Hot Nights in the South of France Page 2

  Provocatively, Zizi dropped Laurent’s right foot, and instead he started in on the left one. He gave it the same mouth-loving treatment which he’d lavished upon the other foot, sucking lustfully on the toes, while Laurent’s moaning commentary urged him on. Zizi could feel the man whore’s muscular body trembling, and he knew that Laurent was now ready for anything Zizi chose to inflict upon him. There was no need to hurry, though. The longer Zizi edged the escort, the hotter Laurent would become, the more desperate for sex. Even if the young stud-for-hire spilled his load of cum prematurely, in a spontaneous orgasm, Zizi knew he’d be capable of coming again. Laurent would easily build up a fresh supply of semen, and he’d be perfectly willing to give it to Zizi. The man’s mouth watered at the thought of swallowing a load of Laurent’s sperm, and he continued his insistent, depraved laving of the hustler’s hard body.

  “You’re a tease,” Laurent complained, happily. “You know just how to get me all worked up. Much more of this, and you’re going to drive me right out of my fucking mind.” As he spoke, he raised his firm round buttocks from the bed, offering Zizi his ass to fuck—or to toy with in any other way he chose.

  Zizi grabbed Laurent’s other ankle and hoisted both of his legs high into the air. He spread the muscular legs to form a V-shape, and he lowered his head between them, touching his panting, hard-breathing lips to the tight little opening of Laurent’s manhole.

  The hustler purred in ecstasy. He was well aware of Zizi’s skill at rimming, which the man had demonstrated on him on many previous occasions. Zizi knew just how to employ his lips and tongue to stimulate another guy’s anal opening. Tonight, though, the man seemed unusually hungry, famished for the feel and taste of ass flesh. Laurent sucked in his breath and let it out in gasps, writhing about on the bed, but maintaining enough self-control deliberately to push his butt crack into Zizi’s eager face. With trembling fingers, Laurent reached down and drew his ass cheeks even wider open, exposing his fuckhole completely, without shame—the same lack of shame with which his bedmate was kissing and licking his sphincter ring.

  “Suck ass—aw, yeah, suck ass,” Laurent chanted. “Eat it!” But Zizi needed no encouragement.

  With his tongue carefully stiffened, Zizi poked it into the succulent anal flesh. His tongue-tip penetrated the warm, flexing pucker, and he pushed it up into Laurent’s anus, fucking the hotly responsive hole with his tongue. His mouth pressed itself firmly over the anal opening in an impassioned kiss, and he could feel the sphincter throb against his lips.

  Laurent cried out, spouting lewd streams of obscenities, which seemed coordinated with the trickle of pre-cum which emerged from the piss slit of his overexcited prick.

  Zizi twisted his tongue around inside Laurent’s squirming body, licking and tickling every part of the rectal opening which he could reach, and savoring the tart taste of his asshole with a connoisseur’s relish. The warmth of the anal interior seemed to smolder on his tongue. He jabbed his tongue into the pucker repeatedly, feeling the flesh yield to the penetration as Laurent began to relax his instinctive anal defenses.

  “Uh, you’re so good at that. You’re getting me so hot,” Laurent moaned.

  “Are you just about ready?” Zizi asked, between licks and sucks.

  “For what?”

  “You know what. For me to fuck you.”

  “I love having you eat my ass, but, yes—I like to be fucked by you even more,” Laurent confessed. “Go ahead. Put it in me. Fuck the hell out of me.”

  Hastily, Zizi moved into position, on his knees on the bed, with Laurent’s legs on either side of his body and the escort’s butt close to his groin. He took the lubricant which he always kept handy beside his bed, and he used it to slick up his prick. His hard-on pulsed in response to his touch, so strongly that he feared he might shoot off prematurely. Forcing himself to remain calm, he thought about how his aching male organ would soon be buried deeply in the other man’s body.

  Impatient now, Zizi lifted Laurent’s legs and bent his knees back against his chest. Nudging himself up close to the male prostitute, he gripped his slippery cock, aimed it carefully, and pressed it against the seething anal opening.

