit and strong? Call……”

Well it seemed to suit me. I mean, I don’t have wealthy parents or anything, and I’ve never got enough money – it’s one of the reasons why I don’t have a regular girlfriend as I can’t afford to take her out and party and stuff. I know the politicians say that it’s good to be working your way through uni, but they should try it – there’s 22,000 of us in the town, and how many part time jobs do you think there are, especially those in the evenings that won’t interfere with lectures? And I’m on the gymnastics team, too, and although it’s good to work out with the other blokes and represent the uni, that’s more time in the evenings I don’t have (and more expense, too, as when we travel to away meets, we’re expected to pay the transport and stuff). So I called, and was asked to meet a guy in a town-centre pub that evening – he heard my reluctance and at once asked me if it was because I was under age so I told him that it was because there was a practice that evening, and also that I didn’t have any money to go drinking! He seemed interested in all of that, but said we should meet after the practice, which was OK, I suppose, and that he’d be buying.

It was after nine by the time I got to the pub and it had that kind of late-evening atmosphere – all the commuters had gone home, and it was mostly the hard core drinkers who had settled down for the evening and who had already had enough to drink to make the conversation noisy and boisterous. I pushed my was past the drinkers standing up, and stood there hesitatingly. A well-dressed man came over from a corner where he’d been sitting – I suppose I’d noticed him as I went in as he didn’t seem to be “with” any of the parties of drinkers, and he looked a bit out of things, especially as he was in a business suit, white shirt and silk tie whereas a lot of the other men in the pub were a lot more casual.

“Steve?”, he asked, holding out his hand as if expecting to be right. “And you said you liked a pint after practice, didn’t you? I’m Jon. Is the stuff from their own micro brewery all right for you, or do you want something else?” I said it was OK – I never drank that stuff myself normally, as it’s a lot more expensive, and he ordered, got served, and we took our drinks over to the corner table where he’d been sitting. We clinked glasses – he had a lime and soda or something like that, I noticed, and drank. It was good, and it slipped down a treat. It was easy to talk to Jon. He asked me a few questions and soon I was telling him how tough it was for me, the lack of money, how horny I was without a regular girl friend, how I enjoyed keeping in shape, and so on. Suddenly he stopped asking and said “Well, Steve, here’s the proposition: I represent a group in the city who are interested in seeing men’s bodies, and you seem to be ideal for our purposes. We like very early twenties, and men who are trim and fit but not over muscled. I get a lot of rugby players interested, but most of them are forwards from the scrum, and they tend to be a bit over weight: it’s all the drink, I suppose. But I see you don’t have that problem…”

“Look, Jon, thanks for the drink. But I don’t think it’s me. Not having a lot of men looking at my body.”

“I thought you were on the gymnastics team, you told me? Is this all done in private, then?”

“No, of course not. But we’ve got proper kit….”

“Which you’d be very welcome to wear. Well, the shorts, anyway – we do of course want to see the rest of your body.”

” No, honestly. It doesn’t sound right. I mean, it sounds a bit…. Well….” I hesitated, as I didn’t want to use a word like “perverted” to Jon, as he was one of the men I suppose.

Jon smiled. “A lot of the young men we have in front of us hesitate at first. But it’s all pretty harmless, you know. There’s a long tradition throughout history of men admiring the grace and power of youth. And I could argue that when you do a gymnastics display, that’s what in effect you’re doing anyway – most of the audience are much older than you, aren’t they?” “Well I suppose so. People of my age take part, it’s not really a spectator sport for us. But you can’t do it as well as you get older…”

“There you are then. You are used to showing your body in front of older men. And all I’m offering is that you’d get well paid for it. We’ll give you two hundred and fifty quid for an hour and a half. How’s that?”

It sounded fantastic! But it still seemed to be too good to be true. So I asked a lot more questions, not that I learned a lot. Finally Jon said “Look, Steve, I haven’t got all night. I need someone for Saturday night, and if you don’t want to do it, there are plenty who do. So is it yes, or no?”

I thought about the two fifty and what a difference that would make for the rest of the term, and nodded. Jon shook my hand, asked me for my address, and said there’d be a taxi to pick me up at eight on Saturday. “It’s in town, but we naturally keep the location discrete”, he added. “And don’t bother to dress up – casual, jeans, T-shirt… And whatever underwear you normally wear, of course.”

