Fabio and Chance

When I walk down the spiral staircase of the townhouse, I see the party has already started. It’s called a Ho-Down and it looks like some of these hos are already getting down.

Brian is stretched out on the big platform bed, hand-feeding his fat cock to a lean wolfish guy with long brown hair and glittering gray eyes. Brian has dark red hair and wicked blue eyes. He’s Irish from Boston, with a thick Southie accent and a spray of freckles across his face, the kind of face you’d see on a box of cereal. He is proud of his long hefty cock and likes to swing it around like he bats cleanup for the Red Sox.

I’ve never seen The Wolf before, but I like his look; his wiry body is arched over Brian’s and his stiff curved cock beats time like a silent metronome.

Ralph, the sexy blond bear with the pony tail, squats on Brian’s face, his golden fur glistening. Brian’s tongue laps at Ralph’s tight furry nuts, while his button nose is buried in Ralph’s pungent hairy hole. Ralph has his own website where subscribers can drool over him showing off — naked, hard and growling. He’s got a PhD in Viking/Norse studies and he looks like a Viking. This trio represents a sample of the variety of men offered by The Stable: a boyish All-American, a beefy blond bear and a sleek, furry otter.

We all work for Kevin who owns the company and acts as our dispatcher. You may have heard of the The Stable, the New York City agency where men with bucks hire men for fucks? The website says I’m Fabio:  6’2, 195, 25, moderately hairy with blue eyes and brown hair, 8 inches cut and a top. All more or less true. You may remember in our previous episodes I did a threesome with the gigantic blond newbie, Chance, and fucked him with a cucumber. Then, I brought him to my place and taught him how to suck a cock and take a real one up his gorgeous ass. If not, go take a look. It’s worth the time.

I see Malcolm is standing in the corner to the right of the platform bed watching the threesome in action. He’s wearing a tight white tee and gym shorts that can’t contain his bulge. His black skin is indigo blue in the soft light. Malcolm is one of my favorite men on the planet, and I’m very happy that he’s here. I don’t see Chance yet.

In the opposite corner, I see little Ron on his knees sucking a fat cock. Three months ago, he delivered for the Chinese restaurant his family owns and Kevin answered the door. He liked what he saw.  Now, Ron is funding his pursuit of an MBA by delivering Beef Teriyaki by day and sweet Asian boy cock and butt by night. The fat cock he’s sucking on belongs to Joe Donatello, a short, humpy Italian construction worker, or a construction worker type. He’s got a mustache and scruff and his dark hair is thinning, but his solid body is watchable, edible and fuckable. He’s married with kids, I hear, and his wife knows the score. His nickname is Don’t Ask Donatello. It’s a brave new world and it’s smart of Kevin to stock The Stable with all kinds of stallions for every taste.

Kevin is not just the boss, he’s a friend. He came to New York from Kansas in the ‘70’s to make it on Broadway and he was a busy chorus boy for years. During the lean times, he worked as an escort with an agency. Before the internet, agencies were, except for a few bars, the preferred way for men in tweed to meet boys in need. Kevin’s hot body and sunny personality got him a lot of boyfriends with money.

“The happiest whore in New York,” Kevin likes to call himself. One of his clients, Stuart, a millionaire hedge-fund guru, fell madly in love with him and they’ve been a couple for many years. With his long, happy marriage Kevin has become a big teddy bear with long silver hair, a booming laugh and a vast collection of Hawaiian shirts he wears around the Upper East Side. He’s one of the few men who can say “Darling!” and not make you want to puke.

When Kevin got a little restless, Stuart set him up with The Stable. Kevin runs it like a family business. He only works with people he likes on both ends of the transaction. The clients trust him and so do the whores, as Kevin refers to himself and us.

I like calling myself a whore instead of escort. My first car was a beat-up Ford Escort, so I’d rather be a high-priced whore than a discontinued lemon. Besides whore has a whole, noble historical context. There was Aspasia, who fucked Pericles, and the Empress Theodora, who rocked Constantinople and even became a saint. Of course there are thousands of famous male whores among us right now, but this ain’t a story about that.

