We were standing face to face somewhat shielded by an ugly rubber plant and under a can light that had burned out. He put his hand on my crotch..."Still got it, haven't you, Doc." Using a trick I'd learned from a truly bent Yoga instructor outside Hannibal, Missouri, I made my dick twitch and expand. Phil pulled his hand away. "Jesus, why'd you do that...?"
"Just to prove that I've still, 'got it', that I hadn't had a really kinky moment and had it stumped on the advice of my tailor who said it would make my suits hang better."
There was a pause. I could see he was thinking, God knows who taught him that trick, certainly not in any of the classes I'd taught...although based on a spirited tongue, ass, mouth and ease of availability, he'd passed, minimally.(I wonder if he ever suspected my referencing him to other professors to take classes from was more a case of their being able to take him in lieu of classes? Nice lad, one of our biggest financial donors.All that good professorial cream must have had some effect.) I put his hand back where it had been and smiled. He looked nervous, interested, but nervous.
"Doc, aren't you about 70 now?"
"Last month, thanks for remembering."
"Uh, the water works still, uh, working?"
"Come closer, pretend you're telling me a dirty joke and the punch line is so smutty you have to whisper the whole thing in my ear."
Always able to rise to the voice of authority, he got sufficiently close that I wondered if his pin stripes would rub off on my gray flannel. I put one hand around his neck to steady him and the other down his pants where he was already nicely hotted up. Took about the length of a really smutty story to get him off with semen sliding down his inner thigh; How wise it had been to teach "my boys" to not wear underwear. A quarter turn and his back was to the rest of the room allowing him to lick my fingers while I smiled and made eye contact with people so that I wouldn't have to deal with them.
"Doc....that was a dirty dog, lowdown, mean trick." His expression suggested that if we'd had more time he would have started fore and worked to aft.
As I drifted away I suggested he call and come and eat at my place sometime.
The party wasn't really over but Phil had frightened away the ennui that this sort of event quickly produced so I grabbed my cane and, as elegantly as possible, sauntered to my putative host, thanked him, thanked his good lady, giving her a chaste kiss on her temple, waited for my top coat to be brought and hung on me as well as my car pulled up with Alex already standing by it, holding the door to the spacious interior open. A general sprinkling of "farewells" and "Good byes" and, to quote Congreve, "they then retired to their tea and scandal". I was, of course, the scandal. Had been for years.
We pulled away, got on the high street and, just before the on ramp for the interstate, we stopped, Alex got out, let me out and I took up the wheel while he hopped in the passenger seat and proceeded to take off his tie and loosen his shirt. Once on board the six lane, I hit "Cruise", loosened my pants, Alex was able to work them off whilst I steered, my shirt tails were pulled back and we were prepared for the semi-long drive home. Seeing one upcoming I yelled, "Fellatio at the bridge!!!" which was his cue to extend his tongue and see what he could find in the bush above the cockpit apart from a tattoo, just above my cock, that said, "Cut Here In Emergency". Really, those tongue exercises I'd found to be used in conjunction with a cure for TMJ had provided him with an improvement in terms of reach, flexibility and, my favourite, squeeze.
