Danny was working on me now, holding me from behind and sidesplitting me as I consoled and kissed and ran my hands over the limp body of the young Hispanic. It was all part of the "getting the lad's trust" scene we were working out with the young rent-boy we'd targeted in the Boxers NYC gay bar in our efforts to corner Bruno Meister and his German crime ring that was currently working New York City.
Brad Roberts was sitting in a straight chair across the hotel room, glowering at us, and slowly stripping down. I knew he wasn't happy at seeing Danny fuck me, but Danny hadn't been too happy either in the possessive attitude Brad had taken toward me since we'd been thrown together on the Meister case.
As for me, I enjoyed getting fucked by them both. They were both masters in their respective ways--and I couldn't get enough of good cock.
Trax had been on our list of young male prostitutes working the Chelsea district who we thought were linked to the German gang. We'd set him up at Boxers NYC, which seemed to be the center of the activity. And we set him up in such a way that we didn't think he--or his handlers--would figure out that we were trying to worm our way in the organization. We had been too forward with Marcus--in trying to get information out of him directly. He must have ratted out that someone was asking too many questions and had been silenced for reporting it. This time, we were going to try to get one of us--me--into their stable, where I could see what was what all by myself.
Neither Brad nor Danny had liked that idea, but I insisted that I be the one. They were both tops. Although the organization likely had tops, it was much easier to get inside as a bottom, I reasoned.
We had set it up with me being propositioned at a table at Boxers NYC by both Brad and Danny.
We had waited for Trax, a willowy and short, feminine type, to swish by the table, and Danny shot a hand out and pulled the little Hispanic onto his lap. Trax rewarded him with a squeal of surprise and a little giggle. I was sitting across the table. Brad was there too, draped all over me. Neither one of us minded that part.
"Whoa, there, little one," Danny said with a jovial tone in his voice. "I'm told you are for sale."
"Who told you that?" Trax squeaked. He made an unconvincing effort to get off Danny's lap, but Danny held him close and began moving Trax around on his lap so that the little Hispanic could feel what Danny was packing. Trax reworded him with a shudder and a low moan and seemed to collapse in his laugh.
"We're trying to convince our new friend, Angel here"--Danny was motioning toward me--"to go to a hotel and do a little partying with us, but he's afraid to go alone with both of us. So, we thought we'd just add to the party. What'cha say? Up for a little party?"
"I don' know," Trax answered. "I'm not supposed to--"
"Two hundred and fifty for each of you."
"Two-fifty for each?" Trax and I said it almost simultaneously. Trax's eyes bugged out, and I tried my best to act surprised and awed as well.
"Yeah, but my friend and I here each get a go or two at each of you. Show them the money, friend."
Danny looked at Brad, and Brad put his hand down the front of his jeans and came up with a wad of money. I made to reach for it, but Brad palmed it and pulled me into him for a deep kiss.
"But not together--not both of you together?" Trax asked in a pleading voice.
"Not if you don't want it. If we want it, we'll sweeten the pot."
"Well, I don' know," Trax said again.
"Here. We'll give each of you your money, and you can give it to the barkeep of your choice to hold for you."
Trax looked dubious.
"Com'on, man, I said for the first time. That's a big chunk of dough. I won't go alone, but both of us should be fine. Com'on, let's take the money to the bar."
My well-timed interjection won the day. Trax didn't act in the least like he suspected we were setting him up.
They took us to the same room in the same flea bag hotel up the street from the Gramercy Park where Brad had taken me on our abortive double sting. I'd since learned that the police permanently booked both this room and the room next to it, where their surveillance equipment was set up.
I went into a standing clinch with Brad inside the room, while he stripped off my T and jeans. Danny was doing the same to Trax--perhaps a bit more intimately than Brad was doing with me.
"Sit that one on the bed, friend," Danny commanded, and Brad sat me on the side of the bed.
"You, Cutie," Danny motioned to Trax, "Suck off Movie Star here." Danny was indicating me. Trax knelt between my spread thighs, took my cock in his mouth, and started to suck me off. Danny stripped and crowned his cock. Then he stood Trax up, so that he was leaning down into my lap, and began to play with Trax's hole with, first, his tongue and then a lubed finger.
Trax grunted and groaned--but didn't lose purchase on my cock with his mouth--while Danny slowly entered him with his cock. But my dick did pop out of the little Hispanic's mouth and he embraced my waist with his arms and held on for dear life, cursing and crying in broken Spanish, as Danny picked up and wishboned his legs and began to wheel-barrow fuck him hard and fast.
Brad had pulled his shirt off his back, but then sat down in a chair and watched the performance, which went on for quite some time, before Danny grunted and pulled out of Trax's ass. He slipped the used condom off his dick and picked Trax up and threw him across me onto the surface of the bed, where Trax rolled over onto his back, legs spread. and moaned.