  He paused for a moment, enjoying the suspense, but then he could deny himself no longer. With a thrust from his pelvis, he stabbed the bulbous glans of his stiff penis through the pucker. Eagerly, Laurent pushed toward Zizi, making clear his acceptance of the thick, burning invader.

  “All the way,” Laurent demanded. “Put it all the way in me, let me have all of that cock. Oh, yeah! Oh, fuck!”

  Despite his willingness, Laurent still let out a gasp when he felt Zizi’s rampaging cockshaft plow its way deep into his anal cavity. The man was hung! Laurent reached down, grabbing his butt cheeks and holding them wide apart, brazenly offering himself to his fucker. He bore down with his anal muscles, gripping the probing cock, feeling the pressure of Zizi’s glans against his prostate after the fuck tool had forced its way completely inside him. He felt the phallus pushing his inner walls apart and filling the space between them, with a potent insistence which made him thrill with intense excitement.

  “Best ass in the south of France,” Zizi groaned.

  “I try to be,” Laurent said, managing to emit a little laugh despite his high level of arousal, which was making him short of breath. Despite the air conditioning in the house, he and Zizi had both begun to perspire freely.

  “Going to take you, now,” Zizi threatened.

  “Please do.”

  In the cool blue light, the two men fucked, their flesh tinted by the glow.

  There was no pain for Laurent now, only that thrilling sensation of being stuffed full of cock. The penis was moving back and inside him as Zizi humped him, the friction generating a growing warmth, which seemed to become more intense with each second that passed, with each thrust. Laurent squirmed his butt up against the crotch of the man who was screwing him, making sure their bodies stayed locked together, meeting Zizi thrust for thrust. His raised legs waved about wildly in the air, and his toes curled in involuntary erotic response. Emitting animal-like grunts, Zizi fucked him. The man’s cock pumped in and out of Laurent’s ass, like a piston flailing away inside its tight-fitting cylindrical enclosure.

  “Oh, this just gets better every time!” Zizi vowed. “That ass! So tight and hot! So good to fuck! I love it.”

  “I love it, too. I love having your big dick shoved up in there, reaming me out.” Laurent tossed his head from side to side on the bed, lost in his own physical responses. He forgot he was being paid to provide his partner with sexual satisfaction. Caught up in sheer lust, he was enjoying himself every bit as much as Zizi was. He squeezed his anal muscles desperately, determined to keep Zizi’s prick trapped inside him. “Fuck me!” he yelled.

  “I am fucking you, stud,” Zizi pointed out.

  “Yeah—and it’s so good, so damn good! But let’s try something different.”

  “Such as?”

  “Long-dick me. Like this.” Cautiously, Laurent began to move, pulling his butt away from his fucker’s groin, allowing Zizi’s impetuous prong to slide partway out of his hole. When only the pulsating, mushroom-shaped glans was still inside him, keeping his sphincter stretched open, Laurent slammed himself blindly back down upon the entire length of the shaft, impaling himself upon it completely. “Like that,” he begged. “Oh, God, fuck me like that!”

  “You stud slut,” Zizi groaned. He humped Laurent in the way the handsome whore demanded. Laurent’s animalistic moans, combined with his fucker’s equally bestial grunts, filled the bedroom. Both men sped up their movements, pounding their bodies together, caught up in a mutual sexual insanity.

  Zizi spat onto his hand and he brought it down to smear the slippery wetness over the surface of Laurent’s neglected, steely-hard cock. Tightening his fist around the prick, he began to jerk it, roughly. With the friction minimalized by the saliva, he massaged the meaty erection, edging its lust-crazed owner, bringing La
urent repeatedly to the brink of orgasm, only to deny him that ultimate satisfaction, guaranteeing that Laurent’s frenzied arousal matched his own desperate need to unload.

  “Come—oh, let me come!” Laurent pleaded.

  “When I damn well want you to.”

  “Uh, whatever you do, don’t stop pounding my ass.”

  “Can’t stop now—not even if I want to—I’m so damn hard, so hot—!”

  “Fuck—my—ass!”

  “Take—my—dick!”

