Devil's Deals

Chapter Six: Everything Goes

As soon as the school year at Dartmouth was over and Rich had graduated, his training as a Chippendales-style dancer and performer—both on stage and in bed—began at the Berkeleynotsquare nightclub in Boston’s south end. He was given a small room and a bed—and bed partners, both female and male and in combination—at the club and put through his paces for a few weeks before being unveiled to the paying public. He proved to be a fast study on the dance stage, because of his athletic prowess and dexterity and his musicality. He had no trouble determining the beat and coordinating his dance movements to it. And, as he was a god physically, he quickly moved to the front and center of the dance line and became a favorite for high-flyer patron’s “after the dance” cards.

In the “after the dance” card respect, Howard wisely kept Rich on the rare-availability status, which only served to heighten the interest in engaging the young man’s services. Such was the demand, though, that “rarely available” still meant three or four times a month. Since he was an accomplished musician, he was brought in mostly to answer the wishes of patrons who were in the arts themselves. Regardless, they were people rich enough to afford him.

But first, before he was offered to high society, Rich had to be taken down to the depths to maintain his perspective in what the services were. Rich’s “coming out” party at Berkeleynotsquare was a gang bang, in which, after performing a dance routine before a carefully selected audience, an auction was held, and seven men, especially selected for their well-toned bodies as well as their plump pocket books, paid upwards of a thousand dollars each to enjoy him together.

The room was purposely small. The floor, walls, and ceiling were painted black. A series of mirrors and cameras were mounted on the walls and ceiling to catch Rich mounting a beautiful-body man or being mounted by men from varying angles. The room was dominated by a four-by-five-foot black vinyl-covered ottoman placed in the center of the room. The atmosphere was intimate, oppressive even. Red-beaming lights were set in the upper corners of the room, focusing on the vinyl cube, pulsating at a rhythm that started slow, with the “lubbing” sound of the heart beat and, over a twelve-minute period, increased in intensity to a crescendo, with the participants told that the goal of the “game” was to ejaculate at the height of the crescendo. This rhythm was set at the beginning. At the beginning the time period was set longer, to eighteen minutes.

It was all filmed and sold to a select audience, with Rich being paid five thousand dollars for the performance.

Eighteen minutes was the time given to Rich to come with one of the patrons, the goal being for them to come off together, as Rich fucked him on the vinyl cube and the other six patrons, stood around, naked and dicks in hand, and watched. Patron A was graying and might be anywhere between forty and fifty, although his musculature and the trimness and hardness of his beautifully formed body belied the upper reaches of that age range.

Rich fucked him in the missionary position, holding the man’s long, lean legs raised and spread, with the man’s arms spread-eagled up and out, wide, the wrists restrained at the top corners of the cube, and Rich taking him, at first, in long slides, all the way out and all the way in, picking up in intensity as the pulsating of the strobe lights and lubbing of the beat of the surround sound picked up in intensity. He didn’t wear a condom with this first man. The man didn’t care and Rich had just been checked. He met his goal of coming on the eighteenth-minute driving beat, as did Patron A, arching his back, crying out to the ceiling and arcing his cum up his belly. Rich’s cum was shown dribbling out of the man’s hole.

That was the signal for the other six men to descend upon the two, repositioning their bodies so that Rich was on his back, stretched out in one direction, and Patron A was on his belly stretched out in the other direction. The six went through a rota, maintaining pace with the changing pattern of the strobe lighting and lubbing of the sound system. One patron was stationed at the head of either Patron A or Rich, the heads of the latter suspended over one side of the cube, and fed their cocks into the mouths of the reclining man. Another patron was at the other end of the cube, fucking. The third was teasing the body of his reclining prey as he wished. At the explosion of the lights and sound at the end of a twelve-minute period, the fucking patron had either come or hadn’t and needed to move on anyway. The six men went through the line, ending up at the head, on the probing, and in the fuck of both of the men reclining on the cube.

The course of this nearly two-hour game was supervised by two body-builder club bouncers, who had the duty of keeping order and maintaining the rota of the gang bang and the reward of each getting to take either Patron A or Rich, slung over their shoulders, and taken to the club taxing room torture chamber to do what they wished with their charge for an hour. Patron A was put in the block, kneeling with wrists and neck incapacitated while a bouncer fucked him like a dog, and Rich was bound to an X-frame and flogged before being fucked from behind by his tormentor.

