Art by Michael Kirwan

Story by Andrés M. Garcia 



— Previously published in Mandate magazine - May, 1997 —


— Horny hustlers make an X-rated bet —


I took a look around the locker room at the very exclusive private health club I belong to, acknowledging the greetings of a couple of my colleagues. It was still about half an hour too early for the well-heeled set from the financial district to start arriving for their after-work sessions, which meant that it was about time to get my own day under way. My day starts when the successful businessmen arrive, looking for a discreet, highly skilled escort to ease the tensions that a massage and a sauna just can't touch. Not only can I touch the root of that tension, I can take it all away--for a very fair price.

I'm Mark Leighton. I'm six foot three tall and weigh two hundred and fifteen pounds. I've got brown hair with natural gold and auburn streaks, hazel eyes and excellent teeth. My chest is forty-right inches of chiseled perfection, dusted with fine, short hairs that do nothing to hide the incredible definition. My arms are huge, my belly is a concave wall of ridges, my hips are narrow, my legs are long and sleek and my ass is hot enough to burn. Best of all, my two hundred and fifty dollar fee works out to just under twenty-five bucks per inch. The way I look at it, I'm just another businessman in a highly competitive world with a high-quality product to market.

"Hey, Leighton, you're gonna start scaring them away if those arms of yours get any bigger."

I looked up into Paul Grayson's handsome face and gave him a skeptical grin. Paul is the boyish type with a slender, smooth body. "Some of the guys around here are interested in real men," I teased, pumping the weights till I managed to pop a vein across the top of my biceps as thick as my little finger. I did another set, working until the muscles burned and ached.

"So, Paul, how's business?" I asked, putting the weights back on the rack and stretching to work out the kinks.

"It pays the rent," he replied, standing back with his arms folded over his chest as I touched my toes with the heels of my hands. He had just moved into a downtown condo with a prestige address, so I got the message that he was doing just fine. Paul had several regulars who were so rich it was embarrassing.

"Speaking of paying the rent, how'd you like to make me a wager?" From the way Paul was looking at me, I should have figured something was up, but then again, I tend to be the trusting type.

"What kind of wager?" I shot back at him, standing up and reaching for the ceiling. My triceps bulged mightily. "I didn't think you were a betting man, Paul. You seem too cautious."

"I only suggested it because you'll lose."

I was getting intrigued. "So ... what's the bet?"

"It just walked through the door, old buddy," Paul whispered. "The guy with the curly black hair and the flawless body. Look him over, drool over him, plot your plots--then kiss three months of payments on my condo good-bye."

"Three *months*?" I felt a flurry of panic. That was serious money. Then I looked at the guy he was pointing at and lust instantly overshadowed any other considerations.

"Want to chicken out, Mark?" Paul looked past me and smiled sweetly at a silver-haired man with the shoulders of a linebacker who'd just walked into the weight room.

"Hell, no," I blustered, unwilling to cave so quickly. "Who is this guy, anyway?"

"His name is Jeffrey Tate, and as far as I know, he can't talk. At least I know he's never spoken to me or anyone else around here. Now that I think about it, maybe he isn't into guys--even big, butch studs like you. Maybe I should just let you off the hook right now. I'd hate to have you think of yourself as a loser."

"Screw you, Grayson. I'll take the bet. I can get any man wrapped around my little finger--or my big dick." I rubbed my belly and grinned.

"It's your funeral. I guess you'll just have to work overtime to keep up with your obligations for the next few months. If I run across anyone who likes his men overstated, I'll try to send him your way." Paul's nasty laugh as he said this didn't exactly fit with his image as the innocent young blond.

As I walked over to a rack of weights, I gave Jeffrey Tate the once-over. If ever a man was built to my ideal specs, he was it. Tall and sleek, Tate was built like a god--every muscle clearly defined beneath pale, hairless skin. His thin, cotton tank top was cut for maximum exposure, baring the thick, succulent nipples that perched on the swell of his pecs. His tight jersey shorts made no secret of the fact that his butt was full and round, curving back sharply into the tops of his runner's thighs. Head to toe, everywhere I looked, I liked what I saw. His movements were graceful and fluid, exuding confidence. To keep it short and sweet, the dude was hotter than hell and I couldn't think of anything I'd like better than to have him pinned under me, firmly spiked on my big, hard prick.

