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‘Wild and Wilder’ - 2019-08-17
Wild Ride with a Pornstar.
A helping hand.
***
My pale hands disappearing against Damian’s glistening ebony chest, the silver glint of a Prince Albert piercing in the afternoon sun, and the clinical precision of a ‘technician’ undoing a King. I can still feel the vibration of his deep-chested growls in my teeth and the restricted, desperate heat of a pro bodybuilder choking out his own protégé on a weight bench. It wasn’t just sex; it was a system upgrade. I was the streamlined code, finally mastering the heavy-duty server. And when the dust settled, I wasn’t just a tech guy anymore — I was a natural-born escort with a sweat-soaked wad of €1,500 in my pocket to prove it.
***
God, I had loved every moment of that. But let me back up the story before we get lost. After Friday’s eventful day, I was exhausted. I had practically been a zombie by the time we left the club, nearly falling asleep against Tony’s leather back as the Ducati motorcycle roared through the night. I awoke slowly on Saturday, groggy and submerged in the strange, shifting comfort of a massive waterbed. For a moment, I had no idea how I’d gotten there — or even where ‘there’ was. The master bedroom alone was nearly as large as my entire apartment back home.
The clothes I was wearing certainly didn’t come from my closet, either. I’d been tucked into a pair of thick, mottled gray workout pants with the ValeriusX logo stitched in heavy faux black leather down the right leg. The jacket was new, too — a sleek leather bomber that hugged my lean frame as if a tailor had measured me in my sleep. Its only distinction was a subtle, embossed Vx logo on the left chest.
Then, the fog lifted, and it all came rushing back. Jeff — the gravel-voiced porn legend turned ValeriusX CEO — had offered me a career. A real one. I wasn’t just a pornstar fan anymore; I was the architect hired to rebuild their digital empire and forge a content management system that wouldn’t crumble under pressure.
Images from the night before flashed by in a blur: four international titans of the industry descending on The Three Brothers. Robby and I had been poked, prodded, sucked, and fucked with a terrifying, professional intensity. The deep, lingering ache in my rear end was the only proof I needed that it hadn’t been a dream.
I let out a breath and dropped my head back against the leather pillow, a wide grin spreading across my face. I’d had more satisfying sex in the last forty-eight hours than I’d had over the previous three years combined.
The moment of peace was broken by my custom ringtone chirping from across the room. It was coming from the biker jacket Tony had given me months ago, which was now draped over a desk chair next to my laptop bag. I wobbled out of bed, my legs still feeling like jelly, but the call hit voicemail before I could reach it.
• Checking in.
Ethan-Jan, a 19-year-old water polo jock with a robust, V-shaped frame, had already tried to contact me several times. He was the perfect athlete — all broad, hairless muscle and functional strength. It was a strange mirror of my own life; he and Robby had fallen for each other right around the time Tony had first accosted me on that train back from Amsterdam. At twenty-one, Robby had gone through an almost identical awakening with a bodybuilding biker — a man who had left Robby with the same insatiable taste for leather that Tony had branded into me.
After taking a long-overdue piss in the sprawling, marble-tiled master bath, I stumbled back to the desk. I ignored my aching muscles, flipped open my laptop, and initiated a video call to EJ.
My hunch was correct — Robby was there, too. As the video conference call connected, the screen filled with the sight of my friend sitting half-naked on EJ’s lap. Robby looked utterly content, his lithe body draped over the burly nineteen-year-old athlete as he worshipped him. A grin on his face as he looked into the webcam.
“Hey, stranger,” I croaked, my voice still raspy from the night before. “You look… occupied.”
Robby looked up from Ethan-Jan’s lap, a mischievous glint in his eyes that told me he wasn’t just ‘okay’ — he was thriving.
“Peter! God, look at you. You look like you woke up in a palace after being hit by a freight train.”
“Something like that,” I chuckled, leaning back into the expensive desk chair. I took a good look at EJ and Robby. “I wanted to check in, Rob. After last night… with those guys… You doing alright? That was a hell of a lot of ‘coaching’ for one night. I think I’m still vibrating from Jeff’s rumbling voice alone. I hope EJ did not give you a hard time.”
