This story is a work of fiction, it features man on man adult sex, if you're under the legal age or if it's illegal in the area where your living STOP reading any further.
Although some places are based on real locations, the people and situations are pure fictional. Any resemblance to existing people are sheer coincidental. If however you do know a person portrait or know of a situation described in my story please do not hesitate to contact me the author, I do like to hear about those adventures myself.
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I woke to the sound of my alarm blaring it was 9 AM. I had managed to press three more hours of sleep into my vacation. I yawned vigorously and stretched my body to its limit. Ooh, what a fuck was that last night. Has it really only been five hours ago? Marcel's sent still hung around the room, and looking at our evidence' around the room some DNA too. I felt sorry for the one who had to clean after me. We had ... used ... the room for much more than it was intended for, sleep. But, ooh my god, it was good. I winced when I tried to sit up. My ass felt like a wild fire was raging through my insides, Marcel must have destroyed something in me or something. But still it felt good, I had not, will not ever regret a single second of last night. However the day was still young but I'll get to that. I jumped in the shower to clear away those last cobwebs, checked the forecast and my preplanned route. I packed my bags, scanned the room if I had forgotten anything and I saw it. Marcel's used condom had fell just under the bed and close to it stood his tiny perfumery-bag. I flushed his condom down the drain, I know it's not environmental friendly but I wanted to lose any evidence of his work transgression. I looked in the bag and there was the tube of KY and three more condoms, yes three. I think he had bigger plans than we had managed to accomplish. I couldn't leave them behind in the room nor drop them at the reception, that would really raise some questions. I'm a bitch not a dog. I didn't want him to lose his job over me. I stuffed them in my sauna bag. Who knows they could come in handy, otherwise I could dispose of them less suspiciously. Anyway the room was clean', my packed bags by the door and me ravenous for some breakfast.
I went downstairs to the breakfast room. I had the room all to myself. A wide spread of options awaited me on the buffet. I made my choice and sat at a table, within seconds a waitress asked me if I wanted coffee or tea and returned shortly with my pot of coffee. She did check the buffet occasionally but otherwise I didn't see her. In other words opportunity knocked. I let some bread rolls and condiments `accidentally' drop in my small backpack. Hey, if I can safe an euro and time not having to stop on my way to buy lunch, why not? All in all I'm still Dutch, we've already a reputation of being cheap so why contradict that? After breakfast I retrieved my bags, checked out, looked for Marcel unfortunately without success and stepped on my bike again. Next stop Charleroi. Goodbye Anderlecht thank you for the amazing and memorable night.
The instant my ass landed on my saddle a scorching pain shot through my body. My memory had to endure a physical reminder of my pleasurable encounter with Marcel. He had really done a number on me. Alas there was no other way than to grin and bear. Usually I would stop my ride every hour to hour and half to rest and, guilty, have a smoke. This ride however forced me to stop every fifteen minutes or so. Luckily halfway through the day, after my lunch stop, the pain lessened from scorching to smoldering. Now I could go for nearly twenty minutes in one go. I had planned to arrive at Charleroi round and about one thirty, so I was elated as the first industrial signs of Charleroi came in sight around three.
Now follows a short tourist history lesson about Charleroi. You can skip ahead to the juicy parts, but bear with me and you'll have a clearer picture of events still to come. So Charleroi has been a big contestant on the iron, if I'm not mistaking, market. In its heydays they produced tons of iron for export and domestic use. Many factories were build along the canal between them and Brussels. This was all due to a mother lode of raw material in the mountains surrounding the city. When the mines dried out the factories closed and were abandoned to be left at the mercy of the elements. Without her incomes from those factories the city went bankrupt. They had no money to either maintain nor demolish the factories. In time they found another way of income, tourism. Oddly those factories and mines attracted people to their regions for leisure. Overtime the city started to grow back, be it smaller, to its former glory. So far the history lesson. (I'm still waiting for any offer from the Belgium tourist board.)
As I approached the city limits I was in awe of the sheer beauty in those hideously ugly dilapidated factories. They had crumbled in on themselves, rust had attached itself on any available surface and many vandals had tagged the remaining spaces with graffiti. A lot of factories occupied an area close to a square kilometer each. I was so captivated by their appearance I almost didn't see a lone figure standing in the middle of the bicycle road. He didn't see me coming either, he was too occupied focusing his camera on one of those factories across the canal. I could warn him of my approach by ringing my bell or reduce my speed to offer him his time. I wasn't in any hurry anymore, I was close to my destination just one point two kilometers to go according to my GPS. So I stopped. I was curious about his fascination with the constructions surrounding us. He was so highly focused on his task that he didn't notice me until I lit a cigarette.
