Fritz and Clint Folsom were sitting on a banquette, teasing each other through the folds and openings of their clothes in the dimly lit club and listening to the fat lady sing. This wasn't the Cologne leather club, Chains, where Fritz was the bouncer, though. As a reward for saving him twice from being fucked to death during that Rhine River cruise, Folsom had brought Fritz home with him for a week on the town in the Big Apple. The German had been like a little puppy dog...well, a St. Bernard, really...a St. Bernard in heat. He'd polished Folsom's apples repeatedly since they'd returned to Clint's New York apartment. And he practically had Folsom undressed and swinging on his prodigious dong right here in Francine's, where the American had brought him to try to get some relief from nonstop screwing in the sack.
Francine was the fat lady singing on stage. Francine and Folsom went way back to her early days, when she had to keep this club a secret. Now she was the toast of the Village. No one messed with Francine anymore.
One of Clint's favorite waiters wafted by in a tight little cocktail dress, blew the police detective a kiss on his way to another table and gave him that 'just a minute, I'll be right back, Hon,' wave that he did. Folsom liked Reggie. He had a dick long enough to reach your tonsils, and the two sometimes went off into one of the club's back rooms on nights he wasn't too busy and the detective was bummed out from a particularly nasty homicide, and the sassy waiter would swab Folsom's tonsils for him from the inside and make him forget about the job entirely.
'So, who's the hunk, sweetie?' he rasped at Folsom in his Bette Davis voice when he came back by the table.
Clint introduced him to Fritz, relieved at the release of pressure on his package, as Fritz offered a hand to Reggie and Reggie took her sweet time returning it.
'Francine's in rare form tonight,' Folsom said to Reggie, as Reggie stared into Fritz's blue eyes and did very suggestive things with the German's beefy thumb. While Fritz and Reggie were exchanging meaningful looks, the detective took a look down on the stage. He'd seen this act of Francine's before. She did it frequently. She came out decked out in bolts of shiny satin material and big pearls and sang her best Aretha Franklin impersonation, while two comely young men slowly unwound the material until she was down to just the pearls around her neck, two gigantic pearls hanging between her thighs and big black dick to take your breath away...and her act ended with 'her' doing both of the young men right there on stage at great length and with astonishing variety. All the time flashing the face of a beautiful woman and the cock of a horse. She was only half unraveled and two thirds of the way through 'Respect' when Folsom gave her his attention this evening.
'You've been gone, Clint, my pet,' Reggie murmured through pouty lips, 'Or you would have known that Francine's retired from the stage part. She's only performing tonight because that bitch, Clarice, didn't show up for her two spots. Francine's doing this one and will repeat it later.'
'Why's she stopped performing?' Clint asked. 'She's still in magnificent shape.'
'She's in mourning. Eddie and she have split. She says she can barely get it up anymore, let alone trot it out.' Reggie leaned down into Fritz's face with her own and gave him a big, sloppy kiss while Folsom absorbed this information of the breakup. She moved the German's hand to the mound of her cocktail dress, letting Fritz know what was on offer.
Folsom had always thought that Francine and Eddie were a mismatched pair...but he'd also always thought they'd be together until one or both of them got killed from indulging in their nefarious activities. Francine was a gigantic black queen given to opulence and sweeping gestures, and Eddie was an undersized...but well-decked out...blond street punk who would forever look like a twink and would steal your balls and have them pawned in ten minutes flat if you didn't hang onto them when he was in the room. Together, they both had barely stayed on the unjailed edge of the law and just a few steps ahead of the competing neighborhood gangs for years. But as badly matched as they looked, Folsom always thought they were devoted to each other, that they'd kill for each other if they had to.
Fritz brought Folsom back out of his thoughts by pawing him roughly and intimately and trying to pull the American up on his lap between the banquette and the table. Reggie was gone now, but the waiter had revved up Fritz's engine and Clint was the one who was at hand...and well covered with hands.
Folsom liked being pawed by Fritz, though, The German had those bouncer hands all over Clint while he inhaled the American's lips with his. He had Folsom's pants down close to his knees, and a big palm under his butt with a forefinger buried someplace Clint found real interesting. And he was lifting Folsom up and over toward his lap when the couple felt the presence of someone else standing by the table.
