0 comments/ 6678 views/ 0 favorites Le Semeur Ch. 01 By: andrewthefirst If you did not know where Le Semeur was, it is unlikely that you would ever find it. It was in San Francisco, up a few winding alleyways, as everything in that city is. The building itself looked like a small storefront chapel. It was all unmarked, except for a plaque on the outside that read: "'In the morning, sow thy seed, and in the evening, withhold not thine hand...' -- Ecclesiastes 11:6." You would enter through this door, at which you would find a receptionist in formalwear. The receptionist would ask for a password. (Hint: "banana.") You would be admitted if you knew the word, or if the receptionist recognized you -- I don't have to say that we had a rather regular clientele -- and once you gave the cover charge. The cover charge ranged from $100 to $500, depending on which ones of our boys were inside. The high price kept the looky-loos out on the street and kept the place classy. Then the receptionist would ask you, "Swallow or swaddle?" If you said "swallow," you would get a white silk handkerchief. If you said "swaddle," you would get a red one. You would go through the door that had an ornate wooden sign on it that had "Le Semeur" engraved on it (French for "The Sower of Seeds"). This door led to a smaller antechamber, which served as a coat room and was just as dimly lit as the reception room. From here, the guests would enter the main room. Here in the main room, you could see that our building was far deeper than it was wide. It was very posh, very plush inside, with Victorian armchairs circling twelve round tables that were spaced all around the room. Butlers and maids circled the chairs, each with a tray -- some to offer champagne and hors d'oeuvres to the guests, others to take up used glasses. On each of the twelve tables, there was a wooden chair with very comfortable cushions on the seat and back. Each of the chairs had a young man in it -- always older than eighteen, never older than twenty-five -- in the top physical shape of his life, stripped completely naked. A pair of hooks hanging above the chair had a wooden plaque (Le Semeur was big on wood) that had his name on it. They all took the names of powerful gods: we had a Dionysus, an Ares, a Thor. The arms of the chairs had special holsters on them: one held a small, corked crystal vial of the young man's choice of lubricant or lotion; the other, a snifter also made of crystal. One of the chairs is vacant. A young man of about twenty or twenty-one comes into the room through a long, swishy red curtain that comes from a room marked: "Les Semeurs -- Studs Only." He has his blond hair in that shaggy surfer look, with an A-shirt to match and skinny jeans. The A-shirt exposes his massive arms, fifteen inches around, his bulging shoulders to match, and his all-over tan. He strides to the vacant chair, exuding self-confidence, with his nameplate under his arm. Climbing onto his table, he hooks the sign onto its position above the chair. This one is Poseidon. Poseidon is one of the well known ones. His real name is Justin, but the Semeur clientele doesn't need to know that. Poseidon is just like a stage name. Poseidon is so well known that he gets applause as he enters. He puts a tiny vial of his preferred lube (Wet brand) in the left holster, and he sees that the right holster that should be holding the snifter empty. He snaps at one of the butlers, who instantly gives him a clean snifter from the tray of other glasses. A few months ago, Poseidon's glass-holster actually was empty on accident, but now the event is recreated every time he steps onto the table, just so that his voyeurs can see him order another man around. Poseidon is every inch the alpha male. He strips off his shirt and his viewers gasp. His muscles sit firmly on his body like a suit of armor. He grabs a hand of one of his viewers and runs it along his perfect pectorals and abs that would shame a Greek god. It is here that the first turgid cocks of some of the viewers come out and get wrapped in condoms. The rule at Le Semeur is that any woman can masturbate without restriction while watching one of the Studs, but men can only masturbate if they wrap up in a condom first. It cuts down on the mess to clean up. His pecs swell as he breathes in and out, preparing to start the feature presentation. He unbuttons the fly of his jeans and takes down the boxers, stepping out of the clothing that previously imprisoned his lower body. As the boxers go down, the monster flops out. Wispy, trimmed blond pubes crown the flaccid penis that hangs halfway down his thigh, and the heavy, ready testicles that are about the size of a walnut each. He then proceeds to say the only (intentional) words that he will say all evening: "Handkerchiefs?" in his warm baritone. The handkerchiefs of everyone around the table