[Year of the Pig]

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 Art by Michael Kirwan  Story by Greg Nero   

 

 

originally published in Honcho magazine - January, 1996 issue

 

Hong Kong musclestuds to make you squeal


 

Locals say the Tough Guy Big Stud Social Club (the name loses something in translation) is the raunchiest bar in Hong Kong. Definitely not on the tourist circuit, it's a gritty little backstreet den of depravity on the Kowloon side where only the hardiest go to have a drink and get their rocks off. Its reputation as a magnet for some of the hottest, sexiest and most over-sexed men in the Colony is legendary. Legendary enough so that when Tom Campbell visited Hong Kong on a short holiday from the States he made a point of checking the place out for himself. It was late in the evening on January 30, Chinese New Year's Eve, and there was already a long line outside the club when Tom arrived. It took a sizable tip to the surly, sumo-sized doorman to jump the queue, but it was well worth it. Tom felt an irresistible rush of excitement when he finally got into the bar proper and had a look around at the wall-to-wall beef jammed inside. Fuck. It was like he'd died and gone to Fantasy Man Heaven.

The place was packed with hundreds of Hong Kong hunks strutting their stuff. Real *men* they were, too. No boys, wimps, geeks, fems or cardigan sweater-types allowed at the Tough Guy Big Stud Social Club. These guys were all, without doubt, into either hard physical labor or gut-busting gym workouts. The place reeked of muscle, man-sweat, rampant machismo and raging testosterone. And, what with the intense heat and stifling humidity in the club, everyone was stripped to the bare essentials. There were hard, muscular, sweaty bodies everywhere.

Tom quickly peeled off his T-shirt and offered up his own tanned, buffed upper body to the assembled multitude. As the only blue-eyed blond bodybuilder in a sea of mahogany skin, dark brown eyes and jet-black hair, his presence did not go unnoticed. He practically caused a small riot, what with all the attention his impressive five-foot-ten, hundred and eighty-five muscular pounds produced. Basking in all the admiring glances, blatant stares and outright lascivious leers coming his way, he took a deep breath (all the better to show off his pecs) and said to himself, "I think I'm going to like it here."

First order of business was getting a drink. It took awhile to work his way through the crowd (nothing like squeezing past--and being squeezed by--lots of hot men to work up a thirst) but eventually Tom was standing at the end of a rather long bar line waiting to place his order. A tall, good-looking jock (a swimmer, judging from the width of the shoulders and sleek torso) joined the line behind him and nodded a friendly hello. Tom didn't give the guy a second thought until a few moments later when he felt something poke against his backside. He reached down and, to his pleasant surprise, discovered a hard cock with a plump, helmet-shaped head accosting him.

The swimmer had pulled his engorged, vein-laced dick and juicy, cum-bloated balls out through the open fly of his pants and was offering them up to Tom for a little late-night fun, knowing that in the crush of the crowd no one would have the slightest idea what they were doing. Tom liked the idea immediately. Their eyes met, they exchanged knowing winks and Tom's hand tightened around the hot, throbbing organ.

Anyone looking at them would think Tom and the swimmer were merely standing in line waiting to get a drink. But down below, where no one could see, Tom's hand was pumping away. The closer they got to the bar, the harder and faster he went.

By the time they reached the front of the line it was pretty obvious to everyone what was going on. Especially the way the swimmer was gasping for breath and grimacing against the pressure building in his balls. No one seemed to mind, though. In fact, a lot of the guys around them looked like they wished they were in on the action. A few were even openly stroking their own aching erections while they watched.

In a feat of near-perfect timing, Tom stepped up to place his order at precisely the same moment the swimmer let out a deep, guttural moan, gave a mighty shudder and shot his first wad against the front of the bar. Without batting an eye, Tom shouted for two beers above the general din of the club (and the swimmer's gasps) and kept pumping away at the exploding cock until the man's orgasm ran its full course. The swimmer must not have gotten his nut in weeks, going by the amount of creamy, gooey, white cum he left dripping down the front of that bar!

