Muscle For Hire
by LondonboyI didn’t recognize the number that appeared on my cell phone. I answered it anyway, because it’s the phone I use for work.
“Yes, is this Mr. Adam Smith?”
Not my real name, of course. It was a woman’s voice. That was something new. I only advertise my services in gay rags. I wondered how she got my number.
“Yeah, you’ve got Adam Smith. How can I help you?”
“Please hold for Mr. Jones.”
Then there was a click and I could tell I had been put on hold. This was unbelievable – and another first. Some dude had gotten his secretary to contact me. That took balls. I liked this guy already. Let’s hope it turned out to be a legitimate connection. Shit, I thought, that’s one devoted secretary. The line suddenly clicked live.
“Good morning, Mr. Smith.”
The voice didn’t sound like a guy with balls. Mr. Jones sounded young and somewhat timid. I was kind of bummed that the voice didn’t match my imagination.
“Yeah, you’ve got Smith.”
“Otherwise known as Mr. Big Enough, right?”
Wow, I was impressed. I only used that name in some of the hard-core magazines. Maybe this Mr. Jones was a better man than I thought. The ad that promoted me as “Mr. Big Enough” had a really good picture to go along with it. It’s also the ad where my massages were listed at their highest price. This might end up being a good day.
“Yeah, I’m Mr. Big Enough, too. How can I help you?”
“Well, sir, I’m calling for my boss and he needed me to touch base with you on a few items before any arrangements were made.”
What the hell was going on, I thought. Was this some kind of joke? I’m going through two assistants before I even talk to a potential client. Part of me said hang up the phone right now, but the adventurous side of me felt some potential in pursuing this call.
“A few items, you say? Who’s your boss?”
“If it’s alright with you, Mr. Smith, he asked me not to use his name. Can we just say he’s Mr. X?
“Whatever makes you happy, Mr. Jones. Whatever makes you happy. What are these items that X wants you to touch base on?”
“Thank you, Mr. Smith. I have a list here. First of all, is it possible to reserve your services for an entire week?”
This call kept getting weirder and weirder. But I know how to stay cool – sometimes that, alone, got you the job.
“Sure, but it’s gonna cost Mr. X a pretty penny.”
“Uh, Mr. Smith. Money is no object in this matter. I’m authorized to offer you any sum – as long as the product offered has been presented honestly.”
“And now, Mr. Jones, could you say that in a way that’s understandable?”
“I’m sorry. Of course, Mr. Smith. Mr. X wants to make sure that the pictures you have used to promote the product are real and if what you claim in the paragraphs of the ad is true.”
The second time around wasn’t much clearer, but I got the idea.
“Listen, Mr. Jones. The picture is a month old. I’ve actually added a few pounds of muscle since then. And, believe me, I don’t need to lie about my body or what I can do with my body. I’ve never – and I mean never – had a dissatisfied customer. But, just for conversation sake, why don’t you ask away about anything you want to. I’ve got nothing to hide.”
There was a slight pause. I could have sworn I heard the movement of a zipper. For a second I thought all of this was just a huge scam for some guy to get off on muscle talk on the phone, but something deep inside told me to stay with it.
“I hope I haven’t offended you, Mr. Smith. I’m just trying to do my job. Please forgive me.”
“It’s okay, man. I’m not easily offended. Shoot away with those questions.”
“The first is about your height. You write…”
“I’m six four in my bare feet with wet hair. Next.”
“Well, that is tall, isn’t it? And your weight?”
“I haven’t weighed myself this morning, but yesterday I tipped the scale at two hundred and ninety-two pounds.”
“Shit . . . uh, I mean sure. Thank you Mr. Smith. That is a little more than the ad says. Which is a good thing. It’s very impressive.”
“Listen, Jones. I think I can move this conversation along a little faster. What I claim in the ad is true – all of it. You can see my measurements listed there, but how about I tell you in a way that will make it clearer to Mr. X. Make sure you get all this down, man. To begin with, I’m fucking huge. I mean really big. If you walk into a room and I’m in the middle of a crowd your eyes are going directly to me first. Usually, I stand a few inches taller than everyone else around, but it’s the width of my shoulders that most people notice first. These shoulders are wider than your bed Mr. Jones. I kid you not. You could park a small car on the two mountains on either side of my head. And, just for the record, I’m hot as hell. I’ve got jet-black hair and cobalt blue eyes. Look up the word chiseled in the dictionary and they show you a picture of my face. By the way, the line in the ad that says I’ve got “lips for days” was said by a client, not by me.
I swear I heard a slight moan on the other end of the line, but I was too revved up to stop and comment.
And once you stop staring at my shoulders you begin to notice that those things hanging down at my sides aren’t tree trunks – they’re the largest fucking arms you’ve ever seen. Even though I’m wearing a black leather jacket you can still tell my guns are enormous. Your first thought after noticing them is how did he get that fucking jacket over those cannons. And if I flex my arms a little you know they’re cannons because you see the huge cannon balls that other men call biceps. And, Mr. Jones, if you haven’t passed out yet from staring at my body you finally notice what makes most big men I meet cream in their pants. Your mouth drops open when your gaze wanders over to my muscle shelf of a chest. It crosses your mind that I must have a steamer trunk stuffed in my shirt until you notice that I like to make my pecs twitch a lot, just to catch some guy’s eye. By this point you are so fucking mesmerized by how big my pecs are you hardly notice how my stomach slopes inward like there’s a cave underneath those two mountain peaks. Even with a shirt on you know that the ripple of my abs must seem inhuman when viewed – let alone touched. Should I continue, Mr. Jones?”
When I stopped talking I could hear that Jones was breathing heavy at the other end. I also heard movement and it hit me that Jonesy-boy must be whacking off.