For the rest of the week I thought about changing my mind and calling Jon and backing out of the whole thing off, but the thought of the two fifty always stopped me. I was on tenterhooks most of Saturday afternoon, then had a long hot bath (I normally shower, but I thought a bath might make me cleaner), trimmed my finger nails and toe nails, shaved really well, and, I admit, trimmed my pubes a bit! Well a lot of us young blokes do – when I did have a regular girlfriend she almost made me do it. And on the gymnastics team we don’t like to walk around the changing room with pubic hear spraying out from around our jockstraps, so most of us trim a bit. Then I thought about underwear – I usually wear cheap boxers from a chain store as I can’t afford those flashy designer labels, but when I’d looked at them they’d all seemed to be a bit ‘tired’, so I’d dashed in to a cheap shop and bought a pair of briefs as I thought they might be more like Speedos, and I’d feel easier wearing them in public. Now, as I tore open the packet, I realised ‘d made a mistake – they were white cotton, but very thin – well, what do you expect for a pound? Still, there was no time to go out and buy any more, and I sorted through all my other stuff but nothing seemed quite as good as the briefs so I stuck to them. As I looked at myself in the mirror I did think they were quite “enhancing” – somehow my cock looked even bigger than it usually did in boxers

I sat around trying to watch some idiot game show on the TV, but I couldn’t concentrate. I looked at my e-mail, put some of my study papers in order, and was generally pacing around. In fact I was waiting outside the door, in the street, when the taxi pulled up. It was a perfectly normal cab, although the driver was one of those Eastern Europeans whose English was superficially OK, but who couldn’t really carry on a conversation, so we mostly sat in silence as we sped through the city centre and then out to one of the really expensive suburbs where I’d never really been before – very big houses, behind tall hedges and walls, all with gates. The driver kept looking at his satnav thing, and finally stopped – the gates must have been electric, as they soon opened and we drove up to a huge old Victorian mansion. Jon was waiting on the steps, and he paid the cab, which drove away, and he shook my hand again.

“Come on in, Steve. The guests are all here, enjoying a pre-dinner drink. Now, let me take a look at you…. Good…. Nice and casual, as I said. So we’ll go in, I’ll take you to the front, where there’s a small raised dais, you take off your trainers, jeans and T, and then simply circulate around the room. No need to talk – in fact, don’t say anything: our guests may comment on you to each other, but they won’t ask you any questions so there’s no need to reply.”

“Jon, look, I’ve been having second thoughts… I don’t think…”

“You can’t let me down now! All the guests are here. You’re not scared, are you?”

“No, not scared…. Just…. Well… It doesn’t seem natural, somehow….”

“There’s no time for this nonsense, Steve! I haven’t got time to philosophise with you. What could be more ‘natural’ than for a fine young man like you to display his body to other men? As I said, isn’t that what you do when you do a gymnastics display?”

“Well yes, but….”

“No ‘buts’, Steve. We had an agreement, and now I expect you do stick with it. Now, come on….”

Jon went off so confidently that I was kind of induced to follow he. He led me towards a big set of double doors, and from the other side I could hear the sounds of laughter and conversation – male laughter and conversation. There was a scent of alcohol and tobacco smoke in the air. He opened the doors – both of them so we made an “entrance”: the noise died down, and I saw that there were about twenty men in the large room, men in their fifties and sixties, I thought, all smartly dressed and standing around talking to each other with glasses of drink in their hands. “Gentlemen!”, Jon announced as the room fell silent. “Here we have tonight’s guest, Steve. Steve hasn’t done this kind of thing before – he hasn’t been a guest here at one of our little events – so be especially nice to him.”

There was a lot of general noise of assent to this, and a few of the men clapped their hands rather perfunctorily. Jon put his arm around my shoulder rather proprietarily, and led me to the other end of the room where there was a platform raised a foot or so above the rest of the room. He indicated I should step up on to it, then said casually “Right, Steve, in your own time – off with your trainers and jeans and T.”

“Jon, I’d rather not…”

“Steve, we had an agreement. Now get on with it. We can’t disappoint the audience. And remember the money!”

