[Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Any similarities between actual events and the events in this story or the characters in this story are purely coincidental. This story involves descriptions of unsafe sexual acts between men for the purpose of erotic fantasy and is not intended to condone such acts. If you are underage or homoerotic material is otherwise illegal in your area, please do not continue. Author retains copyright; do not duplicate this story without express written consent by the author. Comments and suggestions are welcomed by the author at lopezbos@yahoo.com]
I hate business trips. I have always hated business trips because they interrupt my business. My current employer had cause me to plumb new depths to my hatred of these useless ventures by being the cheapest bastard on the face of the earth. Not only did I have to endure four connections and almost twelve hours of flying instead of a five hour non-stop, but I had to get a cab from the airport and stay at a crappy two-star dump because it was close enough to walk to the plant, thereby precluding my need for a rental car. My boss's miserly ways weren't aimed at me exclusively of course. He treats all of his employees like this, which is why when the clock sweeps past five in the afternoon, you can hear a pin drop in the offices. Nobody works for free when the boss counts the pencils. Of course that meant that I was condemned to my hotel for the evening; no company dinners, no entertainment budget, nothing. I hoped there'd be something decent on TV since that was going to be it for the next three days.
The hotel (and I use that term very loosely) didn't have a restaurant, it had a pub. This may sound charming on the brochure, but in reality it was a perverse tiki-room affair that had seen it's heyday in the disco era. Someone had attempted to modernize the look by putting up antique farm implements screwed to the walls at odd intervals, but neglected to take down the Polynesian masks and grass thatch `roof' over the bar. In places there were large banks of lights. The schizophrenic decor created a mood of dark depression. Not surprisingly, the place was not packed. The bar offered the only food around, unless I felt like taking a cab into town (on my nickel of course) and hunting up a decent eatery. I was tired and pissed, so the bar was it. I ordered a burger, fries and a beer and phased out at the TV waiting for my food.
When my food finally arrived, I noticed that I'd been joined at the bar by another man who looked as tired and pissed as I was. His jacket was tossed over the back of the stool and his white shirt was cuffed half way up brawny forearms. His body was the wrong geometry for business clothes; a broad back, huge shoulders and massive arms inflated the top of the shirt while a narrow waist and stomach floated inside folds and pleats of cotton rammed into his pants. Here was a man in desperate need of a tailor. I guessed he was in his early thirties, buzz cut military haircut gelled up to look less like a jar-head and more like an exec. He tossed the menu down and ordered in a low growl, then shook his head. Now I'm a good six foot-one and in good shape, but this guy looked like he could snap me like a twig with his fingers.
"Rough day" I said flatly. It was more a statement than a question from me. He looked over at me and nodded. His slate-gray eyes looked tired, but intelligent.
"Can you believe I just landed a huge account?" he asked, taking a long pull on his beer.
"Man, I'd hate to see you when you lose one" I responded, taking a sip myself and laughing. His whole body shook with a little chuckle.
"Chris Martin" he said, extending his hand. I reached over the intervening stool and shook his baseball-mitt sized paw.
"Clark Stevens" I replied. Chris slid his beer over and hopped to the empty seat next to me with surprising agility for his bulk.
"I take it you're not a local either" he said, raising his bottle in a toast.
"Nope. I'm here to set up an inventory system for the cheapest company on earth. Hence the palatial digs." I motioned around the bar.
Chris chuckled again, a bass growl affair. "Well, I'm self-employed, so this is as good as it gets until things get good, you know what I'm saying?"
I nodded. "I envy you" I said, staring down at the bar, "Must be great to be your own boss."
"You'd think" he said, taking a very long pull then grinding his jaw, "Sometimes I'm not sure who's boss, you know?"
I didn't know, but I nodded. I caught him looking at my left hand and my ring and figured it out. He shook his head again, letting it drop between those massive shoulders.
"I score a huge deal and you know what I get when I call my wife to tell her? I get called an asshole because I didn't call the lawn guy."
I clinked bottles with him, "Got yelled at for buying the wrong shampoo." We both laughed. His food came and he dove in. "So what's your business?" I asked.
"Security" he said between bites, "I consult with big companies on security systems. Espionage stuff, not the dogs and rent-a-cop stuff. I leave that to the big boys. This burger sucks."
I looked at my half-eaten burger and nodded. "Beer's good" I said, emptying my bottle and signaling the laconic bartender for another. "You look like ex-military" I ventured, noticing the tattoo on hi bicep that showed through his shirt. He nodded and took another bite.