Kevin is a great cook and he loves to entertain, so every couple of months he hosts a party for his boys at his four-story townhouse off Fifth Avenue and he does all the cooking. He named it The Ho Down, where us Hos can get down, relax, unwind and fuck around — off the clock. Attendance is not mandatory, but you’d be foolish to pass up the good food, great drinks and the chance to hang out, catch up with other hot guys who know what to do with their bodies.

We assemble in the plush basement of the townhouse, three big rooms that open on to each other, bathed in warm earth tones and hushed intimate lighting created by a theater lighting designer who is a client. There are several plush couches, a love seat, a rocking chair and two king-size platform beds. There’s big coral bathroom with a giant sunken tub, and a shower room with three shower heads. When you first descend the stairs, there’s a fully stocked bar tucked under the stairwell and a handsome bartender tucked behind it.

Two new additions to The Stable and the Ho Down are “The Twins,” Grant and Skip. They are naked and sitting in front a big monitor in the other bedroom, watching themselves onscreen. They were the toast of Fort Lauderdale clubs and made some home movies they put on PornHub. One of the big studios signed them up and now their feature debut is getting some buzz. They are cute, scrawny trailer trash with greasy emo hair, tight little butts and identical long, knobby dongs.

I don’t like them much. They call everybody “Dude,” maybe even their mother. They are neither bright nor pleasant, but at 19 they are the flavors of the month and Kevin is banking on their notoriety to attract a new demographic. Check back in a year.

I look around at the hot couplings and think I’d love to spend time with Malcolm. He’s taller than me with a smoking gladiator body, a giant photogenic cock and a wicked sense of humor. I did a double with him where I got kind of lost. I was so into him, his smooth skin, his gorgeous piece, his tantalizing scent that he had to pinch me while we were making out to remind me there was a client to attend to. Malcolm is someone I could get serious about. He’s hot and he’s smart. I am good at getting inside a guy’s head, scoping him out and giving him what he doesn’t even know what he wants yet. Malcolm is better at it than I am and could give the rest of us a master class. When he’s near I can feel him stealthily accessing my brain cells.  It scares and thrills me.

He writes science fiction — novels and screenplays. I’ve read his stuff and it’s sexy and out there, the product of a wicked agile mind. He’s also good with his hands and does handy man jobs all over town. You can add his voice to his list of plusses, a hickory-smoked, honey-dipped baritone that can jump start your engine in just four notes.

He looks up, smiles at me from across the room and heads toward the bar, his big dong swinging in his shorts. I meet him there.

Kevin has assigned a fine-looking boy I’ve never seen before to be our bartender. He’s tall with brown hair, huge, brown Bambi eyes and a sparkling smile. His linebacker shoulders spill out of his tight white wife beater. Kevin often has a trainee start out as bartender at the Ho Downs to test them.

Malcolm and I hug and kiss. We both have boners.

“Hello!” the boy says brightly, in a male ingénue tenor. Oh, an actor … BUT us actors make good whores, we just have to tone it all down a bit.

We introduce ourselves to him.

“Oh boy, Malcolm and Fabio! You guys are legends. It’s an honor to meet you,” the kid says. He holds out his hand and we hear him say,  “I’m Brett! Brett Fister!”

Malcolm and I look at each other and then look at the kid. Did we hear that right?

“What did you say your name was?” Malcolm asks. “Fister?”

“Oh, it’s spelled PH-ister.  Brett Phister! I’m from Rochester, New York, and there’s a big Phister clan up there. I hope I get to work with you guys someday.”

Brett slices a cucumber nice and thin and drops six tangy slices into my Hendricks and tonic. The first time I met Chance, I fucked him with a giant mutant cucumber so now it seems a shame to ruin a perfectly good cucumber by slicing it up. I already like this Brett, he’s got sparkle, but unless handball is his specialty, he’s going to have to change his name. All three of us are looking at the action in the next room.

I notice there are three big cans of pineapple juice behind the bar and a big tray of pineapple slices next to it.

"What's up with all the pineapple?" I ask."Is this a Hawaiian themed party? "

"No. Pineapple makes your jizz taste better!" Brett announces. "Kevin told me to stock up on it!"

