Will Brandt went home for Christmas that year, as was the norm - back to the small village outside Amsterdam where he had once lived with his parents and two younger brothers, before wander-lust had got the better of him and he had crossed the Channel to England. For all the liberalism of his native land, Zaanmaar was a somewhat traditional community and Will had longed to break free of what he had considered to be the restraints of his family. Learning English - and learning it well - had promised to prove the key to such longed-for freedom, although life in his adopted homeland had singularly failed to prove quite as emancipating as he had perhaps once dreamt. As such, he stepped back onto the boat at the Hook of Holland just before New Year with very mixed emotions - unsure of the past, even more uncertain of the future and yet peculiarly determined to refuse a pessimistic outlook. With almost blind faith, he genuinely believed that life was about to get very much better and that his new job at Red Heaven was but indicative of that fact. It was a naive outlook, maybe - but he just had to believe it. He just had to.

Actually, it had to be said that his journey across the North Sea was to prove pretty memorable - although he had no obvious intentions of that being the case. To be honest, he had anticipated much the same sort of dour, cheerless crossing as he had experienced the day before Christmas Eve, though the damp, clammy weather prior to the holiday had at least now been replaced by crisper, sunnier conditions and as such Will felt inclined to take to the deck shortly after the ship had pulled out from the harbour. In hindsight it was perhaps fortunate that he did, for otherwise he might never have encountered a handsome, blond, blue-eyed English lad in his mid-twenties, who was well over six-foot and who seemed to tower above the young Dutchman as a result. He had been standing at the rear of the boat, watching the white, bubbly trail that the vessel had left in its wake, though the generally reserved Will would probably not even have started speaking to him had it not been for the fact that the fellow made reference to the bold orange Dutch football backpack that the younger lad had strewn across his shoulder.

'You from Holland, then?' he chirped - dressed as he was in jacket and gloves, though with no hat to cover his light, curtain-style locks.

Will smiled, flashing his dark brown eyes. 'Yes,' he sighed, with only the slightest of accents. 'I am from Holland - near Amsterdam. I have just been home for Christmas - and you?'

The stranger smouldered quietly. 'I went to spend the holiday with my girlfriend ...'

Will tried to hide his disappointment at the fact that the chap was clearly straight, but said nothing.

' - I've decided to finish with her, though,' the fellow continued.

'I'm sorry to hear that ...' But Will was really anything but.

'I'm Esmond. By the way, I like your eyebrow ...'

'Hi, I'm Will,' he replied, before raising his eyes as if he thought that he might see the piercing - when in fact he knew that to be almost impossible. 'Thanks,' he said, continuing the conversation without serious thought. 'My boyfriend -'

He suddenly stopped in his tracks, as he realised what he had said - noting the surprise in Esmond's eyes as he did so.

'You have a boyfriend?' the stranger appeared to mock. 'You're gay?'

Will shook his head. 'He is not so much a boyfriend as ... well, a complete bastard! And yes,' he added, 'I am gay.'

Esmond turned back to look out at the cold blue waters beyond. 'I've often wondered what it's like,' he remarked somewhat enigmatically after a few moments.

'What it is like ...?' Will queried.

The blue-eyed stud returned his gaze. 'Sex with another man - you know, what it's really like. I guess all straight men wonder - secretly ...'

The Dutch lad could not resist the temptation. 'You want to find out?' he smiled.

Esmond glanced him up and down, evidently taking care to note Will's credentials. 'Might ...' he whispered.

It was at this point that the younger guy perhaps first started question himself as to whether the English fellow was being quite as honest as he claimed. He said he'd been visiting his girlfriend, but the sheer confidence that the man displayed over the next few minutes served only to suggest that this was not the first time he had engaged in hot-male action. For there was not a hint of reticence about him as they pushed themselves into one of the cubicles in the nearest available toilet-block, and unzipping his trousers, he pulled out a more-than-adequate shaft that Will felt sure had seen more than enough action in its time.

Not that the young Dutchman cared at that particular point. The thrill of the encounter was such that all he really cared about was finding space enough in the booth, amidst their various bags and carriers, to enable him to fall to his knees - after all, he wanted to take that thick, veined, purple rod in his mouth and he wanted to do it right now. He'd waited long enough for some manner of excitement in his sex-life, and although Esmond did not exactly fit the bill as the footballer of his dreams, he was still more than spunky enough to secure a passing interest. It was one opportunity that Will sensed he'd be foolish to miss.

Esmond's shaft was positively throbbing, but the younger lad knew of a satisfactory cure. Opening his mouth wider than he felt he'd ever opened it before, Will began to consume the appendage with plainly fervent desire, pushing it inside like it was the last dick on the planet. Meantime, his own cock was pulsing away in his jeans, the blood rushing through his most delicate organs to such a pitch that the youngster thought that they might burst at any moment. Yet he was determined to keep his concentration on Esmond's beautiful offering, laid out for him in all its manly glory, and lifting it off his rough tongue for a moment, he pulled back the generous fold of skin and began to suck exquisitely on the swollen head beneath.

