An American in Budapest Ch 04

Surviving the Divorce and the Countess

I strongly suggest you red earlier chapters for full character development. But, more or less, each chapter stands alone. All characters engaged in sexual activity are over 18. © 2024 Brunosden. All rights reserved.

To my regulars, thanks. It is easier to gauge whether there is interest in your work when it is published (sales tell the story). On line, one never knows whether the "hits" are readers, or whether they like what they read, since so few rate after reading. Comments are always welcome. BD

That winter was long and cold in Budapest. It even snowed a few times, completely snarling all the transportation. But the bid process, as the Government relentlessly auctioned the Communist state assets, was demanding and relentless. Assets were changing hands almost every month. Peter and Milos were both engaged in assisting potential bidders. Once or twice when Peter did not have a client in the race, Milos decided to use Peter's law firm for legal advice—since he was a financial analyst, not an attorney. But, more often their teams were competing—so there was never any pillow talk about the matters pending in either office.

Peter went back to New York every month for a long weekend, spent entirely with his boys. All the divorce papers had been prepared; the Prospect brownstone was ready for transfer to the trust; and Peter and Chris had jointly explained their intended separation to the boys—who seemed to take it in stride. Mom, after all, was staying and Dad had been away much of the time anyway. They weren't moving; their school remained the same. Peter seemed a little disturbed that it wasn't a bigger deal for them.

Chris inquired about Peter's plans. He revealed a little, just a little. He talked about the progress of the office and the successes that they had had so far. He thought the privatization process would go for at least another year. Then he'd have to decide what came next. When the process ended, his value in Budapest would diminish significantly. He was a specialist, and providing routine day to day corporate advice was just not for him. It didn't bring him the excitement of commercial combat. (Chris never did understand the apparent split personality of her husband: a tiger at the negotiating table, thriving on conflict and victory while a sedate, nearly silent, unflappable guy at home.)

He told her that he had grown tired of the hotel, and one of his running buddies had custody of a large place near where they ran. (He was deliberately vague about "custody", the size and style of the mansion and Milos himself.) He had "taken" a room and moved to Buda. Milos was a nice guy; he had even used B&B as attorneys once or twice—so they also had a sort of business relationship. They had "hired" a housekeeper/cook since they were both so busy. He was content "for now." "I'm really too busy to go shopping for someone right now. Besides what would I do with a Hungarian partner in a year or so?" Chris thought she detected something in Peter's eyes when he mentioned Milos, but she quickly dismissed it. Peter was not bi or gay. She was positive. She doubted he was even dating. He didn't seem to need affection or sex—or anything but work.

After the move, Milos and Peter were practically inseparable. Both were intensely involved in the local privatization process—and thus there was no need for travel or separation. Each night they were home. It was going to be a real test of their outside-the-bed compatibility. Milos hadn't lived with anyone for ten years—and Peter had been accustomed to living his own life, devoted to the firm and relying on Chris for most domestic responsibilities. Milos was not the least bit domestic.

Neither had talked about—even raised the subject of—exclusivity. But their continued bareback sex certainly implied that this was the case. Each assumed the other would "come clean" if habits changed.

Typically, Peter bottomed and Milos topped. They rotated between jack-knife and belly-down sex. Peter liked it both ways, although he preferred the anonymity of crushing his face into a pillow. Never in a million years had he ever imagined that he'd be a bottom—and love it! Once or twice a month, typically after Peter had had a bidding success of Milos had pissed him off about something, he'd demonstrate his strength (or his displeasure) by subduing Milos and taking him—always spontaneous, always rough and always belly down. He simply could not take the look in Milos' eyes when Peter pushed through the inner ring and ignited Milos from deep inside. It was too close to love and commitment. Peter, of course, realized that he had the ability to deliver to Milos and take Milos to that special place of total pleasure; but, he was more interested in bottoming.