That was all he could get out and then I heard something that melted my heart and made me really like the guy. It was very soft, but clear.
“Please . . . sir . . .”
“Sure man, sure. Well just about now the crowd parts and you get your first glimpse of my narrow waist. You marvel at the fact that something so skinny can support such a fucking huge upper body. And then it hits you that my core muscles must be as strong as girders in a skyscraper. Then your eyes land on my legs and either you shoot a second load or your heart stops beating for a few seconds. The first thing to pop into your head is that you’ve never seen quads flare out to the side as much as mine do. You say to yourself, “He must have painted those blue jeans on his body because they are so tight.” You are terrified that any movement of my concrete pillars will cause those stretched-thin jeans to shred in a hundred places. And then you realize that my quads flare out almost as far as my shoulders. You daydream for a second about all the things you want to place between my legs and watch me squeeze senseless. Knowing how much you’re fired up, Jones, you’d ask me to start with a metal safe, because you know it couldn’t withstand the pressure of my two towers of power. You also get more excited (if that is possible) when you imagine me cradling you in my powerful arms and then exploding into the air propelled by these two muscled missiles. And the thought of how hard the ground would shake when we landed takes you to a new stage in your ecstasy.
But just when you think it’s over, little Jonesy-boy, I turn around and you see, for the first time, true perfection displayed in my ass. You’ve always heard the term bubble butt, but never knew it really existed until you see mine. I squeeze the cheeks and the indentions made on the side look like craters on the moon. You dream of spreading my muscled cheeks and burying your face in my ass crack. But let me tell you something important, boy - once you put your face there and I begin to squeeze, you aren’t ever going to pull you head back until I release the vice-like grip of those two globes. Your face stays there until I say so. And every time I squeeze those cheeks a little harder it causes your rigid dick to ache that much more. I have you completely in my control by this point, Mr. Jones. And I can make you – shoot – your – load – with – just – one – massive – squeeze – of – my – ass.
This last sentence is said slowly and deliberately. I know how close the guy on the other end of the phone is to climaxing. I know this will send him over the top. And it does. Suddenly, I hear a loud moan as if someone is being punched in the stomach. I realize that Jones’ cock is spewing every ounce of cum his body can give. Hell, he probably won’t be able to shoot again for a week. His moan is broken into staccato-like intervals as his body is obviously thrown into sexual convulsions. I am actually pleased with my work. I can feel myself smiling. I might actually have to charge Mr. Jones.
There is silence on the phone. I hear heavy breathing for a while and then it tapers off. I know that Jones is trying to gain control of his body again. I decide to wait for him to speak first. He finally talks and sounds like someone who just finished running a marathon.
“I think I’ve gotten everything I need, Mr. Smith.”
“And then some, Mr. Jones.”
I love toying with guys. He didn’t laugh. Not because he didn’t think it was funny, but because he didn’t have the energy.
“Would a deposit of $50,000 be sufficient to begin your services, Mr. Smith?”
Now I’m good at what I do and I pride myself on being a professional, but nothing could have prepared me for that suggested amount. Yes, it would be sufficient. It would be fucking sufficient. But I knew I could not let on to the fact that the amount caught me off guard.
“I think that is a fine beginning, Mr. Jones, and we can talk about the rest later. Thank you.”
“No, thank you, Mr. Smith. A carrier will drop off the money within the half hour, if that is okay.”
“That’s fine. I’m around all morning.”
“Well good day, Mr. Smith. There will be instructions for you with the money. The week will begin tomorrow morning. I hope you enjoy your time with Mr. X.”
“Thank you, Mr. Jones.
And with that we both hung up. For a split second it crossed my mind that this was all a scam, but I refused to let my energy go there. If it didn’t pan out, that was fine. And if it did, that was fine too.
About twenty minutes later my doorbell rang. I opened it to be greeted by a good-looking fellow who asked for Mr. Smith. He gave me a huge envelope and then started to walk away. As he left I called out.
“Thanks again, Jonsey-boy.”
The guy turned back towards me and had a surprised look on his face.
“And how did you know it was me, Mr. Smith?”
“That’s easy. A flushed look streaked across your face when I opened the door, but mostly it was the big wet stain at the crotch of your pants.”
He looked down to see what I referred to. His face was completely red when he looked back up. I felt sorry for the guy – he was embarrassed. I walked down the hall towards him. I could tell his breathing got heavier as I moved closer. I reached down and put my large hand on his still-hard cock. I squeezed tightly and the poor kid shot another load. I couldn’t believe it. He shook violently and had to grab hold of my arm. The minute his hands felt my bulging, non-flexed, bicep his shaking doubled its intensity. I kept my hand there until he was calm and could stand on his own.
“Never be embarrassed by that, kid. Never. This is what makes us alive – this thing that is happening between us right now. You’ve given me the best compliment a guy can get. When I’m able to make a guy shoot his load I’ve accomplished something good for the day.”
I leaned down and pressed my mouth against his – forcing his lips apart with my tongue. Just to add to the kiss, I reached around his body, grabbed his ass with both hands, and lifted him into the air. I pressed his body against mine as I shoved my tongue further down his throat. After a few seconds, Jones finally got into the kiss. He placed his hands on my giant chest and something unbelievable happened. The kid started shooting another load. I was fucking impressed by his abilities. The spasms finally stopped and I pulled my face from his. I let his body slowly slide to the floor. Mr. Jones was in a muscle induced, cum-spewing trance. I simply turned his body toward the elevator and gave him a gentle push. His legs carried him, although they were quite wobbly, to the elevator and he pressed the down button. I stood in the hallway until the elevator doors closed so he could get a final look at the body that had made him erupt three times within an hour. It was turning out to be a great day.