Jake and His Wild Irish Rose
This is an original short story. Copyright, 2023. Everyone is over 18. If male on male sexual activity is not your thing or if stories about it are illegal where you are, feel free to move on. Please don’t make this story readily accessible to minors, in any form.
Jake was figuratively sitting on top of the world at the moment, and he was reveling in it. And at this particular moment he was also stiffly-planked on top of one of the hottest athletes he had ever seen, let alone conquered on the mat. To be more specific, Jake was plundering Ken’s ass with his long hard cock as he pressed Ken’s ankles to his shoulders with his thick arms, collapsing him into complete and total submission. Ken’s girthy penis was pressed hard between their guts and the plum-colored helmetp was spewing precum like a leaky faucet as Jake repeatedly punched his prostatewith each downstroke.
Ken’s firey red singlet had been ribbed from his body before the last take down, and as third round victor, Jake had opted to top the sweaty naked stallion beneath him, missionary style, but with more force and athleticism that no missionary could ever have dreamed. He wasn’t “making love.” He was jack-hammering mercilessly–and Ken was enjoying every thrust of Jake’s powerful thighs driving his dick deeper into Ken’s shaft, stretching it to its limits, hitting bottom repeatedly, and milking the prostate. Ken’s hands held tight to a heavy barbell above his head for balance and in utter submission as Jake bounced. Ken’s dark face and squinty eyes betrayed his near ecstasy. Jake’s face, on the other hand, showed triumph andpassionate purpose. He as out for one of the biggest an best orgasms of his life. Both young men were muscled, tanned, oiled, and in extreme animalistic heat, right at the edge of ultimate satisfaction and exhaustion. Jake knew Ken could take anything he could deliver, so this was all about Jake’s pleasure. And he had an avid audience, cheering him on, urging him to pound he guy who had humiliated so many of them, and then taken them in the recent past.
Jake’s body stiffened, his legs tensed, his toes curled under, his abs and balls drew in, his ass muscles hardened, and then, with a victorious shout, he unleashed a gusher of cum deep into his partner’s hungry ass. Jake grabbed Ken’s dick hard and stroked it rapidly. Ken hollered in pleasure and exploded, splashing both chests and chins with his creamy spunk, even spreading cum over the adjacent red wrestling mats. Then, both collapsed–with Jake remaining on top, dominating his conquest as he had during the three round match, until slowly he rose, pulled off the spunk-filled condom and dropped it on Ken’s chest, and raised his muscled arms in victory.
Then, he grabbed his still hard tool sticking straight out from his widely spaced legs, threw his hips forward, and mock-shot his cannon at the audience–with one foot on Ken’s heaving chest. Finally, he reached down to help Ken rise and take a bow from an exaggerateed bow-legged stance, the souvenir of his defeat. He dismissed Ken with a hard slap on his ass and pushed him toward the showers. Ken existed with a faked submissive bow. Very theatrical.
The audience went wild. Applause erupted from the bleachers, filled with young men, mostly naked or nearly so and visibly erect at the spectacle before them. Most appeared to be swarthy, built Latinos, although a half dozen tanned, but lighter skinned body builders were in the crowd. Several of the guys looked right or left, grabbed a partner and pulled him into an erotic chest to chest lap dance in celebration. Jake and Ken were not the only ones getting off that night.
It was mid-March and the first anniversary of the newest fitness club in Miami. And this was the last “act” in the early “celebration” show. MiamiBods had opened as an upscale gym in a completely remodeled and chillingly air-conditioned warehouse just a few blocks from the beach. The exterior was covered in shiny stainless plates creating an ultra-mod, ultra-posh vibe. But, the underside of the deep overhang on the street side had been painted in rainbow stripes, declaring to the world who was welcome to its exclusive exercise-dance and wrestling path to fitness. It was crowned with spas and saunas, steam rooms, showers, lockers and massage tables on the upper level. Dues were high, but there was a waiting list. Everyone it seemed wanted to be around sexy, beautiful young flesh. The place tonight was packed. And these guys were all model–quality, the epitome of muscled maleness which had marked SoBe as a mecca for the young of a certain exhibitionist tendency. Standard dress included a sleeveless tee, the tighter and filmier the better, and a designer jock or tight compression shorts–except in the bar where “designer peacock” was on offer. In honor of St Pat, most of the tees and ocks were emerald green. Upstairs in the bar, the taps were flowing green and green cocktails were BOGO.