And as in the first few times together, afterwards Peter was always the big spoon. It was his way of compensating for having been fucked. He might lose control and act the sub for a few minutes of intense pleasure, but he was definitely in the protective, ownership role for the rest of the night. It seemed to work for him; so Milos let it go. Actually, he loved it. He realized that sleeping alone was not really his bag after all. He reveled in nestling his ass into Peter's gut, keeping him semi-aroused for hours. And he loved it when Peter held his semi in the palm of his hand, weighing its potential.

Only once that winter, Milos talked Peter into visiting Gellert—perhaps the only place in Budapest where the authorities turned the other way to public gay sex (perhaps because several of the patrons were prominent pols). Peter knew the routine. Total casual nudity. Lots of barely-veiled sexual congress. Many eyes following the moves of the long-dicked blonde guy who was obviously American. And all in public. It violated every instinct that Peter had felt for his entire life. But he went to please Milos. He owed him a lot. Milos was making Budapest and his impending divorce tolerable. Really much more: Peter was opening up to pleasure—and to his own raw attractiveness.

They changed in the VIP section—which really wasn't at all private and, as usual, crowded. Then they moved to the hot spring-fed pool, all steamy and sulfurous. As before, there was no public sexuality in the steamy pool. It was all guys, since it was Saturday night, crouching down in the steamy water, stretching and parboiling. But, eyeing potential conquests and liaisons for later. Frank stares at bodies—and dicks—were commonplace. The first pool was for review of prey; later stages would provide opportunity for seduction and maybe consummation.

As they moved to the tepid (and social) pool, Milos grabbed for Peter's hand. But, Peter shook it off, and glared at Milos, conveying his distaste for PDAs. But, they were both sporting semis—and in their case, the semis drew lots of attention. Peter's was long, very long, pale, big-headed, hooded and veiny. Like a lurking, threatening snake arching over his balls between his long legs. Milos' was thick and dark with an enormous apple-shaped head. Given the size and girth, I looked semi-erect even at rest. Each was carrying a trophy. Either of them could have taken their choice of guys that evening.

On their first visit Milos had surprised Peter and drawn him into a standing lap dance as Milos moved gracefully around the deep pool. Peter had reacted badly—very badly—at the public expression of relationship. He had been stunned, reacted automatically and held on. Then, he had pulled away and left.

But this time, Peter was prepared and beat him to the punch. No sooner had they entered the pool, but Peter pulled Milos into him, feet planted firmly on the tile bottom. He was taller than Milos by almost six inches. Milos looked a little surprised, but decided to play along. He jumped up, encircled Peter's neck with his hands, wrapped his waist with his legs and drew their chests together. Peter moved quickly toward the tiled bench at the edge in the farthest corner of the pool and backed into it. Then he positioned and drew Milos hard into his lap, impaling him on his already stiff pole. Milos' moan reverberated around the tiled walls and drew the entire room's attention. There was going to be a show!

Milos' eyes widened. Then he smiled. Peter had taken a giant step. He was not ready to "be taken" in public, but he was absolutely going to stake his claim to Milos' ass in that same public space. Dozens of eyes watched them closely as Milos bobbed and Peter stiffened to gain depth. There was an audible gasp in the pool when Peter's basketball-sized hands grabbed Milos' ass cheeks and pulled him hard into his gut. Peter was completely in control, using Milos for his pleasure, as his cum dump. The initial pain, followed by intense pleasure, was noted by all. It was all in Milos' face—smiling widely in pleasure—and in Peter's sraining for depth. Milos exaggerated his enjoyment, smiling and murmuring sweet nothings into Peter's ear as he rode Peter's long cock. Then he growled in that deep base voice—a sound heard all around the pool room. Otherwise there was silence and envy as the others watched intently.

It wasn't the best fuck they'd ever had—the mineral water was dissolving the lube. Peter's cock, although not so girthy as Milos', was nevertheless doing its job at internal massage, particularly on the prostate. Milos was obviously darkening in arousal and Peter's pink complexion, originally the result of the steamy waters, was also deepening. They were clearly having a very good time. And Peter was in charge. With a rapt audience.