Blushing with embarrassment, and acutely aware that all the men in the room had now turned to watch me, I stood there. Music started up – loud, dance music, and as I felt my body move slightly to the rhythm, I felt a bit better. What else could I do, anyway? I could hardly brush past them all and walk out – well, I suppose I could have done, but that’s not like me, to chicken out of things. So I took a deep breath to try to give myself a bit of courage, attempted to force a smile on my face, and stood on one leg so I could pull one of my trainers off, followed by a reverse of the position to get the other. The men all looked appreciative as I did this, and there didn’t seem to be anything else to do so I reached down for the hem of my T – I was glad I’d worn a loose one – and pulled it up over my head and cast it aside.

Illustration by Theo Blaze

There was a lot of muttering and comment as I did this, and I saw the men whispering to each other and sort of nodding appreciatively in my direction. But then I froze – I knew I needed to undo the belt of my jeans and take them off, but I just couldn’t do it. Jon was standing at the side of the raised platform, and his voice came to me, calm and authoritative: “OK, Steve. Now the belt – just undo it. Then the fly, and let those jeans fall to the floor.”

I’m not sure I wanted to do it. And I’m also not sure that I didn’t want to do it. Time seemed t stand still as I did as he’d said. The room fell quiet, and in one of those flashes of reality you get sometimes, I was conscious, very conscious, of the feeling of my jeans as they disturbed the hairs on my legs as they went down.

“Step out of them, step away, and turn around”, Jon said, in that same authoritative voice. He’d obviously seen men like me in this position before, and somehow this gave me the courage to do as he said.

I stood there in my briefs, very conscious that hey weren’t as concealing as I’d thought. I felt certain the men could see the outline of my cock through the fabric at the front. And I tugged nervously at the waistband to pull it a bit higher in case any of my pubes were showing – which only made the outline of my cock worse, I suppose, thinking about it! The men had gone quiet as I did this,

but now the general conversation started again, and I heard a voice call out “The socks!”. I stood there, not really understanding what was going on, and several voices took up the cry “The socks! Take your socks off!”.

You know how it is – you have to hop from one foot to the other to take your socks off if you’re standing up, and as I did so I wobbled a bit and I suppose I couldn’t help turning a bit too. I felt the scarlet rush of blood to my face and shoulders get even worse as I heard a man near the front say “Nice ass! And good thighs – look at the way those briefs accentuate them….”

I stood there then, feeling the luxurious carpet against my bare feet. Somehow you feel even more naked when you’re barefoot on carpet, I think – I suppose it’s because you’re not used to the sensation. Jon’s voice came to me again “OK, Steve. Nearly there – just turn around two or three times, and ‘pose’ a bit – flex your arms, let the men see your muscles.”

Actually, once I’d done it and I realised that the men were all really  interested in seeing me do it, it wasn’t all that bad. Jon got up onto the platform after a couple of minutes and raised his hand for silence. “A Big hand for Steve, gentlemen……” – the room erupted into applause. Then he raised his hand for quiet again and went on “Steve is here for the rest of the evening, and now he’s going to act as a waiter so you’ll have plenty of time to observe him at closer quarters.”

He turned to me and put his arm around my shoulders again – I can distinctly remember the scratchy feel of the fabric of his jacket – and began to lead me off the platform. “What…?”, I began.

“Just go to the table at the back, take up a tray of drinks, and circulate.

We’re paying you for the evening, you know – and it’s OK – they won’t touch you, they only want to look.”

It was somehow utterly humiliating. Not because of being a waiter – I’d sometimes done evening and weekend jobs at big meetings and wedding receptions and things like that, so I was used to handing around a tray of drinks. No, it was the fact that these were all men much older than me, and fully clothed. And there I was just in my briefs, moving amongst them. Jon was right, though – they didn’t touch me. But I couldn’t help hearing all the comments they made about a “fresh young body” and “nice boy, seems to be very well hung” and “I bet those tits of his perk up well if he’s stroked”, and stuff like that.

I only had to do it for about half an hour and then Jon “rescued” me. He led me off into a corner and there was a big guy standing there, a lot younger than all the other men – in his early thirties, I’d guess. And unlike the mostly formally dressed audience, he was in jeans and a T, as I had been. “Steve, Zack…. Zack, Steve….”, Jon said, and the guy stuck out his hand, and we shook. His grip was firm and strong, and I could see that he obviously worked out as he was nicely muscled and he had a good flat belly as the belt on his jeans was kind of loose. He was smiling as he said “Hi”.