Robby laughed, leaning his head back against Ethan-Jan’s broad chest. Ethan-Jan just gave a knowing, jock-like smirk to the camera, his massive arm wrapped protectively around Robby’s shoulders.
“Actually, we just finished when you called. However, I’m better than alright, Petey,” Robby panted slightly. “I never imagined I would meet a porn actor. Let alone 4 at once. Those guys… they don’t hold back. But I think I found out exactly what my limit is, and then they pushed me five miles past it.” He squeezed Ethan-Jan’s warm arm. “EJ had to practically carry me to the car, but I wouldn’t trade it for anything. What about you? Is your ass aching as well?”
I glanced around the room, the scale of it still hitting me. “I’m still getting used to the idea that I am dating an actual escort. But the work starts today. I’ve got an empire to rebuild.”
• Doubting the story.
Ethan-Jan let out a skeptical snort, his voice echoing through my laptop speakers. “Come on, Robby. Four legends in one night? You’ve got a vivid imagination, babe. A guy like Tony doesn’t just hang out with cyber analysts and club bartenders.”
I opened my mouth to defend our honor, but I didn’t get the chance.
The heavy bedroom door swung open. I didn’t hear them — they moved with the silent confidence of predators — but I felt the air in the room change. Suddenly, two massive shadows loomed over my back. Before I could turn, a pair of heavy, calloused hands gripped my leather-clad shoulders.
“Doubting the story, are we? Sometimes the truth is weirder than fiction, son.” Tony’s voice rumbled.
On the screen, Ethan-Jan’s eyes went wide. His jaw literally dropped as Tony leaned into the camera’s view. Tony wasn’t just there; he was ready. With a casual, practiced motion, he freed his thick, heavy length from his fly. He didn’t just show it; he draped the massive, pulsing weight of his cock right over my shoulder, the head resting against the collar of my new Vx-crew bomber jacket.
“Peter’s a bit busy for a chat right now,” Tony growled toward the webcam.
Damian appeared on my other side, flexing his powerful black pecs. He framed the view by moving my laptop around — capturing my wide eyes, the leather of the jacket, and Tony’s dominance.
“Open up, Love,” Tony commanded.
I didn’t hesitate. I turned my head to the side and stretched my mouth open to accommodate the heavy intrusion. As Tony slid home, my world narrowed down to the taste of him and the rhythmic sound of his grunts.
Tony looked directly into the lens, locking eyes with a stunned Ethan-Jan through the digital void. “See that, son? That’s what a ‘Titan’ looks like. Your boyfriend wasn’t lying. I am sure Rob will want to serve you like this someday.”
Damian adjusted the lighting, his face a mask of professional focus as he filmed the impromptu scene through my webcam. I was being used as a toy, and as I looked at the screen, I saw Ethan-Jan’s face shift from disbelief to a profound, flushed awe. He was watching a private show from the man he’d only ever seen on a screen, and I was the star.
As I tapped out, I smiled at the horned-up twinks. “Robby, EJ, get yourself tested at the clinic, and go and have fun. But stay safe, brothers. See you soon…”
• Getting my shit together.
I sighed, looking up from my laptop at Tony and Damian. The two men just grinned back, their expressions unreadable but warm. Tony gestured toward the master suite. He told me to go take a hot soak in the tub and use an enema to clear out the ‘party gifts’ left behind from last night’s session.
I had a million questions bubbling up, but Damian cut me off before I could speak. He told me the details could wait; for now, I had a specific curriculum to follow. I needed to work on my body, my stamina, my physique, and my mindset — in that exact order. The inner workings of ValeriusX and the other people who ran it weren’t my immediate concern yet.
Damian was right, of course. I was still under contract at the chemical plant back home. I needed to sever those old ties and officially end my employment there before I could truly become the man ValeriusX needed me to be.
Tony ran a bath for me, laying out a silicone douche, plush towels, and a fresh outfit on the marble counter. He’d gone the extra mile; my lover had bought me a complete new kit — sleeker, sportier, and infinitely more provocative than my usual chemical-plant office attire. I thanked him with a lingering hug and stripped, feeling his loving gaze burn every inch of my skin as I shed the old version of myself.
“Don’t be too long, buddy,” Tony said, leaning against the doorframe. “I want to give you the grand tour and make you something to eat. You must be starving — it’s almost three o’clock already.”
