Date: Fri, 5 Nov 1999 05:12:56 -0500 (EST)
From: Felix Lance Falkon <falkon@netaxs.com>
Subject: "Only for Money" {Felix Lance Falkon} (MM)
X-NO-ARCHIVE: yes
(except for the Nifty Archive)
"Only for Money" {Felix Lance Falkon} (MM)
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[Usual warnings apply: no one under age admitted without parent]
[or guardian, for external use only, shake well before using, ]
[watch for slippery fallen rocks when wet, no Popery. ]
[ ]
[Copyright (C) 1999 by Felix Lance Falkon; you may save or make]
[paper copies for your own use; do not post, repost, publish, ]
[or archive (except at Nifty) without author's permission. ]
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(The ** starts emphasis [underline/italics]; * ends emphasis.)
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ONLY FOR MONEY
by Felix Lance Falkon
falkon@netaxs.com
``Ready?'' asked Michael.
``Mmmmmmmm.'' Jon sucked harder on the naked hustler's
prong, felt Michael's thighs tense under Jon's bare chest and
shoulders.
``Okay -- **take* me!'' Michael gasped, and jetted his load
into Jon --
-- who sucked harder, swallowed, sucked harder yet, sucked
until he had drained the young bodybuilder dry. Michael relaxed
with a long sigh, limp now on the bed under Jon's weight.
``Enough!'' panted Michael. ``Gimme some time -- to catch my
-- breath. Damn, but you are a hard-sucking, hungry stud.
``Yeah?'' Jon raised his head, licked his lips, realized he
was wearing a satisfied grin. ``What'd you expect, when I get my
hands on a good-looking, hot-cocked muscle-stud like you?'' He
rolled to one side, stretched, then let his naked body go limp.
He felt the bed shift, blinked lazily, and saw Michael get to his
feet. Jon closed his eyes for a moment, then raised his head and
glanced around the bedroom.
Wide shoulders, now clad in black leather, turned from the
window. ``Fucking rain must of started while you were blowing
me,'' Michael growled. He tossed his head to throw a curly lock
of black hair up and away from his eyes, then picked up his
Levi's from the floor and turned back to the window with them
dangling from his right hand. ``Coming down real fucking hard
now.''
``A couple of real loud rolls of thunder went off while --
while I was taking you off.'' Jon started to pull a corner of the
sheet over his own impressive hard-on, then tossed the sheet
aside and gripped that hard-on instead. ``But you were so close,
breathing hard -- you **did* like it, didn't you?''
``Studs in my profession **always* say `yes' to that question,
but -- couldn't ya tell? That was a real turn-on. Just 'cause I
do this for money doesn't mean I don't like getting swung on by
an expert.'' His voice shifted to a growl again as he scowled out
the window. ``Be Hell, cruising on the street with that stuff
coming down.''
``You could try one of the bars -- the Silver Shore or --''
``I ain't in the mood to fight off all the que-- you know,
all the studs that want to cop a free round. I'm strictly for
money, like I told ya. 'Sides, I'm at that awkward age: old
enough to fuck, not fucking old enough to drink, so getting in
the bars can be -- you know . . .'' Michael stepped back from the
window and ran what Jon felt was a coolly appraising eye over
Jon's naked body. ``I be fucked if I can figger how come, with
your good looks and how well you're 'quipped, you're hiring a
hustler like me, 'stead of picking up some cash yourself -- or at
getting it free.''
Jon squeezed his own hard cock. ``Well, you know how it is
-- free stuff's okay, but when a really first-class stud comes
along, to Hell with what you cost.'' He reached out and touched
Michael's bare thigh.
Jon saw the broad-shouldered hustler glance at himself in a
mirror on the wall: black-leather-jacketed to the waist, all
gleaming highlights and sooty shadow; below, he was bucked naked,
with lean hips, powerfully muscled legs, and wide feet that
gripped the rug. Still intent on his reflection, Michael curled
his hips to thrust his re-stiffening prong at its reflection.
``Yeah? I don't look bad at that. You liked doing me?''
``Fuck, man; couldn't you tell **that?* You're built, and
you're hung, you got a face to go with your muscles, and then the
way you responded when I was working on you -- first class and
then some!''
``Like I said, I'm strictly a hustler, only for money and
all that; but I don't see why I can't give a score a good time
for his money, 'specially a sexy stud like you are.''
Jon, on the bed, grinned. Michael grinned back, then glanced
over his broad shoulder at the pouring rain outside. ``It's
coming down like a fucking flood, now. I'd hate to get this
jacket wet. I just got it the other day, that's why I'm broke.''
Outside, thunder muttered. Rain gurgled down drain pipes,
hissed steadily on the roof. Inside, Jon licked his lips slowly.
``Yeah, it's a beautiful piece of leather, fits you just right.
Of course, it's what's inside that jacket that really counts. You
-- you want to stick around?''
Eyes locked for a long, thought-filled moment. Michael
tossed his head and grinned. He dropped his Levi's and unzipped
his jacket to bare his beautifully muscled chest again. ``Okay,
How 'bout a second round? Give ya a cut rate.''