  Laurent was perspiring heavily. Taking an active part in the fucking, as opposed to simply lying there passively and allowing his hole to be used, was hard work! The hot, salty sweat of sexual exertion ran down his big pecs and over his taut abdominal muscles. But Zizi’s flesh was just as flushed, hot and steamy, as though he was suffering from a fever. The two men had joined their bodies to form a perfectly coordinated fucking mechanism, breathing hard together, their limbs tightly intertwined, their bodies pumping together—their movements not random, though, but deliberately calculated to prolong and enhance their mutual pleasure.

  Zizi’s fist, filled with hard male flesh, worked rapidly up and down around Laurent’s turgid cock, jerking it mercilessly, coaxing and teasing it toward climax, mutely demanding that it surrender its charge of rich male cream. Laurent couldn’t resist. His need, exacerbated by the stimulation, was too great.

  “I’m there,” he moaned, tossing his head from side to side. “You’re doing it to me. I’m coming!”

  Zizi tightened his grip on the escort’s painfully distended penis, stroking it even more roughly. His own climax was building up deep within him, his hot semen boiling in his balls, ready to squirt up through the core of his burning cock and break free into Laurent’s steaming bowel. With one long, hard, final thrust of his hips, he buried his manhood all the way up the spasming anus of his stud-for-hire. Embedded there, his penis erupted, spewing out its load of hot lava.

  “Ah! Yeah! I can feel it, man—shooting right into me, so wet, so hot!” Laurent gloated.

  “Take it, I’m coming in your hot ass! Take it, all my cum!”

  “I want it, give it to me—!”

  Breaking off into a muffled cry of pure animal passion, Laurent began to ejaculate. As he did so, he could feel Zizi still depositing his own load of wet sperm deep inside his convulsing body. They were coming together, simultaneously, one man’s helpless outpouring matching the other’s. Feeling Zizi spurt inside him only added to Laurent’s climactic excitement. He seemed to come more forcefully and in greater quantity than usual, his dick, still clasped inside Zizi’s milking fist, spitting out streams of thick, creamy fluid onto the other man’s chest and belly. Some jets flew higher, to spatter against Zizi’s cheek and chin.

  By the time he’d finished ejaculating, Laurent felt as though he was drained of every drop of semen his body possessed. Coming back to reality, he remembered that this was a commercial transaction. But he had no doubt that he’d once again, as he always did, satisfied his john—totally, to the best of his ability. Zizi looked spent, too, exhausted—but the look on his flushed, sweaty face was one of pure sexual delight.

  After a moment, Laurent roused himself, leaning forward and pressing his chest against the gooey wetness of his own seminal discharge. He kissed Zizi hard and passionately on the mouth. The other man pulled him closer, and they kissed for a long time, their bodies glued together by the slowly drying patches of pungent-smelling cum.

  “Come on,” Zizi murmured. “We’d better go get cleaned up. We can shower together. And then we’d better get some sleep. I know I need my rest—if I’m going to do this again, in the morning.”

  Laurent smiled. “Before or after breakfast?”

  “Before. Can’t think of a better way to work up an appetite.”

  Chapter Two: The Best Escort in the South of France

  Laurent’s website had a section on it, in which his clients could write reviews of his performances, for other, prospective customers to read.

  Laurent intended, of course, to delete any negative reviews. But in fact this never proved to be necessary. Overwhelmingly, without exception, the assessments were positive, indeed enthusiastic. They couldn’t have been better had Laurent written them himself!

  Absolutely, positively, the best escort in the whole south of France, one john had declared, fervently. Laurent is amazing! Such a stud! But also a genuinely nice guy. So warm, friendly, and loving. I will definitely hire him again. He’s the best! Don’t settle for less.

  After reading that, Laurent made a mental note to himself, reminding himself to send that john an e-mail, thanking him for that warm, unsolicited testimonial. It never hurt to stay in contact with the clients. Many of them became repeat customers. Or, via word of mouth, they told their friends about the classy hustler whose services they’d enjoyed. And that expanded Laurent’s clientele.