"I'll give you one week, man," Paul hissed, popping up in front of me again. "Seven days. Then you come to me with proof of conquest."

"What kind of proof?"

"Hell, I don't know. Real proof. Something like that gold chain around his wrist. You figure it out. Otherwise, you'll be figuring out how to pay to keep a roof over my head for the whole summer."

"Next Friday. Four o'clock. I'll be here. I suggest you start your own savings program to pay me off. I'm gonna win this bet."

Paul walked off and I started flexing. After the better part of an hour, I was beginning to think that maybe this hadn't been such a great idea after all. My first attempts to catch Jeffrey Tate's eye had failed miserably. He looked over at me once, briefly, but that was it. I continued working out next to him until he headed for the showers, then followed after him, prepared to go to any lengths to get his attention.

In the sauna, I concentrated on pumping my dick out to full length without quite popping a rod. My moneymaker was hanging down over the edge of the cedar bench where I was sitting, the big, pink head trying to get out of the long hood of skin that sheatl1ed it. Another few seconds and it was going to start rising up to my belly. Five out of the six dudes in the room were breathless with anticipation. Unfortunately, my target was the sixth man. He yawned and left the room just as I started flexing my pecs and rubbing my washboard belly. Things were not off to a roaring start.

By the time I had showered and dressed, Tate was out of sight. I rushed out into the street but I couldn't catch even a glimpse of him. Cursing my luck, I caught a taxi back to my apartment. I wasn't used to doing the hunting. Any time I wanted to drum up new business, I just flexed, then waited for the offers to pile up. I wasn't sure I liked being on the other side of the line, although I had to admit that the whole situation had me horny as a goat.

I flipped on the news when I got home, but I couldn't concentrate. I kept thinking about Jeffrey Tate and his narrow waist and his bulging pecs capped with those succulent brown tits and his pale, smooth ass and ...

Next thing I knew, I had my sweat pants down around my knees and my shirt pulled up to my armpits, jacking my meat. I grabbed my bag and pulled my balls up against the shaft of my cock, stretching the cords to the max. With my free hand, I ruffled the fine line of hair bisecting my belly, following it up through the deep ridge dividing my pecs. I ran my hand over the heroically sculpted masses of muscle, teasing at the thick points of my tits.

I threw my head back and squeezed my dick hard, forcing the first drops of clear, sticky juice to drizzle out of my piss-slit. I could feel it trailing down the veiny shaft, warm and sticky and smelling like sex. I tensed my body, watching all my well-exercised muscles ripple.

I released my nuts and they slapped down between my outspread legs, nestling warm and heavy against my sweaty asshole. I took a long pull on my prick, imagining Tate's red lips nuzzling around the glistening, sticky crown. As I continued to jack off, I fantasized about burying my face in his crack, tonguing the funky slot tucked between his perfect ass cheeks. His hole would be tight, smooth and steamy hot. He'd groan and writhe when my long tongue breached his chute. My chest heaved and my toes started to curl into the pile of the carpet just thinking about it.

My hand was pumping faster and harder every second and I could feel my big balls squirming as they started drawing into a tight knot between my hairy thighs. That damned Tate bastard had taken total control of my fantasy. He was squatting over me, smiling, pressing the lips of his fuck-tunnel back hard onto my dick, grunting as my fat knob punched deep into him. His asshole was tighter than my fist, caressing my prick, milking my aching dick. I could feel the sweat trickling down my sides, and I nuzzled my head into my pit, licking at the pungent juice, imagining that it was Tate's long, pink tongue doing the licking. My thighs were tensing and I could feel the tingling in my gut that signaled my cork was ready to pop.

Two more long pulls and I was over the top. The first shot forced its way up my cum-tube and drooled down the throbbing shaft, coating my knuckles. The second one gushed out, propelled by the force of the muscle spasms that shook my body. It arced high in the air and splattered across my broad chest. The third blast got me full on the lips. I opened wide, savoring the taste of my own funky jizz. After I was drained, I sprawled back, cock in hand, thinking how nice it would be to have Jeffrey Tate at hand to lick up the mess. In the meantime, there I sat, all alone, two hundred and fifty bucks worth of spunk slowly drying on my sweat-slicked torso.