go up, but a brunette, thirty-year-old woman's red handkerchief goes up a nanosecond before everyone else's. Poseidon takes this handkerchief, sniffs it, and smiles at the woman. Like an animal in the jungle, Poseidon beats his fists on his chest to psych himself up before sitting down, uncorking the vial, and pouring some of the lube into the palm of his hand. His eyes focus on the endless loop of porn that plays on the flatscreen above him, positioned so that only the Stud can see. He jerks on the monster between his legs until it inflates to its full nine and a half inches. He exhales heavily, closing his eyes and biting on his lower lip before looking at the porn again. This goes on for a couple of minutes, then the fist-fucking begins in earnest. Poseidon knows how to put on a show. He struts around the table like a runway model, making sure everyone can get their money's worth in a good look. He stands with one leg up on the chair so that the testicles can swing free below, like a fuzzy pendulum. He flexes the massive bicep on his free arm, licking the peak -- and one of the men watching him cums. He sits and massages his testicles. The lube-covered head of his gargantuan penis gleams like a weapon ready to do battle. With the tips of his fingers, he grazes the veins that lie in thick knots on his cock -- and one of the women around the table starts to gasp in orgasm. Bracing his penis from the base with his left hand as he jerks with his right hand, he starts to whisper to himself: "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck...shit, that's good..." One of the men around the table, an eighteen-year-old youth on the more voyeuristic side whose ID needs double-checking, grips his own condom-clad penis as he says under his breath, "Yeah, yeah, dude...knock her up..." The woman from whom Poseidon took the handkerchief gets tapped on the shoulder by one of the maids, who tells her, "You are the luckiest woman in the world," motioning to Poseidon, red-faced with lust as he bucks his hips, pushing and pulling his huge erection in and out of his double fists. The game is about to end. Poseidon's scrotum gets so taut that if it got any tighter, his balls would burst out. He must feel the hot spunk building in his crotch, because he grabs the glass in the right holster and positions the head of his penis at its mouth. Poseidon's hard, short, manly strokes on his dick continue for a half a minute, then warm, white, sperm-laden semen shoots out of the head of his penis like a bullet from the barrel of a gun. Seven more splashes of cum fill the glass with the young man's fresh semen. After squeezing and milking the still-hard cock to make sure that every last drop of seed has been emptied into the glass, Poseidon hands the glass to the lucky woman whose handkerchief he took. The woman takes the glass, then reaches up, kisses him, and runs her hand along his tight chest (a breach of protocol at Le Semeur that can be overlooked easily). One of the maids hands the woman a blunt syringe from a silver tray and escorts her into a small adjoining room. At Le Semeur, if a white handkerchief is taken, that means that the snifter of fresh-squeezed sperm can be swallowed by its recipient as part-fashionable gourmet treat, part-communion with the object of one's voyeurism. If a red handkerchief is taken (always from a woman), it means that the spunk is intended to be used for insemination -- an arrangement that makes Le Semeur something of a sperm bank that puts an accent on the erotic part of baby-making. The creation of a new life is what Poseidon's sperm were destined for tonight. He always gives a better performance when he's trying to get a woman pregnant; he enjoys it more. Completely spent, Poseidon slumps in the chair, his monster slowly shrinking. His viewers clap for him. He blows them a few kisses. After a moment, he gathers up his clothes. He stops and looks after the small room where the brunette went with his seed. She comes back in the room. Poseidon leaps off the table, kisses her, and says, "Tell me if it takes." He pats her on the belly and leaves, bare-assed, through the red curtain with a touch of arrogance. Le Semeur Ch. 02 I was no stranger to Le Semeur. The year 2043 would mark my fourth year working for them, ever since my own eighteenth birthday. I wasn't a Stud; I was too skinny and homely. I started as an intern, essentially. I kept the Stud Book, which was a list of all of the men who worked as Studs and their schedules. I worked up to receptionist. Now, I interview all kinds of new talent who want to work as Studs. It's a pretty sweet job. Poseidon, or Justin, has been working here for about six months, but he's already become as big of a "star" as our modest establishment allows. He only does one show a day. Considering that our business depends upon his ability to jizz and