Jon turned to me and said “Zack used to be here when he was about your age, and he keeps coming back as the members really appreciate him. So you’ll be together, for the second ‘act’. Come on….”

Before I could say anything else, Jon led us back up onto the platform, clapped his hands for quiet, and began “So for the final part of tonight’s show, gentlemen… We have the ever-popular Zack, joining Steve here. One of our most experienced performers joins our beginner.”

There was a lot of clapping and some cheering now – I suppose the men had all drunk more. Zack stood there, smiling at the audience, and casually kicked at his trainers to get them off. Then, to my surprise, he undid his jeans and dropped them to the floor so that he was standing there in briefs and a T-shirt. There was a lot of clapping as he bent down then to pull his socks off, as I had, and then he manoeuvred his T up his body and over his head – I say “manoeuvred” as it was quite tight, and as he did so there was a lot of flexing of his muscles and general display of his body. We both stood there then, side by side, both in white briefs, and I could see – or was it that I imagined – the men in the audience making comparisons between us: Zack was older, taller by about six inches, and generally bigger and more solidly built than me. We both had some hair on our chests, but I think Zack’s was a lot more pronounced, and certainly his “treasure trail” disappearing down into his briefs was a lot thicker than mine. He was also quite nicely tanned, whereas I hadn’t had a lot of sun and I suppose I looked sort of “pasty” in comparison to him.

We stood there side by side for a minute, I suppose, then Zack did a few “poses” showing off his body and in particular the ridges of solid muscle across his belly. As he did this the men in the audience began to clap and whistle, then began a rhythmic chant of “Off, off, off….”

Zack smiled at them, and then, to my utter amazement, he pushed down his briefs and stepped out of them. His cock had obviously been held in tightly, because as it was freed it sprang out horizontally from his body – he’d got an erection! I could hardly believe it – I mean, everyone knows men have erections, and we even talk about it sometimes. But I’d never seen another man erect before – in the changing rooms at the sports hall, for example, if there was a danger of starting to go hard you very quickly dressed, or turned the shower to cold, or dodged into one of the toilet cubicles. Zack, though seemed to be totally unashamed, and even stroked his cock once or twice to kind of give it even greater prominence!

“OK, Steve, you now”, he said to me, looking directly into my face. No way!”

“Steve, the audience is expecting it. Come on – they want to compare us. Don’t be shy – I reckon you’ve got nothing to be ashamed of – a man with a nice body like yours generally has a nice dick too.”

“No, I said! No way am I going to expose myself!”

Zack put his arm around my shoulders, as Jon had done earlier. His skin was warm and slightly sweaty. He continued to look straight at me and in a low voice so that the audience couldn’t hear, said “Look, Steve, don’t spoil it for everyone. If you don’t strip those briefs off they’ll hold back on the tips, and I need the money! Now, get them off, or I’ll pull them down – some of the men will like that, seeing a young guy forcibly stripped. If you want to retain a bit of dignity, you’d better do it yourself.”

I stood there, shuffling my feet a bit, totally undecided. Was he bluffing? I began to think not, as his hand around my shoulder subtly tightened its grip as if trying to prevent me from escaping from him. Some of the audience were clapping and smiling, but some had not gone silent. Then all at once they seemed to get a collective view, as everyone began chanting again “Off! Off! Off!…”

“Come on, Steve – do you want a riot? If you’re not naked within ten seconds, I’ll pull them down. And then because you disobeyed me, I’ll spank your bare bum.”

Was he joking? I absolutely didn’t know. But I wasn’t going to risk it. I slowly – yes, it was slow, I can remember it almost exactly – very slowly, pushed my briefs down, feeling the elastic of the waistband over the root of my cock, and then one last shuffle and I felt them slide down my legs to fall on the top of my feet. I took a couple of small steps and kicked them to one side. I knew I was blushing bright, bright red now, and I could feel sweat breaking out all over me and a cold stream of it was trickling down over my ribs from under my pits.

Zack let go of me then and half turned me so I was sideways on to the audience, facing him. I knew the men could see his dick ramrod straight out in front of him, and, still with a smile on his face, he said “Come on, Steve – give them a it of a show: wank it a bit….”