"I didn't know that, " I say. Then I turn to Malcolm. "Did you?"

"Oh yeah," Malcolm says. "I had a big glass of it when I got here."

"Good to know," I say. "I look forward to sucking down some reycled pineapple juice through your fat straw, stud."

Then I turn to Brett. "Give me a pineapple juice chaser, baby."

You can lead a whore to pineapple juice and you can make him drink.

The Wolf with the metronome dick is riding Brian’s fat, pink shillelagh. Wolfie has his hands behind his head and his eyes are closed. He seems to be meditating while remaining perfectly balanced on the long, thick tool. He must be a dancer or teach yoga.

On the other end of the bed, little Ron is on his back getting plowed by Donatello, buried under his giant furry pecs. Ron is squeaking, a sign that he’s getting ready to shoot. He can squirt, hands free, several times during one fuck. One big squeak and he’s got pearls of jizz on his flat stomach, pasting him and Donatello together. Joe keeps pumping. There’s more cum to come from both of them.

The Twins are on the other bed, their asses in the air, doggy style. Ralph, the hot blond bear, walks over and spits on Grant’s crack and then on Skip’s. He squats and munches one hole while digging a stout finger into the other one. Ralph’s devoted subscribers drool over his groaning, splashing cum loads and wonder if straight Ralph would ever do it with a guy. The answer is, fuck yeah. He’s one of the busiest stallions in The Stable. Under his assault, the twins bleat like little lambs.

Malcolm has his arm over my shoulder as we watch the scene. I have an arm around his waist. We both are hard and I really like this feeling, just watching good fucking with my sexy bud. 

Ralph is fucking Grant now (or is it Skip?), plunging his hefty golden sword into the twink’s scrawny ass. You half expect it to pop out the other side, like a magic trick. The kids’ bleats are loud and irritating. Their fans must watch them on mute. Thoughtful Ralph is deep fucking one and finger fucking the other twin.

On the other bed, Brian shouts, “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” and pumps giant load into Wolfie’s steaming, punished hole. Wolfie absorbs the life-giving elixir thoughtfully, settling onto the still hard pole. He grabs his own cock, pumps a few times and sends hot otter juice across Brian’s freckled chest and button nose.

There’s a shout from the other side of the bed. Ron has spurted for the third time and his hole is so tight that Donatello pumps his baby-making load into the sweet boy’s punished fuckhole.

I would adopt that baby.

Brian, Wolfie, Ron and Donatello jump off the bed and head to the showers. Good work all around!

Now it’s just Ralph pounding and poking the noisy, annoying twins.

Malcolm squeezes my shoulder. “I’m going in. You want to come?”

I shake my head. “Go for it.”

The twins look startled and afraid as Malcolm approaches the bed. Welcome to the real world, bitches.

He goes to Grant’s face, smacks it lightly and puts his finger to his lips. Then he rubs his big, scary tool across the kid’s open mouth. He grabs his mop of hair and yanks the twink’s head back. Grant is in mid-bleat when Malcolm stuffs his tool down the kid’s throat. The kid gags, chokes, whimpers and settles his big mouth around the engorged velvet invader.

Now Skip is nudging his face toward Malcolm’s impressive indigo implement. Twins! He wants whatever his brother has. Malcolm stuffs his mouth too. Stuffed from both ends, these twins really are lucky and we don’t get irritating stereo bleats. Just one at a time.

The twins are furiously yanking their knobby boy dicks and they both fight for Malcolm’s satisfying meat. Then the twins squirt noisily and one of them, in his frenzy, bites Malcolm’s cock. Damn! Malcolm jumps back. Ralph obliges by pulling out of Grant’s (or is it Skip’s?) gasping hole and shoots a load that democratically distributes some of his sizzling juice on each of the twin’s bony backs.

The twins jump off the bed and head to the showers. I hope they wash their hair. Malcolm heads that way too. Ralph comes to the bar and Brett exclaims, “That was awesome! I’m a fan of yours … and a subscriber!”

“Thank you.” Ralph takes a bow, asks for a beer and wipes his sweaty forehead.