Tom paid for the beer and then tugged the heaving, sweat-drenched swimmer out of the way. He propped the satisfied athlete against the bar, gave him one of the Tsingtao beers and, after wiping the cum on his hand on the T-shirt dangling from the guy's belt-loop, set off again to explore the club.

The more Tom saw of the club, the more Tom liked it. It was every bit as raunchy as he'd heard. It appealed to him--and his hard cock--on a raw, visceral level. Everywhere he went there was something of interest.

Against one wall, a short construction worker type (stocky, thirty-something, not particularly handsome but built like a brick shit-house) smiled like a Buddha as two guys stood on either side of him and chewed on his nipples while a third knelt in front of his open jeans and gave him a blow-job.

In the far corner, in one of the few areas with any space, a tall, strikingly handsome, naked young man with the face of a movie star, the impressive, beefy body of an NFL linebacker, and the huge, jaw-dropping equipment of a Guangzhao draft horse was strung up between two upright wooden posts. He was getting the bejeezus whipped out of him by a small, wiry little guy half his size who knew exactly how to get the biggest bang for his fuck out of his cat o'nine tails. Despite his obvious pain--or more likely because of it--the naked young man's huge, uncut cock (who says Chinese guys have tiny dicks?) was swollen to epic proportions, glowing like a burnished teak log and dribbling a copious amount of creamy, white pre-cum.

After getting another beer (no hand-job this time but a tattooed skinhead did run an appreciative hand over his chest), Tom made his way down to the far end of the bar where, for some reason, there seemed to be a bit of empty space.

On closer inspection, he noticed that the bar itself was slightly different. For the last fifteen feet it was only three feet high and a brass handrail ran along the front of it. *That's odd*, he thought.

At that very moment, a very good-looking and exceptionally well-built young man wearing only spandex gym shorts and matching baby blue sneakers pushed his way into the empty semi-circle and made an elaborate production of primping, preening, posing and flexing. It didn't take long before the shameless little muscle-stud had most of the wolves present licking their chops and chomping at the bit. Some of the hungrier denizens even had their hard dicks out in the open, they were so excited and ready to pounce.

His attention-getting gyrations complete, the sexy satyr smugly bellied up to the bar and ordered a scotch. He took one swig and then slowly, seductively, peeled off the spandex shorts. Resting his arms on the handrail, he posed and flexed one of the most gorgeous and beautifully buffed bubble-butts Tom had ever seen in his life, before looking round and locking eyes with one of the waiting wolves, a hulking dockworker type with big bulging muscles, scars, tattoos and a humongous, very mean-looking dick.

Taking his cue, his thick cock poised for action, the dockworker strutted up behind the bobbing bubble-butt and made ready. He pulled on a condom and slapped on some lube (both kept in large ginger jars sitting on the bar), positioned his dick at the waiting asshole and then, without further ado, shoved it all the way in.

What came next was a hard-driving, body-pounding, ball-busting fuck. Tom could see now why the brass rail would come in handy. The dockworker was an animal brute, a maniac, who turned butt-fucking into an intense, bone-jarring experience which made hanging on to something a necessity.

The fuckee in question was obviously no butt-sex beginner. Judging from the way he not only met each pile-driving thrust but loudly begged for more, he clearly loved being ridden long and hard. The rougher and harder the fuck, the better he liked it.

Absorbed as he was in the butt-fucking extravaganza, Tom barely noticed the first tentative grope down at his crotch. He looked around for the perpetrator but shrugged it off as an accident when he failed to make eye contact with anyone. When he felt a second, unmistakable grope he looked down and discovered a bald, brawny little midget grinning up at him, totally naked except for a crimson colored jockstrap.

The midget said something in Cantonese, pressed his lips on Tom's hard cock and tried sucking him off through his pants. Never having been blown by a midget before, and in just the mood to try it, Tom thought, *What the hell*, unzipped his pants, and hauled out his meat.