'So, you decided to start without me?'
Fritz and Clint both looked up, and both smiled sheepishly. The missing corner of the trio that had arrived here this evening had returned to the table. Ralf. Folsom's beautiful blond Australian hunk from the Rhine River cruise.
'Yah, yah,' Fritz responded good-naturedly. 'You vere gone so lange, ve had given up on you.'
'It's a long way to the men's room,' Ralf replied with a laugh. 'Past some very interesting rooms and some pretty inviting tail.'
'So, I guess you're just too tired now and ready to go back to your hotel,' Folsom said, teasing him.
'Not a chance, Clint,' he shot back. 'You promised me a good time when my cruise ship returned to port, and I'm calling you on it. Besides, you still owe me for the mistaken identity.'
Folsom conceded that Ralf was right. Clint had completely misjudged...actually, misidentified Ralf...back on the MS River God when that African potentate had almost finished the American detective off. Of course it was Ralf's own fault. He hadn't bothered to tell Folsom that the third of the trio of bartenders on that cruise, Pieter, was a spitting image of Ralf himself, down to similar tattoos high on their thighs. Ralf's was a scorpion and Pieter's a crab. It hadn't been a coincidence that they were almost identical and were both bartenders on the River God cruises. They had originally joined the cruise company as a 'twin' sex act, but they hadn't seen eye to eye on how slavishly to follow the lead of the men controlling the operation and had parted ways as an act. Ralf had kept some control over what he would do for the operation, while Pieter, along with the other bartender, Sven, had sold out entirely to the company. It had been Pieter, not Ralf, who had attacked and doubled Folsom with the African chief...and who had no trouble seeing the nosy American detective killed in the effort.
Folsom had done what he could for Ralf when he discovered Ralf hadn't turned on him. Ralf, of course, couldn't work on the MS River God anymore. So, Folsom helped get him a bartender position on the Talbot cruise lines, headquartered here in New York and cruising mainly in the South Seas. But Ralf was in port now, and for this reason, as much as any other, the three friends, made that way from shared danger, were out on the town.
With a sigh, Fritz suspended his efforts to get Clint onto his lap, and the American sank down into the banquette beside the German. Ralf slid in behind the table and very close beside Clint on the other side. They both had arms around Clint's neck and hands working in tandem in his lap, and Folsom turned from one to the other to receive kisses from two very aggressive, insistent lovers. Their breath was hot on his neck, their hands were everywhere...he had no idea that four hands could be in some many places at one time...and they were hot and heating up.
'What?' Folsom asked. Ralf was whispering something in his ear, but he was speaking in such low tones and the music was so loud down on stage, marking the arrival of Francine's special delight weapon, that Clint hadn't heard what he'd said.
'Fritz and I have been talking,' he repeated. 'We want to do you.'
'No secret there...or problem,' Clint said with a laugh. 'You and Fritz have been doing me for weeks.'
'I mean together. Both of us, together.'
'You're both doing me together right now,' Clint said. What was it that Ralf meant, what he was trying to say without directly saying it, he wondered.
'No, I mean do you, both of us. Together. You know, together. We saw you being done that way and we know you can take it. You were hot doing it. Together.'
Folsom looked down on the stage. Francine already had one of the young guys mounted on her tool and she was just spinning him around and he was flopping back and forth, giving the bug-eyed audience a good show of being split in two. It was very convincing. It was very hot. Folsom was being aroused. Folsom was just about up for what Ralf and Fritz were asking.
'Well, maybe later,' he said. 'We can go back to my apartment. And then we'll see . . .'
'Here,' Fritz wheezed into one ear.
'Now,' Ralf breathed into the other ear.
'Right here and now?' Folsom asked, his jaw going slack. 'Won't Francine be pissed? The floor show is supposed to be down there, not up here.'
'I talked to her backstage, before she came on,' Ralf said. 'She said we could use her dressing room. She'll be a while. She hasn't exhausted the first guy yet, and the second one looks like he has more stamina. And she says she won't be back in the dressing room until after her second performance. We have a couple of hours.'
Fritz was already fingering inside Folsom's ass with a big fat finger and Ralf was fisting his cock, so he wasn't being given a whole lot of decision room here.