The drive home was given over to a contest of wills, my will to hold back and his willing me onward to yet another shot in the orifice. My record was six but...full confession....that was on a very long road trip and, also true confession, I'd had a moment or more of Quid pro Quo when we'd again, reversed, and I took to the floor while he wore his Chauffeurs cap backward. Something about young-ish pearly white (I insisted they take Magnesium Capsules) cum inspired me to my own efforts so that when we passed mile marker whatever and reversed our positions, I was rested, eager and the coach, me, could put me back in the game. Finding Alex had been a bit of a trial until another young friend, freshly sprung from some state owned facility, referred him to me. With references which I was able to check with another friend, a scheming accountant who got caught, who'd been in the same facility; On the phone, just my mentioning Alex got him choked up with happy memories and a request: Once I'd had as much of him as I wanted, could I arrange for him to be returned? He knew a great many men, in and out, who would appreciate that and were in a position to make that gratitude palpable in various ways. No sex, of course, that's why I kept Alex in the pool house, but as they'd drop by to, I don't know, say "Hey, Bro" or, "...and he's for free? For real?Doc, YOU are definitely on my Christmas Card list", or fix the pool or something adjacent to the pool, I knew that I'd gone a good turn for my fellow men. Also, as it will happen, they not infrequently brought tokens of their gratitude, the Rolls we were driving for example. No longer hot, it had been painstakingly "refurbished", all salient numbers removed, beautifully upholstered and the engine"tuned" to the point that we'd surprized a Maserati or two late at night on a somewhat deserted freeway. They, of course, won, but we'd always pause, exchange names, numbers, names of persons we knew other places, information that wasn't widely known, you know, the gossipy sort of thing that exists in a fraternity of a certain kind of person. Often, we'd trade rides for a hundred or so miles, I'd leave Alex with them and we'd bet a cup of coffee who could make it to the next Stuckeys. Of course, they didn't know I'd left a hitch in their git a along but, as they paid for the coffee, there was a smile on their face that didn't suggest they'd just received socks and underwear for Christmas. Usually, that's when they'd ask for their card-or whatever-back, underline their name, add some more numbers and inquire if Alex was available, with the Rolls, for special occasions? My answer was always, "Why bother? I'll just park him and it on the driveway leading to the garage and the pool house and when, or if, he got bored, he could come in and have a drink. Even if I wasn't there. It may be I intimated that my décor went beyond French Provincial and/or English Country Gentleman. Indeed in some rooms I'd used cement, cast iron, real iron, ship chains, other chains, floor rings, slings, arrows, reclining places, ergonomically sound, a hospital bed as well as a bar between two (functional)whipping posts. For the artistically minded, a full filming set up or, for more private moments, a built in cell that conformed to the Geneva Conventions regarding prisoner that one of those all in one shitter and basin with running water as well as bunks that could fold out to more easily accommodate two. Or more. Just note the sign on the door about age limits and walking about with glass in their hands. Up their ass was fine, just not in their hands where, in a too spontaneous moment, it could be dropped and do irreparable damage to naked feet. (It was the sort of room that lent itself to limited or no clothing. Not really clothing optional, just whatever suited you and whoever at the moment.) You cannot imagine the number of requests I had for the names of the contractor and decorator who'd created this space good for private moments. Oh, and adjacent to that was a complete barber shop, the good kind where you good get a hair cut, shave, full or body, have a steam, get a massage, a foot massage, a testicle massage, and, on request, a nice young Korean boy came in to do total body scrubs as only the Koreans can do them. The rest of the house was just a mish mash of what I'd inherited, liked, had been stolen for me (basically all the appliances and a sound system that, if turned up to full blast, could kill song birds in flight, or take squirrels from their holes in trees. Oh, I almost forgot, there was a pool to go with the pool house; It would have looked odd to build a pool house and forget the pool. And, as one of my hobbies was SCUBA diving, the deep end was fifty feet deep. From the air it had an eerie sort of look that suggested my pool had an access to other places. Actually, it did. On the sides of the "hole" there were exits, made to look as natural as something made from gunnite can look that led up to rooms not seen from the surface and, if you knew which one to select, into the pool house; All you had to do was push on the blockage and the floor of the shower opened allowing access. I often thought that, after my death, some real estate agent, was going to have a helluva time unloading it but...that was for then and I prefer living in the now.
Home. I waved a cufflink over a realistic holly bush and my front door opened. You could do it the conventional way but only one key existed and you needn't guess who had it. The foyer seemed quiet although I was sure Steve was hanging around somehere; Another wave of a cufflink over the eye of in the helmet of a suit of armor and he fell to the floor, the soft cuffs automatically releasing him from what looked to be a very real rendition of a man, nude, hung by his wrists, neck and his feet barely supported by hidden, very small steps. Once on the floor, it was revealed to be an amazingly realistic oil of St. Jerome with more arrows than was strictly necessary and, of course, the places where the arrows entered could be made to oh so slowly drip blood. Even if you stood and watched for a while you couldn't see it but....pass it by a few moments later and, yeup, there it was, blood on the nipple.Interesting if somewhat cheesy effect. Cleanable with Pinesol or whatever you were cleaning with. Still it had its purpose at just the right moment. I'd seated myself on the hall bench to have my boots removed but, before that, Steve had snuck in and was seeing if there was any left over Daddy juice left on my prick; There was as I could tell by his pleasantly gutteral noises and, of course, the heat of his mouth on my quickly rising dick. As Steve was household help, he'd had his teeth removed which made for more and better sucking. Of course he had a pair of dentures he could slip in for eating and, in fact, he had another pair, all the guys did, that gave the impression they had curved or curled tusks coming out of their mouths. In a semi dark room, naked save for some sharpened objects hanging from their belts, their faces, with fangs, pressed into the face of a guest, it could be quite distracting. Especially when it was demonstrated that all that looked pointed and with fangs could and did skewer raw meat and then let the part hanging from the tusk, be eaten with the fangs.Until of course, there wasn't enough to hand down at which point another would come over and finish the titbit still hanging. To be fair, I too, had my teeth removed and had several sets of varying sorts. All the way from ones I wore to social occasions to ones I wore when chewing on the stiffened cock (there was a steel sound in it) of a guest. No real damage, as we all know, the skin of a cock rivals the skin of a Rhino.