- - -

The week was slipping by and I was getting worried. I hadn't even seen Tate for the first two days after I'd made my bet. When he did finally make an appearance and I tried to follow him, I had lost sight of him within six blocks. I obviously wasn't going to make my fortune as a detective. By Wednesday, it had begun to sink in that I was only forty-eight hours away from footing Paul's rent for the entire summer. That really burned my ass--not to mention the fact that I was now so hot for the elusive Jeffrey Tate that I was having trouble doing my job properly.

On Thursday evening, I finally got lucky. After watching him work out for almost two hours, I dogged his steps until he turned up a side street not far from the gym. He entered a little dive where I occasionally went in to listen to the jazz groups that jammed there on weekends. With his looks and fancy clothes, I hadn't figured him for this type of place. I slipped through the door behind him and sidled up to the service bar.

"Double espresso, Maggie," he called across to the barmaid. His voice was a rich clear tenor that carried well. It was the first time rd heard him speak. I liked the sound.

"Hey there, Jeffrey," the girl shouted back over the din of the espresso machine. "Nice threads," she continued, looking him up and down. "Transacting some business tonight, huh?"

"Afraid so, Karen," he retorted, his smile sagging slightly. I wondered briefly what the hell she was talking about.

Tate fidgeted nervously with a coin while he waited for his espresso. I could have sworn he was glancing at me out of the corner of his eye, but I didn't respond. I didn't want to make any moves until I was sure he wouldn't bolt and run away from me. He paid for his coffee and walked across to a small booth near the window. I ordered an orange juice and walked over to him.

"Do you mind if I join you?" I asked, surprised by the slight quaver in my voice. Tate looked up briefly and nodded, then went back to staring out the window. I settled in across from him and tried to think of something to say. I drew a complete blank. After a few minutes of uncomfortable silence, he drained his cup and started to leave.

"Don't go," I sputtered. He looked over at me, startled. "I mean, I've ... I mean ... What? I mean I've been trying to meet you all week. My name's Mark. Can I buy you another coffee?" I smiled weakly, figuring I'd really blown it.

"Are you for real?" He was looking at me, grinning from ear to ear. I nodded. "If you are, then my luck has just taken a turn for the better." He sank back into his chair. "I'd love another coffee."

"I'll be right back," I crowed, jumping up and grabbing his cup before he had a chance to change his mind. *Watch out, Paul*, I thought exultantly as I headed back over to the bar. My prick tingled in anticipation.

- - -

I had him back at my place, sprawled out on the bed, his perfect body washed by the moonlight that poured in through the windows. I had just finished undressing him and he lay there, arms folded behind his head, looking up at me. His cock, long and thick and clipped, curved up tight against his concave belly. I took off my jock, balled it up, tossed it aside, then climbed onto the bed. I knelt between his outspread legs, my long, fat prick hovering just above his body, pulsing in time with my heart.

He reached between my legs and grazed my nuts with his fingers. My dick swelled up mightily and the sticky head popped out of its foreskin. He tickled my nuts again and the head flared, the first blob of honey pushing out of the gaping slit gouged in the tip. It drooled down onto his silken belly.

I leaned forward and kissed him. His tongue thrust against mine and soon our lips were pressed tight as we explored the wet warmth of each other's mouths. I was so horny my whole body trembled, every nerve ending on fire. I caught a glimpse of the heavy gold links on his wrist and thought briefly of Paul and about our wager. Then Jeffrey ruffled the fine fur on my belly and I forgot about everything but him--and raunchy, hardcore sex.

I cupped his butt in my hands. His ass cheeks felt like marble under a thin layer of warmed silk. I slipped a finger into his crack and brushed against the tightly puckered lips of his fuck-tunnel. He shuddered and moaned as my finger slid right up into the steamy heat of his hole.

I sat up and slipped my hands around his narrow waist, lifting his ass off the bed until his hot hole was within striking distance of my tongue. He hooked his legs over my shoulders and braced his arms against the mattress. I watched the gaping slit of his chute slowly pucker until it was as tight as a rosebud. Then I started tonguing him, digging in deep.

His eyes fluttered closed and his prick began to leak pre-cum down onto his belly. It ran in a shiny streak all the way from his navel to his throat, dividing his torso into two perfect halves. I ate him out greedily, digging deeper and deeper, blowing short bursts of air into him, getting him ready for my aching hard-on.

He was playing with my dick, tugging the foreskin up over the swollen head, stretching it tight. Then he started milking my bulging cum-tube for lube. I could feel his sticky palm sliding up and down the long heavy shaft, his urgency increasing as I continued eating out his asshole.