The steaming water was a godsend, soaking into my screaming glutes and lower back until the tension finally began to uncoil. I was just starting to drift off when the door creaked open. Damian stepped in, his massive, corded frame nearly blocking out the light from the master bedroom. He was carrying a 20-oz steel tumbler, the brushed metal surface slick with condensation from the chilled, creamy liquid inside.
“There you go, buddy. Drink,” he said, handing me the heavy tumbler. It felt dense in my hand, packed with the nutrient-rich fuel he’d prepared.
I took a cautious sip, expecting a standard, chalky protein shake. Instead, it was rich and velvety, hitting my system with an immediate spark of energy. “A milkshake?” I asked, looking up at him.
“Better,” Damian replied, leaning his heavy shoulder against the doorframe as he watched me. “That’s my personal recovery stack. Most guys just throw some whey in a plastic bottle and call it a day, but you’re not ‘most guys’ anymore. You’re being rebuilt.”
He gestured to the tumbler. “I’ve loaded that with high-density amino acids and a specific blend of minerals. It’s designed to trigger a massive spike in vasodilation — it forces your muscles to absorb the nutrients they need to repair the micro-tears from ‘last night’s activities’ at twice the normal speed. But more importantly for your new career…”
He leaned in, his voice dropping an octave. “It’s got a targeted hit of lecithin and zinc. It gives your swimmers a massive boost and increases your internal volume. If you’re going to be on camera or in the VIP backrooms, you can’t just have the look — you need the engine and the output to back it up. We’re going to turn that lean frame of yours into a high-performance machine, Peter. Inside and out.”
• Damian’s helping hand.
I’d barely drained the recovery stack when Damian motioned me out. I didn’t even have time to cover myself with a towel before he guided me, naked and not quite dry, to the leather-topped massage table in the center of the suite.
“Lie down. Face down,” The black hunk instructed.
As I settled onto the cool leather, the contrast was staggering. Damian leaned over me, his massive, midnight-black frame casting a shadow over my pale, lean body. When his hands hit my shoulders, I almost gasped. This wasn’t a spa rubdown; this was deep-tissue maintenance. His fingers felt like heated iron pistons, finding every knot and trigger point left behind by last night’s intensity.
He worked with a brutal, clinical precision. Damian used his forearms to grind out the tension in my glutes and lower back, his palms slick with a warming oil that smelled of menthol and citrus. I felt the blood rushing back into my muscles, the ‘vasodilation’ he’d promised earlier starting to hum through my veins.
“You’re tight here,” he muttered, his thumb digging into the base of my spine. “We’re going to open those hips up. You can’t be stiff when Tony puts you back on that bike — or back on camera.”
I joked, “Damn, Awe… Umpff… Ooh. If you press your thumb in that hole, I would be stiff, now wouldn’t I? Shit, you know your stuff, D.”
After twenty minutes of what felt like being dismantled and put back together, he pulled me up. “Warm-up time. Let’s see what that engine can do.”
He led me through the ‘grand tour,’ but we stalled at the heart of the system: Tony’s gym. It was a cathedral of chrome and black leather, packed with custom weight machines I’d only ever seen in pro-athlete vlogs. Damian put me through a series of brutal, high-intensity movements — bodyweight squats and core holds — designed to stress-test my stamina to the point of failure. He loomed over me, a sexy dark tower of muscle, recalibrating my form with the slightest touch of his hand. It felt like being fine-tuned by a master engineer who knew exactly where my breaking point lay.
The gym’s climate control was no match for our heat. Within minutes, we’d shed everything but the bare essentials, the autumn view outside the floor-to-ceiling glass irrelevant compared to the body sculptor in front of me. Damian was a masterpiece of raw architecture — muscles layered upon muscles, his tiny gym shorts straining against the sheer volume of his excitement. Between sets, he’d close the distance, pulling me into a sweat-slicked hug that made my pulse erratic. I was already spoken for, but Damian wasn’t just ‘second best’; he was a premium upgrade I hadn’t known I needed.
By the time we finished, my skin was glowing, and my muscles felt dangerously full, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs. I felt more virile, more pumped, than I ever had in my life.