Within seconds of the little guy going down on him, Tom went weak at the knees and gasped out a choked, incredulous "Oh, fuuuuuuuck!" The midget was awesome, absolutely fucking awesome! He had a mouth on him that could put a vacuum cleaner to shame. And his technique! Fuck, he not only chowed down on Tom's thick, circumcised schlong with the insatiable hunger of a starving calf at its mother's teat but played it with all the skill of a jazz trumpeter. In no time Tom was seeing stars and panting for breath. His balls suddenly pulled up tight, there was a blinding flash and then--*boom!*--his nuts blew and he was jerking about and spewing his load.

After squeezing the last drop of cum from Tom's rapidly shrinking dick, the midget gave him a satisfied smile and pushed off through the crowd.

"Weird, just too fucking weird," Tom mumbled as he zipped up and set out to find the washroom. He had to admit, though, that the quickie helped take the edge off his raging libido. At least for the moment. The men's can wasn't all that difficult to find but, what with the bar's tightly packed revelers, it did take a while to reach it. By the time he squeezed through the door, Tom had been groped, fondled, examined and otherwise given the serious once-over more times than a two-bit Tijuana whore. Not that he minded. Actually, it was kind of fun being treated like a cheap side of beef. Tom took an immediate liking to the can. Its rank confines appealed to his baser, more prurient instincts and, once his eyes got used to the gloom, he couldn't wait to explore the room's grungy, foul-smelling interior.

In the center sat a large bronze bathtub which was used as a communal urinal. Sitting in the tub was a naked, Chinese fashion model type who, going by his damp hair, dripping wet body and throbbing erection, got off on water sports. Standing around the tub with their hard dicks sticking out of their pants was a small coterie of guys who obviously liked to watch.

Behind the tub on the left were two empty stalls (no doors). One contained a working toilet, the other had a toilet seat with enough room under it to fit an upturned face. Behind the tub on the right, suspended from the ceiling near a couple of sinks, was a large, heavy-duty leather sling (hanging unused on this particular evening) and a set of manacles bolted into the wall.

Nature again reminded him why he was there so Tom stepped up to the tub, opened his pants and flipped out his cock. Fortunately he was only half-erect and didn't have a lot of trouble taking a leak. He gave the model a thrill by pissing all over him (a good soaking it was, too) and was gratified by triggering a major orgasm in one of the dick-wanking spectators.

Out in the bar less than five minutes later Tom had another, most satisfying (to say the least), international incident. Just like in the movies, the milling crowd magically parted and he found himself staring at an absolutely heart-stopping mountain of massive Chinese muscle. Forget aesthetics, this guy was a prime example of a bodybuilder with a bigger-is-better mindset and the genetic ability to "get huge" and gross out the general public. Almost six feet tall, weighing at least two hundred and sixty rock-solid pounds and wearing only a skimpy pair of white, sweat-soaked gym shorts cut high on the sides to accommodate his elephantine thighs, he was a muscle-bound freakazoid who possessed staggering, unbelievably monstrous, physical proportions. He was so bulked-up it was a wonder he could move at all, let alone pump heavy iron. But move he did, right up to within inches of Tom's flushed, awestruck face.

For someone who got off on Serious Muscle (and Tom loved guys who were into the bigger-the-better mindset), this monster was a dream come true. Even better, the monster was making it very clear he liked what he saw, too. So Tom did what any muscle aficionado would do--he reached out and grabbed a handful of monstrous pec.

That pleased the monster. He gave a wry, egotistical grin and flexed the thick, overhanging slabs of curved pec-muscle mounted on his chest. It was a vain, in-your-face exhibition of pure muscle-head posturing and Tom loved every inch of it.

They were a perfect match. The monster was into getting his big muscles worshiped and Tom was more than happy to provide that adulation. Fuck, he was practically creaming himself, he was so happy. His hands boldly, lovingly roamed all over the awesome curves, peaks, valleys and ridges of the man's gigantic, rock-solid musculature as the monster went through his posing routine and brazenly put his unnatural size, shape and density on display. Front chest, double biceps, side chest, abs and legs, rear back, moon pose, most muscular: he hit them all. And when he finished one set of poses he went through them all again. And again. And again. In no time his satin-smooth, totally hairless almond-colored skin was glistening with sweat (which added to his allure) and his huge, massive muscles were pumped even bigger from all the exertion.

