February, 1941, The Baron’s Austrian Castle
Bryan, now reverting to Paul for the trip, wasn’t sure what reception Timothy and he would receive at Baron Von Holst’s mountain chalet; it had taken time and effort to establish that that’s where the baron could be found, although Paul hoped it would be, as it was closer to the Swiss border than his castle was. Paul had pitched Timothy on coming along, promising to fix him up with a permanent, wealthy partner when they returned--and he had agreed even when Paul told him that it was dangerous and what he would have to do.
The all-important question wasn’t where the baron was--it was where Paul’s mother was and if she still was with the baron. He had kept tabs on her as best he could without letting her know where he had gone and what he was doing. The trip would be meaningless if she wasn’t there. She had still been with the baron the last he knew, though.
To his relief, he found that she was there when he finally was able to place a call that he was coming to visit her. The baron was off skiing, she said, though. She was delighted he was visiting, although she sounded strained on the telephone. It remained to be seen what the baron would think.
The last time Paul had been with the baron, the baron had wanted to own and fully possess him. Paul was thirty-six now, and even though he had no trouble maintaining his sex appeal for men, there was no telling what the baron, now fifty-two, would feel about it. Paul thought--and hoped--that the baron’s arousal was for younger men. That was what Timothy was going along for.
As was the case decades earlier, a sleigh, this time driven by the woodsman of old, older certainly, but still as massive and still with eyes for Paul, awaited them at the train depot in the village at the bottom of the mountain. And, as decades earlier, snow lay heavily on the ground and was still coming down from the sky.
The baron, older, but, if anything, more distinguished of aspect and just as muscular as before, was the first one to greet them in the foyer of the chalet. The shock for Paul was that the baron was wearing the uniform of an SS officer. The Nazis had taken a firm grip of Austria--Paul had been able to see that as the train moved across the country--and Baron Von Holst had obviously embraced the new order. Paul shuddered at the thought that men like the German General Steinman, who had brutalized him the last time he had been here, were now at the helm of this country--and supported by men like Von Holst.
As he feared, when the baron set his eyes on him at the door, Paul saw the familiar old arousal, lust, and intent to own in them. But as he hoped, when he turned and brought Timothy forward and introduced him, the baron’s interest immediately refocused on the younger man--a young man who was very much like the Paul of the Venice resort that the baron was so smitten by that he took his virginity by force.
Lady Elizabeth, now fifty-six, but still a beauty, if in a more mature way than before, emerged from behind the baron and fell into Paul’s arms, pelting him with questions, few of which he intended to answer. This gave the baron a chance to move closer to Timothy and engage him in conversation, which suited Paul just fine. Timothy had been told to charm the pants off the baron, and he was doing a very good job of it.
Even though they’d been parted for over fifteen years, Paul was distressed to see that his mother was tense and had developed a nervous tick. He discovered one reason for this when, coming into focus from behind her, he spied a younger, beautiful woman in a Germanic way, standing in the foyer.
“This is Anna Marie,” the baron said, introducing a woman who couldn’t be anything but the female bait the baron was now using for his munitions deals more than he was using Elizabeth. Paul didn’t mind; it should make it easier to convince his mother to leave before that no longer would be possible.
“And this,” the baron said, calling forth a young man of eighteen or nineteen--a very handsome and perfectly formed young man, “is Erick, my son.”
Eureka, Paul thought. This was better than he ever had thought it might be, especially since the young man was looking at him with interest and shyly lowering his eyes in embarrassment, as if the man before him could discern that the interest was a sexual one--but one still trapped in unfulfilled emotions and not experience--which, with Paul’s background, he was adept in translating. He knew that look and those struggling emotions of wanting something but being afraid to grasp it. Those had been his own emotions that summer when the baron has initiated him.