I looked up at him, breathless and trembling. He stood there like a living statue of power, his chest barely heaving, his gaze heavy with an intensity that made my knees weak. It wasn’t just gratitude for the workout; it was the way he looked at me — not as a project, but as a protégé. I knew exactly what my next ‘exercise’ had to be, and it didn’t involve the machines.
• A thank you.
I didn’t say a word. I simply stepped into his space, my nimble hands disappearing against the massive expanse of Damian’s glistening ebony chest. I dropped to my knees, the heated gym floor a sharp contrast to the heat radiating from his body. Damian let out a low, approving growl as I looked up at him, my eyes promising him a ‘thank you’ that no paycheck could cover.
I was going to worship every inch of that black-marble frame, and I was going to do it with the same technical precision he’d used on me. The bodybuilder was already half-naked. With one quick pull, his shorts joined his discarded joggers and stretchy polo.
Momentarily shocked by the thick Prince Albert piercing, I cupped his weight and wrapped my hand around the heavy, dark shaft. The silver jewelry glinted in the afternoon sun. We were in full view of the outside world through the gym’s windows, but where I typically would have shied away from the public gaze, I now did exactly what my mind commanded.
My lips closed over the PA and the broad glans, worshipping that massive, beautiful cock. Damian hadn’t seen the intensity coming. He gasped as the piercing hit my tonsils, his breath hitching as my hands wandered up to his heavy pecs. My fingers rolled his swollen nipples between them, feeling them harden under my touch. God, I wished I were — and likewise weren’t — as powerfully built as this King.
While I could see why men craved to be dominated by the earth-shaking mass of a ‘muscle mountain’ like Damian, I had no desire to lead a siege on my own body to reach that monstrous scale. I admired the brutal discipline etched into his black frame, but I didn’t want to take it that far. Still, I knew I had to triple my effort to keep up with the men from ValeriusX; my lean IT-guy frame simply didn’t match the man I wanted to become.
My vision was more refined architecture than raw bulk: a sleek, high-performance athlete with a hard, V-tapered waist and muscle groups carved out of mahogany. I wanted to maintain that ‘twink-plus’ jock aesthetic — staying fast, lithe, and flexible enough to keep pace with their power.
As I took more of him into my mouth, my mind raced with that ‘Cyber-Analyst’ logic. Damian was the heavy-duty client server, the raw processing power that kept the empire running. I was the elegant, streamlined interface that made it all work. We were two different breeds of the same animal.
Damian’s breathing became a series of ragged, deep-chested growls. I could feel the vibration of his voice in my very teeth. He wasn’t just a performer or a bodybuilder in this moment; he was a man being completely undone by the ‘technician’ at his feet. I leaned into it, using the rhythm Tony taught me to find his breaking point. If I couldn’t match his mass, I would certainly match his intensity.
Standing up, I pushed Damian back onto a weight bench. I carefully lowered myself, guiding his black monster — PA and all — into my fiery guts. The metal tripled the frictional force.
• A wild ride with a pornstar.
With my hands gripped firmly over the barbell above us, I started to ride the wild bull. I fucked the ebony bodybuilder hard. My sphincter grasped his dark shaft as I pulled myself up, then I let all my muscles relax, allowing my full weight to plunge down until my buttocks hit Damian’s heavy thighs. The man let out a shout like a virgin boy getting caught for the first time.
“Ooh… Fuck… Oh man… Slow down… You’re gonna make me bust…”
“Don’t hold back, stud. Give it to me… Fill me up…” I screamed.
“But I’m not wearing a —! Oh hell… Man… Stop… This is going to get messy!” warned Damian.
I was actually getting a little aggressive with my ‘client’. I clamped my hands over Damian’s swollen nipples and pinched his massive pecs. When he still hesitated to release, I leaned forward, my palms across his throat in a focused, heavy press. Damian’s face turned blue, his eyes rolling back as the flow of oxygen got restricted. I felt a sense of power I had never felt before. It made me cum hard, covering the pornstar’s stomach, pecs, and face.
When I finally let him take a breath, Damian’s orgasm followed instantly. My ass milked Damian dry. As I flopped over onto his tormented cum splattered pecs, Damian enclosed his massive arms around my back, kissing me with a desperate heat.