Recrowned, Danny pulled me off the bed and thrust inside me, which I rewarded with a cry that was in no way feigned. I could tell that Brad was about to jump off his chair, but I gave him an "it's all right look"--which it was--and Danny continued embracing me from behind and giving me a standing fuck, while Trax watched, entranced.
Danny didn't finish me that way, though. He picked me up and placed me on the bed, stretched full length along Trax's body, and then held my leg in the air and began to side split me. I tried to act like it was all new and overwhelming. Danny's fucking were always naturally overwhelming, but I wouldn't say they were new.
That's when I embraced and used some time consoling with Trax and building up a rapport between the two of us.
When Brad thought there had been enough of that, he stood up, slipped off his briefs, came over to the bed and took hold of Trax's ankles. Brad pulled the young Hispanic down to the foot of the bed, spread his legs, pushed a hard cock inside him, and began to slow fuck him. Trax arched his back and his hands went over his head. I grasped one of his hands in mine, and he looked up at me with a face of camaraderie and appreciation as we both were being fucked.
The expression in Trax's face had changed. Whereas he had reacted as if Danny was brutalizing him, he responded to Brad's fucking as if they were making love. A little shiver of regret went through me that I recognized as envy that Trax was getting something that I wanted. I enjoyed sex from both Danny and Brad, but this was telling me that maybe Brad was special. Trax seemed to realize and appreciate it. Perhaps I needed to put more thought into what I really wanted from a man--and in what a guy like Brad had to offer.
When Brad and Danny had dressed and left--just to go into the next room, but Trax didn't know that--he and I lay on the bed in a full stretch embrace.
I started to shudder with almost suppressed sobs. I must have feigned that well, as the young Hispanic took me in his arms and began to rock me.
"There now, that was worth two-fifty, don't you think?" Trax murmured to me.
"Yeah, I guess. It's about ten times what I usually get."
"Ten times? You're shitting me. You must have one grabby pimp."
"I don't have one," I answered. "I just started doing this on my own. It's a hard way to make money."
"Yeah, sure, the way you're going about it--if you ever take only twenty-five for a fuck. You're a real hunk. That guy called you Movie Star. That's not an exaggeration. You could make a lot more."
"I don't know how I could."
"Hey, I know a guy. You could maybe join the stable I'm in. You could make a lot more than you are."
Trax took me to a seedy bar in a basement on 23rd Street. It was a dive that wasn't even on our radar for the Meister gang investigation. I knew that both Danny and Brad were out there somewhere, but they didn't follow us into the bar. We would have had to case the joint out and have dropped in a couple of times beforehand to be comfortable with one of us doing backup in the bar. I knew, though, that they were somewhere nearby. I had both a bug and a GPS device sewed into one of the calves of my jeans.
Trax took me to the back corner of the bar, where there were booths with high backs--dimly lit cubicles where pretty much anything could go on unnoticed, although as intimate as some of the guys were being out in the open, I didn't know what they expected they needed to hide in the booths.
"Dieter, this is the guy I called about," Trax said as we walked up to the booth.
I tried my best not to hyperventilate on the spot. The man who Trax had called Dieter was the man I knew as Hans Gelber. A presumed lieutenant in Bruno Meister's organization. The man who had been running the brutally murdered Marcus--and, before him, the equally dead Bernie and Tony. The man we all assumed had been pulled back to German following the murder of Marcus.
* * * *
"You may go now, Trax. I will speak with your friend here alone. Angel, you say his name was?"
"Yes, Dietrich. He's my friend, Angel. Didn't I tell you he looked like one? He's good. I thought you might--"
"Yes, yes, quite a looker he is. Go to Wolfgang at the bar. He will take care of you. Here, Trax's friend, Angel, sit next to me."
Trax gave me a frightened look--and I wanted to give him a frightened look back, but I held onto my cool as best as I could and didn't reveal how nervous I was. Hans Gelber was already on his cell phone, and I heard the buzz from across the room. A mean-looking hulk of a man at the bar put the phone to his ear. Hans turned to the wall and whispered into the telephone. Trax walked off toward the man at the bar. I looked in desperation at the entrance, hoping to see Brad or Danny enter the bar. But they didn't. The man at the bar--presumably Wolfgang--was standing up from his stool. I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket, making sure Gelber couldn't see that I had it out, and fired off a couple of photo shots in the guy's direction from the hip. But I had no idea if I'd caught him on film.
I saw no more than that because Gelber was pulling me down into the booth, facing the back wall, and I barely had time to slip the phone back into a pocket of my jeans.
"Trax tells me you give good fuck," Gelber said. "You certainly look like you're worth top dollar. Let's see how you perform."