At the end of the encounter—not called an ordeal as Rich had now been trained not only to expect but to enjoy such treatment—Rich was declared more than ready to be included in the main stable of the club.

* * * *

For the rest of the summer Rich danced the line four nights a week at Berkeleynotsquare, two nights each for the ladies and for the men. After his last of two sets, if a bid had been placed for him, he either fucked or was fucked in the room he also slept in at the back of the club on the nights he performed at the club. Once or twice in the week his services were claimed by either Horace or Alma Butler too under the first deal. On some days, evenings, and/or nights he was not working at the club, he was hired out from Howard’s escort agency.

Because he was of concert pianist quality and would be studying musical composition in the fall at Julliard in New York City, the clients he served through the escort agency often were from the entertainment industry, and sometimes the meetings were in New York City, which gave him occasion to check in with his parents. The hours he’d spent with them when he’d intercepted the tax bill were to be the last glowing hours of full lucidity that his mother was to enjoy. She was steadily going downhill that summer and Rich’s father didn’t seem to be far behind her in failing health and lagging desire to live. Rich had paid the quarterly taxes, but he thought the decision point on keeping the house very likely might come up before the next bill arrived. Still, he took what work from Howard that he could to pay off the advance he’d gotten and to build up another infusion for the taxman.

There was the visiting Chinese violinist at the New York Philharmonic who, after a couple of gay bar stops in Chelsea, only wanted to kiss, to fondle Rich’s body, and to sixty-nine and have the two jack each other off in his hotel room. And the zaftig Spanish opera soprano from a MET production who wanted Rich to bring her off with his mouth working her clit and cunt and then who wanted him on his back while she rode him and sang Galician folk songs. The assignment that amused him most was the one where he was hired to play the piano at the wedding of a twenty-something blonde bimbo to some rich dude who was fifty-something, but pampered, well-gymed, and not badly preserved. The service didn’t stop with the musical entertainment, though. Rich became part of the wedding night celebration, fucking the bride on the bed in the bridal suite while the groom came in behind him, grabbed his hips, and fucked him. Rich was commissioned to do the couple regularly.

A couple of them took him by surprise. Jordan Gamba was a visiting Nigerian conductor at the Boston Pops, who worked on experimental music with various African orchestras. The Boston Pops wanted to introduce Americans to this music. When he signed up for an escort, he said that all he wanted was to have someone show him some of the sights of Boston during his off day, to give him some company for lunch and dinner, and to attend a concert of experimental music at the New England Conservatory’s Brown Hall that evening, with maybe a nightcap at his hotel. And that was it, he had said. He was gay and was most comfortable with other gays and that’s why he had contacted Howard’s agency.

The day with the visiting African conductor was bearing Rich’s expectations out, although Gamba was a surprise to him—over six foot five, and a tower of ebony muscle, and handsome as sin. Throughout the day and evening, though, he was the perfect, refined gentleman. By the end of the Brown Hall concert, Rich was wishing that Gamba was interested in more than just the company. He was commanding, intelligent, witty, and, above all, sexy. And he was huge. Rich was wondering if he was huge in all respects, like Sonny Taggert was, and how he would be as a lover. But the man had made no moves; he hadn’t even touched Rich other than on the shoulder or the small of the back to guide him. By the time they reached the concert, Rich was aching for the man to make some signal of his reported gayness and to indicate his preferences—to palm Rich’s butt at least. The young man was almost getting the impression that Gamba had no sexual interest in him at all.

But Gamba did have a sexual interest in Rich. As they were leaving the concert and flagging down a taxi, Gamba said, “There’s a club I would like to go to for a drink before calling it a night. It’s called Berkeleynotsquare for some reason. Have you heard of it?”

“Yes, of course,” Rich had said in relief. The man wasn’t built of ice after all. “The name is rather a pun. The club is at the corner of Berkeley and Tremont. Berkeley Square is a famous place—staid and very proper. The club’s name is a riff on that—not proper. Definitely not proper. Are you sure you want to go to a place like that?”