"Got my twenty years and retired two years ago. Been making a go of this ever since." He sighed and put the burger down. "It's hard man, you know? You think when you do this that it's going to be great, fun, exciting. Then it's bills, boardrooms, and bitching. I think if I had to do it over again..."
We talked for three more rounds of beer. He hated travel as much as I did, probably more because every cent he spent was his. His marriage had morphed into a second job, and he was feeling like he'd hit that flat expanse where life's not so much a challenge as a routine. Three beers turned into five, and I was feeling more relaxed than I'd felt in a very long time. The place was still mostly empty, and my back hurt from being hunched over the damned stool. I stood up and stretched, trying to get the knot out of my back. Chris stood up too, apparently mistaking my stretch for a cue to end the evening.
"Better get to bed" he slurred a little. He stretched as well, and for a moment I thought the white cotton shirt he was wearing would rip apart. He twisted his head and his neck gave an audible crack. He grabbed the checks off the bar and put down cash on the bar. "My treat" he said, "I'm the one that just landed the account, gotta celebrate you know."
"Thanks man, but I was expecting a dull night of TV, and I've actually had a good time."
He slapped me on the shoulder, and in his intoxicated state used a little too much force, almost knocking me over. "Hey, me too man" he said. I wanted to look down at my crotch to be sure that I wasn't tenting, I lose control when I'm a little sloshed. What I managed to do was to lean forward, lose my balance, and tumble right into his chest. His big hands caught my shoulders and straightened me up. "Whoa there man, time to hit the rack." He chuckled again, that wonderful bass growl, inches from my face. I laughed, partly because I felt like an idiot and partly because it felt so damned good to be in this guy's grip. It was like he had a personal gravity that drew me towards him.
He scooped up his jacket and hooked my arm over his shoulder and half dragged me to the lobby and into the creaky elevator. He was chuckling again, with a grin on his face. "I haven't done this since the service" he said, more to himself than to me. "Where to?" he asked, pointing to the panel.
"Three. I haven't done this since college" I said, though it didn't come out quite as clearly as I thought.
"There's lots of things I haven't done since the service" he mumbled. The elevator reached the third floor and the doors opened to the dingy corridor. "Here we are, almost there." He scooped my arm again and led me off the elevator. I could pretty much walk, but I wasn't about to complain.
"Three-oh-seven" I said. I knew that my room was somewhere on the left, not too far down. He stopped and turned towards a door marked 301. "Shehven" I said again.
"I know, this is my room, I just want to drop off my jacket." He braced me against the wall, slipped his card key in and flung open the door. He tossed his jacket onto the king bed and stepped back.
"Hey, you got a nice bed" I said looking into the room. "I got a crappy full bed, and no desk. I hate this hotel."
"Well don't get your panties in a twist. They upgraded me because they were booked. Now let's go."
"I can make it man, you don't need to baby sit me."
"The way you're breathing, you're gonna be driving the porcelain bus pretty soon brother. I don't want to be woken up by paramedics. Let's go" It was close to ^Ö but not quite ^Ö an order. I laughed because I had a sudden urge to salute, but knew that it would probably be an insult. I staggered down to my door, Chris right behind. He was right about the bus, I could feel the burger and beer nuts were not playing nice in my gut. I managed to slip my card in the slot, trying to prove I was indeed relatively sober. I stumbled into the room and took a deep breath.
"OK, I think I can manage to throw up now." I said half joking. I felt the queasiness peak and I headed for the bathroom, shutting the door just in time to puke none too quietly. I'd hoped Chris got the idea and took off, but I heard the sink running beyond the door. There's a few things in life that you really want to do completely alone, and for me, blowing chunks and stale beer is on that list. I felt like a total loser. When I was sure that I was done, I flushed a few times and steeled myself to opening the door.
"Here you go" he said, handing me a wet facecloth. I took it and wiped my face and neck. He put his arm over on my left shoulder to steady me, although I was quite sober now, handing me my bottle of mouthwash off the sink. He turned me towards it and I dutifully rinsed, then splashed some water on my face.
"You'll be OK now" he growled, putting his mitt on my shoulder again. The sheer weight of it was surprising.
"Thanks man. You didn't have to stay"
"S'OK, I don't get to take care of a buddy all that often, I guess I miss that."
I looked into his eyes, the tone of his voice, the way he said that made a little switch go off in my head and in my loins. I put my hand on his shoulder, trying not to feel the steel-under-velvet feeling of it. "That's a shame man. You're a good man, anyone would be lucky to have you as a friend." His eyes narrowed for an instant, then in one motion his hand moved to the back of my neck and pulled me to him. Our lips met not in a gentle caress, but in a head-on-collision way. There was a hunger there, not just lust. Our bodies collided, arms around each other, straining, pulling, almost trying to get through each other.