“That’s a wrap!” Tony called out in glee. He had been secretly filming the entire encounter in the home gym. “Damn, Petey… If I’d known you could do that, I would have pimped you out months ago. That was fucking hot! If the computer thing doesn’t work out, you’re a natural-born escort. Jeff was right!”
As I slid off the spent dick, Tony dove forward to finish the scene, felching me out with a grin. Damian just smiled, clutching my body to his massive frame as we came down from the high. This display of raw love was exactly what the doctor ordered.
Later, after Damian returned from the shower, he handed me a wad of cash that made my head spin. I’d earned €1,500 for my first-ever ‘service job’. Not a bad payday for an hour’s worth of work. I couldn’t believe it. If this was what escort work was like, I was definitely ready for a career change.
• The Reality Check.
I stared at the cash, running the math. If I could repeat this a few times a month, financial independence was a certainty. But as we sat in the living room, the high began to taper. Over the next two hours, post-coital bliss dissolved into a professional debrief.
“Don’t let the easy payday fool you, Peter,” Tony said, watching the sun dip toward the horizon. “Today was a cakewalk. You were with us — it was a safe space. Out there, you’re on your own, and the streets are full of head-cases looking for a weakness.”
Damian nodded. “Tony’s right. Last summer in Amsterdam, he had a run we still call the ‘Amsterdam Five.’ Five bookings, five nightmares. Getting paid is the easy part; it’s the human filth you have to navigate that actually costs you.”
Tony ticked them off on his fingers, “The first was a tweaker who locked himself in the bathroom for forty minutes and came out swinging. The second decided that because he paid a premium, he owned my dignity — he ignored every ‘no’ I gave him. Then there was the guy who had a mental breakdown the second I ‘touched’ him, crying for his mother.”
Tony stopped explaining for a moment. I could see he was struggling to find the words.
“By the time I hit the fifth client, I was jumping at my own shadow. And the sex? It was a joke, Petey. They wanted to be dominated, but did not let me. You see now why I was so fucking lethal when I found you in that train compartment? I’d spent the week being handled by losers, and I was starving to actually dominate someone. You were just perfect, looking me up and down eagerly. Worshipping my leathers. Sorry, I used you to vent my shit.”
I nodded; this explained a lot. I had long since forgiven Tony’s hostility from last summer; I realized now it was a warning I hadn’t been ready to hear.
Damian added his own horror stories — the hygiene issues no amount of prep could fix, the blackmail stings, and the soul-crushing exhaustion of pretending to love someone who treats you like a piece of meat.
My analytical brain started a frantic risk-to-reward calculation. I’d seen escorting as a logical ‘back-end’ upgrade, but this sounded like a high-risk sector with no insurance policy. Listening to Damian and my lover felt like reading a massive bug report. By the time we stood for dinner, my ‘internal firewall’ was up. The €1,500 felt good, but I wondered if I was truly ready to handle the ‘raw data’ that came with the job. If I wanted to go that route, I’d have to ease into the system slowly.
• The Architecture of an Empire.
After a lovely dinner, the evening dissolved into a high-speed blur of faces, handshakes, and expensive cologne. First came the sharp-suited lawyers from Vx Holding — Dutch sharks who spoke in low, rhythmic tones about ironclad clauses and non-disclosure agreements. As they slid my employment contracts and other paperwork across the mahogany table, I realized we weren’t just signing a contract; they were handing me the encrypted keys to a digital empire.
Next came Jeff and Cliff, who had just returned from Schiphol airport with the Canadian star, Cody, in tow. He seemed eager to meet me; it was a trip to finally connect with the man who managed a team of web designers in his ‘spare time.’ He was the perfect example of the Vx brand: a high-performance athlete with the brain of a developer. We spoke the same language of back-end stability and user interface, even if our ‘offices’ were continents apart.
Then there were the Dutch lads, Max and Bard, the masterminds behind the international Vx adult store empire. They were genuinely nice guys, and the sound of my native tongue was a welcome relief. They didn’t just welcome me; they invited me to stay in the Amsterdam Vx apartments above the flagship shop whenever I needed a break from the North.