“Nice party,’ he says, and kisses me on the cheek, his hefty spent tool dangling between our legs. He takes the band off his golden hair and it spills down to his shoulders: a great prop and value-added service. His sweat is ripe and tantalizing, like his beefy body. If he’s up for it, I could go for some of that tonight. He runs his cold bottle of beer across his forehead and under his chin.

“Who was the hot, furry guy with the tick-tock dick?” I ask him.

“Oh, that’s Ezra. He just started. Nice, huh? He’s a choreographer.”

“I thought so.”

“I’d love to hang with you, buddy. I’m going to get cleaned up.” Ralph pats my face and heads to the showers. The other guys haven’t returned from the showers, so I guess they took off or they’re all fucking under the pulsating tropical rainforest shower heads. They could at least socialize for a bit. We’re not just fuck machines-- we’re people too!

The only ones I really want to see, though, are Ralph and Malcolm-- and Chance, if he shows up.

There’s a little water closet near the bar and I duck into it to take a piss and wash my face. When I go back to the bar for another Hendricks and tonic. I see Brett Phister isn’t wearing a shirt and his full nipples are like milk duds you want to suck on for an hour or so.

He’s got a stupid, dazed smile on his face. Is he stoned? He starts to make the drink and reaches for those cucumber slices and stops. He closes his eyes. I hear slurping nearby, wait—it’s coming from behind the bar. When I lean over I see Kevin, our leader, on his knees happily sucking on Brett’s sweet long boy cock. He looks up at me and I give him the thumbs up. If Kevin likes you, you’re in; the best bookings, the best clients, the best perks.

Brett emits a few “oh! oh! ohs!” in his tuneful tenor and I hear corresponding grunts and gulps from down below. A few minutes later, I have a fresh drink with enough sliced cucumber to qualify it as a refreshing and healthy appetizer. The kid’s gonna be just fine.

Kevin sips a club soda with lime to cleanse his palate.

“Is Chance coming?” I ask him. I feel protective toward the big overgrown lug.

“He said he would,” Kevin says.

“How’s he doing?” I ask.

“Well, there is a lot of him and he’s not for everybody. His people skills are getting better and I book him here and there. He needs some more work. But I like him and he’s a good addition to the roster.”

Kevin goes off to get more crab cakes and he’s made brownies for later.

Malcolm comes up to me and puts his arm over my shoulder.

“You good?” he asks.

“What are you doing after this? You free?” I grab his hand and hold it.

"Think so. What do you have in mind, sir?”

I clear my throat to make my pitch and we hear the doorbell. Kevin opens the door and there is Chance, filling the doorframe with his big head, big hair and big shoulders. Everybody looks up and seem as startled by the sight of Chance as he is by the assembled talent.

“Oh boy. Disneyland!” Malcolm says.

“Yikes!” That’s Brett behind me, frozen in mid-pour.

I’m the only one who has seen Chance before, except for Kevin. We’re all good-looking men who know what to do with our bodies, but Chance’s colossal scale always amazes. It’s like Thor is in the building. He’s still wearing the neon spandex like he’s a 90’s MTV backup dancer.

Kevin runs up to him and gives him a hug and waves his arm expansively at all the treasures in this beautiful sexy room. He brings Chance over to the bar.

“Gentlemen, this is Chance,” he says.

Chance kisses me. It’s a good, deep not in front of the kids kiss. I taught him my technique and I can see he’s been practicing.

“It’s great to see you,” Chance says with a big smile. I know him outside and in now. He’s a genuinely a sweetheart.

Chance shakes Malcolm’s hand and Malcolm’s eyes light up.

Damn! There goes our date.

Brett thrusts his hand out from behind the bar and almost knocks over a bottle of Grey Goose in his eagerness.

“Hello! I’m Brett! Brett Phister!”

The kid has got to stop saying that.

Chance asks for pineapple juice, of course. No alcohol will ever defile his temple — though I bet there have been a few dozen cocks in there since the last time we met.

“Once you’ve composed yourself, feel free to get naked, darling.” Kevin says and pats Chance's big, full ass.