"Oh, pardon moi monsieur." "Pas de problème, finish your shot." "Merci, thank you I've taken my photo. Not the one I wanted, but it will do for now." "May I see?" "Sure."
He handed me his amazing looking camera. When I saw the shot he had taken I was impressed. Not many people of his age, I estimated just around twenty, would be able to shoot a photo of this quality. He had captured most of the details in the design and construction of the building. The only flaw I noted was he had slightly overexposed the light.
"It's a good photo." "No, not at all. If you look here you see that my focus is wrong and there is something else bothering me, only I cannot lay my finger on it." "The light, maybe?" "Hm, yes. Yes that is it, thank you." "You're welcome." "Are you a photographer?" "Hobby, dormant now but I do like it." "What would you suggest I could do to better the picture?" "Besides editing? Change your DIN-setting or wait for a cloud to pass over." "You do know your ways, thank you sir." "Again you're welcome and my name is JC. Sir was my father." "He he, nice to meet you JC, my name is Pierre." "Enchanté Pierre." "Am I too bold if I ask you for a cigarette?" "No, not at all."
As I handed him my cigarettes and lighter I took a moment to look at him better. He was cute in a college kind of way. He had, according to the escaped strains from his man bun, curly half long blond hair. He was dressed in a black t-shirt with `rebel' written on his chest and skinny jeans that hugged his muscled legs. He had this, you may call, swimmers build. You know broader chest, strong arms, slim waist and muscled legs. He handed back my package of cigarettes and exhaled his first puff of smoke with a load sigh.
"Aaaah, nice. I needed a shot of nicotine." "Very bad for our health, but I get your point." "He he, so where did you come from?" "I started today from Brussels, but I come from a small town just north of Breda in the Netherlands." "On your bike? Impressive." "I've taken my time to get here. What is your intend with that photo by the way?" "Delete it and wait for a better opportunity." "Do you mind if I give it a try?" "No, here go ahead." "Your main focus was that graffiti over there?" "Kind of, not necessarily."
I took a closer look at the camera he handed me. Expensive, came to mind. I looked up to the sky and light fall, adjusted the DIN accordingly, focused on the graffiti and snapped. I was in luck. The light fall had changed to an angle it could highlight the building more friendly and my setting helped just as much. I handed Pierre back his camera. Pierre gave a soft whistle of admiration.
"You have a good eye."
Pierre studied the photo again, looked at me and returned to the photo. I saw the wheels in his mind turning wild. He was up to something.
"Can you take a photo of me in front of this wall behind us?" "I'm afraid not. I'd be working with too much back light, though appreciated in landscape photo's it's hell for portraits." "Congratulations, you have past. You do know your stuff." "What are you going for?" "I want you to take some photo's of me in this factory behind us." "In the factory? How do you plan to do that?" "Just around the corner is a hole in the wall, we can enter through there." "What about my bike and luggage?" "The hole is large enough. You can hide your bike behind this wall easily. If you do not know where to look you will not see the hole." "Okay, let's have a look then." "Follow me."
I had to push my bike through some bushes but behind them I had plenty of room to maneuver. I followed Pierre and true to his word I didn't notice any hole until he pointed it out to me. We entered the grounds and found a great hiding place for my bike. I shouldered my backpack, there was no way I would leave any important items or valuables behind with my bike. Clearly Pierre had scouted out this place beforehand, expertly he guided us to and through the building. Once inside the factory I was amazed about the sheer beauty it had. Like within a cathedral this calm washed over me, all background noises of the city disappeared. We had to climb over some rubble and duck under fallen beams of steel with the soft crunch of stones under our shoes accompanying us. Pierre led me to a part of the factory that must have been used as the office. It was fairly clean of debris and the ceiling looked sturdy. Along the wall were high arches from floor to ceiling where the windows would have been. Through them the sunlight fell with a magical glow on the opposing wall. Small clouds of dust danced in it.
"I was thinking that this room would be suitable." "You're right. Here we have great light for photo's." "Where do you want to start?" "How about that wall it has the best light fall." "Okay, and what do you want me to do?" "Hey, it's your request, do what you want as long as you don't pose. Those photo's are the hottest."