By now the shaft was oozing generous reams of pre-cum in expectation of the delicious spooge to follow, which dribbled from Will's lips and down the navy fleece that he was wearing. Not that the Dutchman looked greatly concerned - all that seemed to bother him was that he had a fine roll of meat pressing firmly down his throat, almost knocking out his tonsils and threatening to gag him at any moment. That wasn't set to be the case for very much longer, though. The blond-haired wonder was getting other ideas and urgently wanted to slip his member between Will's bum-cheeks. But whether that would actually be possible - given the claustrophobic nature of their surroundings - remained yet to be seen.

All the same, Esmond was more than willing to give it a try, and pushing their bags aside, now encouraged his new-found partner to stand, undo his belt and then slip out of his trousers in preparation of a buffeting that would surely equal anything the sea about them could ever produce. It was going to be one rough, but very cool ride, and feeling the stranger's finger's lube his hairy arse-hole, Will sensed that he would shortly have to grit his teeth for fear of crying out aloud and drawing attention to their antics. After all, he could already hear the movement of several people outside and he felt sure that someone would call security if suspicions were raised. All the same, there was actually something rather appealing at the prospect of having intercourse just yards away from unsuspecting trippers, and as Esmond forced him over the toilet, he considered the sheer thrill that their present danger now provoked within him.

Will's pucker was raised and waiting, almost quivering in expectation - whilst the English fellow slipped a condom over the raging length of his emboldened shaft. A few breathless moments on and that same prime shank of manhood was buckling down to its apparent naval duty, with every stroke aiming to part the lips of man-cunt that lay between it and paradise. Will, meantime, grasped hard to the cistern - desperate to maintain his near-desperate silence and all the time only too painfully aware that even the slightest groan might draw attention to their present situation.

It seemed almost to take forever, but at last Esmond's cock began to push through Will's sweet ring - slowly but surely edging its way inside the dark, delectable recess that nestled beyond. The process was cramped at first, given their surroundings, and despite every effort to the contrary, the younger lad could not prevent himself from yelping momentarily as his cherished buggery began. It was enough to secure the questioning of some interfering so-and-so outside - at which point both lads stopped in their tracks, praying to God that their intercourse was not about to be rudely interrupted.

'I'm fine!' called Will deliberately at long last, as Esmond glanced on with a winsome smile.

'You sure, mate?' whined the man outside. 'You don't sound well ...'

'Yes, I'm fine!' he repeated - a little curtly, if truth be known. 'I'm just a bit bunged up, that's all!'

Esmond sniggered at the joke - but it was enough to secure the man's dismissal (much to the relief of them both). For the two of them had got a whole lot of fun to get on with and the last thing they wanted was any further questioning.

The coast was at last clear - and the taller lad made the most of his advantage now by forcing his aching knob-head further into Will's empty crack. The interruption, it seemed, had made little impact on the ferocity of his stiffness - as lucky young Will was about to discover. For soon his shit-hole was being pummelled with a near-insatiable fury, and before long he could feel the slap of Esmond's loose-hanging balls against his own. It was a delightful, cum-inspiring sensation that could only serve to whip the lad into an ever-more-heightened frenzy, and clinging onto his own erect staff, he started to beat his cock to the gaining rhythm behind. Not that the older lad was having any of that. He wanted Will's hard shaft for his own carnal delight, and throwing his hands forward, he caught hold of the guy's arms and pinned them back to the cistern beyond.

'I'll tell you when you can play with yourself ...' he whispered mischievously, ramming even harder from the rear.

Esmond was pounding without mercy now - perhaps somewhat taking advantage of the fact that Will was unable to make so much as a whimper in his present situation. The youngster longed to shout and groan and bit his lip and rolled his eyes in a bid to hold back from the natural desire to do so, whilst his heart raced away in his chest, to the point where he almost thought that he might explode from the sheer thrill of the occasion.

In the end, however, it was Esmond who exploded - in a thick, treacly eruption deep inside Will's butt-hole, which was only held back by the rubber that he was wearing. A salvo of shots emerged, and this time it was the blond who had to prevent himself from a public acclamation. The cum poured in almost affected silence, as Esmond emptied his hairy balls in a gush of wanton relish, whilst Will hung on in near-frustration, longing to wank his own aching shaft, but prevented from doing so by the older fellow's enduring clench.