jizz a sizeable amount, this ensures that he will give as good a performance as he can. Considering that we are open six days a week, 95 men or women have drunk a hot glassful of his warm spunk, and 49 women have taken a syringe to it and inseminated themselves in the hopes of merging his life with theirs. And I was dating him. Justin was bi, as was I. I don't know how a guy who was pretty much a fucking god like him took an interest in a guy like...me, but it happened. We were going on our third date right after he had a jerk that ended in him indirectly inseminating a woman. That was the big turn-on in our relationship. The idea of impregnating a woman really turned our cranks. It made me wonder if we were actually lovers, or if we were just really good friends who bonded over a common lust -- good friends who just had a really physical relationship. We hadn't had sex. Yet. Justin walked into the "Studs Only" back room behind the red curtain -- the room that lead into the main floor. I waited for him there, looking over some of the paperwork that I had to do after he finished his show. He came in with his dick still glistening from the lube, looking drained. "Hey," I said, walking up to him. I gave him a little peck on the lips. "Good show tonight. I caught most of it from back here." "Thanks, babe," he said to me, giving me a swat on the butt. He took a tissue from a box on a table and wiped off his penis. "Tell Courtney to change the porn. I've been looking at the same one for a week and a half." "I already told her," I said, watching Justin from behind as he stepped into his underpants. "I only have one interview to do and then I'll be off." "An interview? It's late for an interview." "It's the only time we could squeeze him in." Justin made a little pouty face and said, "You know we've got a date tonight." "Aww...I haven't forgotten. Ten at the Bistro." I run my hands through his hair. "You're cute when you pout." He brushed this aside. "Where's my jacket? Here it is! Guess what. Isabella met me at the back door right when I came in. She just stopped in to tell me that she's six weeks along." "Congrats, Daddy," I said. "So...how many does this make?" "That I know of, nineteen." "Children or pregnancies?" I asked, feeling my own dick start to stiffen at the thought. "Pregnancies. I think one ended up being twins." "You're such a fuckin' stud," I said, pinching him on the cheek. He put a hand on either of my hips. "It takes one to know one," he smiled. "Oh, come on. Get a room," said Matt, a stringy, tall Stud who was making his way through the red curtain. * * * I sat down in the chair behind my desk in my office, waiting for the new talent to walk in. I was thinking about the date tonight...third date, third base...that kind of thing. I was almost ready to rub one out right there when there was a knock at my door. "Come in! It's open." "Mr. Thompson?" said the young man who walked through the door. He looked skinny and shy. He had brown, tidy shortish hair and looked to be about eighteen or nineteen. He had black-framed, nerdy looking glasses on, with a collared shirt, tie, sweater vest, slacks, and a blazer that had a crest on it that I recognized. "Call me Chase," I said. "Is that your costume, or do you actually go to Haverbrook Academy?" "I go there, sir. I'm a senior." "I was class of '39. You're Clay Graham, I presume." "Yes, sir. Good to meet another Bobcat, sir," he said, his eyes to the floor. "Look, you can drop the prep school demeanor. There's nothing to be afraid of, okay?" "All right," Clay said, still unconvinced. I stood and shook his hand, then sat back down at the desk. "Did you bring the dossier that Claire asked you to bring?" "Yes," he mumbled, handing me a manila folder. I thumbed through its contents, first finding Clay's birth certificate. Age confirmation was important for us, purely for liability. "Born December 3, 2025. Well, happy birthday three days ago. You're just a baby, aren't you? How did you hear about us?" "I have a cousin who used to work here to save up money to move to New York. Jupiter?" "Ah, I remember him." I leafed through his resume; a description of his physical stats; shots of him clothed, shirtless and naked; a stamped, sealed, and certified letter from his doctor to the effect that he didn't have HIV or any other sexually transmitted disease; and finally, a list of all of his interests and achievements. "Let's see..." I said. "Captain of the chess team, president of the drama club, three speech-and-debate awards, member in good standing of the Honors Society...you know, Clay, when we hire people right out of high school, they were usually captain of the football team, stuff like that. I mean, erect penis length: five and a half inches...how much did you weigh the last time you weighed yourself?" Clay got a little ashamed. "One twenty-four...and