Many eyes followed their connection, some obviously wondering if Peter might be up for seconds. It wasn't long (the time, not Peter's extra long cock). Peter came; Milos jolted and stifled a cry. Then he silently exploded between them, his spunk caught between their tightly connected chests. And so, in the etiquette of the bath, they both rose immediately. Peter held Milos close to his chest and headed for showers. Peter thought he heard a few claps, but he ignored them. He had officially cum out to the Budapest gay community. He had focused intently on taking Milos—but he realized he was also performing for an audience. Word was sure to travel. Milos had a rep as a cocksman at the baths. So it wouldn't be long before Peter was identified—as the tall, built blonde American model who had fucked one of their own sex gods. Hopefully, the authorities didn't take note—PDAs, let alone public copulation, were officially illegal in Budapest.

If the roles had been reversed, Milos was certain Peter would never see him again. But, as it was, Milos was elated. Peter was becoming Euro. And he wasn't afraid to claim Milos as his before strangers. Maybe there was long term hope for them after all.

*******

Later, Milos walked into the library where a roaring fire was burning. Peter was stretched out, wearing the ubiquitous hoodie over his trademark tight pale blue trunks, staring into and mesmerized by the flames, sipping occasionally on a golden-brown, iced liquid, presumably his favorite Glenfiddich. He looked relaxed and pensive. Milos wondered whether he was replaying the public display at the baths or whether he was just tired and vegging out. His cock was prominently outlined by the trunks, a semi maybe, but not completely hard.

Milos moved in beside him holding a letter written in a flowing German script. He held it up and began. Mother is going to visit. Ostensibly for an early Easter visit to her beloved St Stephen's, but clearly for much more. The letter says it all. She's heard, presumably from one of the staff, that you're living here and mostly in my bed. She wants to meet "my latest friend" and get to know you better. She knows you're American and not Catholic. What she really means is that she's going to determine whether I've selected a proper mate, or whether you're just after my money—which you know, I don't have. Somehow, she still thinks that she needs to protect my rep."

"She did this a few years ago. I don't know how she did it, but I haven't seen Gunter since her visit. She either scared him to death or bought him off. I don't even think he's in Hungary."

"Easter is at least a month away. So, if you want, you can disappear now. Before the fire-breathing dragoness arrives."

"Who the fuck is Gunter?"

"Surely you can guess. I wasn't exactly a hermit before we met. But, he's been gone for years—and I don't regret his departure. He was just a little clingy, not very intelligent and really quite fey. He was a toy. Nothing like you, Peter. Nothing at all like you. He never even tried to fuck me."

"How many Gunter's have there been, Milos?"

"Actually, quite a few. Most were one-nighters. None of them lasted more than about six months. Mother chased them away. But, none of them compared to you at all. And I never let any of them do anything to my ass—well maybe I permitted a few eating sessions."

"You do realize we are approaching six months?"

"Oh yes, I am. I'm not tiring of you. I hope the reverse is also true. But, I'm much more afraid of what is going to happen after the Government has auctioned off all the good stuff. Where will you go then? Can I convince you to stay here? Or will you move? And would I be welcome wherever that is?"

"Well, I'm here at least to the end of the year. So you needn't worry."

Milos of course realized that Peter had avoided the second and third questions. And he had avoided any declaration of interest in Milos. The answer given did little to give Milos any confidence about the future. He was really falling for this big tall, blonde American. Falling dangerously.

*****

They were working on another bid—this time together since Peter didn't have an American client in the race. The prize was the huge bus manufacturing facility. It didn't have much value for that purpose, but it was the largest single tract of land currently available between the city and the airport. It would make a terrific development site for mixed commercial and residential use. The Government wanted bus manufacturing to continue—it employed thousands and the buses were vital to the future of the country. But the facilities were very old and outdated. It would need a complete overhaul and rebuild with new technology. And if that were the plan, another site farther from downtown was much more logical.

The American automobile industry was in decline. Nobody was interested in investing scarce capital in Hungary. But, Julius Bayer Private Bank had a German client very interested indeed. Unfortunately they would be bidding against a Chinese syndicate, anxious to gain a foothold in the Euro transportation market. It was going to be a tough fight to the finish.