"Omigod! Omigod! Omigod!" Tom kept murmuring (when, that is, he didn't have his mouth, lips or tongue on the man's beefy upper body). It was almost too good to be true, getting his hands on such monstrous muscle as this. Fortunately, he didn't stop to ponder his lucky karma but kept going gaga over the big stud, doing all the right things and pushing all the right buttons.

And while he figured the monster's cock was probably of secondary importance when it came to getting the guy off, Tom did wish he had another hand or two when the monster stopped posing and flexing just long enough to pull down his gym shorts and free his raging hard-on. But just then, almost in answer to his prayers, the same midget who blew Tom earlier pushed his way through the mass of spectators and, after first seeking their approval, pounced on the monster's one-eyed love muscle and proceed to give it a workout of a far, far different kind.

Less than two minutes later, right in the middle of a double biceps pose, with Tom worshiping his big, pumped-up muscles and the midget sucking on his bloated pecker, the monster blew. Big time. Really big time. His orgasm was nothing short of spectacular: contorted face, bulging muscles, veins popping up all over the place, one agonized contraction after another.

By sheer coincidence, the monster blew mere seconds before midnight so that he ended up having his orgasm at exactly the same moment as the club erupted in some unbelievably raucous and wildly exuberant Chinese New Year festivities. Drums pounded, cymbals clashed, confetti flew, laser light shows flashed overhead, long strings of firecrackers exploded in the corners and a fierce Chinese dragon (manipulated by a dozen naked young acrobats) snaked its way through the boisterous crowd, all in celebration of the New Year--the Year of the Pig, according to the Chinese lunar calendar--all while the monster bucked and jerked and spewed and had a few major fireworks of his own.

After helping the drained and exhausted muscle-head get to the nearest wall, Tom gave the guy's right pec a last, lingering caress then turned to join in the partying. That's when he was stopped dead in his tracks by a pair of smoldering brown eyes belonging to the sexiest man he had ever seen in his life.

They stared at each other from a distance of about twenty feet and Tom slowly turned to mush. The guy was gorgeous, drop-dead gorgeous. Absolutely everything Tom could possibly want in a man.

Unmistakably Chinese, the hunk was in his early thirties, stood a tad over six feet, weighed in the neighborhood of two hundred and twenty pounds and, aided by his rather severe crew-cut and stern, military bearing, reeked of arrogant self-confidence and tough, macho sex appeal. He had his shirt off and, judging by the broad shoulders, bulging arms, massive pecs, narrow wasp-waist and washboard abs, obviously spent a lot of time in the gym. His flawless skin, smooth and hairless, made his muscled physique all the more attractive and appealing.

He gave a reproving snarl and pushed his way over to where Tom was standing. Leaning close so he could be heard over all the noisy celebrations, he said in precise, perfect English, "I've been watching you. You are a pig. A real fucking pig."

"Yeah, I guess I am," agreed Tom. A tiny smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. He took a deep whiff of the hunk's heady cologne and raw, intoxicating man-sweat, their eyes met again and a thousand butterflies took off in his gut. He placed his hands on the man's curved and polished slabs of pec-muscle in such a way that his thumbs could tease and titillate the two plump, dark brown, raisin-sized nipples while his fingers worshipped the rest of the imposing mounds.

"I have an idea," he purred, getting hornier and crazier by the second. "Since this is the Year of the Pig, why don't I show you just how much of a pig I can be?"

"Right here? Right now?" asked the hunk, clearly intrigued by the invitation.

"What better place to be a pig than in a pigpen surrounded by other pigs?" replied Tom. He latched onto the hunk's nipples and used them to pull the man close for a deep, serious lip-lock In no time, they were practically eating each other alive, their hungry kisses were so intense and demanding. Tom fanned the flames by first tightening his grip on the hunk's nipples and then twisting the nubs back and forth harder and harder until the hunk suddenly broke the kiss, threw his head back in a rapture of tit-ecstasy and gasped, "Okay, let's do it! Right here, right now!"