a half." Then defensive: "Well...how much do you weigh?" "One thirty-six, but I'm not the one trying to become a Stud here. I mean, your shots look nice, and you ARE kind of cute, but --" "Look, why don't I show you what I can do?" "Okay," I said. "Most of the prospective Studs are asked to do an audition, so let's just cut to the chase right now. Do you need any music, magazines?" "Pictures would be nice," he said sheepishly. I dug around in the bottom drawer of my desk. "Straight or gay?" I asked him. "Straight," he replied, and I got him Playboy's 90th anniversary edition. And then something amazing happened. He became a stripper. With no music whatsoever, he removed his shoes, then socks, then blazer, all with a coy look on his face. He took of his glasses and threw them at me for me to catch. He undid his tie and threw it around a bust of Magnus Hirschfield that I had on my desk. He stripped off his sweater vest and unbuttoned his shirt about halfway, pulling at either side of it so that I could get a good look at his toned but skinny chest. He ripped the rest of the shirt off, popping the rest of the buttons. I sat straight up in my chair. This boy knows what he's doing. I knew it; behind every prep school prig there's a filthy man-slut. The young man undid the buckle of his belt and slid his pants down around his ankles, turning his round little ass toward me. Turning around, he pulled down the front of his boxers and showed off that five-and-a-half-inch erection. He yanked off the rest of the boxers and sat down in the chair and went at that stiff little cock like his life depended on it. The foreskin moved up and down and up and down, exposing the engorged purple head of his cock each time he made a pump. He made noises. And not just little growls and gasps. Full-voiced moans. "OH GOD! OH SHIT...SHIT, YEAH...AHH!" I was stunned. He became an animal. Then he turned on me: "Yeah, you getting turned on, looking at me jack my hard prick? Yeah, you like it...you like it..." He flipped through the pages of the porn mag, he found one picture he really liked and stared at it like the only thing that matters. I'm sure that his eyes would have burnt a hole through the paper if he'd have stared any longer. He spat in his palm and closed his eyes in ecstasy of his hand tugging at his firm penis. "You ready?" he said to me. "You ready to get your mind -- OH FUCK! -- blown? Here it comes...shit, here it comes..." His orgasm deserved all the fanfare he gave it. The first splash of sticky seed flew out of his penis and leapt three feet into the air, landing right on his closed folder on my desk. The spunk kept coming strong out of his dick for a good eleven or twelve jets, landing all over his chest and stomach in thick ropes that trickled down to his pubes. The stream slowed until white goo was merely trickling out of his cock until, after almost forty-five seconds, he finally stopped. The kid came in buckets. If you were to scoop up all of that juice, I bet you'd have a full quarter of a cup. He put his head back and closed his eyes, looking at peace, running his hand along his spent cum, smearing it all over his chest and stomach. "I'm sorry it wasn't as good as it normally is," he said (and my jaw hit the floor). "I jerked off in the shower in the morning, so I wasn't at full capacity." "Holy shit," I exclaimed. "Have you seen a doctor about this?" "Yes. I got scared when I was thirteen and I was jacking off in bed and I soaked through all my sheets. There's nothing wrong with me. He just said I have a very, um, robust reproductive system." I smiled. "Well, you're hired." Clay was overjoyed. "Thank you, sir!" "First," I said, "we have to find a name for you." "How about Thor?" he suggested. "No," I said, walking to a set of books on a shelf by the desk. "We already have a Thor." I pulled out a copy of Cahill-Carew's Encyclopaedia of Mythology and looked through the index before I found a suitable name. "Here. 'Dyeus.'" "Dyeus? Who's that?" I read, "'Dyeus: the presumed chief deity of the proto-Indo-European pantheon. The god of the daylight sky, thunder, and rain.'" "So I'm...Dyeus." "Right. The rain god. So bring me write down your schedule here and you can bring yourself and your robust reproductive system to work within the week. And clean up and get dressed. I have a date in an hour and I have to get out of here." Le Semeur Ch. 03 "So...you had an audition with Old Faithful tonight?" Justin was incredulous that someone could produce that kind of volume. We were at the Bistro, my favorite Italian place, looking at each other across candlelight and plates of pasta. He had gone home while I was interviewing Clay in order to change. I knew tonight was going to be a special night; he had on a necktie and a tight collared shirt...that he looked about ready to burst out of. "Yeah, he was pretty talented," I said, forking tortellini. "He's going to make a good addition to the team." "And he's just a little nerd, isn't he?" "I wouldn't say that...he looks a bit like me." Justin immediately thought that he had offended me. "I didn't mean -- I thought -- you're not anything like that. If you're a nerd, you're a fucking sexy nerd." "Thanks," I said, reaching out across the table to hold his hand. "I feel..." Oh no. Should I tell him this? "I feel lucky to have you. I, um...I love you." Justin blushed beet-red. He looked down at his dinner and mumbled, "Really? 