“Very sure,” Gamba murmured, putting his mouth close to Rich’s ear. “The escort agency said they have a special room there. This is where that high price I’m paying for your time comes in. I want to bind you and whip you and fuck you hard. Will you go to this club with me? Will you submit to me there—totally? I was told you would.”

“Yes, oh yes,” Rich said. He felt himself go hard. The uncertainty in the buildup had put him off center.

Gamba stole a kiss from him in the cab when the driver wasn’t looking and then another. And he felt Rich up and put Rich’s hand on his cock, laughing when Rich discovered he was magnificently hung. Rich was in high heat when they got to the club. Gamba tied him to the X-frame in the club’s “taxing” chamber and whipped him and fucked him and then whipped him again. He then dragged Rich off the frame, tied his wrists and ankles together, pushed him down to a cushion on the floor, gathered Rich up into his chest, and fucked him again.

Rich went to the man’s concert the next night and then back to his hotel with him and gave him a night of athletic exercise off the clock. Gamba traveled with his own restraints, whip, and ball gag. Rich wondered how the man got them through Customs.

That was probably the most taxing encounter Rich had that summer, but it wasn’t the weirdest or most fetish-style one. For most of the summer that record went to the professional theater makeup artist and hairdresser who was so good that he made enough to afford Rich’s time and had the talent to make the young man into a Marilyn Monroe look alike, complete with the Some Like It Hot air vent dress, and then had Rich fuck him in a missionary position. In early August, though, that was topped for an experience that hadn’t been taught to Rich in the club training program.

The client was a Japanese businessman, a CEO of some sort, in New York City for a meeting. He was very Japanese, meeting Rich in the lobby of the Kitano New York Hotel on Park Avenue, which had Japanese style rooms and a Japanese style restaurant. The man was dressed in a silk kimono robe when they met. He had one for Rich to wear—with nothing under it—when they got back to his suite. They didn’t eat in the hotel restaurant. A low table with cushions was set on the tatami matting in the suite’s living area. A room attendant delivered a meal and they sat next to each other at the table, where Haru, the Japanese businessman, fed Rich with chopsticks.

As the meal came to a close, Haru started the kissing and the fondling, running his hands into the folds of Rich’s kimono, reaching and gliding over and caressing flesh, fondling and squeezing Rich’s balls and feeling the young man becoming hard as a rock, panting his need, and opening his legs to the other man’s lust—and urging Rich to do the same with him. The Japanese gentleman was artfully bringing Rich to high heat while leaving the kimonos in place on their bodies. Rich initially let his hand explore the older man’s body within the openings of the silk robe too, but increasingly, trembling, he gave into the attention Haru was giving him, and surrendered the exploration to the Japanese master, lying there docilely in the man’s close embrace, entirely open to the man’s touch wherever, however he wanted, totally surrendering to him. Haru stroked Rich’s body intimately, and the young man, hard as a rock, purred for him.

“You are a consummate actor,” Haru murmured. “I almost endeavored to take a young man off the streets rather than engage a professional escort, as I enjoy the seduction of a relative innocent—the total, genuine surrender of the young man to my mastery of him.”

“I’m not acting,” Rich responded. “I surrender all to you, the master. Use me as you want.”

“Very well,” Haru whispered.

With Rich cradled in the man’s arms, legs parted, and panting and moaning softly, Haru reached over onto the table and dipped his hand in a tub of butter that had no purpose being there until now. The fingers were long and sensual, but the hand otherwise was small, narrow across the knuckles. Working within the folds of the kimono still, the knuckles of Haru’s buttered hand breached Rich’s sphincter. Shuddering, Rich murmured, “No, not that, please” and then, “Oh fuck, oh fuccckk,” letting his legs fall more open rather than resisting the pressure of the hand. Rich panted harder, moaned deeper, and Haru’s hand was fully inside his passage up to the wrist.

“Do you want me to stop?” Haru asked. “If you do not wish me to make love to you this way, tell me and I will stop.”

Held close in the man’s surprisingly strong embrace, Rich babbled “No, don’t stop. Please don’t stop. Bring me off with your hand. Oh shit, oh fuck” softly as Haru slow fucked him with his fist. With a long groan, Rich released his seed.

