Retribution

It was Jim, not Justine, who met Hardesty at the door of the male brothel in the exclusive Kalomara section of Washington, D.C. Out of makeup and the flamboyant dress, he was just any other balding late-middle-age man of commanding height and beer belly.

“Hardesty,” he said with a mixed response to having the vice detective on his doorstep in the cold sunshine of late morning Christmas Day. Hardesty was necessary to him--and he even liked the man--but he was wearing on Justine’s rent-boys and he’d brought a cop to the brothel’s door the previous night. “Back so soon? None of the young men are here today. I gave them Christmas Day off.”

“When was the last time you saw Leslie?” Hardesty asked.

“I don’t know. Sometime last night. What--?”

“I think we’d best discuss this inside,” Hardesty said, and he didn’t wait for an invitation to brush past Jim and move into the downstairs parlor. He sat in a wingchair and motioned for the brothel’s madam to sit in the one facing it at the fireplace. The fire was out and the stockings had been taken down. Leslie’s stocking? Had all of the guys opened their stockings that morning before leaving and Justine knew then that Leslie wasn’t there?

The Christmas tree was still behind the chair where Jim sat, albeit not as impressive unlit and in the daylight as it had been the night before. Hardesty now saw that it wasn’t a real tree but was an artificial one that had seen better days. Jim had seen better days too. In the daylight, so had the wingchair he was sitting in and the carpet on the floor. Paid for sex always was more tawdry in the daylight than at night, Hardesty had learned.

“I haven’t come here for pleasure, Justine.” Even when he was out of drag, Hardesty would maintain the name pretense for the madam. “I won’t hold back. I’ve just come from a crime scene in Georgetown. Leslie has been found in the back of a swank automobile with a bullet in his head.”

Hardesty gave the madam a moment to absorb that, but he looked carefully into the man’s face, gauging the reactions as they went from shock to pain to concern to a wariness about the eyes.

“I’m sure you knew he wasn’t here this morning.”

“Yes, I did,” the madam answered quick enough. “He was checked out for the night. I wasn’t expecting him back before this afternoon.”

“You knew who he was with, didn’t you?”

“Victor paid to take him out for the night. A Russian businessman took him for the night. You saw him here last night. He has a client. For the money they pay me, I haven’t shown a lot of interest who that client is. The best I can do is set it up so you can connect with Victor--without him knowing I set it up, I hope. He has rough friends. Ones you probably don’t want to make enemies of either. You have to help keep my operation out of this. Leslie. He can’t be traced back to here. That’s what we need you for.”

Interesting that this would be the madam’s priority concern, Hardesty thought. And he didn’t believe for a nanosecond that Justine had no idea who Victor was pimping for. But then, perhaps sensing how callous and revealing he’d been, Jim doubled back, shielded his eyes with a hand, squeezed them shut in search of tears that didn’t quite come, and murmured, “Poor Leslie. Poor, poor Leslie.”

“That’s not what I’ve come about,” Hardesty said. “I covered that for you before I got here.” Hardesty was as aware as Justine was what was expected of him to maintain his privileges here. “I’ve contacted a pimp who will acknowledge Leslie was his. If you come up with $12,000 in cash, he’ll even cover the burial. It needn’t come back to you if you can keep your men in line and on the same page.”

“I can handle them,” Jim said, looking up, not a trace of “thanks” or gratefulness in his face. He knew how valuable the services here were for Hardesty. Hardesty could pick up any rent-boy on the street he wanted, of course, but he couldn’t get one as high class as the ones he got here--other than the one Jim knew he had in his Crystal City apartment--nor could he easily get one who would go as far as Hardesty sometimes wanted to go. “Then why did you come here? You could have told me this over the phone.”

“I think not,” Hardesty said. “I believe I’ve told you not to do business like this over the telephone. I don’t control all aspects of police work in the district.”

“Point taken,” Jim answered icily.

“I’ve come because I’m going to investigate the crime and I have competition in that. I want to know whatever you do about who Leslie was entertaining regularly and the circumstances under which he left here last night. The Russian, Victor, is dead too. I last saw him circling Leslie in this room last night.”

“Victor? Victor’s dead too? Shit.”

“Leslie couldn’t have gone out of the house without your permission. You say he went with Victor?”

“Yes,” Jim answered.

“Why? Victor could have had him here.”

“Victor did have him here. But, as I indicated, he does pimping duties for another client. He said that other client wanted Leslie for the night. Victor paid me for the service. This isn’t unusual.”

“And who is the other client? Don’t try to tell me you have no idea who it is?”

“I just know him as Mr. T. He’s someone with power and influence, though--even for Washington--I can tell you that. He first came to us on referral. High-level referral and a lot of cash.”

“Referral from who?” And then when Jim didn’t answer, Hardesty leaned over and put a vice grip on the man’s forearm. “Referral from who, Jim? There is a limit to what I’ll do for you for privileges here, and I could get you shut down in an hour and take one of the men for my own use. There’s only so much I need from you.”