So I casted out the bait now wait and see what kind of fish I had in front of this camera. I adjusted some settings on the camera, focused on the wall behind Pierre and unfocussed just a little bit. At first Pierre did pose. Arms folded on his chest, hands on his hips, a hand on his chin you know, the same old same old. I shot some photo's knowing all too well they were nothing. I told him to relax and move and let me worry what and when to shoot. As Pierre started to loosen up the photo's got better. They became even great when Pierre started to ignore my presence completely and started to walk around and look at the graffiti and grime on the walls. After fifteen minutes or so Pierre acknowledge my existence again and walked towards me.
"Let me see what you have got so far." "I think the first once aren't worth anything. Here you improve considerably." "Hmm, you are right about those, you can delete them. Let us keep those others for later." "It's your call." "What would you suggest we do now?" "How about I go outside and you stand in those window frames?" "Nice, would you mind if I take off my t-shirt? It is getting warm in here." "You do what you want, this is your camera and photo's."
Ding, wasn't that the first nibble? He took off his shirt and stood in the window holding the frame staring at the sun. He was right it was getting warm. We even went for hot as he untied his man bun and shook his hair lose. Maybe you have heard of, or like me even seen online, those early nineteen eighty honey sweet, teeth cringing romance novels with a blond longhaired muscled drawn model on its covers? The models name was Fabio I think. Well Pierre could have been his grandson, at least his younger understudy. His pectorals were well defined. And with his strong arms combined with his chiseled washboard abs my suspicion of him being a swimmer were confirmed. He had transformed from just a cute college guy to a mouth moistening stud. I had to fight and flip the switch in my head to stay `professional' and keep on shooting.
"What do we have now?" "These last ones can go without any doubt in your portfolio." "Ooh yeah, I look good in those. Wow, this one is hot. Is that really me?" "I don't see anyone else around here." "Damn, that soft shadow from that tree really emphasizes the light on my skin." "I thought you might like that one." "You know, above us is a room where that tree has grown into. Maybe we can use that as a background?" "You know the way around here, so lead on." "The stairs is a bit precarious, we have to be careful."
We went one floor up. When I entered the aforementioned room my jaw dropped. Not only had the tree grown into the room, it had taken over almost one third of it. Lush green leafs glistened in the sunshine. Dust clouds hung around its branches. It looked like pure poetry in motion. Pierre walked closer to it and brushed some of its leaves revealing an even more luxurious gleam in them.
"What do you think? Can we use this?" "Definitely, we have to even. That shade of green compared with your skin tone is stunning." "Funny you mention skin. Is it a problem for you if I go completely naked? I want some tasteful nudes to post on my dating site profile." "Dear Pierre, when will you understand that .. this ... is your show. I am only a spectator and try my utmost to capture you at your best." "Thank you." "Considering with what I have to work with, thank you. You look astonishingly good. On and off camera."
Pierre sat down and started to pull of his sneakers.
"Careful I think I've seen some shards of glass on the floor. "I did too. I will put them back on later."
On his socks he stood up and unbuttoned his skinny's and rolled it down his legs. His underwear followed quickly afterwards. When he took off a sock he slipped his bare foot in his All Stars again. As many swimmers tend to do, he had shaved his body completely. Smooth as a baby he stood now in front of me butt naked. I do also tend to the garden down there, but he had taken it to the next level. Not even a shimmer of a hair was to be seen. But there was something not quite right. Then it struck me, his muscles weren't showing off as good as they could.
"Wait, I've an idea. Trust me you'll thank me later."
I grabbed my backpack, rummaged around it and there it was. My sauna bag. I opened it and took out my massage oil and showed it to Pierre. He looked at me comically he hadn't caught on yet. So I told him.
"If you oil up your body your muscles will show up better on camera." "Ooh, that is right. Good idea. Will you help me?" "Hm, I have to fight my disgust I have to touch a stunningly gorgeous man's body like you have, but ... Of course I will help you, you fool. You had to ask?" "Good, you are gay. I was hoping you were gay too." "Just now? I had you figured when you asked me to take these photo's."
Laughing the last reservation he had left him and he relaxed more. I poured some oil in our hands and applied it on him. He started with his chest and arms and I did his backside. When I reached his ass I teased him with a finger down his cleavage which resulted in a appreciative grunt from him. However I continued to apply the oil on his thighs and calves. With now only his lower front side left to oil up he turned towards me. Squatted down to reach his ankles I was at eyelevel with his dick. And it was a nice one to boot. He started to plumb up a little so I gave it a sounding slap with a yelp from him.
"Down boy, not yet. If you play your cards right I may reconsider it, but not for now."
Finished with the task I stood up and stepped back to admire our work. Pierre gleamed and glistened from head to toe, but we did accomplish our goal we had set out for. His muscles just popped towards me, I could point out each and every sinew on his body. To say he lit up the space would have been an understatement he just radiated masculinity and pure unadulterated sex. When he rotated around his axis I couldn't help but whistle.
