STREET VIEW Chapter 3 by Sean Reid Scott sean@musclepla.net
Chapter Three
Before I even realized the question that I was answering, I said, "Sure, why not..."
"Sweet," Lance smiled. "I'll get the water running." He turned and walked down the hall, and I thought I was going to die. This was beyond the realm of possibility. I mean, only in one of those smutty stories on the Web could someone expect this kind of fantasy to come true. Oh wait—I guess that's what this is. Regardless, I couldn't believe this. But before I even had a chance to contemplate my situation (about to step into a shower with the stud-dream of my life) Lance appeared again, this time with his shirt off.
For some reason, seeing him shirtless in his living room was quite a bit hotter than seeing him shirtless on the beach. Context is everything.
"Water's running, man," he smiled. "Come on."
He turned, and I followed. His broad shoulders and wide back were only a few feet in front of me. Knee-weakening gorgeousness. His traps were thick, and everything rippled everywhere as he walked. It all narrowed down to a tight, small waist, supported by a taut, glorious ass that was deliciously wrapped in his cargo shorts. His shorts were held up by those two globes—not by the waist of his pants.
We entered his bedroom, and I stopped with a jerk. One whole wall was taken up with what I can only describe as homoerotic art, most of it with a large helping of either leather or out-and-out S&M. Some were pencil drawings; some oil; even some watercolors. Not all of it was dark, but Lance's penchant for the muscular male body—in poses often depicting domination—was startling. I stood there, transfixed. I could hear the water running in Lance's shower, off the bedroom. Then I turned toward the bed, and what I saw on the wall above his headboard almost made me gasp aloud. There, a huge photograph hung, blown up to be as wide as his king bed: Lance, naked, was locked in some kind of hold—with a muscular (yet smaller) guy held in his grip. The guy was wincing as Lance's bulging arm squeezed his neck. Lance's victim was naked as well, and both men were at various stages of sexual arousal as they fought.
"Pretty cool, huh?" Lance said, standing next to me. "I like to do that kind of stuff. Wrestle with other muscle guys. One of my friends is a photographer, and he took this and blew it up for me. I call it `Muscle on muscle.'"
I was speechless.
"I love working my strength one-on-one against another strong dude," he continued. "God, it can be a real turn-on. Especially when the other guy can't get away." He lightly patted my shoulder. "I gotta be careful, though. I've actually broken a few guys' arms—and other stuff—before. I have a couple of portfolios of other pictures of me and guys if you're interested," Lance smiled. "Maybe after we shower..."
I nodded. Lance turned toward the bathroom and I followed again, more nervous than ever. But before I made it into the bath, something else caught my eye. In a corner of Lance's bedroom was a statue that I recognized from mythology class I'd taken. It was Perseus holding the Gorgon's severed head. And Perseus, in this sculpture, looked surprisingly like Lance.
He saw that I had stopped, and he came back out, smiling at the sculpture. "Oh yeah, I had another friend do me in that. I had to pose in that position for almost three hours."
My mouth was slack, and dry.
"Oh, you should check out the one he did of me as Prometheus," Lance said, directing me to a sculpture in another corner.
Holy shit. Lance—it was obviously Lance—was splayed back, lying on a stone, his wrists and ankles bound to it. He wore a laurel wreath around his head, and goddamn almighty, as he waited for the GIANT BIRD to once again feed from him, he sported a huge erection!
"This one is my favorite," Lance grinned. "Took a couple of hours. But I kept it hard the whole time!" He turned and said, "I should go adjust the water," and with that he retreated into the bathroom again.
My trepidation wasn't at all quelled when I entered his bath. The pictures there were of Lance, again, locked in battle with even more muscle dudes—most all of them competition-level bodybuilders. And in every depiction, Lance was brutally subduing his opponent.
"Funny thing is," Lance said, noticing my stare, "none of those pictures are staged. I just told the photographer to start clicking away while I manhandled those guys."
I turned to Lance, my stomach in knots. Why have you brought me here? I thought.
I think he might have sensed my nervousness. "Hey, don't sweat it, Zack," he said, "I only take guys apart who want it." He slapped me on the back and laughed. Then he started to unzip his cargo shorts. "Besides: no offense, but you're not big enough to give me a real challenge anyway," he said. He glanced at the shower and cocked his head to me, "Come on, man. We're wasting water."
I couldn't move.
He pushed the shorts down over his quads. Now he only wore a very brief thong. He looked at me all friendly-like. I wasn't moving. "You need some help?"
He stepped close to me, and I winced.
"Hey," he said. His voice was soft now—almost a whisper. "It's okay. I promise, man. I won't hurt you. I'm just in to strength, that's all. I kind of get the feeling you are too..."