'Cause...'cause I love you, too, Chase." I squeezed his hand and smiled at him. I leaned over the table and kissed him, a little wetness in my eyes. "Well..." "Well..." he said, and chuckled. "Well, you know what people do when they're in love?" He smiles back at me. "They start a family?" We both laughed. "I don't know...maybe I should stop taking the pill," I smirked. We laughed again. Justin stopped suddenly. "Hey...this is something I've been wanting to go in for for a long time. We're both bi, and we both want...we both have that fetish. We're men..." (You got that right, I think in my head, looking at his physique.) "...so we can't get pregnant ourselves, so..." He faltered. "No. It's a dumb idea. I can't believe I'm even talking about it." "No, keep talking," I said. "It sounds, um, interesting." "Well, I was wondering if you'd be in for, uh, finding a girl who'd go for it and we both try to knock her up and, uh, we...we go from there." "You mean, you want a -- a ménage-à-trois?" "Only if you think it's a good idea," he said quickly. "Good idea? I think it's a great idea! Only, where does this leave us?" "Look," said Justin after some thinking. "I love you, Chase. It would just be physical with the woman. We'd make sure she knew that." I thought about it for a moment. The thought of making a life with the guy I loved along with sating my need to make a baby was too much for me. "Let's do it! You got any ideas for the woman?" Justin leaned in as if he were telling me a huge secret. "That woman at Le Semeur tonight. I could totally see her going for it." "But you don't know anything about her. You don't even know where she lives." "I told her to come back if it didn't take. We should know in at least a month." I had actually gotten a look at that brunette. She was my type, definitely. She was short, with a cute smile and figure to match. She might have been thirty, but she looked younger. And had a totally suckable rack. "She would be good..." I finally said to Justin. "This is exciting. I can't wait to get started." "Awesome," Justin said. I could see the lust start twinkling in his eyes as he grinned at me. "You...you wanna go to my place tonight?" My heart started beating so fast that I thought it would fly away. I flagged down the waitress right then. "Check, please." * * * I sat on Justin's couch drinking a glass of Chianti. I looked at Justin as he stood at his counter, pouring himself a glass. He was already getting more comfortable; he had slipped his socks and shoes off, completely barefoot; his necktie was slung over a chair; his shirt was unbuttoned all the way down his chest, showing the wifebeater T-shirt underneath. He sat down on the couch beside me. "Hey," I said. "Do you think...we've only been dating for a couple of weeks. Can we really take on this kind of lifetime commitment? I mean...I love you, but..." "We'd only be making the baby. We wouldn't raise it," said Justin soothingly, rubbing his hand on my thigh. "Isn't it wrong to create a life without intending to take care of it?" Justin laughed a little. "The meaning of life is spreading your seed, babe." His eyes were shining as he looked at me straight on. His hand worked its way up my leg and settled on my dick. I hummed out a long, low moan at the bottom of my voice. "I hope the baby will look like you. We need more people who look like you in the world." Justin smiled and chuckled as he started to massage my stiffening penis. "How do you know it'll be mine? I know you got it in you, baby." "Maybe...maybe it'll be both of ours. Maybe it'll be one of those things you read about on the news, where she'll have twins and either one has a different father..." "How do we make that happen?" said Justin. I could see that dirty grin. He was starting to get aroused. "You fuck, that's what you do. You have hot, sweaty, burn-the-sheets, claw-your-back sex." "Hmm..." he smiled, kissing my neck. "I need practice." I stopped him, looking at him right in the face. "You mean, tonight's the night?" He kissed me deeply and fully, then looked back at me and whispered, "Yes." "You inside me?" "Me inside you." Again, my heart started to beat furiously. "I love you," I whispered at him. Pure sex flashed across his face. "Show it," he growled. I unbuttoned his pants and slid them down past