There had been three acts at the 10 pm “early show”–all one-on-one rus escort wrestling matches, bathhouse rules (slap, grab and snatch, stroke and penetrate, no holds barred), each timed for points or take down or submission. The third round was nude and often oiled, the winner choosing how to fuck or be fucked by his prize. This was the last and the best. Jake and Ken were favorites, although not a couple, but frequent well-matched opponents. In fact, Jake was fucked as often as he fucked. But, he had been on a tear for the last month, celebrating the first anniversary of his divorce from one of the nastiest bitches of the Western World–and he had been working out and training every day. He was at the peak of his strength, stamina–and physical attractiveness. Jake was about six feet tall, blonde crew cut, tanned, mostly shaved, with photo-worthy pecs, bis, tris, delts–and a deeply chiseled eight pack. He was also blessed by the gods of sexuality–a shower and a grower, measuring 5 to 10 by 7 around with a nice big wide corona, the serendipitous relic of a reluctant gay surgeon, many years before. When soft, it arched majestically over egg-shaped balls; when hard it stood ominously tall and dark at the angle of a long range howitzer, promising heavy fire power and dominance. He had completed owned Ken for all three matches, finishing the last oiled-down bout with a two-handed strangle of Ken’s shaft and enormous balls–almost to the point of castration– while calves pinned his shoulders and Jake’s ass was planted firmly in Ken’s face–requiring a complete surrender. When Ken tapped, Jake bent down and placed a triumphant loud wet smooch on Ken’s nearly erect dickhead.
Jake had moved to Miami–fortunately his software engineering position was easily transferred–after a stormy and nasty divorce from a New York socialite, ten years older than his 26 years. There had been a pre-nup and so he neither got nor gave anything at the end in a quiet, but vicious, settlement meeting presided over by her high-priced lawyers. No children, for which he was grateful. He moved with only a few suitcases of clothing and his state of the art laptop–and a decent sized secret bank account.
Grace had known he was bi when they met and ultimately married. Thinking back, Jake was pretty convinced that his “bi” was part of his attractiveness to her. The cougar was rarely interested in straight sex, but trotted him around to various society affairs as arm candy and demanded that he bring her off with his tongue or talented fingers on demand. Rarely did she permit him to fuck her–and even then, only when he was first hermetically sealed. He was a show stopper even then: clean-cut, fair-complected, muscular, and obviously well-endowed. She had him grommomed at Madison Avenue’s celebrity spa and dressed him in designer duds that reflected her status (and showed off his physical gifts. She was envied. He was cared for. She didn’t care if he took some satisfaction on the side, so long as he was discrete. And it lasted about two years. Later after the move to Miami and his friendship with Ken, Jake remarked that he really was the Ken to Grace’s Barbie–except his Barbie was a wealthy shrew who preferred him nude in her bedroom, rather than preppy-dressed in her dollhouse.
Ken was the opposite of everything Jake. He was shorter, just over 5-8, with dark hair and eyes, swarthy, a belligerent stance, and enormously muscled–the linebacker physique,–think, Hulk, super, super hero. He was hung with an average plus length cock that was as thick as a coke can and a tapering uncut tip, its surface the dark caramel color of coke. He had a large, squat-built ass–and he was ready to go, top or bottom, at a moment’s notice–a total whore. He had wrestled successfully in high school and college and looked the part. He lived for working out and sex, particularly dominating smaller guys into total surrender. And then fucking them into heaven–and future dependency, perhaps even sexual slavery, had he been so inclined. Rarely did he find someone like Jake who could best him–and fuck him hard and long–which kept their friendship alie and well.
Jake had partied hard after the divorce–not out of unhappiness, but relief, dabbling for a time in both alcohol and drugs. One night, while cruising, he had met Ken. As unlikely as it then seemed, they hooked, became friends and after manhandling and screwing the shit out of Jake, Ken convinced Jake to join MiamiBods. Jake had bottomed before, but he had never been taken so violently and completely, and he really didn’t like the bitch persona that set in. So he became a regular. Almost overnight, Jake found himself in a new life–now preferring male companionship for the most part, particularly when competitive shows of strength, combat, and submission were involved, He continued to date and fuck beautiful young women, if only to complete his image as a successful software entrepreneur on the make, all the while building his prodigious body. He had a nice yenimahalle escort condo in one of the towers on the Miami River from which he could watch cruise ships sail almost daily–carrying partiers of all persuasions. Now he thought he had his life back together. His triumph tonight was the capstone of his transformation and the beginning of his new life.