This young man wanted to be fucked by a man--and he was attracted to Paul. Paul quickly discerned this. He wondered if the baron knew, but turning and looking at him, with the baron’s eyes busy devouring Timothy, Paul didn’t think so. Otherwise the baron should have sensed some danger of Paul being here, but that didn’t seem to come across. The baron was busy with an arm around Timothy and whispering to him. Schooled in his purpose here, Timothy was egging him on, and was touching the sleeve of the baron’s uniform, nodding his head and giving out “yes, Baron, anything you want; any time you want it” signals. Paul gave the baron less than two hours before he’d have his dick in the young man. At least it wouldn’t be Paul. Paul needed to talk with his mother. He also could see that he might want to show some attention to Anna Marie. He definitely wanted to get close to the baron’s son.
And he’d already made an assignation to meet with the woodsman in the hayloft in the stable. He had plans for the woodsman. If he had to leave without the approval of the baron, he would need allies in the stable.
There was much work that Paul could do here--payback work--if he was clever enough. But first he had to convince his mother to leave with him.
“If you don’t mind, Josef,” he said to the baron, “I will withdraw with my mother before we meet for drinks before supper. There is much catching up we need to do.”
“Yes, of course, you must,” the baron said. But though he was speaking to Paul, the baron’s attention was on Timothy. And his palm was on Timothy’s buttocks. “I’ll just show your young man around.”
I just bet you will, Paul thought. And you probably do think I am fucking Timothy. That would give you an added thrill in taking him away from me--showing him, like you did me, that he really wants the rough, all-consuming fucking you provide.
As the baron escorted Timothy back toward the bedroom wing and Erick and Anna Marie withdrew to wherever they were going, both with longing looks back at Paul, Paul and Elizabeth moved to a heated sun porch, where they would watch the winter wonderland while they talked.
Elizabeth wasn’t as effervescent as she had been when Paul was last with her. It was natural that age would take the edge off that, but it was more than that. She was nervous and melancholy. It didn’t help that Paul would not tell her anything about his life since he had escaped the chalet other than that he’d gone to school in New York, lived there now, and was a journalist--here for that reason, but . . .
“I’m here for another reason, a greater one, Mother. Europe is collapsing. The Germans are already here. England has been at war with Germany for two years. The Germans are bombing England. America will come in on the side of England any day now. Your background is America and England. It won’t be safe for you to stay here--especially because I see that the baron is wearing an SS uniform. He won’t protect you.”
“He will. He will stand by me,” Elizabeth protested. “He loves me.” She didn’t sound like she could convince anyone about that other than herself.
“What is Anna Marie doing here, Mother? Has the baron married you? Is he sleeping nights in your bed or Anna Marie’s?”
“He sleeps alone mainly,” she answered.
“All right, then who is the baron fucking?”
“Paul! Watch your language.”
“You know he has used you, Mother. I know he has pimped you out to men he wants something from to fuck.”
“Wake up mother. You are still beautiful, but you are fifty-six. How much longer can you do this? Don’t you know that Anna Marie is your replacement? This is coming to an end. You didn’t answer the question whether he has married you or not.”
“No, he hasn’t,” she said, looking down at her trembling hands.
“Doesn’t that tell you anything, Mother?”
She didn’t answer. She was tearing up.
“You aren’t the only one he’s used for his deals.” It was time to be brutal. She knew it; she just had never admitted it, even to herself.
“I don’t understand.”
“I think you do understand. Why do you think he always wanted me here? What do you think I was doing when most of the men were invited up here to negotiate an arms deal?”
“I . . . I don’t think I want to hear this.”
“He showed interest in us because of me, Mother--not as much because of you as because of me.”
“I . . . you can’t . . .”
“That summer when we met him in Venice, he fucked you in the gazebo . . . but before that, he had fucked me in the cabana on the beach and he fucked me in my room and in his room, and, yes, in the gazebo and in the back of his carriage . . . and he let men come here and fuck me, and after he left your room at night he came to mine and fucked me. And, hell, he fucked me before he went to your room. I think his interest in us was me, much more than you, Mother.”