“It was the mafia--the Russian Mafia. I knew the connection, but nothing more specific. I don’t say no to people like that.”

Hardesty sat back in his chair. “But the man, this Mr. T, comes here sometimes? He doesn’t always order out?”

“Yes, he’s been here.”

“Does he have a favorite fetish?”

“Yes. Sounding. We don’t have much demand for that.”

This was interesting and connected with how they’d found Leslie in the backseat of the Mercedes. But would a man leave a sounding rod in a rent-boys dick and go off kayaking? Wouldn’t he finish with the sounding game first?

“And you’d recognize him if you saw a photo of him?”

Jim didn’t answer immediately, and Hardesty repeated the question, somewhat more forcefully, adding, “None of this need be official; none of this need trace back to you. I just want you to provide a yes or no if I end up with a photo of a suspect.”

“Yes, I’d recognize him.”

“You say Victor did Leslie here himself last night.”

“Yes.”

“Upstairs?”

“Yes, the Green Room.”

“Were they the last to use the Green Room last night?”

“Yes.”

“Has the room been cleaned yet?”

“It’s Christmas and we’re closed tonight. No it hasn’t.”

“I want to go up there and look around.”

“You can do as you want,” Jim answered in a tired voice. “You will anyway.”

“But I’d think better of you if you gave me what I needed with a smile,” Hardesty retorted.

The detective did a pretty thorough search of the room, coming up with two used wine glasses, which he handled carefully and wrapped in hand towels. He wanted to steal a march on the feds, if he could. They’d have fingerprints of both Leslie and Victor and should be able to come up with real names. But they’d work through channels. Hardesty could cut corners and had friends in the labs. If Leslie’s and Victor’s fingerprints were on these glasses, and they were in the system, he’d know before the feds did who the victims really were. He’d go right back to the office from here. Larry, the unit’s clerk, had pulled Christmas duty. He also had the hots for Hardesty. It was a desire that hadn’t been satisfied yet, although Hardesty had a reputation for spiking any of the male unit clerks who were interested. Hardesty could get IDs rolling today. The feds would wait until tomorrow to push the “go” button. They obviously were worried about someone who wasn’t found at the scene more than they were interested in Leslie or Victor.

When he came downstairs, a sweet-looking mulatto rent-boy he knew as Sean, but who he hadn’t known intimately, was coming in the front door. The madam had come to the foyer.

“I suppose now that Sean is back, you’ll want to take him upstairs,” Jim said to Hardesty. Sean looked quite willing to go upstairs with Hardesty.

“Thanks, but I have someplace to go and night’s better than day for fucking a nice piece like Sean. I’ll take a night check on that.”

Neither Jim nor Sean had the foggiest notion what Hardesty meant by that, but both stood by the door as Hardesty left. Sean looked happy and hopeful, as Hardesty had paused to kiss him on the mouth and give him a bit of tongue. “Later,” he’d whispered to the young man. “Count on it.” Jim was just relieved to see Hardesty off and having given more support than grief.

* * * *

Larry was belly to wooden desktop in the dimly lit Vice Homicide squad room, where he and Hardesty were alone on the afternoon of Christmas Day. A fluorescent tube light in the ceiling over the desk was the only artificial lighting going, and it was flickering in a repeated off-beat pattern.

The gangly twenty-something desk clerk still had his T-shirt and sneakers on, but otherwise was naked. He was gripping the far side of the desk, his arms stretched over his head and spread. His legs were spread too, his toes touching the floor in front of the desk. He wasn’t a handsome young man, but he wasn’t ugly. He just hadn’t survived the acne phase yet and when he did, he’d have to endure facial scarring. He was more “willowy” than muscular, but not fat by any means--rather the opposite. What had held Hardesty back from what obviously had been offered was that Larry was flamboyantly gay and flounced around and made goo-goo eyes a lot. But he had a cock and a hole and he had needs. He had fantasized a need for Hardesty since the day he’d come on duty in the squad. Indeed, he had sought duty in the same squad Hardesty was in, having heard the gossip of how Hardesty took good care of seeking desk clerks so that he’d receive good support services.

Although he hadn’t given Larry a second look, while being neutrally pleasant to him, Hardesty had increasingly become aware of Larry’s infatuation, and he needed help today in expediting the fingerprints from the wine glasses in the Green Room through the system.

And it was Christmas. Hardesty was giving Larry his Christmas present. The squad clerk was a valuable asset. Vice cops who wanted good services from them gave them presents.

The detective was crouched on the floor between Larry’s legs. He was keeping his clothes on, but he had his fly open and his dong out and encased in one hand. The young man had a nice, long cock, a pleasant surprise, and Hardesty had pulled it back between his legs and was stroking and sucking it while intermittently tonguing Larry’s hole, which blossomed right open to him. Larry’s channel was well known to men, Hardesty realized. He played with rubbing the glans of Larry’s cock against the young man’s own hole and laughed when the hole puckered up and tried to pull it in. Larry moaned, pleading, “Yes, yes, do me, please fuck me.” He came pressed up to his own hole.