Chance nods and takes it as an order. He hands me his juice and starts to peel off his skintight outer layer. Everybody holds their breath and leans in, even me who’s seen this show before. He takes off the satin jacket, this one is lime green. His giant, tanned pecs ripple as he pulls off his pants. His full pink melons flop out and slap against his massive thighs. His substantial pink tool shifts and wavers, proud and abashed at being on display.

Malcolm takes him by the elbow and leads him to one of the plush, avocado couches. He sits him down and puts his arm around him. Chance grins that stupid, adorable grin. Malcolm is being a gentleman and trying to make Chance feel comfortable, but he also wants to get it in. He kicks off his shorts and his ample ebony tool is awake and alert.

I feel a hot flush. Shit! I’m jealous. I want some quality time with Malcolm and, hey, I’m the one that discovered Chance and made him truly fuckable. I’d be more twisted except it’s already a hot scene and I want to watch it. I also know I will squeeze myself into it.

Malcolm massages one of Chance’s strawberry nipples and then kisses it. His cock is fully erect now and Chance’s is on the upswing too. Brett sits on the other side of Chance and works on the other nipple.

Ralph has returned. He watches and strokes his chin. Then his cock. He kneels and hoists Chance’s thighs and exposes his rosy, pliant fuckholewhich looks very munchable. He buries his face in it like he’s looking for Viking treasure. 

Young Brett migrates down Chance’s pink architecture and bobs for his sturdy, sweet pink apple.  Nobody’s behind the bar now, so I make myself another drink and fill it with refreshing cucumber slices.

Kevin joins me at the bar and pours himself a Grey Goose neat. He puts his arm around me.

“You good, baby?”

“Yes, Daddy” I put my head on his shoulder.

“You know I love you, right darling?”

“Yes, Daddy. I love you too.”

“You’re my Number One boy. You know that, right?”

I blush. “I am? Thank you, Daddy. That makes me happy.”

We kiss and he puts his hand in my ass crack and diddles it. We stay that way for a while. Boss and employee, two whores, two buds in the skin trade, and watch the scorching foursome unfold on the couch. I’m buzzed and mellow with a raging, beneficent boner. Kevin hands me his drink and slides to his knees and puts the bulbous head in his mouth.

He looks up and holds my tool to the side like it was a mike.

“I love this big head. It’s like a meal in itself,” he says and goes back to work. I love that he loves it and knows what to do with it. I have a great job.

When I look at the tableau again, the arrangement has changed. Ralph is standing and is stuffing his chunky love tool in Chance’s accommodating mouth. I want to say, “Breathe, baby,” but I don’t. Malcolm is chomping on Chance’s pliant hole now and pins his legs back with his strong arms. Brett is on the floor in front of them, watching up close and personal, with his furry, meaty ass in the air. Very fuckable.

Thinking of Chance’s amazing hole, I want to really astound the party and glance behind the bar for a cucumber. Damn. Only slices. Chance will have to settle for getting fucked by real cock now. Who’s gonna fuck him? Beats me.

I’m watching so hard and daydreaming so hard that I forget that Kevin is doing a magnificent job sucking my cock. He should give lessons. I’m getting pacing, tongue, deep throating, head nibbling, ball slurping and a chubby finger in my clenched man hole. My ass starts to quiver. I don’t want shoot yet and Kevin, the pro, senses it. He stands and kisses me and I taste myself on his lips. Glade should bottle this stuff.

“Go on and get in there, darling. That’s where you belong. You’re the missing piece of the puzzle. I have to go frost my brownies.”

He kisses me on the cheek.

The tableau has rearranged itself again. Pretty Brett is still on his knees, but Ralph is plowing his big luscious ass, “oh oh oh” Brett’s bright tenor sings out. You know that back in Rochester he was the star of Oklahoma!

Malcolm has been chewing on Chance’s pliant crack for so long it should be able to accommodate the sleek Mack truck of his rod with no squeaking. Malcolm thinks so too. He lifts his head and puts Chance’s mighty drum sticks on his big shoulders. He positions the pulsing head of his satin ass stretcher at the tip of Chance’s gasping pink hole. He spits on it for luck and plunges it into the jolly pink giant.