Such hankering for stimulation would not go unrewarded, however, for slipping his spent cock out from Will's well-worked slit, Esmond now turned the fellow round and fell to his knees in humble adoration of that more-than-worthy member. For Will's shaft was thick and tempting and it wasn't many seconds before the Englishman was pulling back the foreskin to examine the pulsing, crimson head beneath with his thirsty tongue. Not that Esmond's mouth proved dry for long. The Dutch rod had already been oozing a bountiful flow of pre-cum whilst the lad had been shafted over the toilet and there was little indication of any turn in the tide. As such, the taller guy's mouth now drooled with juice in much the same manner as Will's had a short while before, though the look in the lad's cornflower eyes seemed to suggest that he wouldn't be truly satisfied until he could feel a pelt of cum at the back of his throat, white-washing his tonsils and trickling down his lusty gullet.

Will pushed his cock-head deeper into Esmond's mouth now, until the older fellow's nose was pushing up against the thick, curly mat of hair that stretched around the base of that gorgeous shaft. As he did so, he could not help but begin to stroke his fingers through the English lad's abundant, blond hair - bending down in supply, youthful manner to kiss the top of his head in the process. As he did so, however, he could sense the excitement of the moment about to overcome him, and he muttered his intent to the chap, unsure as he was as to Esmond's reaction.

He half expected the fellow to pull away, so that his cum would splatter across the cubicle, but under the circumstances that might have been a risky venture. Just as well then that Esmond was a thirsty boy and was keen to ensure that none of Will's ball-juice would go to waste. Realising this only served to encourage the Dutchman even more, and sensing the rub of the end of his pal's tongue on his piss-hole, he stood erect once again and started to release his precious load. One bolt of spunk quickly followed another and Will glanced down to savour the sight of the guy choking on the eruption. Except that Esmond showed no signs of being unable to deal with the deluge, but instead swallowed at such an eager rate that hardly a drop of nectar appeared to escape from his lips. It was an act that only seemed to re-confirm Will's suspicions: that this was no inexperienced novice serving his cock, but rather an expert of some year's standing. The story concerning the girlfriend might or might not be true - Will would never know, given that they would never meet again - but one thing was certain. Esmond was a prime cock-sucker, whose insistence on being straight disguised a reality that was infinitely more appealing.

They parted with a long, tasty kiss - flicking the sperm between their open mouths, so that it swam over their tongues and across their gums. It was a dirty, but incredibly horny farewell, but it seemed to underscore the brief and very sordid nature of their encounter. Amoral or not, however - it had been a fucking enjoyable experience, which in the short-term would make up for the lack of lasting sexual success in Will's short life. One day, he was sure, things would change very much for the better, but in the meantime he would simply smile and accept an experience like this as the sweet, meaningless pleasantry that it was.

Will saw Esmond one last time as they disembarked - a short, momentary smile passing between them as they walked out through customs. But before the Dutchman knew it, the fellow had disappeared in the crowd, leaving only the memory of a good fuck in the mind and the lingering taste of semen in the mouth. Still, it was enough to take his thoughts away from the drudgery of the train ride home, and indeed he was still in a bubbly mood when he finally arrived back at his flat.

It was a disposition that would not last for long, however, for climbing the stairs in the block where he lived and opening the fire-door that led on into the corridor beyond, he suddenly became aware of someone standing outside his door - someone, it had to be said straightaway, he had no real desire to see.

The person in question was male and in his early thirties. He was several inches taller than Will, with a thick head of black hair which was brushed back on his head. He was well-built, but scarcely overweight, and he had a very clean-cut, professional persona that suggested a distinctly middle-class upbringing. As such, there was nothing unusual about him being dressed in a tightly-pressed white shirt and tie, and his near accent-less voice only underlined his privileged heritage.

'Drew ...' stated the Dutch lad, trying desperately not to look or sound in any way concerned or surprised.

'Hello, Will,' he smiled in an almost oily fashion. 'How's Holland?'

The youngster stepped towards the door, fishing in his pocket for the key as he did so. 'Fine,' he replied - but in a nervous, edgy manner that suggested he was less than impressed with Drew Michaels's attention.

The older chap moved towards him with a sudden, almost unexpected motion. 'I've missed you ...' he confessed.

Will glanced up at his distinct blue eyes, which seemed all the more notable because of his dark eyelashes. 'Did you want something, Drew?' he asked finally, trying hard to disguise his Dutch intonation.

Drew brushed his hand across Will's cheek, smiling (albeit insincerely) as he did so. 'I always want something from you, lover-boy. You know that ...'

Will pushed the key into the lock and opened the door. 'By the way,' he sighed, wishing to ignore the fellow's advances, 'you still have not taken the money you left here the other week ...'

'Money?' Drew teased.

'You left some money on the -' he began, trying hard to think of the word, ' - the mantelpiece.'

'That's yours, Will.'

'I do not want your money, Drew!'

'Why not?'