his ass. He wasn't wearing any underwear. That sly fox -- he came ready for action. I saw that behemoth of a penis, already throbbing before my eyes. "You're dick's so fucking huge," I told him. "You've got a monster." I licked the bulbous head of the cock again and again before sucking on it like a baby at a breast. Justin started to moan and jerked his hips so that a couple inches entered into my mouth. I took it in and devoured as much as I could, taking the hard penis as far into my mouth as it could go. I was rewarded for my efforts with some of Justin's pre-ejaculate dribbling out, all warm and salty, on my tongue. I gripped the base of Justin's massive hard-on and kept working the dick in and out of my mouth. Sometimes I took it out and ran my tongue all over its veiny surface. "Baby, baby -- stop it. Wait!" Justin panted out in ragged breaths. "I'm gonna cum if you keep doing that. Let's get into the bedroom." I was almost more eager than I've ever been in my entire life. I bounced into Justin's bedroom, almost upsetting my glass of wine. Justin followed me. I turned the light on once we got by the bed. I wanted to see everything. I turned around to face Justin. He had walked out of the rest of his pants on the way over. I unbuttoned the rest of his shirt and threw it on the ground. Giving his penis a few extra jerks to make sure he stayed hard (not that he needed any help), I stripped off his wifebeater and I got a nice, full view of that thick, beautiful beast of a body of his. I ran my tongue all over that taut, hot chest. "Let's see you," Justin said to me. I stripped off my sweater and my shirt. "Ahh..." he let out. He ran his fingers along my torso, from my chest and along down my stomach. Then he gripped my arms. "Nice and fit and trim...damn hot, dude," he said. He took off my pants, stripping down my underwear as well. "Are you ready?" he said, turning me around and gripping my hips. "Never readier," I replied. Justin went over to the table by his bed and took out a small bottle of Wet. I saw it and giggled a little. He bent me over, put some lube on his fingers, and started to grease my hole. I quivered as he did it. I turned my head around and saw him oiling up the monster. "This might hurt a little," he whispered in my hear as he bent over me. I reached around and grabbed his as to pull him closer. "Make it hurt," I answered. Justin blew out some air across my ear. I felt the head of his dick right up against my asshole. And then, with a little pushing, it went in. It took a couple of minutes, but eventually every last inch of Justin's throbbing cock was in my ass. Then Justin started pushing back and forth, back and forth. I humped my ass back at him. It burned a little, but it felt good to have the man I loved inside me. We fucked ourselves into a frenzy. "Oh, baby," Justin groaned, "oh, baby, your ass is so hot..." "Let me turn around," I said. "I want to see you as you fuck me." Justin slipped out of me and I felt profoundly empty. I stripped back the sheets on his bed and lay down on my back, spreading my legs and opening up my ass for my lover. I jacked on my own raging cock as I waited for him. I kept jerking as Justin went back inside me. His heavily muscled arms supported him as he fucked that giant penis in and out of my tight hole. With my free hand, I played with Justin's hair and ran my hand down along his chest, which was starting to shine with sweat and get even more tense as Justin hammered into me with only one purpose. It got too much for me. My penis erupted and thick ropes of sperm shot out, finding their landing zone on my chest and stomach. "Shit, babe," Justin said, "I can feel your ass tighten as you jizz..." "Oh, God, give me your cum. Come inside my ass," I moaned. "Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck...here it is...I'm gonna -- ah!" And with that, I felt Justin's semen splashing into me, squirt after squirt after squirt. He pulled out of my ass and collapsed on top of me. We lay there, a sweaty, jizzy mess, gasping for breath. I tapped Justin on the back. "Just a sec. I have to go clean up." Justin got off of me and said, "Of course, sure." Justin shuffled off to the kitchen, saying that he was going to wash off his dick. I went into the bathroom and cleaned up. I came back to find Justin still stark naked, sprawled out in bed. His hand had been resting on his stomach, and as I discovered him, he was using two of his fingers to walk down each ab in his six-pack. "Hey," he said, catching my eye. "I would have lasted longer, but...I got excited for obvious reasons." I climbed into bed with my Justin. We kissed each other. "We'll have lots of other times...hell, I'll be ready again later tonight, if you will." We both laughed. And like that, with me wrapped in Justin's fine muscled arms, we two young naked men in love drifted into sleep.