  Laurent was an internationally famous escort—a male whore, a male courtesan, if one preferred that terminology. Having been born and grown up in poverty in a slum neighborhood of Marseille, he now lived in some style, nearby, in Nice.

  He’d just turned thirty, a few months ago.

  He’d become sexually active as an adolescent, but he’d begun prostituting himself, seriously, when he was eighteen. So, he’d now been a pro for twelve years. He was as streetwise, hardened, and cynical as they came. He took good care, though, not to let this toughness show on his outside. He could still market himself as the unspoiled young ingenue, which was a tremendous asset in his line of work.

  He was the black sheep of his working-class family. They hadn’t exactly disowned him, but they despaired of him. Laurent was the bad boy, back home in Marseille—the former neighbor who was pointed out and talked about as an example of what happened when a young man from a good family went astray. The problem with this prim, judgmental tactic was that, to all outward appearances, Laurent looked as though he’d done damn well for himself! He seemed downright enviable, in fact! Young gay men, especially those from poor families, tended to be more tolerant. Far from seeing Laurent as an example of what not to do, they wanted to be just like him.

  His life, to an outsider, probably seemed glamorous and envious.

  He didn’t really work for a living, at least not at a conventional job. When he had to list his occupation on a form, he invariably described it as “actor/model.” He did work sometimes as a model—posing nude for physique photographers, or skimpily clad, in workout attire, as a “fitness model.” He also acted—in gay porno videos. Several times a year, he took the train north to Paris, to perform in a gay video produced by a studio there. He didn’t have an exclusive contract with that studio, so he was free to accept porn work elsewhere. He’d traveled to London twice to work for a porn studio there, and also once to Berlin, twice to Hamburg, and once to Prague. These had been interesting experiences. The different studios had different styles and ways of doing business, and Laurent had been partnered with a number of hot men. He didn’t always have a language in common with them, but body language, during sex acts captured on video, had proven to be eloquent enough.

  With such a small filmography, he wasn’t yet exactly an internationally famous (or rather, notorious) porn star, but he’d racked up those credits, which had their value. He was good at sucking and fucking on film, which some guys, no matter how attractive they were, weren’t, and as a result he kept receiving offers to work in the sex industry. And, as a result of his porn work, he’d been invited to travel to some cities in France, England, and Germany, to perform in gay bars—as a stripper. The truth was, he never had to dance much. Just his going out in front of an audience of drunken gay men, and showing them his naked body, his bare ass and his stiff dick—that invariably aroused the crowd’s enthusiasm, and earned Laurent his fee.

  But the porn work was really just a calling card. Most porn performers ended up escorting, sooner or later. They were paid a modest one-time flat fee for appearing in a video, but th
e videos were ongoing free advertising for them. Clients could see what they looked like, how well they were built and hung, what they were willing to do sexually, how they performed during various acts. The johns could then pick and choose. All an escort really needed was an internet website, on which to advertise his availability to an international audience. His fans, who’d seen him doing the porn, would throng to hire him, and he’d start raking in the cash. The only limitation was his physical and sexual stamina.

  Johns frequently wanted Laurent to travel, to come to them—all expenses paid, of course. As a result, Laurent’s passport was filled with stamps. He’d been not only all over Europe—but to the United States, Canada, and South America, as well. Even to Japan—and Australia. One Saudi Arabian prince had paid him to spend a week with him. That had been a surreal experience—housed in the prince’s palace, at his sexual beck and call, Laurent had been treated as though he was royalty, himself. And he’d been lavishly compensated.

  In the course of these many travels, Laurent had learned one thing. Namely, that horny gay men, no matter what their nationality, ethnicity, or culture, were essentially the same, all over the world. They all wanted the same thing—and they were willing to pay for it. Cock! Cock, first and foremost, and then, secondarily, mouth, and ass! Those were the common denominators.

  Not every hustling gig was a glamorous one, though. Back home in Nice, Laurent was surprised by how many of his clients were quite ordinary, working-class men, who—judging from the way they dressed and talked—could barely afford his services, without compromising their monthly budgets. Apparently they saved their money and then splurged by hiring him, the way they might treat themselves to some other occasional extravagance.