But at that moment, when Folsom was about to accede, he froze in place.
Hernando Ramierez had just entered the club. The 220-pound, 6 foot 4, hunk of sultry Latin manhood going by the name of Hernando Ramierez, Flash to his friends, was here in the club. The new guy in Folsom's NYPD division, Flash, who hadn't been assigned to a specialty yet, but who wanted to be assigned to homicide, where Folsom worked, just as Folsom wanted him to be assigned to homicide. Folsom had had his suspicions about how Ramierez hung, and here he was in a transvestite club. Folsom didn't know whether to hide under the table and let Fritz and Ralf make love to each other above him, hiding him from view, or to invite Flash to come over and lay on the table and let all three of them feast on him.
Flash solved the dilemma himself by spying Folsom out and coming directly over and giving him a big, unconcerned smile and greeting him directly. So, Folsom guessed there was no question in Ramierez's mind which why Folsom swung...and it didn't seem to bother him. Good signs both. Very good signs.
'Hi, Clint,' he chirped and just stood there between the action on the stage and the suspended action in the trio's banquette. 'Hi, guys,' he directed at Fritz and Ralf as well. They both perked up, instantly recognizing that another member of the all-stud team was in attendance. four really hot studs, for there was no doubt at all that Clint Folsom and friends were real hot studs.
'Uh, hi, Hernan... Flash,' Clint said. 'What brings you here?' How lame was that to ask, he immediately recognized. 'Uh, what . . .'
'I'm here on business,' Flash said. 'But relax. I have no problem being here. And I certainly have no problem with you being here. The club owner, Frank somebody, has been receiving death threats, and I've been sent over to check it out. Still don't have my NYPD specialty assignment, so I'm getting all of the calls they can't pigeonhole easily. I'll have to find this Frank and . . .'
'That's Frank down there on stage,' Folsom said, not entirely successfully covering a smile. 'Here she's know as Francine, though.' At that moment Francine was playing gardener. She had her young man, still the first one, splayed out in front of her, holding his weight on his hands, palms down on the floor, and his legs spread up, back, and out, Francine holding him like a wheelbarrow and planting seed in his ass with her trowel.
'Oh,' Flash said and sat down on the banquette beside Ralf, a little confused still.
All Folsom could think of at the moment was Eddie. He was such a hothead, Clint was thinking. He'd gotten himself in a heap of trouble now, though. He must have mouthed around, in his tiff with Francine, that he was going to do Francine in, which was just like the flamboyant little bugger. And now that had gotten back to the police, who had been expecting the gangs to put out a contract on Francine for years. They didn't care what happened to Francine all that much, but everything was in a tenuous balance down here in the Village. Something like Francine getting rubbed out could light the whole neighborhood like a bonfire.
'We were just going to take Clint back to Francine's dressing room and fuck the stuffing out of him,' Ralf said sweetly to Flash. 'Would you like to come with us and wait for Francine there?'
'Ummm. OK, sure,' Flash said, not wavering a moment from Ralf's Australian directness.
Fifteen minutes later Folsom was stretched out on his belly on a makeup table stool in the middle of Francine's dressing room. Ralf held the American's arms in his hands and had his mouth going up and down on Clint's cock as he crouched his hips under Folsom's face. Fritz was standing between Folsom's thighs, holding the American's knees in his hands and stroking his cock in and out of Clint's ass. Flash sat almost nervously on the edge of the divan nearby, but then he got comfortable enough to pull a very nice brown cock out of his pants and play with himself as he watched his fellow detective being plowed. The longer Folsom got plowed, the more comfortable and naked Flash got. Clint kept his eyes on the other detective as much as he could. Folsom wanted the hot Latino. And Folsom wanted the hot Latino to want him, so Folsom gave him a good performance with Ralf and Fritz.
After a while Ralf motioned to Flash, and he stood and came over and stood at Clint's head with the Australian, and South American and Australian cock met in all-American mouth while Folsom moaned for the German mining operation going on at the other pole.