He stepped off the stage and pulled on the “regulation” terry shorts with a large back patch-pocket and a smaller condom holder over his oily nakedness, heading upstairs for the showers. En route, he was approached over and over. Phone numbers and emails were slipped into his waist band and pocket as he walked to the lockers and showers. He’d have his pick. Before he reached the showers, the shorts were drooping sexily just above his hips. Fortunately, MBs, as it was affectionately known, had a lively juice-and-booze bar where everything and everyone was “on offer”. Jake planned a victory party night, and was definitely going to take home another trophy. His complete dominance over Ken had awakened a monster. He was already hard again. He thought he could actually feel the testosterone flowing through his limbs, one in particular.
After dressing–gauzy Greek-fisherman collarless shirt, unbuttoned to below his pecs, over black skin-tight jeans and black mocs–Jake moved to the bar. He had pasted a tacky glittery shamrock over his heart and another over his dick, his only deference to the holiday. He heard cheers, offers to buy, and offers for several other services as he moved to the shiny metallic long-bar. He called for a Grey Goose and lime, rocks and was served immediately. He turned, leaned back against a stool and the edge, broadened his shoulders, and stretched his legs, thus placing his inviting package on full display–gloating and advertising.
He scanned for new faces in the crowd of milling and dancing guys. All knew the look of a predator on the hunt. His eyes met those of one who was probably a few years younger than he. He was tall with messy ginger hair, freckles and deep jade green eyes that matched his emerald polo, in-shape but not a body-builder. They guy looked away momentarily and Jake noted the sultry thick lips in profile and the nice globes filling his white pants, and, as he turned back, Jake stared and sent out the “come here, now, bro” look. He started to Jake, and just before he arrived, having to dodge the crowded floor, Jake spread his legs into a vee. The guy stepped fearlessly in, almost mashing his crotch into Jake’s. “Name’s Jeremy. I already know yours. That was a terrific match and victory.” He stuck his hand out and Jake took it, squeezed it and drew him closer so that their dicks were actually in contact. With his other hand, Jake gripped his ass, liked the feel, and looking into the hypnotic eyes, said, “Happy to meet you, Jeremy. Haven’t seen you before.” “I’m a guest. Visiting from New York.” “Can I buy you a drink?”
“Guinness….stout, if they have it.” “Oh, I’m sure they have anything we might want and any way we might want it. But, I’m guessing it might be green tonight. I hope that’s okay for a real Irishman.” “Oh, I’m just a plain vanilla kind of guy, easily satisfied, easy to get along with, in fact, in your case, I could be just plain easy tongiht.”
“You’re just what I was looking for. And that’s just the answer I was hoping for. Here’s the drink. The mugs are souvenirs tonight, so you can take it with you. My condo is a short walk from here–and I think there might even be a cold one or two there.” “Lead the way, Jake. Or do you want to steer me so you can feast on my cute little ass.”
Jake tried to settle the tab, but was told everything was on the house for him that night. “Fuck. I should have had a few more.” Then, he took Jeremy’s hand and they walked into the hot, humid Miami night. Jake steered them to the colorful pavers along the upper beach and they moved south. As he did so, his hand slipped into Jeremy’s white Bonobos and finding him commando, palmed his muscled cheek. Jake was already thinking that this wasn’t going to be a rematch; this was going to be long, tender, and sensuous–in bed, not on a hard mat, with lots of stroking and necking. He looked down to see that Jeremy was probably thinking the same thoughts.
They arrived at the condo and rode the elevator to the high floor where Jake’s sparsely furnished place was located. Some chrome, glass, white leather, white marble. Comfortable chairs–even a recliner which Jake insisted on calling his fucking chair. Of course, the far wall sported an enormous LED UHDTV. Another room was dominated by a large king bed and was almost completely mirrored. Very Miami. “The bath is in there. You can shower if you want. I just did at the club. You should find everything you want or need. There is a hand-held spray with a insertable attachment and lube. Feel free to use them. If you need something else, just holler.” Jeremy moved to the shower leaving the bath door open. He stripped, hung his clothes on the door hook and stepped in. Jake noted his very nice ass, narrow hips, and vee’d back, but the best parts were shadowed in mystery. Jeremy had spent a few days in the sun and except for the pale evidence of a skimpy Speedo, he was lightly tanned and rosy from the hot Miami sun. Jake stepped over to the bed, pulled back the duvet and extracted lube and condoms from the wall-hung table. (One hook had once remarked that every hung young man like Jake deserved wall-hung bedside tables equipped with all the necessities.)