And so Hardesty did, crowning himself with a condom, climbing up on the desk with his feet, crouching down and grabbing Larry’s slim waist between his hands. He thrust his dick up inside Larry’s channel through the lubricant of the young man’s own cum. The hole and passageway spread right open to receive him.

Quickly Hardesty had achieved a synchronization of the pattern of his thrusts with the flickering of the defective fluorescent tube overhead.

“Merry Christmas, Larry,” he murmured. Larry answered with seventh-heaven moans and groans.

Needless to say, arrangements were made for Hardesty to have his fingerprint IDs from the lab by the next day.

* * * *

Hardesty always tried to be home for twilight. He didn’t always make it, but he did often enough and it was special to be here on Christmas Day to watch the sun go down, while he was looking past the runaways of the Ronald Reagan Airport across the Potomac from Washington, D.C., where he had a good view of the Washington Monument and the Lincoln Memorial.

The apartment had been Toby’s demand when the two of them had decided to move in together nearly five years earlier--that and Toby had insisted that he wasn’t going to give up his life as a high-class male hooker until age, and the ravishes of time on the body, dictated that. Toby thought he’d have about four more years of that high-paid life and then he could retire before thirty. Hardesty thought Toby was underestimating how much time he had left. He was a gorgeous, small-stature blond with a perfectly formed body, great submissive bottom technique, endurance, and little evidence of aging.

Hardesty believed Toby could pass as nineteen or twenty for ten more years. Hardesty didn’t like it, but, although he dominated Toby in bed, the young man called the shots elsewhere in their life together. “You screw whoever you want and I don’t complain, and I’ll let whoever I want screw me,” was Toby’s closing statement the few times they fought over the issue. He’d follow up with the kicker, “We both know we are best with each other.”

This apartment was a case in point in Toby’s control of their lives. When they’d come together, Hardesty picking Toby--whose professional name was Todd--up for solicitation, screwing his lights out rather than taking him in, and then taking him home, Hardesty had been comfortably, if a bit shabbily, living in a fifties rambler in Northwest Washington that he’d inherited from his parents. Toby had been living around with various high spender sugar daddies who wanted someone legal who looked like he was sixteen.

Toby had refused to live in Hardesty’s house, even though prices in D.C. had made it a gold mine. Toby wanted to live someplace expensive and flashy and he wanted to have it available for his work. So, here they were, high up in a high rise in Crystal City, overlooking the airport and federal Washington, D.C., with a two-bedroom, two-and-a-half-bath apartment sporting a floor-to-ceiling glass wall spanning the living area. The furniture was sleek modern, with white leather that was easy to clean. You never could tell when any of the pieces of furniture would be splattered with spunk. The furniture was also designed to provide interesting surfaces for fucking.

Toby frequently brought his johns back here. One of the bedrooms, both of which had a bath attached, was set up for Toby’s business, complete with furniture welcoming to sex position angles. They called this bedroom the “show” room, and both of them tended to use it when they brought men other than each other home for sex. The other bedroom was set up with furniture Hardesty liked and had brought from his family home. Both men slept in Hardesty’s bedroom. Hardesty spent most of his time in his own bedroom or the kitchen alcove off the living area, or here at the window, in the twilight, and at night, watching planes land and take off and the lights on Washington.

The only element the two bedrooms shared were the restraints on and over the beds. Toby delivered demanding, kinky sex for clients in the “show” bedroom and to Hardesty in the vice detective’s bedroom. They had come to an agreement that Hardesty couldn’t complain about what Toby gave his clients if Toby gave that and more to Hardesty.

Toby happily gave it all to Hardesty, and, in appreciation, Hardesty tolerated whatever else Toby did, although he worried about him out on the street, even though his clients these days were all high rollers.

In order for the apartment to serve them both, it had an elaborate warning and protection system. If Toby was bringing a john back to the apartment, there was a button he could push near the apartment’s mailbox off the lobby before they came up. This would activate a red light and buzzer in the apartment’s kitchen, and Hardesty could then barricade himself in his bedroom, where he usually stayed anyway. There was a red light next to the entry door that could be activated if Toby was entertaining when Hardesty came home.

They had a friend down the hall in his late middle age, but who was still a player, Paul, who was happy to let Hardesty hang out--or even bunk--there with him if the apartment was in use. They didn’t mess around with each other, but Hardesty provided Paul with a male hooker occasionally when the deal was that otherwise Hardesty would have to take the rent-boy in to the station. The rent-boys never left Paul’s apartment unhappy. Despite his age, Paul was a looker, having been a model, and Paul could go all day and night. When young men left him, they were exhausted, but humming, and they told Hardesty afterward that Paul was a lover, not a john.

