Political Abuse

Zach Taylor woke up with a start. The last he remembered Judge Morton had been lying on top of him on the lounge bed by the pool, between his thighs, inside him, and, after some effort on both their parts, had come, pulling out after a belabored effort to stay hard until he’d pulled the cum up and then dribbled it on Zach’s inner thighs. They both just sort of collapsed at that point, cooling down under the baking sun at the pool on the banks of the Choptank River, at Senator Pender’s vacation house near the Chesapeake Bay in Maryland. Zach had, of course, as he was paid to do, acted like it had been an excellent sexual encounter and that the judge was a master of the fuck. The judge took what fantasy he could from the coupling.

Zach was just one of several rent-boys who had been brought in for the weekend retreat of a select number of prominent men from Washington, D.C. The guests consisted of the inner sanctum group of a congressional men-on-men party club run out of the Capitol building plus a number of men being given favors for favors. Those servicing the guests were congressional pages and young staffers recruited into the club pool and assorted rent-boys brought in from escort services.

Zach, who had graduated from being a servicing congressional page to rent-boy, and the young men who had been brought in with him, were the favors the inner sanctum group were giving out this weekend. As a highly desirable and professional submissive, he was being given to the more prominent men at the retreat.

The young man stretched his legs, which were still spread and bent from the prolonged and numbing visit by Judge Morton, who was gone now, and he looked at his watch, which was laying on the patio table next to him.

“Shit,” he said out loud. He was supposed to meet Congressman Blackburn for a fuck session twenty minutes ago. The congressman had been in the pool with the young black Senate page, Ray, while Judge Morton was taking a godawful long time getting hard and doing his business with Zach on the pool bed. Neither of them—Blackburn or Ray—was in the pool now . . . or anywhere else at the pool area that Zach could see.

“Double shit,” he exclaimed. Jim Zeller, the senior Senate staffer who floated around on senatorial staffs and who functioned as the “fixer” and “arranger” for the men’s club, had asked Zach the week before to keep an eye on Ray this weekend and make sure he wasn’t overused or frightened off. Ray was new to this and seemed skittish. He was from a prominent black family in North Carolina, where his father was a big-ass television evangelist. Ray had been a big fish in a small bowl in North Carolina. In Washington, D.C., he was just another good-looking submissive whose ambition outstripped his experience. He had rebelled against his father’s religion business to the extent that he went with men. He was spending a “giving it a rest” year between high school and college working as a U.S. Senate page.

Seeing Ray’s vulnerability, Jim Zeller had identified him as candy for the congressional prostitution ring, had seduced him, and had brought him into the stable of pages and congressional staffers who would play with Washington high rollers for pay and favors. Zeller hadn’t made it to the Choptank River house this weekend, though. There was a big push going on with mass accusations of sexual harassment and abuse in the U.S. entertainment industry and politics, and Zeller had been fingered in that. The club’s inner sanctum men were buzzing around about that here this weekend, obviously worried about damage control. Zach had given some thought to also pulling out of this while he could—especially since his own roommate not only had pulled out some time ago, but he was one of the accusers of Zeller.

Zach rolled over to a sitting position on the side of the pool bed. He reached down to retrieve his Speedo. Seeing some spent condoms on the tiles by the pool bed, he grimaced and reached for an ash tray to shovel them into so he could dispose of them. Had they really all been used with him this morning and early afternoon at the pool? Three of them? Yes, he guessed they had. Good thing this club paid well.

He decided to go see if he could find Ray and ensure he wasn’t in more trouble than he could handle. Some of these club members, especially those in the inner sanctum, were really rough. Zach had done what he could yesterday and this morning to steer Ray away from those—for now. Eventually, Ray would have to take on everything that the other rent-boys did unless he backed out of the arrangement. Being a Senate page gave him no protection from that. Most of them, including Zach, had started into this life as a rent-boy as Senate pages, initiated by Zeller and a couple of the big daddy senators running this operation. Senate pages were selected not only by the prominence of their sponsors and family but also because of their looks and vivacious personalities. They made great rent-boys when they could be recruited.

Zach guessed he should find Congressman Blackburn and smooth over any ill feeling about Zach not showing up when expected to ride his cock.