Jake stripped and reclined on the bed, propped by several large white pillows, facing the shower. He had placed a cold beer mug on the bedside table and sipped from a frosted cocktail. Jeremy turned and as he soaped his staff and balls, held them up on display. He was trimmed and the ginger was not from a bottle. The dick was long, very long, maybe a nine, and really very graceful, arched over enormous pink ballsacks. He was uncut, shaved, and the head was swollen nicely and was emerging from its hood. Trim, sculpted muscles suggested his youth. Jeremy soon approached, drying his back with a sexy sway that caused his hardening cock to swing hypnotically. “You are an enigma, Jeremy. You seem very young–I’m assuming over 18–but you’ve got the moves down.” “I’m 23. I attribute the boyish appearance to my upbringing on a farm just outside Cork in Ireland. I came to the US for uni and now I’m in grad school. So I’m on a student visa. I can’t work, so I’ve sold myself a few times through a syndicate that operates out of Lower Manhattan–mostly to young banker types who want discreet hooks with a ginger who is skilled at pleasuring and are willing to pay. I get about $350 for a shot, customer’s choice top or bottom; a grand for a full night usually. Now they’ve asked me to try a screen test for some porn which could result in much more.”
“So you’re a pro. I thought this was an amateur adventure.”
“I’m on vacation, Jake. Cool it. And by the way, I’ve only done it a few times and always with complete protection. I figure that I need some release now and then, so why not turn a profit if the john can afford it and technically, it’s not work. For you, I’m just a prize, a toy for you to use to celebrate your utter dominance of that other dark wrestler. I was mesmerized by your skill, your beauty, and frankly, your equipment. I knew you were shopping for your trophy at MBs and I was really flattered that you picked me. So how do you want me, Sir?”
“Just come over here and cover me for the moment. I want to feel you all over. You look like a big pink leprechaun. And I’m already in lust with your shillelagh. I feel like playing around “
Jeremy approached the bed and carefully fit himself into Jake, dropping his legs into the open thighs, aligning balls and cocks, and stretching his arms up over Jake’s head. Jake snapped the trap shut, wrapping with thighs and legs and arms and squeezed him in. His head dropped and Jake opened to receive his invading tongue. He was a warrior. He jousted with gusto as his fat lips enveloped and sucked. Jeremy’s hands dropped to the back of Jake’s neck and he lifted so that he could nibble on ear lobes. Then he pushed against the embrace and moved fingers to Jake’s swollen nipples. Finding them hard, he dropped down and sucked them into full erection. Then he left his mark on the right pec which actually resembled a cloverleaf.
Jake reached behind and pulled his cheeks apart, circling his anus with spit soaked fingers as their dicks writhed together. They squirmed like snakes in heat. Suddenly, and without warning, Jake demonstrated his enormous strength and flipped the pair, grabbed Jeremy’s knees, pushed his legs toward the headboard and dove into his ass–finding it to be the perfect pink rosebud that was hoped for. Jake curled his tongue and invaded and Jeremy keened in pleasure. (“Is it only Celts who keen when their asses are pleasured?”)
“We’ve had too much foreplay for this to be long and sensuous. I’d like to do this quickly. How much prep do you think you need–as you see, I’m pretty large.”
“Why don’t we do Act I orally? Then we can have time. I definitely want you to do me big time. Obviously, you’ve got a trophy piece and I want to feel every centimeter of it for a good long stroking session. And, then, if you’re game, I’d even like an Act III when I do you.” “Just like the club.” “I’m game. I’m taking tomorrow off.”
So they moved easily into a sixty-nine. Jeremy was indeed a pro–no one had ever deep-throated Jake before and as he did so, he teased Jake’s taint, scrotum and even his rim. Within seconds, Jake was ready to blow. Jeremy squeezed the base and brought him down to earth as Jake began licking Jeremy’s pole, reaching the head where he tried to dock with the tight hood. Jeremy was near the end as well. “Let’s finish this off so we’re ready for round two.” Both started sucking hard; precum began to flow, not drip, and simultaneously both guys ejected mouthfuls of creamy white nougat. Jake swallowed and laughed, “I think you even taste a little like clover–four- leafed, of course.” Jeremy smiled and placed his head on Jake’s breast as Jake raked his fingers through the reddish blond curls. They both dozed for a few minutes.