The city didn’t encourage vice arrests and turned a blind eye to some of Hardesty’s ideas of alternative punishment and recompense. There wasn’t enough cell space to handle all of the hookers in the political town and a low vice crime rate statistic was better than a high arrest stat. And this was a political town. Everything and everyone was for sale anyway.

If the rent-boy was sturdy and of a type Hardesty liked, with the ability and willingness to take what Hardesty liked to provide, making favorable conditions a bit rare, Hardesty dispensed control and justice himself. Otherwise, if they met Paul’s interests, which centered on his use of a plow belt, he often was enlisted to do the honors. In return, Paul watched out for his unusual-couple neighbors.

In the protection department, there was a wide-angle fish-lens peephole in Hardesty’s bedroom door. This wasn’t strictly for voyeur purposes when Hardesty was home when Toby was entertaining in the living area, although he did enjoy watching the action; it also accorded Toby some protection in case a client got out of hand. Toby didn’t take johns to his bedroom unless he fully trusted them. When they did their business in the living room, Hardesty could monitor it and provide assistance, as necessary. Toby had made sure that there were sufficient interesting-shaped pieces of furniture in the living room to accommodate almost any position fetish a client might have.

So it was that the evening of Christmas Day, at the back edge of twilight, while Hardesty was standing at the full glass wall, beer in hand, and enjoying not just the view across the Potomac but also the reflection of the multicolored lights of the Christmas tree behind him reflecting off the window that the buzzer and red light in the kitchen went off. Looking around for any evidence of untidiness and not seeing any, Hardesty retreated to his bedroom, shut the door, and stationed himself at the peephole.

Hardesty recognized the two guys entering the apartment with Toby immediately. They towered over Toby’s five foot six frame. Both of them were NBA players measuring out at six foot eight or nine. Now that he thought about it, Hardesty remembered that Toby had said he was going to show a couple of players from the Chicago Bulls around before they played a game here with the Washington Wizzards. Hardesty hadn’t thought much about the guys being johns, but, of course they were if Toby was “showing” them around. They were team stars. Malcolm Howard and DeAndre Brewer. They were both forwards on the team, each weighing in close to either side of 200 pounds--compared to probably 140 pounds wet for Toby. And they both lived up to the team name. They were black bulls, hung like bulls, as they quickly evidenced.

They both went down to their briefs while Toby fixed them beers and then they pawed and undressed Toby, with the three of them standing in the center of the living area while they drank their beers and talked too low for Hardesty to hear them. They obviously had come to the apartment for immediate servicing, as they wasted no time. They had enormous erections on that were obvious despite the briefs they still wore. When Toby, naked now, went on his knees in front of them as they linked arms, the briefs came down and off, and Toby gave both of their cocks suck play together. The guys were definitely a team.

Hardesty could see through the peephole that they weren’t going to get to the bedroom. The scene was going to be right there in the living area, according him a good view. The oversized white leather ottoman was one of the favorite stages of Toby’s serving, and it would prove to be so now. Both men were super hung; both had brought their own Trojan Magnum XLs. Toby went down on the small of his back on the ottoman. He flared his shapely legs up and out, grabbing his ankles with his fists. DeAndre crouched between his legs, grunted through the penetration, while Toby fluidly waved his buttocks about, responding as any good rent-boy would to the size of any cock invading him, although Hardesty doubted the pain-pleasure of it had to be feigned for the hung DeAndre, and he started a slow pump.

Toby arched his head back over the side of the ottoman and opened his throat to Malcolm’s cock. Malcolm’s big hands went to Toby’s small, perfectly mounded pecs and worried his nipples. In a surprise move, though, after a few minutes, Malcolm pulled his cock out of Toby’s throat, came around to behind DeAndre, and saddled up on him. Holding DeAndre’s hips in his hands, Malcolm mounted and penetrated DeAndre’s ass, and it was DeAndre fucking Toby and Malcolm fucking DeAndre.

Quite chummy teammates, Hardesty thought, with a bit of a smile. He had the brief urge to go out there and mount Malcolm and make it a real train, but he fought the urge. He’d probably be beaten to a pulp. The image of two black bulls working a small, beautiful white guy caused Hardesty’s fluids to flow, though and he unzipped himself and worked his cock while he watched the three fucking on the Ottoman.

* * * *

“Wait, I don’t think you want to do that.” The voice, a rich baritone, had come from farther down the corridor from Toby’s apartment door. Jan, from Justine’s, turned to see a man in a short robe and bare legs standing outside an open door into another apartment. He was old in Jan’s eyes, probably in his fifties, Jan assessed, but he was unusually handsome and trim. He had a healthy head of hair, graying at the temples, which made him look all the more presentable. The silk robe only went to below his knees. Jan, always speculating and having accommodated more than his share of older men, in a wide range of acceptability, immediately assessed this man as top drawer and wondered what he had on underneath the robe and how big he was.