I didn't have time to think, only to respond. The few times I've been with guys, it's been a battle of the two heads, if you know what I mean. This time it was just there, no second thoughts, no internal dialog, no what if's. My arms ached from groping him, and my back and chest were crushed by his force. Raw power took over, muscle to muscle, man to man. I've heard guys say that they melt in another man's arms; but this was not the case. This was a primal need to test strength and will. Men are groomed and taught to suppress the animal, to play nice with the other boys, to be gentle, slowly caging in that animal until he's too confined to stand. Then all at once the cage door is opened and the animal is free to be himself. This was not an act of romance, it was a challenge of equals where there were no rules. There was no melting here.
His hand was on the back of my head, pulling me on to him, my hand on his waist giving me leverage to grind into him. He grabbed my ass with his free hand and pulled me, my feet struggling to stay on the ground. I grunted at the effort, which seemed to inspire him to new feats of strength. He half-lifted me and spun me around, still locked lips to lips. I grabbed him, holding on and struggling against his moves, while at the same time steering him towards the bed. I didn't know what would come next, and didn't care. Right now was all that mattered. I was expunging all of my lust and frustration in a frenetic embrace. He pulled back, gasping for air. I saw hunger in his eyes, fury, and raw lust. I should have been afraid, but I wasn't. I felt the same things, and I was ready for the battle. I drew my hands in and started to undress him, our eyes still locked in a deadly stare. I didn't look down when his shirt came off, or as my hands freed his belt and trousers. His hands tore and my clothes, and I didn't care if I was presentable or not, if I was too paunchy or thin, it didn't matter. The only time he broke the stare was when I slipped his undershirt off him, and he me, and then only long enough to discard the last vestiges of civility.
We approached each other again, like rams challenging, our lips met in fury. My body now felt what my eyes had not seen, the muscled hairy chest, rock hard abs that felt almost like sandpaper, and lower, a hot shaft thrusting into my own sweating abs. My cock slipped between his thighs, the top of it taking the weight of his balls. All this I absorbed secondarily to the urgency of his kiss. An unspoken agreement was forged, he needed to be dominant, but only to another dominant man. I would yield, but not without a hell of a fight. We inched backwards, I felt the edge of the bed on my calves. He pushed, I pushed back. It was insane. Every fiber of my body wanted to be on the bed with this man on top of me, but yet I fought back, holding my ground. His embrace became more insistent, his breathing ragged as he pushed harder. At the limits of my strength, his larger size and strength won.
We fell onto the bed, but not completely. He reached out one arm to catch us, the other holding me tight. This probably kept the bed from collapsing as four hundred plus pounds fell on it. In a moment he was on me, his full weight on top of me, his hungry lust now painfully evident between us. I could feel his thick meat grinding into me, it's heat on me like a firebrand. I wanted it badly, but I wasn't about to make the move. I didn't need to. His hand raced down my thigh to my knee and lifted my leg up. I fought to keep it down, twisting under him, simulating his cock even more. His emissions coated my stomach, and I could smell his musk rising furiously from the confines between us. He swung his legs to my right leg and pinned it down, lifting my left leg against my will up and over. I responded by grabbing his hips and driving my own straining cock under his balls. He emitted a gasp and his grip slid to my ankle and firmly held my leg aloft. His other arm held me from behind, still I just above the small of my back where he had taken my weight as we fell, only now he was using it to control my position under him. He continued to maneuver me, all the while hungrily tasting my skin. His mouth was on my neck, my face, my shoulders. He used his chest to pin me down, allowing him to range over me as he liked. I probed every weakness in his assault, feeling him counter decisively. Then his cock, the hot monster begging for attention, slid past my own, leaving a trail of his essence through my pubes. I arched my back as I felt him slide past my now aching balls. Our bodies were now pressed together and the sensation of sandpaper over my entire torso was maddening. The battle was nearly over now, and for the first time I felt real fear.
His tool was at least eight inches long, and felt fat and hard against me. My own uncut cock was a respectable seven, but it had clearly been sidelined for this event. I hadn't been fucked in several years, and the prospect of this stud in rut driving that weapon into me with the enthusiasm he was displaying, scared the crap out of me. He'd rip me open and there was absolutely nothing I could do about it. All this time I'd been struggling against him in erotic resistance. Now it was real. His mouth covered mine, I wanted to tell him to go easy, not to hurt me, but I couldn't form the words. I would not capitulate on even this. I would show no fear, no surrender.