"Fuck me," he whispered. "I want to feel every hard, fat inch of your big dick up inside of me. Come on, Mark. Do it. Fuck my horny ass."

I let his ass slide slowly down over my bulging chest. He slipped his legs around my waist and brought his warm, wet asshole into contact with the business end of my pecker.

His hands were still wrapped around my cock, eagerly moving it into position. I leaned back and braced my hands on my ankles, waiting for him to sheathe my prick in his hard body.

Jeffrey played with me at first, his ass lips barely kissing the tip of my meat. He pushed down on the crown a couple of times, only to pull back just as his ass-ring was about to lock over the rim. Sweat was starting to glisten on my torso, fat droplets that beaded on my skin. I wanted it so bad my frigging balls ached. Just when I was ready to start begging for mercy, he relented. He grinned lustfully up at me as my swollen prick disappeared up his tight, warm fuck-hole. I gasped.

I stroked his rippling belly, my fingers brushing along the sides of his straining dick. His hands locked on my bulging thighs as I drove in and out of his ass, slow and easy at first, then harder and faster as his clutching hole began to gape.

I locked my hands behind Jeffrey's neck and reared back on my haunches, pulling him off the bed. I kept on pumping him, overwhelmed by the sensations that were unleashed as I probed his steamy manhole. His ass-ring began to spasm, grabbing all up and down the length of my prick. When I bit down on the succulent nipple crowning his left pee, he shuddered and locked his legs tighter around my waist. I picked up the pace of my pumping, damn near cramming my fat, hairy balls up his chute along with my hard-on.

"I'm gonna blow," he gasped in my ear. I raised up onto my knees, thrusting my cock up into him with all my strength. I could feel his meat flexing against my belly and my nostrils filled with the smell of him as he erupted in a thick, white flood. I held him tight as he squirmed and writhed against me, shooting spunk on my belly until it ran down into my pubes and dripped off my balls.

When he went limp in my arms, I pushed him back on the bed and braced my hands on either side of his head. Then I started pumping like a madman, driving in until he groaned, pulling out slow, savoring the sensations as his spasming ass-ring gnawed my bloated stiffer. He bucked and writhed under me, pawing frantically at my heaving torso, bringing on an orgasm that practically blew the top of my head off.

I went after him in a spasming, pounding frenzy, probing his ass like I wanted to crawl right up inside of him. When I was finally drained, I collapsed and lay panting in his arms as he stroked my hair out of my eyes.

"I definitely made the right choice," he whispered finally, his breath warm on my neck.

"Huh?" I mumbled, still dazed and punchy from the intensity of our love-making.

"Truth is, I usually only do this for money. Or I was until tonight. When I came home with you, I made the decision to start doing it because I wanted to, not because I could get cash for it. That takes all the pleasure out of it. Besides, when I do it for money, my chances of meeting a guy like you are minimal." I sat up slowly and looked down at him, speechless. "You're shocked, aren't you?" he asked quietly, little lines of concern flickering around the corners of his sensual lips.

I took a deep breath before I spoke. "Not exactly," I began.

"Shit! I don't fucking believe this!" Paul and I were in the shower room at the gym. He was staring gloomily at the base of my cock. There, partially hidden in the dense thatch of my pubes, Jeffrey's gold bracelet glistened, looped around my cock and balls.

"For services rendered," I replied smugly, lifting my prick and letting it slap against my thigh. "I believe you owe me some money."

"I never thought you'd even be able talk to that one, let alone get him into the sack. I could have sworn that he'd have better taste than to go for a big muscle-head like you."

I grinned at him as he calculated how much money he was going to have to pay out. Maybe I should have told him more about the circumstances surrounding my relationship with Jeffrey. Then again, since we're both getting out of the business, we really do need the money. I've got an interview with a garage that specializes in foreign cars--I've always had a knack with anything mechanical--and Jeffrey starts Monday with a brokerage house in the city. After all, Paul and I had made a gentlemen's agreement and I had fulfilled the terms. It wasn't my fault that I ended up falling in love with the object of our bet.



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Any images, writings or other content on this website may be copied for personal viewing only.
They may not be: redistributed; sold; altered; enhanced; modified by artificial, digital or computer imaging;
used on another website or blog; posted to any internet or computer newsgroup, forum or media sharing site;
nor used for any other purpose without the express written permission of the artist or KirwanArts.com.