As it turned out, he found them both, in the greenhouse, while he was en route to the main house. At first, when he looked in the door at the end of the greenhouse, all he saw was Blackburn’s meaty rump swaying above his fat legs and his arms bent as he grasped something in front of him—and rising up at an angle on either side of the congressman’s torso were two nicely shaped chocolate-brown bare legs. From the noises coming from the greenhouse, it was clear that Congressman Blackburn was taking Ray in the missionary position on top of a potting table. And he was taking Ray well.

Zach went around to the side of the greenhouse and looked in. Ray had his faced turned to him, and the expression of ecstasy on the young black guys face told Zach that the new guy was doing just fine—and also occupying the congressman’s attention.

Zach walked on to the house—and into something he’d regret to have found.

He was searching for one of the big daddy senators who virtually ran the congressional prostitution ring and who had told Zach to make sure to service him that weekend. He first looked into the house’s living room. No big daddy senator there—just one of the lobbyists who had been invited for the weekend covering one of the other rent-boys, the very cute blond, Toby, probably the highest-paid male prostitute working the party. Toby was bent over a sofa arm with his knees in the sofa and his head and arms dangling over the side, his knuckles dragging on the carpet. The lobbyist was mounted on his ass, looking like a monkey, and was fucking him hard.

As Zach looked into the room, Toby raised his head and gave Zach a smile. There was no pain in his expression, so he was easily taking the man bouncing up and down on his ass. But there wasn’t much in the way of pleasure in his face either. Just a high-class male whore doing what powerful men in Washington wanted from him. It wasn’t just the members of Congress. The lobbyists screwed everyone as well—sometimes they just screwed them more than at other times, as the lobbyist was doing to Toby now.

Zach walked on. As he neared the library, he heard voices inside that room. He wanted to know if the man he was looking for was in there. If he was, Zach would know he wasn’t needed for the moment. If not, Zach would have to keep hunting for the guy. He stopped and listened at the door and heard what obviously was a war strategy discussion going on. It took Zach a moment to assure himself that the man he was hunting was in the room meeting. While he was listening to the meeting, though, Zach heard things—life and death things—that he knew it wasn’t good for him to hear.

As he was turning to leave, the door to the library opened and the man Zach had been hunting for stood inside it, glowering at Zach when he saw that the young man was in the hallway outside the door.

“Zach. Were you listening to us?”

“No, certainly not, Senator. I was coming to see if you wanted me now—you’d said we’d get together this weekend. But if you—”

“No, I don’t need you right now, Zach. Mingle, but don’t sneak around. It wouldn’t be good for your health.”

“Yes, sir,” Zach said, realizing that it had come out as a frightened squeak. He couldn’t leave soon enough. He fled upstairs, packed his weekend bag, peeked around the corners in the hallways to make sure he wasn’t being watched, went to his car, and drove away from the house.

While he was driving out of the Cambridge area, he called his roommate on his cell phone. Jacob didn’t pick up, though. He had no idea what he should do next. If he ran, the inner sanctum men would know he’d heard something. They already would be watching all of the male whores they used that weekend for signs that someone would make accusations. Zach knew the accusations against Zeller would only spread. And what Zach had heard didn’t bode well for anyone they suspected was a snitch.

He’d already run now, though. He hardly could tell them he’d gone out for cigarettes if they saw that he’d packed his bag and put it in the car. He’d acted instinctively and perhaps precipitously. There couldn’t be any going back now. They might already have missed him. The big daddy had given him a suspicious look outside the library door. Zach’s goose might have been cooked at that point.

He needed to talk to Jacob about what to do, who to contact. Jacob had already gone through that. And Jacob didn’t know what Zach did. Jacob had known about Jim Zeller, but he hadn’t known who the big daddies in the club’s inner sanctum were and what they planned to do now that their operation was being investigated. And if Jacob was a marked man now, Zach was even more so if they suspected he might go to the police.

The only option Zach could see was for him to go to the police. But he needed Jacob to answer the damn phone and tell him who to contact.

And until he got hold of Jacob, he needed to lay low.

He realized he was driving back toward Washington, D.C. That was the last place he should go tonight, though, especially if Jacob was off with a john somewhere. He’d go back to the capital tomorrow, Sunday, but until then . . .