The man was slight of body and thin, but he was hard bodied and he had the longest, albeit rather thin, cock Rich had ever taken to that point. Haru pressed Rich down along the cushions on his side, readjusted their kimonos for access to the now-gaping hole of his long, thin, and hard cock, slithered in behind the young man, put his hand on Rich’s belly, pulling him back and onto Haru’s cock, and fucked him in long, deep strokes. Rich lay there in total surrender, gently rocking back on the cock, taking it deeper inside his central core than any man had reached before.

When either Rich or Haru got close to ejaculating, Haru would edge them away from exploding. In the end, he laid Rich on his back along the cushions beside the low table, brushed Rich’s kimono open off his torso and hips, hovered over the lightly panting, slitted-eyed young man, like a crouching spider over a tasty morsel, knees pressing Rich’s thighs open, arms stiff-armed between Rich’s torso and his flung-out arms, face over Rich’s face, eyes boring into Rich’s as he slowly, ever so slowly, slid into Rich’s channel, up and up and up, and, as Rich hooked his legs on Haru’s hips, whimpering and moaning, and the Japanese fuck master started a long, slow demonstration of excellence in the mastery of push-ups.

Eighty-eight, eighty-nine. Rich jerked and lurched under the Japanese fuck master and erupted in cum. Ninety-five, ninety-six, ninety-seven. Haru shuddered and came. Rich just lay there, open and vulnerable, sighing and purring.

To drive home that Rich’s surrender was complete, after Haru fucked him, he sat up beside Rich, and they settled down to drinking Saki and speaking of the differences between Western and Japanese music.

Just when Rich thought the evening was over, he looked down to where Haru’s kimono parted to see that the man was in erection again. No, they were not done for the evening.

Haru turned the young man onto his back again and, with no resistance from Rich, brushed the kimono fully off the young man’s body, and parted and bent Rich’s legs, placing Rich’s feet flat on the tatami mat. Rich let the man move him into whatever position he wanted.

While Rich watched, docilely, panting slightly but giving no resistance, Haru buttered up his hand again, penetrated Rich’s channel with it again up to the wrist, stroked Rich’s cock with the other hand, played Rich’s prostate with stroking fingers as Rich moaned deeply, and fist fucked him to another ejaculation. At the last second before Rich released, Haru leaned over, ran his lips down the sides of Rich’s twitching cock, and took the young man’s cum deep in his throat. Rich had lain there totally conquered, taking the fist, ready to take whatever the Japanese master gave him, giving the man anything he wanted to take from him. And he was to find that there was more—more demanding taking—to come.

The real surprise was yet to come. Later, on the low-platform bed in the suite’s bedroom, Haru positioned them facing each other, Rich in his lap, the legs of each of them wrapped around the other man’s hips, and Haru’s cock deep up inside Rich’s ass, reaching into the young man’s core again, caressing him there, making Rich’s channel walls shimmer and clutch at the thin, ramrod hard shaft deep inside him, to clutch and release and send shivers up Rich’s spine. Never had he been fucked, been dominated, in the way this little Japanese man was doing.

Rich rocked on the shaft an interminable time and, when he got tired, Haru gently pushed his torso back onto the bed, grasped the young man’s hips, and pulled him on and off the cock to a mutual ejaculation.

The evening, the exotic takings, the total domination, mastering, and sexual conquering went on and on.

Even later in a night without end, Haru had Rich on his back on the bed, the young man’s wrists bound to his ankles with red silk scarves, another red silk scarf gagging Rich’s mouth. The older man had a string of anal balls that he played with in Rich’s ass as the young man writhed under him. The game aroused Rich, making him as hard as he ever had been, and Haru took advantage of this by introducing Rich to sounding. He brought out a box holding a series of metal wands, graduated in thickness and length, and, admonishing Rich that he needed to hold still for this exercise, fucking the young man’s urethra slit in his cock with ever larger wands until Rich couldn’t take any more and, as the last wand was extracted, spouted great gobs of cum up his chest. Haru rolled over on top of him, penetrated him deep and fucked him one last time in long, strong thrusts.