He had taken one of my hands and guided it to his crotch, while his other hand had unzipped his pants. I fished a good-sized cock out and started giving him a hand job. He pulled my T-shirt over my head, momentarily moving my hand away from his dick, but when he got it over my head, he grabbed my hand and returned it to his tool. While I stroked him, he tossed my T under the table and started prodding and exploring my torso with his hands, like I was some prized horse. He unbuckled my belt, opened the fly of my jeans, and pulled my cock out. He measured that with his hand, giving a grunt of approval, and was weighing my balls in his hand when I went under the table and between his thighs and started giving him serious head with my mouth. He was lengthening out to a good eight inches with my attentions.
He didn't let me finish him, though. He hauled me out from underneath the table, brushed my jeans down and off my legs, and pulled my channel down on his cock, with me in his lap, facing the wall.
Clutching my waist with his strong hands, he growled, "Fuck yourself. Show me you're worth a hundred dollars."
I leaned over the table and gripped the opposite side of the countertop and began to raise and lower my channel on his deeply embedded staff and to rotate my channel back and forth, changing his gears and listening to him breath heavily and grunt and groan in the pleasure of what I was giving him.
Again he didn't come, though. He heaved me off his lap and pushed me out to a standing position beside the booth. I wildly looked around, but neither Trax nor the man presumably named Wolfgang were at the bar. There was no sign of either Brad or Danny either.
"Let's take this upstairs," Gelber said in a low, hoarse voice.
I stooped beside the table, searching under it for my clothes. I needed the jeans; they contained the GPS tracker and the bug--and my cell phone, with, hopefully, the photo of Gelber's confederate on it. But Gelber pulled me back up and turned me toward a doorway at the back of the room that was covered with a beaded curtain.
"Leave them. You won't need them."
I stumbled with Gelber not so gently pushing and maneuvering me through a dark corridor and then up a wooden-treaded staircase to the floor above. The corridor here had a window at the end of it, so it was somewhat lighter, but only somewhat. There were several doors leading off the corridor, and I could hear the sound of male sex coming from the other side of more than one of them.
Gelber pushed me to a door and banged it open. He propelled me across the threshold. I only had a moment to see that there was a double bed with some sort of framework over it in the center of the room and walls and ceiling lined with full-length mirrors before I arched my back with one arm being pulled painfully up to my shoulder blades from behind and Gelber's other strong arm whipping around my neck and pulling me into a sleeper hold.
Although I struggled against him, this was useless, and I quickly blacked out.
When I was conscious again--and only barely so--I found I was paralyzed. My back on was on the bed, my wrists were cuffed to the headboard, and my legs were stretched and raised, with my ankles cuffed to chains leading up to the frame above the bed. Gelber was between my legs, fucking me deep. And I felt the sharp edge of a knife under my chin, pressed lightly against my windpipe.
"Back in the world of the living--if only briefly--Mr. Cop?" Gelber snarled. "You didn't think I saw you with Marcus in the Boxers bar the night we took care of him? He gave you up as a cop before he gurgled his last."
"Umm, ufff," was about all I could answer. I was still pretty much out of it, but in trying to speak, I realized there was a bulb gag in my mouth. Gelber obviously wanted this to be a quiet session.
"Trax was right about one thing. You certainly are a movie star looker. So, I'm going to get to come with you and then we're gonna have a little slice and dice party. Ain't that nice? I'll start trimming you down as soon as I come, so you'll probably want to give me a good, long fuck."
Trax was the first word that got through to me. I worried about where he was; what had happened to him. Gelber would think that Trax knew he was leading the police to Gelber. But we didn't even know that we were being led to Gelber. And Trax didn't know we were police--and probably didn't know much about Gelber either.
My second concern was for myself. Surely Danny and Brad would show up eventually, if I wasn't coming out of the bar soon. So, I concentrated on letting Gelber come to the brink of an ejaculation, but then holding him off. If anything, he seemed to enjoy the prolonged fucking.
But there came the point when I knew that he couldn't be held off any longer. I felt him shudder and jerk and give out a deep grunt. There was a moment of suspended time when I knew he was savoring the ejaculation, and, despite my dilemma, I was on a high too, as he could reach deep inside me. And then I felt the knife moving from my throat and up to the side of my head. I realized that he was starting at the ear, and I felt the first prick of the knife and him holding my head down steady, my cheek buried in the surface of the bed. I prayed it would be a clean sweep of the knife.
But the cut of the knife never came. The room was bedlam, and Gelber was being pulled off me. I saw a flash of dark brown muscle and knew instantaneously that Danny was pulling Gelber off me and struggling for the knife. I had a flash of Brad's face in front of mine, showing a concern that seemed to go deeper than just one cop for another. He left me to help Danny subdue Gelber, and then he was back. That's when I heard the sirens. Brad later told me that they'd been going on longer--that he and Danny had been afraid they'd tip Gelber off before they could decide which room we were in and get to us.