I felt the heat of his cockhead on my exposed ass, the wetness of him making my cheeks slippery. He moved slowly, methodically, as if enjoying this last moment before his conquest. I fought still, but rotated my hips to align with him. I knew that at the ultimate moment, I would not, could not resist him, but that moment had not yet come. Our arms were locked in place. I saw his muscles rippling to keep my leg up and my body pinned, sweat glistening on the fine hairs of his body. I could feel him searching for my entrance, lazy passes up and down my crack, gently probing, testing. He pulled back and looked into my eyes with the same animal lust I'd seen in the bathroom, and I knew then that he'd found what he was looking for. I faced him down, but surrendered my ass. He felt with the tip of his cock the subtle shift of muscles as I willfully relaxed my ass, my body's consent to his. He smiled at me, as if acknowledging this small surrender. I felt the need to fight.
I pushed my hips up hard, meeting his cock. I pushed against it, feeling the fire spread in my ass. I would take his victory away, make it mine. I wanted that cock inside me, filling my ass, demanding satisfaction. He let out a guttural moan as the crown of his cock slipped past my ring and I clamped down on it. This cock was mine to use for my own satisfaction. He shifted his weight and changed the rules. Where I had stolen an inch of control, he took back eightfold, sliding his cock into me slowly but relentlessly. I gasped as my ass buckled, unable to control the spasms. His entry was flawless, controlled, an act of absolute authority, but my resistance wasn't done with him. When I felt his heavy balls at my ass, I rotated my hips, lurching the cockhead inside me towards my prostate. His eyes rolled in his head at this maneuver, and I repeated it, changing the angle slightly until I found it. He had not moved since impaling me completely, and now he surrendered these few moments to me. I knew it would be short lived. Having located that spot that elicited a rolling moan from my chest, he pulled back and drove to it himself, adding to the exquisite torture by pulling nearly completely out at each thrust.
I felt every inch of him sliding in and out, each time with the anticipation that near the bottom of his stroke, his flared cock would rub my prostate, then a second later, flick it the other way. Waves of pleasure swept over my body as I rode him and he rode me. Each stroke drained my energy to resist and we transitioned easily to eager fucking. My legs wrapped around him, pulling him into me with each stroke. Unencumbered by my resistance, he was free to show off his strength by lifting me bodily off the bed and impaling me on his cock. My whole weight bore down on that throbbing point of contact. If I could take more of him into me I would.
I knew by the rhythm of his strokes and the intensity on his face that we were near the end. I synchronized my muscle contractions to his strokes, milking him and bringing him to climax. He arched his back and drove into me with all his strength, sending me plowing into the headboard. I felt his root throb once, then every muscle in his body tensed to perfection. I stared, awed by this personification of virility, empting himself into me, giving me his strength after a hard-fought battle. I wanted to remember this moment for a long time. The cords of muscle on his neck, his pecs inflated and peaked with erect nipples rising out of his chest hair like tiny mountains. The sweat on his close cropped hair, dripping off his eyebrows. His biceps extended but perfectly defined for me, straining at the moment of ejaculation to send their strength to the boys, send them on their way with a Herculean push. His taunt six pack frozen in time as even breathing became secondary to the moment. My own cock exploded, overwhelmed by the stimulus from my body and senses. I shot like I hadn't shot in fifteen years, hitting his chest and my chin. My own body contracted from head to toe as I released.
There was a moment of absolute bliss. I saw his face reflecting my own pleasure. I watched as his face again echoed my feelings, falling from that moment of perfect release and relaxation swiftly to what-have-we-done. He pulled out of me gently, but swiftly, and I was grateful for that. Panic welled up from deep inside like a monster that had been lurking and waiting to pounce. Chris rolled off the bad and stood up abruptly, and his naked beauty quelled the monster for a moment. He didn't move, but kept his back to me. I knew the emotions he was feeling; I was feeling them too. We had gone somewhere together that we shouldn't have been, but we'd gone there willingly and eagerly. We had gone there together, but now we faced the guilt and remorse alone.
I wanted to tell him that this was necessary, this was right no matter what we were feeling right now. We would walk away from this refreshed and renewed in our man-hood, reminded that we were still the animal, that we still had unbounded power. If I said it out loud, it would sound like trite rationalization that would make these gut wrenching feelings more real, more permanent. I needed to communicate our exoneration in a code that would tell him all this, without articulating a single word of it. "Let's hit the showers" I said in my best locker-room voice, and he looked over his shoulder and smiled.