“It’s not true . . . it can’t be true. I don’t want to hear this.”
“Then you must see it. Where do you think the baron is now? Who do you think he’s with? Stand up, Mother, we’re going exploring.”
We found them in the baron’s office. Timothy, naked, on his back on the desk, his wrists bound and his arms pulled over his head and fastened to a hook on the other side of the desk. The baron, trouserless and holding Timothy’s ankles raised and spread, was pounding the young man’s ass. Timothy was crying out in ecstasy that he’d never been fucked like this before.
Paul pulled Elizabeth away from the crack in the door and to her room before she broke down into sobs. After that, it wasn’t too difficult for him to convince her she wanted to leave.
“Portugal. I can get you to Portugal. I haven’t lost all contact with the family. There will be support for you there, and Portugal is still neutral. England isn’t safe now; the German’s are bombing. It’s too risky to try to get to Boston. Ships are being sunk. Portugal. All Right?”
“All right,” she answered through snuffles. “I have friends who are writing me from there.”
“Will you be all right here until we leave? You must act for now like nothing is wrong. I have other things I must do.”
“Yes, I’ll be all right.” Then she tugged at his arm. “Thank you for coming back for me. I’ve always felt so guilty about you leaving abruptly. I suppose I knew it was Josef, and--”
“It wasn’t the baron, Mother. I enjoyed the baron. He opened me up to sex with men. It’s what I wanted, even before Venice. He liberated me as well as using me. It was the German general, Steinman. He was brutal beyond reason. And he’s just what Germany is now. That’s what I was escaping. Now, fix your face and act like nothing happened this afternoon when you come back out.”
Rescue under way, Paul thought, as he left his mother. Now let’s see what can be done in the way of revenge. Either Erick or Anna Marie, I think.
Anna Marie was the first one he encountered. She was flirty and obviously willing, and thought nothing of it when Paul asked her if they had a hay loft in the stable.
“Certainly,” she said, with a saucy smile and flick of her skirts, “Follow me.”
The kissing and fondling with Paul lying on top of Anna Marie in the hay was no problem. And Anna Marie was proud of her full breasts and didn’t mind having her bodice unbuttoned and the breasts put on display for Paul’s admiration, kisses and suckling. And she willingly opened her legs to him, when he slipped a hand under her hem and up, rubbed and pinched her folds, found her clit, and invaded her cunt with probing fingers. She arched her back and moaned for him. Her own hand found his fly, unbuttoned it, and expressed amazement at the size and hardness of him.
Paul’s years as an escort had prepared him for many eventualities. He could top as well as bottom and he could get hard for a woman. Anna Marie was a woman who was easy to get hard for.
He was kneeling between her legs, her skirts gathered up around her waist and in position before she realized they had progressed that far. She was just rummaging around for the pocket of her skirt to produce a sheath that the baron had her use for him and his guests, when Paul penetrated her.
She struggled to tell him to wait, to prepare, but it was too late. He was inside her and pumping and she was lost to him, moaning, groaning, and sighing. He was big and strong and handsome. He also was virile. He seeded her in that position; he turned her and seeded her from behind; he pulled her into his lap, facing him, and seeded her again. By that time she didn’t care whether he was sheathed or not, and she readily agreed to meet with him anytime they could get together--which was three more times before Paul and his mother made their escape.
It wasn’t a mistake that he didn’t use protection with her. If he was able to leave the baron with a squalling extra mouth to feed, that was some form of revenge for all the use the baron had gotten out of him and Elizabeth.
Erick was another matter. That night when Paul was sure that the baron was in Timothy’s room, with Timothy bound wrists and ankles to the bed and was fucking him hard and long, Paul stole to Erick’s bedroom. The young man was stretched out on his bed, dreaming dreams--quite possibly of Paul--and, naked, was masturbating when Paul himself, in a robe appeared in the doorway.