“Look at the light. It’s red. That means they aren’t ready for company.”

“Oh,” Jan said, taking his hand away for the door buzzer like it was a hot stove. “I guess I should . . . I, um . . .” He backed off from the door.

“If you’re a friend of Toby’s, you’ll know what he’s busy doing,” the man said, giving Jan a speculative look and then, when Jan didn’t indicate that he wouldn’t know why Toby would have a red light like this out, he smiled and continued. “You don’t need to leave or wait out in the corridor. Toby and Hardesty are friends of mine. You’re welcome to come inside my apartment and wait until they aren’t busy. I have a light in my apartment that is connected to theirs.”

“You have a light in your apartment connected to theirs?” Jan didn’t know if he had heard correctly or not.

“Yes. As I said, we’re friends and watch out for each other. I know why that red light is on. We don’t have any secrets. Come on in.” He stood aside and Jan walked into a small apartment living room, which, nonetheless, was nicely furnished. The man entered the apartment, closed the door, and gestured for Jan to sit in an arm chair facing a small sofa. Everything looked natural in the apartment except for a black leather wide strap slung over the back of the sofa. Jan knew what that was. He could see one handle at the end of the strap and knew there was another handle on the side hanging down the back of the sofa.

He looked up at the man with surprise in his eyes. Jan could see now that the man, although slim, was muscular and no ancient weakling. It took strength to use a plow belt, and this man looked capable of supporting a man’s body on it, especially someone as small as Jan. The man smiled at him and undid the sash of his robe, letting the robe flare open. He was naked under the robe. His cock was magnificent. Not thick, but long. His physique was, indeed, quite good for a man his age. Black, curly hair, smattered with gray swirled around on his pecs and descended in a line down his sternum and belly to his tightly trimmed pubes.

“Am I embarrassing you?” the man asked. “My impression is that you’re in the same profession as Toby is.”

“No, you’re not embarrassing me at all,” Jan answered, unable to take his eyes off the man’s dick. He was being forward, but Jan thought he had every reason to be proud in displaying himself. Jan knew that he himself clearly signaled who and what he was.

“My name is Paul,” the man said. “If you know Toby and look and dress as you do, I’m guessing you’re a rent-boy too--one of his professional friends.”

“Umm,” was all Jan could come up with. But he hadn’t denied it.

“Have you come to see Toby or Hardesty?”

“Toby’s a friend of mine, but it’s probably Hardesty I’ve come to see.”

“Did he send for you? Are you to be his Christmas evening delight?”

“No, I need to talk to him about something.”

“But you do fuck for money, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Hardesty has laid you before, hasn’t he? You are just what he can’t resist.”

Jan didn’t respond to that, and Paul went on as if he’d answered in the affirmative. From the look on Jan’s face, it was obvious that Hardesty had worked him over a time or two. “What can I get you while we wait for Toby to finishing servicing his client? Ice water, Coke, beer, wine, milk, an aphrodisiac? A cock up your ass?”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re looking at this,” Paul said, lifting the leather strap. “Do you know what this is for?”

“Yes,” Jan answered. “It’s a plow belt.”

“Has it been used with you before?”

“Yes.”

“Did you enjoy it? Would you enjoy it with me for, say, two hundred dollars? I’ve been bored tonight, and it’s Christmas. It may be a while before Toby or Hardesty are available. There should be some pleasurable and profitable way we could use the time.” He took a small wad of bills out of the pocket of his robe and laid it down on the seat of the sofa next to where the plow belt had been.

Jan began to undress. Paul watched appreciatively for a moment and then helped him, slowing down the process as bit as they fondled and groped each other.

* * * *

Malcolm was sprawled out on his back on the ottoman in Toby and Hardesty’s apartment. From Hardesty’s vantage point, he looked like a spider that had been turned over on its back. His gangling legs and arms were draped off the sides of the ottoman. His knuckles were scraping on the white carpet. His feet were on the floor, and he was using them for leverage to fuck up into Toby’s passage rapidly and with much force. Toby was saddled on the basketball player’s pelvis, riding his cock cowboy style, facing him, riding him like he was a bucking bull, which in all functional purposes he was. DeAndre approached from behind, encircled Toby’s waist with one arm and pressed the center of the smaller man’s back, lowering Toby’s chest onto Malcolm’s. Malcolm and Toby both settled down. DeAndre took his arm from around Toby’s waist and guided the bulb of his cock to Toby’s hole, above the root of Malcolm’s buried cock and started working his shaft inside Toby above Malcolm’s cock.

Toby cried out and flopped around a bit while DeAndre was skewering him. Hardesty took his breath in, but he knew Toby wasn’t really in distress--that he could take both cocks. He was mostly doing what would be expected when someone was being double penetrated. The cocks were fat and long, though, so it wasn’t a cake walk.

DeAndre began to pump and, with a whimper, deep moaning, and heavy panting, Toby settled down to docilely letting the black bulls have their way with him.