 Ralph is a pounding Brett’s ass so thoroughly and mercilessly that Brett’s tuneful arias go up several keys. Meanwhile, Malcolm pounds Chance’s sputtering, helpless crack. Ralph leans over and kisses Malcolm’s cheek in a gesture of admiration and good will. Chance’s eyes are rolled back in his head and his mouth is wide open in a silent, continuous moan. He’s happily lost in a brand new sensual dimension.  There is no room for me in this scene. Or is there?

I shuffle up behind Malcolm and lay on my stomach. From here I can tongue his enticing, musky crack and feel the contents of his jizz tank start to boil. I flip onto my back and run my tongue from his fragrant hole to his full clenched balls. I have a great view of his veiny tool penetrating, pulling out and then punishing Chance’s amazing velvet tunnel. Like a good mechanic, I see where the two titans, pink and black connect, and I stick out my tongue to lap at that joint and get the combined taste of both of them. I try to keep up with their pace without getting my nose knocked off. I concentrate on slurping on Malcolm’s taut, jam packed balls. I feel the rumble inside them and have the best seat in the house as his balls and the base of his cock contract and, like a piston, shoot wave after wave of his hot, pineapple-flavored juice deep into Chance’s center.

I slide out from under my new favorite neighborhood. I need air. Malcolm falls back on the couch and I go fetch him a warm towel and a glass of water. When I return, Ralph has Chance’s legs pinned back and is driving his fat tool deep into the adorable, clueless hulk. Chance’s eyes are closed and he’s just gasping with his tongue hanging out. He’s being fucked senseless.

Brett watches like a good student. Who knows, he may have to top somebody someday.

Malcolm and I sit side by side as he runs his fingers through Chance’s carefully tangled blond locks. I put my head on Malcolm’s shoulder and I’m happy, for the moment. I’m still horned and I want to get off after all this stimulation. I’m just not sure how I’ll do it yet.

Ralph shudders, grunts and shouts, “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!’ as he pumps Chance full of his steaming load. He kisses Chance on the forehead, jumps off, shakes himself off and heads to the showers.

Astounding the odds makers, Brett now climbs between Chance’s colossal thighs, parts them and takes a close look. So that’s what a well-fucked hole looks like. The kid whistles in admiration and spits on his pretty rod and pushes himself into Chance. He looks very determined and thoughtful as he pumps Chance’s previously-pounded hole.

This is probably his first time on top and he’s thinking hard about whether he likes it or not. He smiles. He likes it! Then, his brow furrows and his mouth tightens. He pulls his cock out and sprays his boy juice all over Chance’s massive chest. He wouldn’t squirt inside him without permission and he didn’t have time to ask. He kisses Chance on the lips, then comes to where Malcolm and I are sprawled and kisses us both.

“Thank you very much, gentlemen. It was a pleasure meeting all of you. I hope our paths cross again soon. Good night.” And he’s off to the showers.

Chance’s legs are still in the air, his disciplined hole still looking fresh and fuckable. His cock is hard and he’s tugging at it. He wants to get off but he needs something, a cucumber, a cock, something to take him to the edge.

I get up and straddle his face. My big head pokes into his mouth.

“You are such a good boy. I am so proud of you,” I say.

“Hmm. Hmm,” Chance says, which I translate as, “Am I? Are you?”

I’m aching to shoot my load somewhere and slide down Chance’s pink real estate. On the way down our mouths meet and we kiss. His tastes like cock, jizz and pineapple. Not bad. Then I’m between his legs and it feels right to be there. I am familiar with his big, magnificent body and I am familiar with his sweet simple soul. I feel the trust in me coming through his green eyes as he happily spreads his legs and guides me into him. I like rocking my big cock in and out of him, nice and slow, nowhere else to go. This is the place to be.

Malcolm slides off the couch, gets on his knees and snuggles up behind me. He puts his arms around my waist and nibbles on my ears. I feel his cock stirring between my legs. I’m rocking Chance with my fat cock, we lean in and kiss. Malcolm leans in and joins us, his cock grazing my hole. Yes. This is the place to be.