Well there was no way I was going to do that, obviously. But to my horror I could feel that familiar sensation as blood rushes to your cock, and I knew I was far from being totally soft – I wasn’t rock hard, like Zack, but my cock was definitely swelling!

Zack turned around so his back was to the audience, and indicated that I should do the same. He raised his arms above his head to give greater definition to his shoulder, and seeing him nod at me, I did the same. I felt my buttocks tighten as I raised m arms, and knew that the little dimples at the base of my spine would now be very visible. The noise from the men had died down now, and I could hear lots of snippets of remarks about our bodies – although I hated to hear the men comment about my bum and my shoulders compared to Zack’s, I suppose I was getting a bit used to it and somehow it didn’t seem that dreadful. Zack turned to face the audience then, and I followed, but with my arms still in the air I now felt so exposed – somehow having my hands down had made me feel that I could cover my crotch if I wanted to, but now I was totally exposed, totally vulnerable. I could see Zack’s belly hard and flat and I suppose I unconsciously sucked mine in a bit – and as I did so the muscles tugged my cock up a bit – enough to send some sort of signal to my body that this was what was needed – I knew I was building a full erection, and there was fuck all I could do about it!

“Nice!”, Zack said at me in that low voice. “That’ll increase the tips. Come on, then, let’s give ’em a real show….”

With that, Zack stepped off the platform and stood there waiting for me. I felt so vulnerable up there naked all by myself, so I followed him. He put his arm around my shoulders again – somehow it felt very comforting – and we began to walk around the room, in and out of all the standing men. To my surprise instead of my erection shrivelling way with the embarrassment, it got harder and harder. And you know how it is for young men: my cock was way above the horizontal, in contrast to Zack’s which remained horizontal although it bobbed up and down as we walked.

We got back onto the platform and as we stood there the men began to clap and cheer, and Zack acknowledged them. Then he turned to me and said “OK, Steve…. Now for the big one, the finale.”

Before I could do anything he knelt down beside me and put one arm around my butt, curling his hand around my hip bone to keep me there. His shoulder was hard and muscular, and felt sweaty against my bare bum (or was it my sweat? Probably both, but I was past caring). I could feel his hot breath on m bare thigh as the hairs there were disturbed. Then his head bobbed down, and his lips closed around my erect cock!

Look, I’ve had blow jobs before of course – some of the girls I’d been with wouldn’t let me fuck them but could be persuaded, with a lot of effort, to blow me. So it’s not as if I hadn’t felt a hot, wet mouth on my cock before. But never from another man, and never in public. I tried to pull away, but Zack held me firmly. I reached down to push his head away if I could, but somehow only succeeded in pushing his head right into my body – I could feel his face buried in my pubes and I almost wanted to cry out with the tickling sort of sensation I felt. And Zack wasn’t prepared for it, as he started to cough and splutter as my cock must have triggered his gag reflex.

I don’t know what came over me. In spite of my acute embarrassment as the men in the audience watched, I held onto his head and bucked my hips once or twice to really fuck his mouth! Zack didn’t exactly struggle, but he did pull away and I had to let him go as he was so much stronger than me. He knelt there in front of me, breathing very hard, and with a big stream of mucus pouring down his nose. Again, in one of those “flashes” that I will recall when the rest of the evening has gone from my memory, I remember seeing that the slimy mucus was coating my cock, too – it positively shone in the lights.

“More, more….”, the men began to chant, and Zack curled his arm around me once more and this time, instead of taking my cock into his mouth, used his other hand to start masturbating me! Now that’s something I’d never had done by anyone else before – I find girls don’t really like touching cocks, and there’s no way I’d ever do that with any of my mates. But as Zack stroked away it was very sensual, and I couldn’t help making a few cries as he slid my foreskin on and off my cock head. My cock began to feel almost painful and I was desperate to shoot, and at one level I really wanted to, but at another I knew it was totally humiliating to be wanked by another man in public like this.