Finally, there was James, the architect of ValeriusX Management. His team ran the European branch of the model and escort agency, and I’ll be honest — I didn’t like him at all. A hairy forty-something ‘daddy type’ with a predatory efficiency that made my skin crawl. He had a way of looking at people not as individuals, but as high-value assets he wanted to manage. His pervy mannerisms and the way his gaze lingered a second too long were enough to keep my guard up.
James slid a pre-filled escort contract across the desk, his pen already uncapped and waiting. I hesitated, my internal logic flagging a massive conflict of interest; I wasn’t sure I wanted to be just another ‘asset’ in his personal escort kingdom.
From across the room, Jeff saw the tension in my shoulders and crossed the space in three long strides. Without a word, he snatched the document out of James’s hand and ripped it down the middle, the sound of tearing paper sharp as a gunshot. “That’s not how we do business, James!” Jeff snapped, his protective streak flaring. “If, and when, Peter is ready, he’ll contact you — or not! He’s a free man, not one of your slaves!”
Seeing the boss back the analyst instead of the agency’s bottom line hit me right in the core. For the first time, I felt like a human being in this industry, rather than just a high-end piece of hardware to be traded.
They all wanted a piece of me. We talked for hours, the conversation flowing into the late night. It was flattering, terrifying, and completely overwhelming. For once, the ValeriusX back-end systems I’d been hired to rebuild were pushed into the background. My internal processor was finally redlining; the ‘real world’ was moving faster than my internet connection could handle.
But as the contracts were finalized and the formal handshakes dissolved into easy chatter, the fog started to lift. The exit strategy was locked in: I was handing in my notice at the chemical plant. For the first time in my life, I wasn’t just dreading a shift — I was actually looking forward to ‘working’ with these men.
• Up North: Home.
On Monday, Tony drove me back North in his BMW M8. The extravagant car was a mood in itself, sharing the same aesthetic DNA as his Ducati Scrambler. It was a predator in a tuxedo: sleek black paint, subtle red accents, and enough custom upgrades to make the engine growl like a caged animal. Watching the Dutch countryside streak past the window, the life I was leaving behind felt smaller with every kilometer.
We pulled up at my apartment late Monday afternoon, just as the Autumn Farmers’ Fair was reaching its fever pitch. The air smelled of gunpowder and spilled beer; the sky was a chaotic canvas of fireworks and loud music. It was a celebration of the harvest, but for me, it felt like a wake for my old life.
Tuesday morning, I walked into that sterile office cubicle one last time to face the music. They still saw me as the reliable, quiet guy keeping their servers upright. They had no idea that while I was ‘on holiday,’ I’d already traded my cubicle for a kingdom.
I didn’t just resign; I executed an exit strategy. I handed in my formal notice to my boss, but I wasn’t sticking around to watch the clock. I burned every hour of my saved-up leave to cover the transition, effectively cutting the cord the moment I signed the paperwork. Walking out of that firm felt like shedding a second skin. For the first time, the confidence wasn’t just a mask — it was real.
By Wednesday morning, the chemical plant was a memory. I was officially on the clock for Tony and Jeff, and my new life had begun. I packed my belongings and ‘moved in’ with Tony. The first week was a high-speed rebuild. I adapted an open-source CMS to anchor the new Vx ecosystem, prioritizing the Online Store to restore immediate cash flow.
I secured the Modeling Agency’s profile pictures with ‘no-copy’ protections, ensuring every sneaky click was rerouted through seamless funnels that drove visitors toward the high-revenue Video on Demand site. By automating the heavy lifting, I made the transition effortless for our teams. I had delivered a fresh, premium customer experience that made the clunky Vixan-Man mirrors look like amateur relics.
While our data migrated to the new sites, I played digital assassin. Working with the lawyers, we didn’t just scrub the Russian Vixan-Man company of stolen Vx content — we sparked an industry-wide purge. Once other producers saw our technical success, they joined the fray, dismantling pirated mirrors in real-time. We replaced the chaos with a sleek, secure interface that protected our models and projected total dominance over the competition.
I was no longer a quiet support tech; I was the architect who had secured their kingdom. The praise from the internal teams was a constant, satisfying hum as they settled into the new, streamlined systems I’d created for them. But by Friday afternoon, the noise changed. My phone started vibrating across the desk like a lubed-up dildo on steroids.