I swallowed hard. My throat was dry. "Well..." my voice cracked. "I guess I am... but this is a little weird, man." I looked at the pictures on his wall. "...seeing all this..."
While I had said just those few words, Lance unbuttoned my shorts and unzipped my zipper. His long fingers were digging already, and they found—to my surprise—a quite hard cock blooming.
"Yeah, I was right," he smiled softly. "You are into muscle." His fingers slipped inside farther, wriggling slowly down the length of my shaft. He leaned close and whispered into my ear. "Dude, you getting hard like this is making me hard."
Instinctively, I pulled back and looked down. God, there was a python growing in his thong.
He smiled into my face. "I'm going to slip into the shower, man. Join me, please?"
He stepped back, turned around, and pushed his thong to the floor, keeping his knees straight and mooning me with the most perfect ass and bulging hamstrings you could ever imagine. He straightened up and pulled the shower's glass door open, sticking one huge arm into the water stream. He adjusted the temperature and tested it again. Then he turned to me and winked. "Come on in, the water's fine." With that he stepped inside, leaving the door open a few inches.
It hadn't been long enough for steam to form on the glass, so aside from a slight distortion from the water droplets, my view was excellent. Lance lathered some soap in his hands and put it into his hair. Now he faced me as he rubbed his hair—his split-peak biceps bouncing with his movements. A big grin was plastered on his face. The pose wasn't that far from an abs pose, and I think he even crunched his abs just for my benefit. He lowered his hands and put his head into the water stream, washing the soap away. "Okay, show's over," he said over the din of the water. "Time for audience participation."
At this point, my cock was so hard and my heart was pounding so loud, that I didn't care if the dude was straight out of the Psycho movie, ready to send my blood down his shower's drain. What a way to go.
I stripped and timidly stuck a toe inside the door. Then my ankle. Calf. Fuck it—I closed the door behind me. I couldn't believe I was standing, naked, in a shower, with this demigod—Adonis, Prometheus, Hercules, all of `em pretty-much embodied in the physique that smiled back at me.
Lance looked down at my barometer and said, "You must see something you like, man."
I couldn't answer.
"Well," he smiled, grabbing the bar of soap again, "like I said, time for some audience participation. I hope you're thorough, `cuz I want to have all the salt water off, and I don't want any sand from the beach in my bed tonight. Think you can oblige?"
I nodded, taking the soap. I began to rotate it in my hands. His killer smile was perfect. His killer physique was beyond perfect. I just hoped that there wasn't anything more about him that was killer. But then, like I said, what a way to go. To have your very life snuffed out by sheer muscle strength. I believe I actually thought to myself, Just let me come before you kill me, then it'll be okay.
I started on his broad shoulders. His traps—I kneaded them for a minute. His deltoids were too big to knead, so I just washed them and felt them. Fuck, his arms! They were as hard as they looked, and even relaxed they were gigantic under my tiny-looking hands! When I got to his pecs, my cock felt ready to shoot. I looked down, following my hands over his ab mounds, and realized he was as erect as his fawning worshipper. I ignored it, not merely for the tease it provided him, but because I was too scared to go there yet. I moved onto his hips, then... kill me now... his ass. As I did so, he pulled me into himself with his hands on my ass.
Then, time stopped. He leaned into me and kissed me. Gently. Then again. Then, the kiss of the eons: He opened his lips and slowly, languidly, inserted his tongue. I moaned into his mouth, holding his ass for dear life. I felt something at my sphincter. Yes. The long, long middle finger of his left hand began to imitate on my ass what his tongue was doing to my mouth.
I found myself standing on the balls of my feet—not to elude his masterful finger, but to give him more access to my mouth. I almost felt like a little bird, begging its mommy for the delicious worm.
His wasn't a worm, though. It was a warm, thick, prodding tongue, acquainting itself with my teeth, tongue and taste buds. The water ran over both of us.
Finally, I felt his other hand slipping between us, moving for my cock. He moaned a bit as he wrapped his long, soapy fingers around my shaft. He didn't squeeze; he just slipped his hand up and down my hard-on... slowly. He was amazing. He had me on three points—no four: First, his tongue in my mouth; second, his right hand noodling my ass; third, his left hand on my cock; and fourth, my hands moving all over his big muscles.
After a few minutes, I slipped my own lathered hand onto his supreme, hard erection. God he could get hard! The thing was sticking straight-up-vertical. It was thick and long, too. I gave him a soapy ride, just like he was giving me: Open-palmed and easy.
We must have played "Clean the Muscles" for a quarter hour before he stepped back slightly and said, "Wanna suck my cock?"