It was as if my brain somehow instinctively knew what to do – I pushed Zack’s hand away, and began to wank myself. I reckon there’s no-one else who can do it like you can do yourself – and I was so near the edge that it only took me four of five strokes before I felt my balls tightening and then my cum was shooting out. I heard myself give a couple of cries of pleasure, as you do, and then almost forgetting the audience, slowly wanked myself a couple of more times, allowing the cum to slide between my foreskin and my cock head, pulling it right forward and sliding it right back, to maximise my own enjoyment of that incredible sensation. And then I stopped, and it was as if someone had let the “pause” button on a DVD recorder go – I was shot back to reality, saw all the men clapping and cheering at me. And I looked down, and there was Zack with my cum all over his face, with it starting to drip down off his chin onto his furry chest! I know I always shoot a big load, but this one was clearly exceptional even for me.

Zack got to his feet, slowly, smiling, and I began to stammer “Sorry….”, but he didn’t seem to be at all worried. As the men continued to cheer he collected the cum off his face with a finger, and pushed it into his mouth, ending up by licking his fingers clean and smacking his tongue over his lips to glean the last drops of me.

We stood there for a few seconds, then Zack said “OK, show over…” He put his briefs on and gestured for me to do the same – I was embarrassed as my dick was slimy and still dripping, and it showed through the thin white cotton. Then we walked around the room together, and the men all began stuffing ten and twenty pound notes down the waistbands of our briefs.

It took a few minutes before we were back on the platform, and we slowly dressed, watched by the men – Zack didn’t seem to mind the bits of my cum in his chest hair as he pulled his T on. Then he gave a big wave, his fist punching the air above his head, and I did the same, and all the men cheered again. And it was all over.

All over bar the counting, that is! My half of the tips was another three hundred quid! Zack slapped me on the back and told me I’d done well, as that was more than usual and the men must have been really pleased by my performance.

Jon then told us that a our taxi was waiting, and we went out. I was dropped off first, and went up into my room and lay on my bed. It all seemed surreal, somehow, as if it had been a dream – until I counted again all the cash I had. Three days later I was in a city centre pub waiting for some of my mates to join me. It was nice to be able to afford a drink, and I was sipping it with huge pleasure. I didn’t notice him arriving until he slipped onto the seat beside me and said “Hi, Steve.”

“Zack…. What….”

“I’ve been looking for you. I knew that if I polled all the pubs often enough I’d find you sooner or later. So, how’s it going?”

“All right.”

“So has Jon spoken to you about another performance?” “No. And I’m not interested.”

“Well I am, Steve. I reckon we did well together. We’re a lot alike, aren’t we? I reckon the audience likes to see a younger and an older version of the same sort of man together – it makes a more interesting comparison that when I’m with some skinny runt or one of those big rugger types. So how about it, next Saturday?”

“No way!”

“Steve, please…. I need the money. Don’t tell me you’re one of those rich kids who doesn’t….”

“No, far from it. This is the first time I’ve been able to afford to go into a pub for a long time…”

“Well then, come on… It’s not as if it will break up your whole night. There’ll still be time to party afterwards back on campus….”

“No, I said. No way am I going to expose myself again. Or have you wank me in public. I’d die of shame if any of my buddies found out.” Zack smiled, reached into the back pocket of his jeans and got out his wallet. Opening it he pulled out some photographs and shoved them across the table to me. “You know, Steve, I wonder if there’s more chance of some of your buddies coming to an exclusive private party for rich older guys and seeing you there, or of them seeing photos like these if they were posted on the web?” “You wouldn’t…..” “Steve, I need the money. And so do you, I reckon. So stop messing around.”

I sat there and thought. My mates might arrive at any moment. And I reckoned Zack could well show them the photos – he didn’t seem to be at all ashamed at what had gone on. Hesitantly and quietly, as if I was hoping it might all go away, I muttered “All right, then. But stripping only. No way are you going to wank me again.”

Mike’s arm went around my shoulders, and somehow it all seemed somehow more right. “Thanks! We’ll get a whole lot of cash on Saturday, as Jon has got some

out-of-towners lined up. And there’ll be no wanking – but you’ve got to lay off beating your meat until then, too: they’ll want a proper show.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re going to fuck me, Steve! That’s what men want to see – men fucking other men, raw, ‘bareback’ so there’s loads of cum spraying over my body as you pull out and stroke yourself to climax as you did at the end – and then when your cock’s all coated, you can push back in for one or to last fucks: we’ll make hundreds!”

I looked at him in horror. “No way….” “You’ve fucked women, I suppose?”

I nodded.

“And ever taken one up the ass?” “No!”