Haru didn’t release Rich from captivity and ravishment—Rich could not think of the totally draining experience any other way—until nearly 5:00 the next morning, sending the young man away with a smile, a compliment on his beauty; luscious body, which the man had gloriously debauched, and his stamina; and with a two-thousand-dollar tip. Haru assured Rich that, yes, a night of Japanese sex went on forever. The goal was to drain each other of cum and make each other’s balls ache. Rich was happy to learn that Haru claimed to have reached the goal. Rich knew he had.

Rich stumbled out of the hotel and onto a nearly deserted street, where it had just rained. He was exhausted and sexually drained, but he felt he’d been to the top of the mountain and received the secret to nirvana.

He took the subway across town and out to the Riverside Park area that night, both hobbling and reveling from the refined, total taking sexual experience with the Japanese businessman. He spent as much time between subway stations walking above ground as he did in the underworld, wanting to savor the height of summer at night in the city. He was learning something new every day. He wondered how much more there was to learn—and he wondered where this was going.

He was still walking two blocks from home. He’d heard the siren, but he hadn’t connected the sound with anything that concerned him. Looking down the street now, though, he could see that there were revolving lights. And that they were on top of an ambulance. And that the ambulance was sitting at an angle in the street in front of his parents’ house.

Rich broke into a run that was more of a hobbling shamble as a result of the night of Japanese sex.

Chapter Seven: The Next Summer

Rich finished playing his year-end finals composition “Variations on the Themes of Chopin’s Concerto Number 1 in E Minor” on the stage at the Julliard Paul Recital Hall and stood beside the Bosendorfer grand piano to receive his standing ovation. It had been a busy year, and he’d barely gotten the composition together for this required semester finals performance. He was receiving the music hall treatment because he had belatedly managed to find a sponsor for the concert. If he hadn’t, it would have just been him and the adjudicators in the hall, which would have dulled his performance. The concert, with a respectably sized audience, had been received well.

He had invited the Butlers, of course. Howard was still paying the freight at Julliard and both he and Alma were still claiming their original-deal privileges, forcing Rich to travel to Boston a couple of times a month to service one or the other of them. He was amused that he was able to make the trip in the Hunter’s cast-off custom-painted yellow 2014 Mustang V6 Premium convertible, with the black racing stripe, which still turned heads on the highway. The Butlers had hung back from the first wave of classical music and Chopin aficionados who approached the stage to congratulate him, but then they were all there: Howard and mincing Alma; Hunter, with Julio’s possessing arm around him; and Susan, now with a butch-looking woman, Rhonda, in a severe-tailored pant suit and darting eyes. All of the Butlers stood in the young composer’s spotlight, claiming Rich as one of the family, which wasn’t far off the mark. He’d had them all and they all had had him. Howard was still controlling him sexually, although he’d progressively backed off on the professional connections.

The Butlers dissipated, saying their good-byes to each other, the parents returning to Boston tonight, Hunter and Julio going to their clients for the evening, and Susan and Rhonda off to clubbing and a night in a Chelsea hotel before returning to New London, New Hampshire, where Susan was still a student and Rhonda was a sports coach at Colby-Sawyer college. Blake Coleman put in an appearance, basking in the reflected light of his student’s success and letting everyone around him know he had been Rich’s mentor at Dartmouth. Rich welcomed him with pleasure, but he begged off, with regret, an invitation to having a dinner with him that Coleman obviously wanted to spin into more, on the excuse that Rich already was booked for dinner and later. Rich did make a note, though, to visit Dartmouth soon and to give Coleman a heartfelt thank-you fuck. The man was too clingy, however, for Rich to want more than that in a continued relationship.

The initial rounds of fawners were replaced, as the auditorium was thinning out, by Rich’s booking for the evening, which he couldn’t have begged off from, because Rita Khash, the nearly sixty-year-old former and still fiery-redheaded showgirl, who had married and buried multibillionaire newspaper magnate Kevin Khash, had been his sponsor for the concert. She’d more than paid for the concert, contributing ten-thousand dollars, of which three thousand went to Rich to buy him for the evening. He’d fucked her to get the backing after he’d fucked her at her expense as an escort booking. Now he had to fuck her to say thank-you for financing the concert.