In high heat himself from watching the performance, Hardesty stripped, went over to the nightstand to retrieve a Fleshlight, and returned to the peephole, working his cock with the Fleshlight as he watched the two black professional basketball players working Toby. He discerned when they were both shooting off, pulled the Fleshlight off his cock, took matters into his own hands, and shot his load against the bedroom door.

* * * *

He was getting in deep. He was good, very good. He wore being over fifty well. And he was strong, hard bodied. Jan was draped over the plow belt sling on his belly, his arms and legs hanging down. Paul was standing behind him, gripping the handles of the plow belt. He was holding Jan off the floor. His cock was buried deep inside Jan’s ass, and he was using the strength of his sinewy legs to support the young man’s weight and the strength of his arm muscles to raise and lower the plow belt, causing his cock to dig and release, dig and release, inside Jan’s passage.

“Shit. Fuck. Plow me!” Jan cried out.

Paul continued doing so.

* * * *

Hardesty answered the apartment door after looking through the peephole and ascertaining who it was.

“Jan,” he said, after opening the door to him. “What are you doing here? Have you come to see Toby? He’s taking a shower.”

“I think it’s actually you I’ve come to see,” Jan said, giving him a sheepish look. “I’m sorry how late it is, but--”

“No, no. Come on in. You say you think it’s me you’ve come to see? You don’t know whether it is or isn’t?”

“I don’t know if it’s anything to worry about,” Jan said.

“Have a seat. We have some wine open. I’ll pour us a glass. What are you worried about?”

“It’s Leslie. I know he’s dead. Justine told me. And Victor too. I never liked him--Victor that is.”

“Yes, I’m afraid it’s true about both of them. But--”

“Justine told me you were asking about Mr. T. Leslie went with him. But I have too--a couple of times. Justine thought maybe Leslie servicing him might have been what got Leslie killed. Mr. T is always so secretive and there is something about him that makes me think of danger and evil. I’m afraid . . . I’m wondering . . .”

“If you are in danger too?” Hardesty walked over and handed him the glass of wine, but Jan put it down on the coffee table in front of him immediately, as he was shaking too much to hold it. Hardesty was standing close to him, exuding the scent of musk. He was in a silk robe, just as Paul had been just now. Jan imagined Hardesty was wearing nothing under it, and then didn’t imagine any more as the robe fell open a bit and Jan could see that Hardesty was naked under the robe and half hard.

As always, Jan wanted this sexy man. But he had several opportunities to be with him. Being taken with the plow belt by Paul had been fully satisfying and something new. That had been something different and yet so normal--just a long, attentive screwing by a cock that could reach up into his gut and make caressing love to every inch of his channel on its journey up to the quick of him, while he was secured in place by and fully captive to the man’s powerful control. Paul had told him that he’d been a male model, but he’d also obviously done a lot of strength training. He made a straightforward fuck something special. Could Jan just come back at any time and let Paul plow him?

“Yes. I probably shouldn’t feel like I’m in danger, but--” he started to say.

“Until we figure out what’s going on--and I’m working on it--you probably are right to worry about it. If this Mr. T is fucking you regularly I assume you could pick him out of a lineup.”

“Not too regular. He was one of Leslie’s regulars. But, yes, I’m sure I could recognize him in a lineup.”

“Where are you taken to be with this Mr. T? Can you remember? A hotel room? Someplace different each time.”

“Mostly one place. He sometimes has Victor bring me to a park and he does me in the backseat of his car. But usually it’s a small townhouse in Georgetown. On P Street. Very expensive furnishings; lots of books on shelves. I don’t know the address, but it’s painted sort of a dark yellow. The only one around that is. Victor always parks in back and hustles me through a garage and up to Mr. T’s bedroom on the third floor. I only know what the townhouse looks like on the front because I was walking down there one day and picked the house out. The man’s got money to be living in a place like that.”

“Is there anyone else there when you are with him--other than Leslie or Victor?”

“There is someone named Kim who I think lives there. Leslie and I are not there at the same time. Leslie and I have just talked about being fucked the same way there. Mr. T’s bed’s got all the trimmings. He likes spread-eagle restraining, and he’s got as many toys as you do.”

“Anyone else from Justine’s other than you or Leslie taken to Mr. T?”

“No, I don’t think so. Just Leslie and me. Justine knows about it. It’s all arranged with Justine.”

“This Kim is there, when you were having sex with Mr. T?”

“Yes. Mr. T likes threesomes--and more. Kim is included, and Victor too. Mr. T likes to watch Victor fuck me or Kim.”

“And this Mr. T wants demanding sex? himself.”

“Yes. He has these metal rods. He ties me up so that I can’t move and he takes these rods, one bigger than the next, and he pushes them down into my cock head and spins them. He does this until I come and then he fucks me. And then he watches Victor fuck me too.”

“Does Victor use the metal rods?”