It buzzed with a relentless barrage of notifications and phone calls from models and producers. It thrummed through my soul and made my ears tingle; I guessed Jeff had spread my number like candy from a piñata. This kept happening until one specific, unexpected name on the screen cut through the professional chatter.
• The birthday booking.
I got a call from my friend, Robby. Without much preamble, he asked if I’d started escorting yet — a thought I’d sidelined while buried in code for the Vx empire. Robby wanted a surprise escort for his boyfriend’s birthday; he figured a ‘tough leather guy’ like me was the perfect gift for Ethan-John’s tight swimmers’ ass. Robby told me he didn’t want to book a stranger through a site, so he’d come to me first.
“What would EJ like?” I asked, intrigued. “Is he into kinky, vanilla, or rough sex?”
Robby’s answer was clear as mud. “He likes a bit of everything, I guess. If it were up to me, I’d want you to treat him like a hardcore leather master, but fuck him gently at first.”
I laughed. “Sorry, that was unprofessional. But by the sound of it, this is more for you than for him, isn’t it, Rob?”
Robby laughed too. “Yeah, I guess I’d love to join in at some point. What’s this going to cost me?”
Off the top of my head, I named my fair ‘friends-and-family’ base rate and the hourly add-on. Robby gasped but quickly agreed to a two-hour booking. Together, we mapped out the logistics: I’d snatch EJ in the dungeon of ‘The Three Brothers’ after Robby lured him down there. I’d tie him up, rip his street clothes away, and re-dress him in kinky leather for a long tease before the main event. Robby would slip into the fuck-fest later, staying anonymous until the end.
The instructions were elaborate, but the ‘technician’ in me saw exactly how to execute the plan. Robby and I giggled like horny teens as we came up with the strategies. It should be a fun twentieth birthday for the three of us. I could not wait. As I said goodbye to Robby, I closed my eyes. I leaned back in the leather office chair, stroking my length and admiring the bravery of Robby.
• Planting seed.
Tony had overheard the entire call.
“No way you’re doing that! You’re selling your services way too cheap, Petey!” he warned.
“Mmm-hmmm — now, Tony dearest…” I started, my voice dripping with enough mock affection to make him wince. Tony’s unhelpful commentary had made my blood boil.
“You need to understand three things, buster.
- One: This was a private call with a friend.
- Two: I’m still testing the waters to see if I even like being an escort.
- And three: It’s none of your business what I charge. It’s not like I have your years of expertise being a whore.”
The argument ruined the mood. Not awaiting Tony’s reply, I walked out to find a quiet spot to think. Behind the pool house, I found the gardener — a black stud working in ripped skinny jeans, a dirty trucker jacket, and work gloves. What he lacked in height, he made up for in dense, graceful muscle tone. He was dancing through the flower beds to music only he could hear, occasionally grabbing his crotch with a loud, rhythmic “Oh-Yeah!”
I watched until he noticed me. He smiled, gesturing me closer. I mirrored his crotch-grab and shouted “Oh-Yeah!” in reply, making him laugh. He judged my leather jeans and long-sleeve Vx polo shirt, his eyes lingering where my nipples raised the fabric. His work-gloved fingers reached out to pinch one, gauging my reaction.
“Dang man… you’re a hottie,” the ebony gardener proclaimed, his arousal already forcing its way out of his ripped denim.
“What the hell do you feed that thing?” I asked, stroking the full eleven-inch rod before cupping his heavy sack.
“Twink bubble butt, mainly,” he laughed. “But I guess your boss won’t like you playing with the help.”
“He ain’t my boss… just my lover. And I play with whoever I like.”
“Wanna play, bro? Follow me.” He led me to a garden shed, slapped my leather-clad ass, and pinned me against the wall. I forced my tongue between his lips, moaning, “I want to feel that monster explode in me, NOW.”
I squatted and slicked the tool with spit before taking the whole sausage down my throat. The beefy ebony gardener rumbled a deep growl, trapping my head until I gagged. “Fucking hell… where did you learn that?” he gasped. I said nothing, repeating the service until he was fully lubed and dripping.
“Ready for an ass-whooping, boy?”
He bent me over an old leather couch. My pants were at my ankles. I demanded he rim me first and handed him a condom. When he hesitated, I snapped, “Do you want to tap this ass or not, fucker?”