Rich wasn’t her only buy for the after-concert festivities. When she came to Rich on stage as the last of his well-wishers before they turned out the lights in the hall, she had another handsome young man in tow. Gavin Foster was an Off-Broadway hunk-role actor with dark and sultry good looks who looked almost as good as Rich did in a tuxedo. Rita was into symmetry. She liked to have a sexy hunk on her arm on each side. She had a fetish of having one in front and one in back in bed too.

She took them to the nearby exclusive Jean-Georges French restaurant on Central Park West—or, rather, her body-builder black French-Canadian chauffer, Jacques, drove them there in her stretch Cadillac—where she made sure they got a prominently located table where she could demand attentions from the man sitting on either side of her to show the other patrons the beautiful man flesh she was able to muster up.

Jacques drove the long way around the park up to the Riverside Park area, while, sitting close between the two hunks on the backseat, Rita undid and opened up her bodice to present two magnificently augmented breasts with rouged nipples for Rich and Gavin to nuzzle, while she unzipped them both, pulled out their cocks, and stroked them.

Choosing Rich, she rose, hiked up her skirt, came down into his lap, facing him; descended on his cock, and fucked herself as Jacques drove up the east side of Manhattan to Harlem, across the peninsula, and then down the west side to the VonCliefs’s West 76th Street brownstone townhouse. Rich couldn’t help but notice the big black chauffer eyeing them as Rita bounced up and down on his lap, pummeling his face with her grape-fruit plump tits, and Rich speculated on what Jacques wanted, what he would take, how he would take it, how big he was, how cruel he would be—and he released deep up inside Rita’s cunt.

Diego, playing butler and traffic-control officer, met them at the door.

“I’d like to hear that piano piece again and could we have some bubbly before we go up?” Rita asked in the foyer.

“Of course. Anything you want Mrs. Karsh,” Rich answered as they entered the lounge and Rich went over to the piano. “Could you bring some champagne, Diego?” Rich asked, and the young Hispanic hunk went off to the kitchen.

“Is this really the VonClief house?” Rita asked.

“Yes, it is. Ours for over a hundred years.”

“So, you really are a VonClief?” she asked.

“I am, yes,” Rich answered. He knew that, with Rita, the dropping of his family name had made the difference in her decision to sponsor his concert and hire him for the night. He was quite sure that the patrons at Jean-Georges Restaurant had known a VonClief when they saw one giving court to her. That association recognition alone probably gave the woman her money’s worth in the campaign to up her social position in the city.

Rich’s composition was a long one. It gave Rita not only time enough to wet her whistle on Dom Perignon but also to get laid again on the sofa, being covered this time by Gavin Foster, who turned her on her back lengthwise on the sofa, ripped open her bodice again to help himself to her tits, slid a hand under the hem of her skirt, exchanged the hand and glided all the way up to the goods. When she was rocking on his hand and cooing, that taking about forty seconds, he covered her, penetrated her, and fucked her. Arching her head back, she gave a husky laugh, and let him know she liked getting it this way.

While Rich was playing and Gavin and Rita were fucking, Diego answered the door twice more, once to let Hunter and his client in and the second time to let Julio and his client in.

Both took middle aged men in expensive evening wear up to their respective rooms on the second floor, Julio to fuck and Hunter to be fucked. When Rich’s parents were gone—his mother the night of the visiting Japanese CEO and his sounding wands and his father not more than three months later of a weakened and broken heart for having outlived the VonClief era, Rich had a decision to make: renovate the Riverside Park brownstone; sell it, and live nicely off the proceeds; or renovate it, keep it in the VonClief family, and make money off it. Rich decided he wanted to keep the house for another generation and that, since he’d already made a deal with the devil twice, there was no reason not to sink deeper into the world of prostitution. Howard Butler gladly granted Rich a franchise to open his own escort service out of the renovated mansion, and Rich had brought Hunter, Julio, and Diego in to help him with the endeavor. They were doing very well with the business. The VonClief connection, including the residence, struck the interest of the city’s high flyers.