Then Fritz was pulling Clint away from his international conference and carrying him on his embedded cock over to the divan. Fritz laid down on his back, bringing Clint down with him. Fritz folded Clint's legs up into his chest as he lay atop the German, Fritz's cock still deep inside the American. Clint looked straight ahead, and a grinning Ralf was approaching him, stroking what he was about to feed into his American prey. Ralf liked to be a little rough and cruel, and Clint liked him to be that way. Ralf had the cap of his dick pressed at the rim of Clint's hole above Fritz's buried piece. And then Clint was gasping, and gulping, and panting as Ralf started working himself inside the American, gliding in his cock on top of Fritz's. He grabbed Clint's ankles and wishboned his legs widely, opening him as much as possible for the double penetration. Clint dug his fists into Ralf's shoulders and kneaded them as Clint shuddered and lurched with each inch of depth the thick Australian achieved. Clint's head lolled back and Flash was there in a . . . well, yes, in a flash . . . taking his fellow detective's lips in his firm, hot Latin mouth. Clint had no idea the Latino would taste this sweet.
Hernando kissed Clint deeply, lovingly, giving him comfort and assurance as Ralf's cock relentless move up into Folsom's passage on top of Fritz's dormant, but very hard cock. Flash pulled his mouth off Folsom's and kissed down his chest and belly and into his pubes. The Latino gave Folsom sweet and gentle head, as Ralf and Fritz huffed and puffed, doing all they could to bottom out inside their shared lover together. Then Flash was throwing his leg over Folsom as the American detective lay on top of Fritz on the divan and kissing Ralf now and presenting his cock for Clint's attention, which he happily gave it.
Flash and Clint were 69ing when Ralf and Fritz bottomed and started to counter stroke inside Folsom. All four hot and bothered and intense in their intimately shared fuck.
It was all too exciting for Ralf and Fritz. They both came quickly, crying out and twitching and then sighing almost in unison as their cum mingled inside Clint. They pulled out of Folsom and kissed each other in their new-found intimacy. Flash and his detective counterpart weren't done yet, though. They had barely started. All the time they were 69ing, Folsom was having flashbacks of Brad, Brad Roberts, his murdered lover and partner. Clint had been helping Ralf get settled in the States in the hope he could be a replacement for Brad for the American detective, knowing there could be no such replacement. But this Hernando was something else entirely. Not Brad, of course, but in his own way maybe every bit as good as Brad.
Clint needed to know. Clint wanted to know if there was a possibility. He told Ralf and Fritz to go back to the club showroom. They'd had their fun for now. Clint wanted to be with Hernando. The two friends from Europe left in good spirits and without a bit of resentment, great and generous sports both. Just the thing for a perfect group party. But Clint wanted to try Hernando out alone. Clint wanted to know if Hernando could be the perfect lover.
And he was. He stretched out beside Clint on the divan and made slow, sensuous love to his new friend with his hands and his lips and his tongue...and with his sultry Latin voice. He took Clint slowly and completely. He turned Clint this way and that way, running his hands over his curves and gently, sensuously into his crevices, rubbing his thighs and calves against Clint's, his long, curve toes...just like his impossibly long, curved-up cock...along Clint's legs, as he turned his new-found lover here and there. His belly and nipples rubbing against Clint's, and then against his butt cheeks and shoulder blades. His lips buried in the hollow of Clint's neck, tracing Clint's throbbing veins, throbbing for him. Wanting him inside. Begging the hot, hard Latino to fuck him.
But still Hernando made love to Clint's body. His cock rubbing across Clint's belly as he took his lover's mouth gently but relentlessly in his again. Hernando's fists trapping Clint's. Not letting his captive touch him. Him doing all of the touching.
Him stretched out along Clint's back, imprisoning Clint's arms with his, not letting Clint touch him, while his hips moved, up and down, back and forth, around and around, his long, sensuous cock rubbing around on the small of Clint's back, and on Clint's butt cheeks, and along his thighs and then between his thighs, making love to the sensitive skin of his inner thighs.
Clint moaning and writhing. Feeling the fuck even though Hernando hadn't even entered him yet with that long, long, slender, throbbing tool. His cock stroking up and down in Clint's crack, with Clint stretching as wide as he could, wanting the hot Latino inside him. The underside of hard cock stroking up and down on Clint's hole, causing it to pucker out in invitation. Clint sighing and groaning and begging for it. 'Fuck me, fuck me, oh, fuck me now.' Clint was exhausted, just from the anticipation of it and from begging for it. Hernando was holding him still, making him whimper for that long, long cock.