He buried his face in my crack, twirling his tongue deep inside until I was wide open. Then, he reluctantly donned the rubber and plowed all eleven inches home in one go. I screamed at the instant ‘black attack,’ but his hands were clamped over my mouth and back, anchoring me.
“I’m not stopping until I shoot or this rubber tears!” he grunted. “I’m gonna rip your ass in two.”
I played along, screaming playfully about the size. I was used to Tony’s ten inches, so the extra inch was just a new challenge to master. I milked his meat with my internal muscles, driving him into a peak. He pile-drove the rubber full of seed and collapsed on me, exhausted.
“Seeding my garden wasn’t too much work, was it?” I panted with a dirty grin.
“Certifiable crazy fucker,” he breathed. “I wish I could seed you bare.”
“Sorry, stud. That’s a task for Sir Tony.” I kissed him as he pulled out, my legs shaky but my ego soaring. As I stood up, I looked him in the eye. “Haven’t you forgotten anything?”
“Man… I ain’t paying you for that!” he said, worried.
“This one was on the house. But a good gardener always cleans his tools.” I said as I wiggled my dripping eight-inch cock in his direction. I pushed him to his knees. His lips efficiently cleaned my cock. When he was done with the spit-shine, I twirled around. Letting the hunky queer gardener rim my gaping hole clean. As I stood up again, I grabbed him by the head and face-fucked him blue. Once he was gurgling, I pounded a colossal load of pent-up frustration deep down his slick throat.
“And that, you lovely ebony fucker, is how real white men plant their seed!” I laughed. I left him coughing, gasping, and with his flustered face covered in thick globs of my spunk. I hauled up my leathers, thumbing the buttons shut with practiced ease. As I walked toward the house, I felt perfectly level again.
• The System Crash.
Tony was waiting on the terrace, pacing like a caged predator. “Where the hell have you been, Peter? We have unfinished business!” he shouted as I approached.
I walked past him, my stride steady despite the slight tremor in my legs. “Just seeding the garden, Tony. It’s amazing how much a little dirt helps clear the mind,” I replied, my voice light with a dangerous edge.
He followed me inside, the air thick with his mounting rage. However, before I could reach the stairs, he spun me around and backhanded me. The strike caught me across the cheek, snapping my head back.
“You don’t get to talk to your master like that!” he hissed, his face inches from mine. “You’re my bitch, Petey. I’ve set up your account with James. So you can do your escort work via ValeriusX Management. I’ll tell you where to go, what to do, and exactly what to charge. Peter, you are not going behind my back. Don’t you ever forget who’s running this fuck show!”
I touched my stinging cheek, my mind flashing back to the Intercity train from Amsterdam — that fateful day we met. Tony showed the same anger he unleashed on my throat in that first-class compartment. Since that ride, we’d been inseparable, building a world on leather and shared secrets. We had navigated kinks, crimes, and empires, but we had never truly fought, not like this anyway. This wasn’t just a lover’s spat; it was a coup.
“Oh, jolly, I thought we discussed the master-thing,” I whispered, the sarcasm as sharp as a razor. “Forcing me into a role I’m not ready for… you’re really looking out for me, aren’t you? You and James are not the architects of my life! I don’t think so. If you weren’t my friend, Tony, I would—”
I didn’t finish the threat. I didn’t need to. I walked away, leaving Tony standing in the foyer. Upstairs, I moved with predatory efficiency, packing my life into a single bag. Leaving him was the hardest thing I’d ever done, but the system had become corrupted. It was time for a hard reset.
Tony chased me to the gates of his mansion, his fury replaced by desperate apologies, but I didn’t stop. I swung my heavy bag over my shoulder and held my laptop backpack in my hand. As I walked out the perimeter gates, the evening air cooled the fire on my face.
As I reached the bus stop, twelve minutes later, I sent one final text before I temporarily blocked Tony’s messages.
“Call me once you debug your own fucking ego. I need a friend, not a master.”
I didn’t look back. I had an empire to run and a kinky birthday party to plan. For the first time, I was the one holding all the keys to my heart.
• Continued in Part 5 •
Thank you for reading this story.
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And if your hands are not too dirty from all the spilled cum! 😋
© StrykerJ - January 2026