I was still groggy as the medics carried me downstairs on a stretcher. I had insisted I was OK--that there was no real damage other than a sore neck from the sleeper hold and an arm with a dull ache, but they insisted on taking me to the hospital.
"If he checks out OK, they'll probably still keep him overnight," the head medic told Brad. "He'll be too spaced out to be walking around on his own."
"I'll take him to my place, if they'll release him to me," Brad said. "I'll make sure--"
He was interrupted by a shot. We were in the street by the ambulance and Danny was escorting a handcuffed Hans Gelber up the basement steps from the bar. Gelber went down in a splash of red and Danny was just standing there, looking down at Gelber's body in disbelief and shock.
Brad and I turned in time to see the assailant flee from across the street. Only later was I able to tell them that it was the guy I'd seen at the bar name Wolfgang. And it was only then that Brad told me that it wasn't the first time that night they'd seen the guy successfully flee the scene of a crime. He and Danny had come in from the back of the bar, figuring that I had been inside too long. If I was still dealing with something, they figured they could eyeball me from a door from the back.
They had encountered the conclusion of the Wolfgang guy slicing up Trax in a back corridor immediately upon entry, though, and they'd let him slip away in their haste to get into the bar and help me if that still was possible.
The only thing certain was that we'd finally caught up with Hans Gelber--for all the good a dead body would do us.
* * * *
"I thought for a few minutes--between the time we found Trax's body and when we were able to find what room you'd been taken to--that we'd--that we'd . . . that I'd . . . lost you."
"And that would not be a good thing?" I asked. I realized I hadn't slurred my words. I was getting better, coming out of the hazy, although my neck still felt like hell.
"Decidedly a good thing, yes," Brad whispered. He was cradling me in his arms on the big bed in his bedroom on a platform right beside a window wall looking out over the lights of Manhattan.
"Umm, it's nice up here," I murmured. "I could stay here forever."
"Yes you could," Brad whispered. "Here in my arms forever. But," his voice changed, "I'll bet you're wondering how I can afford a place like this--whether I'm on the take."
"I hadn't thought about that, no," I answered. "But it's sure nicer than my place."
"I try not to let it get spread around in the precinct, but I'm a trust baby. I was left a pile. I'm a cop because I need something to do with my life--I do it because I like to."
"I do this because I like to too," I murmured. I'd taken his cock in my hand and started to stroke it and slap it against my belly.
"I'm serious, man. Some guys can't take that I can afford what I want. They resent being a kept man."
"Then we're twins," I said, with a laugh. I was holding our dicks together and slow pumping them. Brad was breathing heavily. "Because I'm a million-dollar baby too. I just don't have your good taste."
"So, it's true what the guys down at the precinct whisper--that you really are the son of those movie stars."
"Yes, I'm afraid so--but, like you, I try not to flaunt it. It's not money or fame that I earned."
"Then you think you maybe could live in a place like this?"
"Until we can find an even fancier place, yes," I answered.
"What are you telling me?"
"I'm not telling you--I'm going to show you."
But I was already turning him on his back and straddling his hips. I moved his cock to my entrance.
"Hold it. Be careful."
"My neck can take it," I answered.
"No, not that. Over in that drawer," he murmured. "Condoms."
"No. This is what I'm going to show you. Skin on skin. Full commitment. I've been told by other guys that's what you want. Someone permanent, fully committed. Don't worry. I'm tested often."
"Oh, god. Oh shit," Brad moaned as I sank my channel on his bare cock. I grabbed his wrists in my fists and held his arms over his head and looked down into his face as I started to slow pump myself on his cock. The look he returned was equally intense. Surprise, pleasure, what I would come to understand was the look of love.
"If that's what you want too," I whispered.
"Oh, fuck, oh, shit. Yes, yes," he cried out.
"I'll quit the special homicide unit," I declared. "It'll just be you and me fucking. If that's what you want from me, that's what I'll try to give."
Brad had no idea what that meant I was giving up. I was a male-on-male satyriasis--someone who couldn't get enough of male sex. I loved cock. And I loved variety in men. I knew Brad could give me loving. But could he give me variety? Could I really do with just Brad? I'd have to try.
"It's what I want," he answered between groans as I pumped him. "But I know you want more than this."
Suddenly he was rolling me over and bringing me up on my knees and elbows. And arm wrapped around my belly from behind and he was straddling my hips. He began fucking me hard and deep in a jack-hammering pace, and my hips moved with him, meeting him thrust for thrust.
"Oh, god, yes," I cried out.
He came up with red silk cords from somewhere, and he was tying my wrists to the headboard.
"I know you want it like this sometimes, too," he murmured.
It was going to be quite a night. Just the sort of night I melted to.