Pushing Steve aside and reminding him of his duties, he finished stripping me and, clever invention, turned the knob that started a gentle flow of warm to hot water in which I could relax after a truly dull occasion. Puffs of steam would waft up scented with lime or sandal wood, both of which opened my pores. Steve reappeared with my bath chair to make the journey to the cleaning room where I'd spend the next several hours amusing myself, resting, preparing for...whatever needed preparing for.
The bathroom, although 30 by 30 was more or less a standard issue gents bathroom. No bothering with a water closet, the toilet was against the wall next to the standing trough for several to use for several to piss at once, an idea I'd got from a train station. Big steam shower, Sauna, little used, hot tub, barber's chair, shaving mirror with chair, regular vanity and sinks but set at 48 inches off the ground-once you've had one that height, you'll never go back to something that will seem to be something from a child's primary school.
The twins, Bob and Mike, named after my favourite doubles team in tennis, were at the ready, their aprons loaded with all the equipment we'd need easily swiveled around so if I got a bit bored they could have easy access to each other as they hopped up on the massage table and got into an energetic sixty nine (My Favourite Sexual Activity.) In the steam room, one of them used a loofah impregnated with something or other to exfoliate my back, chest, arms and legs. Carefully removing the large barbell stuck through each tit. If they thought it was needed, this was the place to take a straight razor and sharpen the edges that defined my well pumped nipples, almost always hard, an inch across at the aureole and fire red from constant pinching or sucking or chewing. Colleagues were always shocked when I removed my suit coat and there, in more than bas relief, were my nipples, almost pushing their way through the fine lawn fabric. As I moved, it was possible to see the squared ends of the barbells which were half an inch across. Doubtless there was conversation but...never any questions. Certainly they could have asked and I would have told them but then, in a sort of social rebuttal, asked them something about which others there could not have known.
My bath was sacred to me.In addition to Mike and Bob, various other men came and went preparing things to please me. Gunnar, my masseuse, whom I'd found working in what must be called a dive, with a collar and a lock not to mention the chain to the wall, was an easy acquisition. I found the cretin who "owned" him. Specified a sum I was willing to pay, he laughingly refused whereupon Steve and Alex took him outside and beat some bargaining sense into him. On return, I allowed him to take a peek at what it might be like to give a blow job to a S&W .50.I was more than fair, he got a fair price and, thanks to photography, the pictures of Gunnar, as held by him, and then the additional set of him both sucking Gunnar and then being fucked with what one must admire as an exquisite export of Sweden. In his "real" day job as an Assistant District Attorney, I felt these mementos might find traction. As well as leading me to believe I now owned an Assistand District Attorney; He'd make a nice pair with the Federal Judge who was also protected by my silence.
After some weeks of care, nutritious food and a translator, we learned that Gunnar had been working on a cruise ship when the "gentleman" from whom I'd acquired him, approached on the ship and wondered if he might like to see the sights when the ship docked. He, too, must have had a translator and, of course, his card identifying him as deeply connected to law enforcement. Their first stop on their tour of the city was at a warehouse where Gunnar was jumped and the rest leads to where I found him. HOW I knew how to find him is for another day.Now, happy, learning English, treated kindly and used well, he had settled in to our home. In fact he was something of a sexual addict to whom the expression "too much-in English or Swedish" was non-existent. Once he'd had some time to work out in the gym, get some sun in our nude only solarium, pack on some muscle, you couldn't ask for a better masseur, bed partner, dungeon explorer or power jerker offer. For those who may thing of Swedes as dour, humourless, allow me to give you an hour with Gunnar when he's only half tuned up; I'll provide liniment and Gunnar, apologizing for your bruises, will gently work your body over as only he knew how to do. Of course there wasn't much to be done about the black eye but everything has a price. Just as Gunnar did. I've had offers for him but, as he's a free man, as are all my employees, the choice is his. I know of one or two offers, considered very generous by the person trying to make the purchase. What they didn't grasp was that these men were not held against their will, could quit, or just not show up but we were a band, as with any good brotherhood, loyalty was paramount and I was the leader and got the most loyalty but the men had similar feelings toward their brothers. Seldom did they go out by themselves and, I happen to know, sometimes it was just to get into a good street or bar brawl. I didn't encourage it, I didn't discourage it. Not infrequently they learned things which they told me and we could use at some future time.