"Well? Is it better?" "Wait and I'll show you."
Quickly I picked up the camera and snapped one photo to show him.
"God damn, I look like one of them porn-models." "Almost, let's work our way up to that, shall we?"
He took a spot in front of the tree and the next round of shots started. He moved through the branches and let them caress his skin, they complimented each other in an astoundingly good way. And when some dust clouds hovered through the sunlight that kissed him, you would think that this long lost Spartan warrior was walking through a misty forest. I think I don't have to tell you I plumbed up, I stiffened, I got hard with a capitol H. Those shots were downright magical. Nonetheless these were only the appetizer. Pierre was so in his comfort zone he had blocked out everything around him but the tree and himself. Leisurely he started to caress his own body which resulted in an aroused reaction between his legs. He let his hands roam freely and uninhibited over his body, he licked and bit his lips, he wove his fingers through his hair. Clearly he was making love to himself without masturbating, his hands never lingered on his dick for more than a second. He did roll down his foreskin to free his hood leaving it alone again with a single bead of precum glistening in his slit. He returned back to his chest and stroked his nipples and played with them, they puffed up and stood at attention pleading for more action. He wasn't just good at teasing, no he was an artist. I had a massive wet spot in my shorts. My dick throbbed painfully pushing against its confinement. Begging for much needed freedom. A whimper escaped me when that single drop of precum on his hood had grown to a strain of ten centimeters dangling in the soft breeze. Pierre moved his hand from his chest along his abs to his groin, continued along his shaft towards his hood. When his finger reached it he scooped up the strain and slowly and carefully lifted it, still dangling, to his mouth and licked it off. With a moan he licked his lips and moved his hand back to the scene of the crime and started to stroke along his shaft. He leaned into a branch and applied more force and speed in his strokes. His dick grew bigger and thicker to a strikingly stunning piece of man meat. As his right hand kept rubbing out his left one scooped up his balls and caressed, pinched and pulled them. For minutes he pleasured himself. The room filled with his sighs, moans, grunts and groans. He leaned into the tree more and shot. With a load cry he shot and shot good. Strands of cum landed on his chin and chest to slowly trickle down to his groin. Panting he massaged his seed over his body and slowly came down to earth again. With a little shock he acknowledged my presence in the room too. Clearly he had been in his own world.
"Oh, sorry, I think I have lost myself." "Sweetie don't be sorry, you were fabulous." "Really?" "Just look at the evidence in front of you."
Pierre looked at me better and a glow of embarrassment washed over him when he saw the, I must say so myself, rather impressive wet stain in my shorts. When he shot his first load I had cum as well.
"And in addition to that here in my hand is more prove of your excellent performance."
I handed him back his camera and Pierre scrolled through the photo's I had taken. Shame and pride clearly fought over dominance in his features. Pride won.
"These are exquisite. You have captured me in an amazing way, just look at this one. And, oooh, this one. Mon Dieu, I look like a roman statue here. And these, merde." "Don't cut yourself short. You've been an eye pleasing subject to shoot." "Thank you, but still ... ." "Pierre stop it, you've done all the work. I've only been a witness. A witness with a camera to record it all, but still just a witness." "Thank you. Merci beaucoup, I have wanted a photo like these, never thought I would have a ... reportage like this." "You're more than welcome." "How can I ever repay you?" "Just send me one or two to my email to remember you by, that's more than enough payment for me." "Bien sûr, done!"
Pierre wrapped his arms around me in a massive hug and kissed me hard. We broke off our embrace and Pierre got dressed again. I retrieved my now nearly empty bottle of massage oil and packed my sauna-bag into my backpack. We retraced our steps to my bike and I took a minute to change into a clean pair of shorts. There was no way to hide the evidence of the photo shoot in any other way. I gave Pierre my email-address, he thanked me again with a passionate kiss, we slipped through the hole in the wall and each went our own way.
A couple of days later I received a notification on my phone I had received a new email. When I opened it I read it was from Pierre thanking me again abundantly for the shoot and a link to a cloud-site where a rather large package was waiting for my retrieval. I had to wait till I was home to download it. Not only had he send me a video with a personal message thanking me again but also not one or two but all one hundred and thirty six unedited photo's. However small the chance is of me ever showing them to anybody, you as my faithful reader can try and ask me very, very kindly I might maybe consider the possibility of sending you one or two. But don't hold your breath though.
To be continued ?!?!