Jon sat up, frowning. ``It'd have to be awfully cheap -- I
spent all I could afford on that first round, and I got bills I
gotta pay next week. He watched, hand on stiffening cock, while
Michael stripped off his jacket and carefully hung it on a chair.
And besides -- I mean, I almost shot my load when you grabbed my
shoulders when I was working on you.''
``And you want me to eat your cock? I don't, usually;
mostly, I'm strictly trade; but -- Hell -- even though I'm really
straight, not queer at all, I'll do a stud, now and then, if he's
a real hot number.'' Michael climbed onto the bed and reached for
Jon's rigid cock. ``You got a big one there, nice and long and
not **too* thick. Suck each other in a sixty-nine?''
``Hey, you're the one who's supposed to be interested in the
money,'' Jon protested, as the hustler's hand closed around Jon's
prong. ``How much you asking for this round?'' Jon watched his
cock disappear into Michael's mouth. The muscular hustler sucked
for a moment, rubbing hard with his tongue, then lifted his head.
``God, but that feels good,'' gasped Jon. ``But I still
can't afford a lot -- **how much?''*
``Not bad, not bad at all. If I were queer, which I ain't,
understand, I could go for doing this stuff for the fun of it.''
Michael half-closed his dark eyes while he thought for a moment.
``I said I'd make it a special price: how 'bout twenty-five for
you taking me off, and seventy-five for me working on your --''
``Shit, man; I can't afford that.'' Jon looked down sadly at
Michael's right hand, which still gripped Jon's cock.
Michael grinned. ``Getting to ya?''
``Bastard.'' Jon took a deep breath. ``You got a hungry,
furry mouth almost like . . .''
``Cents, that is. Sixty-nining each other'll cost you two
bits for sucking me, plus six bits for me to suck you off -- a
buck even. Well?''
Jon gasped, ``Just a dollar, after what you charged me for
that first round?''
``Like I said, I'm strictly for money. But I was worth it,
that time, wasn't I?''
``Oh, Hell yes,'' Jon laughed, reaching for Michael's shaft
with both hands.
``Even with my roommate, Hank, it's strictly for money. You
oughta meet him sometime: real cute mug, a build near as good as
mine, and real blond hair he doesn't have to bleach, 'specially
in the Summer. I'll tell ya 'bout how we met while you're warming
me up.'' Michael glanced down at Jon's hands, now working on
Michael's rapidly hardening prong. ``Ya got a good touch there,
turning me on already.''
``Anyhow, I'd been cruising the strip, just ambling along
and taking my time, when I spotted this stud on the make. Real
good looking, like I said. Guys who're **that* way really go for
him. And of course, he spotted me to. We didn't mess 'round with
any of that `Got a match?' shit; I said, `Strictly for money,
stud,' and he said `Sure thing,' and inside two minutes we was up
in my room, and stripped, and in bed.
``We looked at each other for a sec, waiting to see who was
going to do what; and then we just grabbed each other and started
sucking.
``Like I said, I don't usually do a stud, but sometimes, if
he's good looking enough, I do -- but always for money. Hank and
me, we got to work on each other. And then, after the second or
third time, we was lying there, looking each other over and
catching our breath. Hank said, `I usually get a hundred,' and I
said `Whatcha mean, **get?'*
``And then it hit us: we'd been in such a fucking a hurry to
take a good-looking customer to bed, we'd gone and hustled each
other. We both started to get mad, and then we both got to
laughing.
``Well, like me, Hank ain't queer; he's mostly trade, too.
We got a bigger place -- this one -- and we moved in t'gether.
Works out real good, ' cause sometimes when we haven't scored, we
can do each other, just to keep in practice.'' Michael looked
down at his own shaft, quivering stiffly in Jon's hand. ``Looks
like Old Fido's 'bout ready for that second round.'' The muscular
hustler slid into position, his face just inches from Jon's cock;
Jon's face just inches from Michael's. ``Ready?''
``Hell yes,'' sighed Jon.
Michael touched his tongue to Jon's cock-tip, then pulled
back or a moment. ``Hey, don't get me wrong 'bout Hank and me.
Like I said, we're strictly for money. Whenever we do each other,
it's a cash deal: I pay him for doing me, he pays me for doing
him.
With that, Michael wriggled closer and took Jon's rigid
shaft between Michael's jaws.
Jon lay motionless for a moment, watching his shaft slide
into Michael's mouth. Then Jon started to speak, stopped himself,
and felt a grin spread across his face that slowly softened into
a thoughtful smile. Next, he leaned forward, closed his lips onto
Michael's throbbing prong, and began to suck.
And as Jon sucked and was sucked, as he felt himself
respond, felt Michael respond too, Jon heard the rain pour down
outside in hissing sheets, heard thunder rumble overhead. Inside,
hungry mouths sucked on rock-hard cocks as two lusty studs urged
each other toward a sperm-shooting eruption.
Strictly for money, of course.
================================================================
[Copyright (C) 1999 by Felix Lance Falkon; you may save or make]
[paper copies for your own use; do not post, repost, publish, ]
[or archive elsewhere without the author's express permission. ]
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