“No, Victor is very basic and rough. He likes--he liked--to fuck me on all fours on the floor, like a dog. And Victor is--was--a choker.”

“Mr. T screws your dick with something like these?” Hardesty asked, taking a wooden box from the bottom shelf of a side table and opening it to display a set of graduated sounding rods.

“Yes, like those,” Jan answered in a hushed tone. “You have them too.”

“Yes, I have them too, Jan. I use them too.” He didn’t complete that thought, but went on with his questioning of Jan. This was dovetailing into his investigation of Leslie’s death. “Sounding rods. That’s what they’re called, Jan. This Mr. T likes to sound you? And do you like it, Jan?”

“It’s different,” Jan said, turning his head away, not looking directly into Hardesty’s face. “It’s not as demanding as what some other men do to me, including you. You know what services Justine’s provides. Mr. T isn’t as demanding with fetishes as some of the men he makes me service are. But this shit with the rods is dangerous. It’s got a high all its own because of that.”

“He shares you with other men?”

“Yes, Victor, and there’s a Russian he meets with. The Russian brings bodyguards with him, and Mr. T lets them fuck me while he’s meeting with their boss. They--Mr. T and the Russian--sit and watch from across the room while they’re talking in low voices to each other. And there are a few other men, secretive, catlike and cruel. One of those, a guy from where Mr. T used to work, he said, uses the sounding rods and is impatient and hurts me with them--and laughs.” He turned his head back and gave Hardesty an eyelash fluttery look--to make clear that he didn’t mind what Hardesty did with him, though.

“Does it make you come? Having the sounding wands used on you?” Hardesty asked, ignoring the come-hither look. “You said it does. Do you come more than once while Mr. T is doing this to you?”

“Yes,” Jan answered in a low voice. “I come more than once. Mr. T comes too. He likes it. He’s old and sometimes has trouble going hard. But this makes him go hard every time. The other, more cruel man, is younger and in a lot better shape. He has no trouble going hard--or coming more than once or making me come more than once.”

“If you come more than once, then you enjoy it. Would you like me to use the sounding rods on you?”

“If you wish,” Jan said, looking away again. But Hardesty could see that the young man was trembling. He suspected Jan very much would like him to use the sounding rods on him. and maybe . . . when this was all cleared up and Jan could return to Justine’s . . . just maybe . . .

“Now? Would you like me to use the sounding rods with you now? Here? Me sitting on the ottoman over there, you sitting on my cock, and me holding you close and spinning sounding rods down into your dick?”

Jan looked up and into Hardesty’s eyes with defiance. “Yes, I want you to use them with me now,” he said. “If that’s what you want,” he added. “You know you can have anything you want from me.”

“Well, we’ll have to wait on that, I think” Hardesty said, snapping the box shut and sliding it back onto the bottom shelf of the side table. “It’s nice to know we have something new to look forward to, though. We need to concentrate on finding this Mr. T now. We’ll have to see if we can find that house, and Mr. T, and Kim. Maybe we should stash you someplace safe until we figure out what’s going on. I can handle it with Justine. And I have a few places I could--”

“Paul, from across the hall, has said I could stay with him.”

Hardesty laughed. Paul certainly was a fast worker. “Stay with him and sleep with him? You’ve met Paul?”

“Yes.”

“He’s fucked you already, has he? Probably with that plow belt of his?”

“Yes.”

“And you enjoyed it? You don’t have to answer that.”

“Yes, I enjoyed it.”

“Well, OK, Paul it is for the time being, if he’s willing to put you up. I strongly suspect he’ll be happy to.”

He went to the kitchen bar and rang Paul. Paul, in his silk robe and nothing else, was standing at his door, smiling as Jan left the apartment and moved toward him. Hardesty was smiling when he closed the door. Toby was coming out of the show bedroom, wearing a robe similar to the one that Paul was wearing in the hall but no doubt no longer was wearing, and toweling off his hair.

“Who was that?”

“Jan. He’s going to be spending some time with Paul.”

“Lucky Jan,” Toby said. “I wouldn’t mind going a round with Paul.”

“Yes, lucky Jan--and I realize you’ve been antsy about what Paul might do with you. And lucky me. I watched your performance with the basketball black bulls tonight. Impressive.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

“It put me in heat. I want to fuck you too.” He dug into both of his robe pockets, coming with a set of wrist restraints from one side and a nasty looking dildo from the other.

Toby looked at him and laughed. “Of course you do.”

“On the ottoman, like they did.”

“Of course. Afterward there’s something else I’d like for tonight.”

Toby was only panting heavily as he was belly down on the ottoman, wrists tied over his head and dragging on the floor on one side and legs bent and draped over two of the other sides, his eyes glued to the lights of the Christmas tree, while Hardesty rode his ass. He didn’t start crying out in passion until Hardesty started driving the dildo inside his channel underneath his already buried cock. Neither of them was worrying if Toby could take it; he’d been opened up wide by the two black bulls. He often was horny as hell still after a session like he’d had with the basketball players.