“Well, Steve, you’re in for a nice surprise. My ass is hotter, tighter, and a whole lot more fun….” I didn’t know all that much about it, but I managed to say “I’d have thought it would be a big guy like you doing the fucking….”

“That’s the beauty of it, Steve. The unexpectedness of it. The audience comes in and sees us, and naturally assumes that as you’re a younger, smaller man, that I’ll fuck you. But then when I go down on my hands and knees and pull my ass cheeks apart, and you kneel behind me and stick your cock in, they’ll go wild….”

I sat there in shock. I was trying to think the whole thing through. It seemed so outrageous that I didn’t know what to say. But I saw my mates coming along the street, and saw the photos lying there on the table…. And I knew I’d have to do as Zack wanted.

It’s a really good money earner. And Zack’s a really great guy. He seriously enjoys getting fucked, and he’s right – his ass is a whole lot of fun. But

what’s best is having this big, strong muscular guy totally in my power – once I start to fuck him, it’s me in control, me who makes the running. And I don’t only control Zack – I control the audience, too: all those older wealthy men in my power as they lust after my body. That first time I only did it “doggy fashion”, but now I do it the way I really like – with Zack flat on his belly and with me lying along the length of him giving him little short, sharp fucks. Then I turn him, over and pull his ankles over my shoulders so I can go in deep. And I particularly like spraying my cum all over him, and watching him lick it off his body and his face.

We went skiing together at Christmas – I was easily able to afford it from all the exhibitions we’d done, and it was fantastic. We only had a very tiny ski apartment, and on the night we arrived after we’d been out for pizza and beer, Zack lay on his bed and said “Well, what are you waiting for?”

“What do you mean?”

“Come on, Steve – I’m horny, and I know you are. Get fucking!” “No way! I’m hetero….”

“You fuck me all the time….”

“That’s business, though. Not for fun. That would be wrong.,”

Zack didn’t waste time arguing. He got out of his bed, came across to mine and pulled the covers off, then knelt astride me. He reached down behind him and began to wank me, and of course I got hard. I tried to struggle, but there was no way I could get a heavy strong guy like him off me, and he raised himself up, and lowered himself down onto my cock. Then he began to raise himself up and down, and I found myself rubbing his thighs as the muscles expanded and contracted, enjoying the feel of the power in his body, and then to moan as the sensations spread from my cock. Finally I began to thrust upwards into him, hearing myself shout “yes, yes…” in time with the motion. And as I came inside him Zack leaned forward and kissed me! I tried to turn away but he grabbed my chin and held me, and almost forced my mouth open so that his tongue cold go right in. Well I wasn’t going to stand for that, and so I fought back and discovered the amazing sensations when you’re really kissing another guy and your tongues are lashing together – all the girls

I’d been with had just let it happen!

Afterwards Zack didn’t go back to his own bed, but “spooned up” against me so I was lying on his upper arm, getting the scent of his pits, his other arm was wrapped around me, and his body was close to me all along. He was nibbling at my ears, biting at my neck, and then his hand went down and began to wank me – I couldn’t stop him, and I realised I didn’t want to.

When we got back from the skiing Zack pointed out that it was stupid for me to pay rent, so I moved in with him – it’s tough, you know, having to fuck a guy every single night. Well, except for the nights before those when we’re out doing our act, as Zack says I need to “save” myself. The only problem I can really say we have is when we went to the Bahamas for some sun – Zack was OK, as we used to go to a secluded spot where he could sprawl out naked and really enjoy it, but he made me sit in the shade, all the time. “It’s business, Steve!”, he said. “They want to see a big, tough, bronzed god like me getting fucked by a young guy who is all pale and white. That’s the excitement of it for them.”

He keeps wanting me to shave off my pubes, too, as he says it will make me look even younger, but I won’t. But I did begin to get worried the other night when, after I’d fucked him, he turned over and gave me one of his lazy smiles. “You know, Steve, I reckon we ought to spice up the act a bit. I think some of the regulars are getting a bit bored with it.”

How so? I already fuck you every way we can…” “Yes. And I thought it would be good to surprise them a bit – next time, I’ll fuck you! It’s kind of ‘traditional’, I know, but every now and then it would shock the punters.”

I lay there silent. I suppose he’s right. But I’ve never thought of myself as taking cock. I mean, I’m straight, aren’t I?

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