Tom broke into a big shit-eating grin and whooped, "You got it, babe!" He gave the hunk another long, passion-filled kiss while enthusiastically playing some more with the two rubbery nipples until he lost it, totally lost it and went on the attack.

Leaving a trail of wet, sloppy kisses as his mouth worked its way down the hunk's neck, chest and abs (pausing here and there to do some serious nibbling at the really tender, excitable parts), Tom slowly dropped to his knees and, after driving the stud crazy by eating out his cute little belly-button, finally made for the grand prize packed away in the bulging, skin-tight blue jeans.

Not without some difficulty, Tom wrestled the hefty uncut cock and hairless, walnut-sized balls out into the open and got the jeans down low enough so he could also get his hands on the twin globes of hard, muscular bubble-butt. He studied the thick, throbbing column of man-flesh staring him in the face and felt his heart start to race. He wanted it, wanted it bad. And then, like a hungry terrier with a big juicy bone, he pounced on the erect, cum-dripping seven inches and savaged it something fierce. He unleashed all the drive, intensity and skill that an experienced, man-hungry sex-pig could bring to a serious, hardcore encounter. Gentle he was not. But the hunk was with Tom every step of the way and, in fact, loved the roughness of the attack He got more and more frenzied the longer Tom chowed down on his cock, chewed on his ample foreskin, tugged and twisted his balls and man-handled his ass. And when Tom stuck a finger up his twitching butthole, squeezed his dangling gonads and sucked on the exposed knob of his cock all at the same time, he almost fucking lost it!

Figuring he had the hunk primed and ready to go, Tom got up and maneuvered the big guy over to the low bar with the brass railing. They looked at each other and instantly both knew what the other wanted. Tom hurriedly stripped off his pants while the hunk slipped on a condom and slapped on some lube. Grabbing on to the railing, Tom bent around to look at the handsome, brawny hunk and growled, "Do it, babe. Fuck me. Fuck me good and hard!"

The hunk didn't need to be told twice. He positioned his cock at Tom's puckered, pink butthole, gently pushed it in just far enough for his knob to clear the portal and then, after the slightest pause to let them both catch their breath, drove his dick right to his balls in one hard, concerted thrust. "Oh, fuck, yes!" gasped the hunk.

"You got that right!" echoed Tom, quickly surrendering to the waves of pleasure-pain radiating from his ass. "Fuck me like you mean it!" For good measure, Tom clamped down good and hard on the hunk's hot, throbbing dick and wriggled his ass to get things going.

"Yeahhhhh!" the hunk rumbled. And then he started fucking. Nice and slow and easy at first but then harder and faster and rougher as he got into it. In no time he was a sex-crazed, butt-rutting animal.

Holding on for dear life while the hunk pounded thick pud up his shit-chute, Tom opened his eyes and looked in the mirror behind the bar. In it, he saw scores of faces intently watching him getting fucked and pleasured and turned on by the whole mind-blowing experience. It turned him on even more when he noticed some of the guys had their hard dicks out and were openly jacking off while they watched him getting fucked.

*What a trip,* he thought, *getting fucked by a muscle-stud in front of a bunch of appreciative fellow sex pigs*. He couldn't help grinning like a schoolboy, it was so hot.

It wasn't much longer after that when the hunk's pounding cock detonated the sizzling jizz in his sexy brown balls and he lost it in a body-convulsing orgasm. This triggered Tom's own bouncing balls and he, too, without so much as a finger on his cock, lost it and drenched the bar in front of him with thick, gooey gobs of his cum.

Even after his orgasm had run its full course, it took Tom a long time to get his breathing anywhere near back to normal. He couldn't help wincing when the hunk's dwindling dick finally slipped from his tender, super-sensitive ass but he also knew it wouldn't be long before he'd be craving it all over again.

The Year of the Pig was only ten minutes old.


THE     END

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They may not be: redistributed; sold; altered; enhanced; modified by artificial, digital or computer imaging;
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