He turned to the northwest rather than the south and soon was driving into Baltimore. Zach had a membership in a gay club near Fells Point, not far from the Inner Harbor, and he drove there. There were some gay-friendly hotels, meaning they would book their rooms by the hour, in the Baltimore Harbor area. He checked into one for the night and, having come away with little cash and not wanting to use his credit cards, he decided to take a trick or two for cash that night. It was Saturday; the opportunities should be there easily. He didn’t want to use credit cards; the men he was avoiding were important enough to be able to have him traced quickly if he used a card.

He dressed for sales, which was the same wardrobe he’d taken for the club weekend on the Choptank, and went to the Apollo Club.

The Apollo Club was in a row of townhouses a block off Eastern Avenue that had been converted into various commercial enterprises. The club was in the upper stories of one of the row houses and there was a separate entrance to the basement with a sign, Nate’s Gym, over it. The gym was connected with the club and there were as many hookups there as in the club. The Apollo Club was a gay bar and music venue and the gym was for the club’s members—one membership card covered both, and there was an internal staircase between the floors as well as the separate outside entrances.

The main club room took up most of the first floor of the building. There was a bar at the side, a group of tables at the street side of the room, a raised stage for the bands and dancers at the back wall, and dancing and swaying space in between for patrons.

The guy who first engaged Zach gave his name as Tony, and he did look Italian. He was heavyset without being too fat. He was nearly bald and thick necked, but he didn’t look too old, maybe in his early forties, and he was expensively dressed and had a diamond ring on one of his pinkies. Zach marked him as a businessman with some time to spare and interested in a kinky time he couldn’t conveniently get in Cleveland or Milwaukie or whatever dullsville city he came from.

Zach, who gave the man the name Paul, which was his middle name, sat at the bar and flashed the man, sitting at a table alone, the eye, until the man called a waiter over and stood Zach a drink. Zach took his drink and slid into an empty chair next to the man at his table.

“Hi, I’m Paul,” he said.

“I’m Tony,” the man answered. “And I don’t have much time to spare.”

“Do you have $250 for an hour of whatever you want? I have a room.”

“I have $200.”

“Then I won’t do everything you might want, but I’ll show you a good time.”

Tony was energetic and forceful enough to make the bed springs in Zach’s hotel bed squeak and moan and the brass headboard to do a rat-a-tat-tat on the wall as it hit with the same rhythm as Tony’s thrusts. If Zach really had limits on what he’d give this john, they weren’t reflected in what he was giving the john. Tony took Zach quickly, coming twice, in both the missionary and doggie position with a thick, if not overlong cock. Zach rode him, as the hour was closing down, in a cowboy. In the end, Zach was more exhausted than the visiting businessman, as he’d already done this several times that day.

“So, do you clear out, or do I?” Tony asked at the end of the hour.

“If, you want, we can share the bed,” Zach said.

“I want, but I’ll have to leave in a couple of hours. What if I want you again but don’t want to pay the $200?”

“You were good,” Zach said. “We don’t have to talk about money for the rest of the night.”

Tony laughed and reached out and pulled Zach’s body into his. Zach grunted as the man thrust inside him again and began to pump.

* * * *

In the morning, Zach lay back, spent, as the man rose from between his legs, put his feet on the floor next to the bed, looked down at Zach, smiled, and said, “Now that was a good lay.” He rolled the spent condom off his cock, buried it with a direct shot into the wastebasket, and Gabe, who was the second man Zach picked up after Tony had laid him, marched off to the bathroom.

Zach warily watched him go. Gabe, in his late twenties, was a bodybuilder from Nate’s gym under the Apollo Club. Between Tony and Gabe’s fuck and snooze there had been Jake from the band at Apollo’s, who had remembered Zach from times before in which the two had had a good time. Jake had been willing to pay for another good time, if only for forty minutes, because he had band sets to play.

Zach was exhausted, but he’d had a few hours to sleep before he returned to D.C. He’d finally reached Jacob, who had a TV program to appear on late on Sunday, but then he would come home and help Zach get in contact with the lawyers handling Jacob’s accusation. And Zach had earned enough money to pay for his hotel room and his meals.

This might work out after all, he thought.

(To be continued)