“May I come in?” he asked at the door. It was the only permission he asked for the next hour.
Wide eyed, particularly when Paul let his robe open to reveal that he was naked and in erection, Erick failed to answer. He didn’t say no, though.
Dropping the robe but retaining the sash and the gag he’d brought with him, Paul was upon the young man in an instant. They struggled on the bed, and Erick managed to get across that he’d never been with a man before, but he failed to say no when Paul asked if he didn’t want to be with a man--and with Paul specifically.
Paul was too strong for the young man. He had his wrists bound and the gag on him, after which Erick calmed down in surrender. Paul didn’t have to do any of the violent things the baron had done to him on the Venice beach when he took Paul’s virginity, but Erick was just as debauched--and fucked--as Paul had been that first time.
Erick put up a token resistance, enough to roll them off the bed, but he was reduced to sobs, moans, and groans, as Paul put him on all fours on the floor, mounted him, fucked him, and seeded him. When he was fucking Erick, he reached under and milked the young man’s cock, not taking long to give the baron’s son an ejaculation. He threw the young man up on the bed, forced his legs open and sucked Erick’s cock and fondled his balls while Paul reloaded. Erick started to get into it fully at this point, and when Paul pushed his knees between Erick’s thighs, thrust inside him, and began to pump, Erick was moaning and setting his hips in a countermotion to make the most of the thrusts. Paul creamed the young man’s passage almost simultaneously with Erick’s own shoot off.
The third fucking represented total surrender. Erick was unbound and without gag. Paul lay on his back on the bed and Erick rode his cock.
Erick’s initiation was complete. His preference had already been signaled, but, like Paul had been in Venice, Paul decided he needed someone to take him over the edge. Paul had done so, and less brutally than the baron had done with him.
But, Paul gloated, the baron’s son now was lost to the cocks of men, whether that had been in the baron’s plans or not.
Enough revenge? Paul thought not.
The next morning Paul rode the cock of the gigantically endowed woodsman in the hay loft of the stable. Much to the surprise and delight of the woodsman, there was no trouble at all in Paul sheathing a cock of nearly a foot long and as thick as they come. This was Paul’s specialty now, partially thanks to this very woodsman. In return the woodsman had no problem in having a sleigh and two strong horses ready at midnight two days hence.
On the night, Paul put Anna Marie in an exhausted sleep in her room while Timothy was doing the same for the baron in the baron’s bedroom. When Paul, his mother, and Timothy met at the sleigh, though, a complication arose.
“Take me with you,” Erick was there, pleading.
“We can’t,” Paul said. “The baron will probably let us go, but if we have you, he’ll set forth all of the dogs of hell to track us down.”
“I can’t stay here. He’ll beat me when he learns I want men. They are executing homosexuals here now.”
“Well, he himself . . .” Paul started to say, but then he checked himself. Josef was responsible for whatever he got himself into. It wasn’t fair to do that to his innocent son. And Paul had some responsibility for how Erick now declared. “Get in. We have to leave now. We need to be most of the way to the Swiss border before the baron even wakes up.”
Paul deposited Lady Elizabeth in Lisbon, where she found that even more of her friends than she had previously thought had interred themselves. And the family had sent enough money to the Lisbon banks for Elizabeth to be comfortable on for two decades even if they couldn’t send any more.
Paul’s promise to Timothy was even easier than that. While they were eating at an outdoor café in Lisbon, an elegantly dressed gentleman in his sixties made eyes at Timothy, which were reciprocated. He was a nobleman with extensive vineyards on the coast, no wife or other living relatives. And his fetish was fucking handsome young men, although he said he had been strongly considering settled down with just one. Erick was a bit young for him, he thought, and Paul a bit old--“although you’re both luscious men who I’d happily fuck once and handsomely pay for the privilege”--but he thought that Timothy might be just right.