* * * *

“You’re trembling,” Paul leaned over and whispered in Jan’s ear. They were stretched out on Paul’s bed, Jan on his belly and Paul’s body running alongside him, on his side, propped up on his elbow. He was running the fingers of his free hand over Jan’s back, buttocks, and thighs, running circles around the curve of the young man’s butt cheeks, letting his fingers trail down through the crack between the cheeks and on down the perineum and along the line of the young man’s cock. He had run it along this line again and again. Jan, hard and throbbing, had opened the stance of his thighs and was sighing with contentment.

Paul paused, his fingers at Jan’s rim and pressed in, ready to start. But the young man jerked and tensed up. Jan was a rent-boy. Paul could take him now and Jan would manage him. But Paul wanted this to be special for Jan--and thus for he himself as well. When it came to entering him, he wanted Jan to be begging for it and for him to slide in up to the hilt with no resistance whatsoever. Paul left off fingering the hole to massage and caress Jan’s muscles, but he returned to it, pressing a finger into Jan’s channel again, testing again if Jan was open to receive him. He didn’t want to force it. He wanted the young man to want the cock. Jan jerked and tensed up again.

“What is it, Jan? Did I hurt you with the plow belt? Was it too much? I know I have length and like to put all in.”

Jan gave a dry little laugh. “Where I work, we don’t think about what is too much. You can put it in anytime you want. I’ll take it.”

“I don’t want you just to take it. I want you to feel it--to go with me in the ride.”

“Yes, you’re longer than most,” Jan whispered, “but I like what you do with it while you’re digging it in. Most men don’t give me that attention.”

“Does Hardesty give you that attention?”

“Everything Hardesty does commands attention.”

“So you didn’t enjoy the plow belt. As far as I know, Hardesty doesn’t use a plow belt.”

“Yes, I enjoyed it. It was fine. But . . .”

“But what, Jan? I know you’re worried about something you are working with Hardesty on, but there’s something else. You don’t want me to fuck you again? You just want to sleep now?”

“No, it’s not that. What you’re doing now . . . this is nice.”

“But what?”

“I’m afraid of what this is leading to. Men are cruel to me. You are unusually long and you are surprisingly vigorous. I didn’t think you’d ever be finished with the plow belt. I finished a long time before you did. Men are always cruel to me. I don’t know what you want tonight.”

“You want me to make love to you? Without penetration?”

“No, I want to take it all, but, yes, it would be nice if you could make love to me--not just conquer me.”

“Oh, Jan,” Paul murmured. He leaned over and kissed Jan on the back of his neck and then between his shoulder blades, then the small of his back. Paul repositioned his body and kissed along the curves of the buttocks. With a sigh, Jan was spreading his thighs more and going up slightly on his knees. He moaned as Paul’s tongue ran down his crack and then again and yet again, stopping at Jan’s hole. Paul was holding Jan’s cock and gently stroking it. This time when Paul’s fingers went into Jan’s hole, alternating with attention by his tongue, Jan was sighing and moaning, not jerking. And he was relaxed. The muscles of his entrance pulled Paul’s finger inside and clutched it.

He was ready. “Fuck me, daddy. Be good to me,” he murmured. Jan was begging for it. He wasn’t just a rent-boy now; he was a young man begging for what Paul could give him. Paul moved his leg over Jan’s thighs, saddled himself over Jan’s pelvis and slowly, ever so slowly, started the long journey of his cock up the young man’s channel. With deep moans, Jan opened his channel to the cock as it slid up inside him.

“Oh, god, you’re deep,” Jan murmured. He let out a long moan as Paul slowly started to move inside him in long strokes. “Yes, yes. There, like that. Yesss!”

“Yes, you’re taking it deep. Take it. Can you take deeper? Yes,” Paul whispered. “You’re so beautiful. You’re so sweet.”

“And you’re hitting all the spots. Every place most other men pay no attention to. Only Hardesty can fuck me rough and still give attention to all the places.”

“I feel you caressing me and rippling over me,” Paul whispered in response. “You’re so good.”

Twenty minutes later, Paul was still riding him in slow, languid, deep strokes. He slowly rolled over to his side, taking Jan with him. He stayed deeply sheathed, though, thanks to his length, and continued the slow, long stroking.

“You can do this forever.”

“Yes, that’s my talent. I can bring us together too.” And then he did. They were in a close embrace, kissing, so deep in the kissing that there was nothing to be heard but the moans in harmony and the slow slapping of groin on butt cheeks when the telephone rang.

After ringing off, Paul went to the door into his apartment to make sure it was triple locked and then, before coming back into the bed and holding Jan close, checked his nightstand shelf to make sure his revolver was still there--and loaded.

The telephone rang again. Paul answered it, listened, and then turned over and shook a nearly asleep Jan. “He’s changed his mind. We need to go,” Paul said.