The bids were complex and difficult. The Germans were proposing a massive redevelopment AND a brand new facility including a Daimler engine building facility in a distant suburb. It promised significant numbers of jobs and tax revenues—and advanced German technology. But, the offer price was probably less than the Chinese would make.

The Chinese were going to redevelop the existing site. (They were quite vague about the extent.) They had no interest in commercial development. But, they would be exporting their technology (engines built in China) and an unspecified number of Chinese "guest managers" to handle the transition and operate the robotic assembly line. There were no promised employment numbers. Their disdain for the Communist hold-over blue collar workers was well-known. The Chinese were going to run—and probably supply the work force in what would become only a final assembly plant. The offer, however, was rumored to be huge, and there were already suggestions that significant advance "representative agency" payments had been made to politicians' family members to lobby for Wan Shi.

This was new ground for Peter. No American client had ever admitted to bribes—in any form. But, he knew the Germans were quite capable of matching the Chinese with special payments—which were legal and even tax deductible in Germany. No American company could realistically compete on this basis.

JB was well-plugged. They had been moving money for the Hungarian elite for centuries. Their advice was invaluable. (Actually, it was however valued—highly valued. JB was going to get a massive multi-million dollar success fee if the Germans prevailed. And Milos stood to make a high six figure bonus as well.)

Peter had recommended—and JB and Milos agreed—that the German bid should be very specific with employment guarantees and associated penalties if not met. They should also promise transfer of the engine technology and integration into their extensive Euro-marketing scheme. Hungary would be exporting and earning valuable foreign exchange. In all the pre-bid meetings, Peter emphasized that guaranties—realistic employment and tax revenue—should be important factors in the bid analysis. He had been quite successful in doing so. JB was visibly pleased with the aggressive tactics of the American M&A guy. No Hungarian or German lawyer would have come up with such a plan, nor implemented it so successfully. He was stacking the deck by changing the review criteria. Peter had re-positioned the bid: it wasn't only about price; it was about the future.

JB and Milos on the other hand were busy ferreting out intelligence on the under-the-table Chinese payments—so Germany could match them.

Near the end, but after all of the work had been completed—except the insertion of the final offer price, Peter left for New York. It was his monthly weekend with his boys. Milos drove him to the airport, and just before leaving the BMW, Peter remarked, "Milos, you should come with me to New York next month. The boys have a spring break. I'm going to take a week and go ski-ing with them. I'd like you to meet them."

Milos was quite simply stunned into silence. He had not expected the invitation, nor apparently the willingness to disclose his existence to his former wife and his children. He smiled, "Of course. I can't think of a better way to spend my bonus!" Inside he was glowing. And then, he thought, "Why not skiing in Switzerland?" His family had a lodge in St. Moritz. He'd have to work out the details before issuing an invitation. But, he was going to start work on it immediately.

***

Peter and Milos were easing into a relationship—neither one realized it. Guys were just guys. They lived their lives. Ran their runs or worked out. Assumed that they would mostly eat fast food (although in their case, Milos had a cook). And fucked—big massive fuck fests that left both of them breathless, their bed filled with the aromas of musk and funk, and their brains turned off. But, of course there was a major difference. Milos was royalty. Dinner, often really special, was served in the dining room. They were in gym clothes (or occasionally somewhat less), but the dinner was served formally. But informality nevertheless prevailed in their relationship.

Milos got used to heavy sex with Peter—as much as Peter craved the guy who was regularly bringing him to a special kind of orgasm. Peter actually came to cherish the moments when he lost control and surrendered to Milos. He had even taken the giant step of facing Milos, chests held tightly together, while Milos plunged over and over. It thrilled him in his deepest gut. And, Milos reached the point where he couldn't sleep unless he was "inside" Peter's spoon, cocooned in protection, his softened dicknestled in Peter's palm.

The night that Peter returned from New York started inauspiciously. Peter was tired and frustrated that he hadn't really connected with the boys. They were becoming addicted to electronic games—and Dad was just something they had to do. He had left them with promises of upcoming ski vacation adventures, but they didn't seem really excited about the prospect of that either. The ski resorts didn't have internet.