He took them all home to his large old villa by the sea and fucked them all, spending a night with each one of them. Erick and Paul he rewarded generously and sent back to Lisbon in his car. Timothy he kept.
Paul and Erick took the risk of taking a ship from Lisbon to London. They spent virtually the whole three days in one bunk in their cabin, with Paul teaching Erick sexual positions and techniques. Erick said he wanted to be a prostitute like Paul revealed he was.
“Not just a prostitute,” Paul said, “a high-class escort. You are the son of a baron. You have the refinement needed for the escort services I work for. But you will need to learn to take larger cocks than mine if you want to make the best money. And you’ll have to take a lot of pounding, cruelty, and toy play to cut it as a well-paid escort.”
“More than General Steinman can provide? I understand that you ran away after he fucked you.”
“And I don’t think that big dicks will be a problem,” Erick said with a secret smile.
“What do you mean? I’m not nearly as big as they come.”
“I saw you with the woodsman. I saw you take all of his, so I know you know how hung he is.”
“Yes, so . . . what are you saying? You and the woodsman?”
“Constantly. Ever since my eighteenth birthday.”
“Why, you little liar.”
“I thought if you believed I was innocent, you’d be more interested in bedding me.”
Paul set his jaw. There was more of the baron in his son than Paul was happy about.
“For months, he’s brought men he wanted to make deals with up to the chalet, and he had given either Anna Marie, your mother, or me to them, depending on their preferences. Some of them are pigs--especially the German Nazis he’s become friendly with. General Steinman practically put me in the hospital. But other than that man, I liked the SS officers, with their jack boots, their whips, and their arrogance. I was thinking of joining myself.”
Revenge was sweet, but it could be curdled. Paul did not think his revenge was total on the baron now. But there might be something--and maybe Erick would like it anyway.
* * * *
April, 1941, Country Estate of Roger Morris, York, England
The heavily hung newspaper mogul, Roger Morris, held a hunting weekend at his York country estate the second weekend in April. He had no problem with Bryan bringing another young man who was just being listed with the London escort agency. A very special young man, whose virginity was being sold.
“Perhaps you’d be interested, Sir Roger,” Paul had said. “Of course the price is high.”
A high price wetted Sir Roger’s interest rather than dampened it. “The trouble with me and virgins is--”
“He has been in training,” Paul interrupted. “Untouched by man, but prepared to . . . well, to take someone like you and not be split.”
“Ah, yes, then I’m quite interested.”
“Do you want to know how much?”
“No, it wouldn’t matter. I want him.”
“You should know. He’s the son of an Austrian baron--one who is now wearing an SS uniform.”
“I’ll pay double the price for him. I may lose control, though--not necessarily by accident.”
“Oh, I think it would be very fitting for you to lose control. The young man has some idea of possibly joining the SS himself. You’d do him a favor by fucking that notion out of him.”
“I will do that with pleasure.”
Erick had had no trouble playing the virgin with Paul, so with warning, Paul figured he’d have no trouble playing a virgin with three-balls Roger Morris. If the two wanted to continue after the first weekend, Paul would tell Erick about the third ball and what to do with it. Chances were good that, if Erick could take it, Morris would be pleased to take on another young man who could take his cock.
He could hear the screams from down the bedroom hall, but he went to Sir Roger’s door anyway and opened it a crack. Erick was on his back, spread-eagled on the bed with wrists and ankles tied off at the four corners. Morris, monstrously erect, was kneeling between the young man’s spread legs. He was working Erick’s ass hard with the Big Mike dildo with one hand and had Erick’s balls distended with a tight-grip hand. He was thumping on the balls to hear Erick scream and squeezing the balls to hear Erick scream louder. As Paul was closing the door, Big Mike was coming out of Erick’s ass, and Morris was thrusting his erect cock up deep into the passage--and Erick was screaming loudest of all.
Paul would have liked to stay around a little longer to see where Sir Roger was taking this next, but he had an appointment down the hall with a hung dwarf.