And then the peace of the entry. Just gliding in, lubricated by the healthy, virile profusion of cum of Ralf and Fritz and the stretching their double monster cocks had done.
Hernandez floating above Clint, the only contact for those moments his long, curved cock, as it glided into his new lover, deeper, deeper, its mushroom cap caressing Clint's undulating passage walls as it moved into him. Deeper than Ralf and Fritz had managed together. Deeper than Brad had ever gone. In, in, in. And then out most of the way. And back in, deeper still. Clint moaned deeply and licked his lips. And the contact began, slowly, tentatively, lovingly. Hernandez kissed his lover deeply on the lips and then pushed a long, thumb into his mouth. And Clint sucked deeply on it, as Hernandez's cock glided back in. The Latino lover shuddered and came in a quiet flow. And Clint almost sobbed in relief and acceptance. Both at the beauty of it and regret that it was over.
But it wasn't over. Flash was still as hard as ever. He turned Clint on his back and knelt below him on the divan and pulled Clint's pelvis into his hips. This time he fucked Clint in vigorous strokes. Joyfully. His eyes locked on Clint's. Full of pleasure, laughter, and lust. He played with Clint's nipples and then he held Clint by his hips and smoothly, athletically rose up into a crouch and then a stand, on top of the divan, Clint stretched below him, the two of them attached at the pelvis. Hernandez stroked hard down into Clint's channel until he came a second time, in a strong gush this time. He laughed and lowered Clint onto the bed, and brought his mouth down onto Clint's dick and quickly and expertly sucked him off, while Clint writhed under him and bucked against him and arched his back in pleasure. Fully taken.
But not fully. Hernando sidesplit Clint then, pumping slowly and deeply and strongly into him. Kissing Clint on the neck, murmuring words of love into his ear. Making love to him, not just fucking him. Clint sighed in satisfaction, wanting it to go on and on and on, sheathing that wondrous long, long, hot Latino dick.
But their lovemaking was arrested by a commotion out in the hallway beyond the door, and Ralf and Fritz reappeared.
'The fat lady,' Fritz only managed to get out in an excited voice.
'Don't tell me. She's finished her second song set and wants her dressing room back.' Folsom said in a tired, but satisfied voice. He was reluctant to give up this glorious coupling, but at least he'd always know that it wasn't from a lack of stamina or enthusiasm and interest on Flash's part that it had come to an end.
'Afraid that bird isn't going to be singing again, mate,' Ralf interjected.
'What . . . ?'
'She's dead. Someone did her right there in front of our eyes on stage as she was finishing her last lad of the night.'
'Oh, shit,' Hernando exclaimed and jumped off the divan. He headed for the door to the dressing room's bathroom. 'Here while I was enjoying myself, I wasn't doing what I was sent here for. I was supposed to keep her . . . him . . . whatever alive, not fuck around while he was being done in.'
Clint turned to Ralf and Fritz. 'Go out there and see that no one touches anything. Tell them there's a couple of policeman on the site and we'll be out in a couple of minutes. And I assume someone's called 911. And for God's sake don't tell them the policemen are back here doing each other.'
They turned to go, but Clint held them for one more instruction. 'And start asking if anyone knows where Eddie, Francine's ex, is. He'll be everyone's prime suspect even if he didn't do it.'
'That won't be necessary,' Clint heard Hernando say in a quiet, flat voice behind him.
All three looked over. Ramierez had opened the door to the bathroom to reveal a young blond man, obviously well past any help, lying in a pool of blood on the bathroom floor.
'Eddie, I presume?' Ramierez asked.
'Good guess,' Folsom answered.
As the two detectives pulled on their clothes, preparing to go out and receive the arriving police squad, Clint leaned over and gave Hernando a tender kiss on the lips. 'Welcome to homicide,' he said. Flash smiled broadly. Another kiss, and then Clint said, 'And welcome to my bed, if you'll have me.' This time Flash's smile stretched his cheeks to the limit.