Was I a criminal?Possibly. Certainly I was surrounded by them but apart from some necessary shootings, I tried to avoid too much violent contact, not that I'd run from it, but I was not young and was lame so I left the heavy stuff to the men. And right here, I have a point to make about my men. They weren't young and they weren't all of them drop dead gorgeous. I selected them based on their talents, the time they'd served and with whom, their innate cleverness, their street smarts which I completely lacked and their proven loyalty first to me and then to each other. They ranged in age from 37 to 58, were all in better shape but few of them had the pumped up, blown out, shredded look of the professional bodybuilder. Beneath their clothes, you would not mistake them for a ninety pound weakling but, on short acquaintance, they seemed like nice guys who worked for a wealthy, if somewhat eccentric employer. Full stop.
Mine was not a pointless life given to sybaritic pleasures and sex, my aim was to explore the fringes of sex, find out what turned the crank of, say, someone who craved to be used as a toilet. My only reason in knowing this was in the application of it if I had a "guest" who wasn't cooperative and this became another in our modalities of persuasion. A personal favourite of mine was to take a simple plastic bag, secure it around the base of the cock and then add quite a lot of maggots. It wasn't particularly painful but over time, as his dick got docked by the insects, it effected the mind of a man who suddenly realized how fond of his cock he was. One jerk, not believing I'd do it, said noting and, several hours later had barely a stump not to mention the insects that had slid into his piss slit and were conquering the bastion formed by his bladder. The next day, to be charitable, what little was left was made into a stump although his urethra did have to be rerouted to come out his ass, a setter not a pointer ever after. Of course his balls still turned blue and demanded service.That fell beyond what we could do for him so I never knew. One good thing, he did, finally, agree that he did know a couple of key words which he shared with us. As I said, he got excellent medical attention although had he only remembered those words a bit earlier, well, should you see him you'll know the price he paid. I believe he now has to wear womens panties as the product of Hanes of Jockey just hang there, a mute testimony to an absent play toy.
Dinner at our place was casual. Big welcoming kitchen, lots of good smells, big butcher block table, comfortable chairs and the sort of food men like and eat. Meat Loaf, Steak, ham steak, biscuits, green beans, good salads, none of that Jell-O shit with tinned fruit captured inside. And of course, our under the table entertainment unit, Billy. Obsessed with genitalia, fucking was a waste of time to him. What he wanted, and got, was a group of naked guy seated at a table, legs wide open and willing, even anxious, for whatever Billy wanted to do; with him it was always dealers choice but if there were complaints, I never heard them. You could sort of tell where Billy was without looking by judging the facial expression of the person on whom he was working.Drool, food falling from his mouth, a sudden inability to use tableware all pretty much meant one thing; Billy. Whether the guy was getting sucked or had a dildo up his as, or both or, a Billy special, the ball massage, whoever he was working on dropped out of the conversation for a certain time.
However it may seem, whatever you may have read, mine was a house whose primary mission was the enjoyment of sex by all. I had other businesses that ran successfully enough that I could afford this infernal frat house but they stayed away save in moments when I was absolutely needed and then I appeared.
The guys did lead their own lives, came and went as they wished, the only unspoken maxim being that someone had to be around for fucking and sucking, at the least, at all times. If they were out, they were at their leisure with only one rule; You cannot pick up a man for sex. Simple, to the point. But that did not keep them from being involved when needed.Bob and Mike were out on a bike ride when they came upon a cop car from which the cop had been pulled and was being beaten, badly, by a bunch of black thugs. Bob started his cellphone camera running and they got to the group in a matter of seconds. On the film or whatever those cameras take, it's obvious that the cop is down, some else has his gun and he's being stomped on. Of course that wouldn't do so from looking like dorky guys on bicycles, they turned into the cavalry and rather quickly. Within fifteen seconds the gun was back in the officer's hand, three arms had been cracked and the group of three was on the floor already screaming about their civil rights, police brutality and wanting a lawyer. Having made sure, by cracking an ankle each, that they weren't going away, they turned to the officer and did a very credible check of him looking for broken bits and pieces. (privately, he whispered in Mike's ear, go fuck one of them doesn't matter which...and then groaned into silence. Neither Bob nor Mike were "into" black tail and so the offer was declined and also edited out of the tape.) When the EMTs and several back up squad cars arrived, they answered whatever questions they could, suggested that they had a tape if that were ever necessary, gave a fake address, one I kept for just this sort of situation, and said that Mom was visiting from Seattle and they needed to get home. Several months later the mayor hung ribbons on them, the police department deputized them and the tape was played to great effect in a court room which cleared up whose civil rights were violated and that the brutality had been worked on the police officer.