I smiled with a nod. But first, I decided that the trip down to his nether region would be an event in itself. What do they say? "The Journey is as important as the destination?" Something like that. It sounded like a good mantra for this situation. I bent my head forward and leaned so that my lips landed on his left nipple. I bent my knees more when he started moaning, and I was able to look up and see his head drop back, making his already thick neck bulge like a fireplug. Just. So. Hot!
I suckled for a bit, then bent my knees more, lowering my face over the underside of his chest, then licking each and every mound of his astounding abdominal muscles. I braced myself by holding on to his big arms—his triceps bulging under my grip. Lower, and lower, my lips and tongue gave each mound and valley of his abs the attention they deserved.
Finally, my chin bumped into his tumescence. Instinctively, my knees bent more, and I licked my way down his polled erection as it pulsed against his abs. I kept my mouth open, just licking. When I got to the base I leaned in and inhaled. I almost fainted from the intoxication of smelling his pubes. Then I took his cock in my open fingers and brought it out far enough to get one cheek—with my open mouth—between his stomach and his cock, with my lips firmly wrapping around his head. I took him inside, while fondling his balls in one hand, making sure to caress that most sensitive spot just under, and behind, his heavy nuts. The guy was a low-hanger for sure. Long, warm, moist sacs with generous man-eggs inside each one.
He put a gentle hand on the back of my head—not pushing me down hard, but just letting me know that I was exactly where he wanted me. I moved in to a good rhythm, and he moaned his pleasure. My one hand continued to move all over his torso, and his enormous legs, exploring... worshipping... touching & fondling. My other hand continued to moved from ball to cock, to ball again, and back.
I alternated tightening my lips, and loosening their pressure. As well, I made sure to employ my tongue in the oral stimulation of my new-found god.
After a few minutes of this, Lance moaned, "I'm gonna come." He leaned against the tiles and I made sure to maintain my ministrations, if not slightly increase their intensity.
"I'm gonna come!" he repeated. He was telling the truth. He rose up on his toes. His muscles tightened under my hand. He panted. "If you don't want a mouthful of come, you better get off now!" he announced.
As a matter of fact, I'd never actually taken a guy's come in my mouth, so I thought... what the heck, let's give this a try.
Despite a slight trepidation on my part, as to what it would taste like, my initial alarm wasn't about my palate—it was regarding the startling force at which Lance blasted himself against the back of my throat. I immediately gagged, and if it weren't for his hand on the back of my head keeping me in place, I would have pulled off for sure. As it was, his salty cream filled my choking mouth. I convulsed. Lance held me still. I think I might have seen a few stars, because I was choking and gagging so hard. Eventually—and this sounds grosser than the experience actually was—I choked and coughed so much that his semen was sucked into my sinuses and out of my nostrils. At this point, my gagging had moved into a peculiar contentment over not being able to properly breathe. But whatever I was now doing, it was enough for me to keep my mouth on his cock and move into something that resembled a swallowing action. I really didn't want to disappoint the dude, so I made every effort to continue servicing him until he was done.
Once he rested, and I pulled myself off his cock, he looked down at me and started grinning, while he panted. He pulled me up to his face. "Dude, you took one for the team on that one," he smiled. I could tell he was examining my face. "Shit, you have my jizz coming out of your nose!"
At that point, I was thinking: Nose, mouth, ass... you can have any orifice you want man. Fill me. He had actually filled me to overflowing. God, what a dream!
He leaned forward and began licking himself off my face; then—and this was so hot— he ever-so-slightly stuck the tip of his tongue just under each of my nostrils to make sure he got it all. Then, of course, there was my chin. And my neck. The final clean-up took place inside my mouth, where he vacuumed out any residual come that I hadn't swallowed.
Fifteen minutes later, we were both in his bed, snuggling. I had to pry my eyes off that picture above his headboard, but I realized that holding him—touching him in the flesh—was much more enjoyable than simply looking at a picture.
He had my throbbing cock in his palm, his long, muscled fingers moved all over it. God, the guy had a touch! Occasionally, while we frenched, he would tighten his grip on me and push down. Pretty soon it became somewhat rhythmic. Pretty soon after that, Lance's sheets were drenched in my worship-offering to his masculine greatness. His physique was warm, hard and gorgeous against my body. And now, much of his mid-torso was wet, as well.
We slept. In his bed. All night.
In the morning, I awoke to the smell of bacon and eggs on the stove, and coffee in the pot. He was still wearing what he had—we both had—worn to bed: nothing. Muscles on top of muscles, bulging all over his over-pronounced "V" shaped back, greeted me as I entered his kitchen. Then, as he turned to me, his smile as well.
He placed his spatula on the stove and took me in his big arms. "I was thinking maybe we could go back to the beach again today. What do you think?"
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Contact the author at sean@musclepla.net www.seanreidscott.com