All of them naked now, and, at Rita’s direction to play with each other while she watched, Rich and Gavin stretched out, side by side, facing each other on the mahogany four-poster bed in the bedroom of what had been the senior VonCliefs’ suite on the third floor, front of the mansion. They kissed and fondled each other, frotting each other’s cocks, and sixty-nining, Gavin hovering over Rich. They became increasingly intimate, with Gavin finger fucking Rich’s ass with first one, lubed finger, and then two and three. Rich was on his back, legs bent and spread, pelvis raised to Gavin’s fingers and then his hand up to the knuckles, panting hard. Rich was stroking himself. Rita called out, “Do it. Do it for me. Come for me!” Rich did, in a great arc of cum.

After a short rest, the three of them were standing, close to each other at the foot of the bed. The two men, Gavin at her back, and Rich at her front, sandwiched Rita between them. Rita jerked and laughed as Gavin penetrated her ass from behind, covered her breasts with his hands, and nuzzled her throat with his lips. Rich knelt in front of her, raised her legs and hooked them on his shoulders, licked down her trim, still strawberry-red pubic bush, and buried his face in her cunt. She panted and writhed under him as he worried her clit and plunged his tongue up into her channel.

After a while, Rich gently pressed his partners in sin back and Gavin lowered himself, bringing Rita with him, onto the surface of the bed. He wove his legs in between Rita’s and raised and spread them. Rich crouched over Rita, plunged his cock up into her cunt, and she writhed between the two hunks as Gavin fucked her in the ass and Rich fucked her in the cunt. Rich hooked his chin on Rita’s shoulder and Gavin turned his face toward Rich and the two went into a passionate lip lock.

When Rita was satiated, she rolled out from between the two men. Rich grasped Gavin’s legs and raised and spread them. With groan and a “Yes, do it. Do me,” Gavin rolled ups his pelvis, Rich penetrated the other young man’s ass with his cock, and he fucked him.

After watching this for a short time, Rita called for Jacques to leave the limo and join them. Entering the bedroom, Jacques stripped, pulled Rich off Gavin, bent Rich over one side of the foot of the bed, and doggy fucked him with a big black cock. Gavin remained on his back beside them and Rita climbed on top of him, positioned herself straddling his pelvis, descended, and fucked herself on Gavin’s cock. Jacques had grabbed Rich’s wrists and held them to the bedspread high above his head and spread wide. Rich arched his back and head and screamed, first in violation, and then in passion at the all-consuming rough fuck, crying out, “Yes, yes. Fuck me! Fuck, me hard!” as Jacques stuffed an oversized black shaft inside his passageway and thrust and thrust and thrust. Remembering how gloriously roughly the Nigerian, Gamba, had pounded him, Rich widened his stance and rolled his buttocks up to give the big black greater access, and, laughing, Jacques filled the opening space, stretched it more, and laughed again when Rich called out, “Yes, yes, you’re splitting me. Deeper. Harder.” The black bull complied.

Rita produced a husky laugh and leaned over toward Jacques. “Fuck him good. I’m paying big bucks for this,” she muttered. She came into Jacques face for a deep kiss, and the chauffer fucked Rich good.

Later, after all of the clients had gone for the night, Rich showered in the master bedroom bath and padded across the hall on the third floor to the large bedroom at the back of the house, his own private reserve that he didn’t share with any of his clients.

Sonny Taggert, magnificently naked and erect, was lying on his back on the king-sized bed, propped up on pillows and paging through a gay male skin magazine.

“Rough day or good day?” he asked. “I was at the concert. You played good.”

“I saw you in the back of the hall. You always stand out. You’re standing tall and proud now, I see.”

“Ready for you if you want more of it.”

“I always want more of it when you’re around,” Rich said, as he climbed up on the bed. “And the day was a bit rough, yes, but pleasurable, successful, and profitable.”

“But not over yet,” Sonny said, grasping Rich’s waist on both sides, as Rich straddled his pelvis, facing him.

“No, not over yet,” Rich agreed. He cried out, arching his back and leaning back and pressing the palms of his hands into Sonny’s knees and babbling to the ceiling as Sonny slammed his channel down on an impossibly thick and long cock, lifted him and slammed him down again, and lifted him and . . .

- FINI -