We had no dull days, since the whole purpose of being there, being together was sex, there was always someone around who was up for it, no matter what it was, or contests of an informal nature (testicle pull) to see who'd get first fuck. Nothing private, if you wanted to watch, take a seat, perhaps jerk off then go on; Some sexual actions take longer than others. In a sense they'd paired off, nothing permanent but...most nights you could find Steve and Alex in the pool house or in the pool-fucking in neutral buoyancy has many pleasant side effects. Maybe there'd be a round suck sponsored by Bob and Mike who, I swear, slept with their bicycles and so forth.
Of course I had Gunnar.Afraid of the dark afraid to sleep alone, afraid of anal sex, I finally called in a "friendly doctor" to examine him and see what might be found. Docs nickname was Kinky to a certain group and he was one of those who was more than welcome to drop by and do whatever was being done or start something-he was particularly fond of the dungeon and, more specifically, the cell within. Once we heard the door slam, we knew that Kinky was no longer on call. Beyond that, he was a good doctor and a fine diagnostician. He was given some of the social history, as much as I knew and he started gently by removing all his clothes and, to show he was a friend, blew Gunnar then let him fuck him until milk flowed out and he was screaming with pleasure. This calmed Gunnar and he let Kinky look him over. What he found was that at some point before my purchase, his rectum had everything but the kitchen sink shoved up it and there were clear signs of being burned.As he said, it wasn't pretty and would give him nightmares if it had been done to him. As he left, his only advice, since he was unsure how effective surgery might be at this late date, was to love him, keep his ass well greased and let him know he was safe. I think he knew that. By combination of fingers, Esperanto and facial expressions, I tried to make it clear to Gunnar that never, ever would something that happen to him. It wasn't something I liked but I explained, I owned him now, I was his master, I would take care of him. And then I took him in my arms and held him. I could feel his massive body relax as he reached to get a better purchase on me.Leaned his head against my chest and then gradually slid down to my cock which he engulfed. The best head jobs are, I think, when they come from nowhere, all the feeling are sharpened, awareness is wide eyed. At first I tried to stroke his hair, his back but shortly I was fighting an orgasm and he was delaying it by pinching under my nuts.I must have been edged for twenty minutes until he let me spew and then, me flailing with pain and pleasure, he started again. We got to sleep very early without eating. From then on Gunnar slept only with me although, as with the other guys, he was casual about whom he sucked and fucked but I had made it clear never were they to even attempt enter his male cunt. Never.
So Alex and I are back on the road, I looking sophisticated on my way to lecture, he looking the model of a well starched chauffeur, cap on perfectly, black leather driving gloves in the perfect place on the wheel, the elegant purr of the Rolls engine, all seems well. And it is. Well, there is one little thing, I happen to know what Alex has in the glove box for me when I'm sucking him and I've got a jar of hot sauce to dump on his dick just before he has to drive. It should be an interesting trip home.
I am already bored at the speech and so tell Alex to find a country road, a secluded place, flat a tyre and I'll call my soon to be very disappointed hosts with sad news about a blown tyre and a delay that may go far beyond the meeting. I'm so sorry and we'll reschedule. Standing beside the car, having a cigarette-banned in the house- I ask Alex now what? He has the most crooked lascivious smile. Seems there was some sort of pond not too far away. We could drive in that direction, see what it was, maybe find some mud to suck and fuck in then splash it off before we did it again.
Eventually we'll call AAA but it's a warm day, a great sundown promised and with sex on the menu, why bother them? There are things in the trunk that would allow us to be here for a day or two, getting tan, scaring cows, bribing a farmer if one comes along, seducing a son if he has one....Really, sex is everything.