Will stepped into the room and cast his bags on the bed. 'Because I am not needing your money anymore,' he proclaimed. 'I have a job now ...'

Drew sighed. 'Oh, that ...' he mocked. 'I suppose you're hoping you can hit it off with one of the players!'

'I can always dream ...'

'Well, tough shit, gay boy! Queers don't play football!'

Will stepped across the room and picked up the money from the shelf. 'Like I was saying,' he continued, ignoring the guy's tormenting and instead thrusting the notes into Drew's hand, 'I am not needing this money - understand?'

The older guy looked thoughtful, waiting a moment or two before pocketing the cash. 'Right,' he sighed at length, now appearing to look all contrite and innocent, 'I might as well go if I'm not wanted ...'

The Dutch lad glanced across at his handsome stature. 'It would probably be best,' he sighed.

Drew edged slowly towards the door. 'Right then ...' he muttered, 'I'll be off ...'

Will continued to watch - seemingly unmoved. But he refrained from saying anything else.

And then, out of the blue, the visitor marched up to the younger man and kissed him squarely on the lips. It was a firm, passionate embrace, which Will clearly tried to ease away from at first, but Drew was unrelenting and continued to force himself on the still-impressionable foreigner with a determination that Will could never resist.

Before either of them really knew what was happening, their mouths had opened up and they were lapping away with youthful eagerness - the Dutch lad clearly no longer able to avoid the charms and devotions of his suave, urbane lover. Their tongues danced feverishly together, whilst their bodies pressed closer and closer, so that they could soon feel the hard excitement that each had to show in their groins. Indeed, it was this evidence of firm, masculine passion that now led Drew to press down his companion's sweet, tender frame - so that he was soon on his knees, pulling away at the belt and zip of Will's jeans, with his mouth undeniably open and ready for the tasty delights that he knew were inside.

It was at this point that Will appeared to momentarily come to his senses, as he pulled himself away and tried desperately to restore his dignity. 'No, Drew!' he insisted. 'No, I think you had better be leaving ...'

But such rejection clearly had little impact on the determined fellow. 'You like it,' he whispered, refusing to let go. 'You know you like it, Will. Come on, relax - live a little ...'

'I really do not think that you should ...'

Those were the final words of resistance that the Dutch lad was able to offer. Before he knew it, Drew had pushed him backwards onto the bed and had removed his jeans and boxers - revealing seven inches of hard, throbbing cock in the process. That Will had a strong physical attraction to the fellow was bad enough. That Drew himself realised this, was even worse. For, as this occasion demonstrated, the guy was more than willing to take advantage - using a charisma that appeared to leave the youngster at his raw mercy every single time.

Drew had Will's handsome knob-head between his lips now, sucking on its stiffness with a gusto that would have been almost admirable under any other circumstances. Nevertheless, there was no denying the physical pleasure that the younger chap was experiencing at this point, as he writhed to his lover's wanton amusement. But all he really wanted was for Drew to stop - though his aching cock prevented such sensibility. After all, his most precious organ demanded rough attention, and with balls full of churning cum to consider, Will knew that he had little choice but to relax and savour the cruel ferocity of such devotion.

Not that Drew would be content with just sucking his cock. No, the fellow was a crazed sex-machine, who seemed almost to enjoy degrading Will by every means possible, and it was little surprise when he reached for a condom and began to lube the Dutch lad's hairy arse in anticipation of his latest conquest. For that was how Drew regarded their relationship: a continual succession of battles that would end in Will's submission every time and which appeared only to feed his own dark ego. And things were set to continue that way - at least until the youngster met someone else, someone who would give him the strength of character to stand up and say that he was worth more than a quick shag as and when Drew himself demanded.

He gained some comfort, mind, from what had happened earlier that day, from those few stolen moments of real excitement that the journey had provided - which the older guy clearly knew nothing about and which Will was not about to reveal. And feeling the shaft push earnestly into his bowels, he could not help but wish that it was Esmond who was fucking his butt and not Drew. But the day would come - it would surely, surely arrive - when he would meet the real man of his dreams, who would lead him away from this life of miserable subjugation. And when that day came, you could sure as fuck bet that Drew Michaels's would be history. History, man - yes, as sure as fuck is fuck, the man would be history!

This was not rape - Will, after all, consented, though admittedly with reluctance. But as Drew finally shot his load inside him (still dressed as he was in his shirt and tie and with his trousers around his knees) and as he himself spumed angrily across his own firm belly, the Dutchman could not help but gasp at his own self-disgust. Why was he not stronger? Why could he not resist the advances of a man who, in his very own words that day, was nothing more than a complete bastard? Why couldn't he just stand up and be counted and regard himself as someone who was worth loving because he himself was lovely?

Drew pulled up his slacks, kissed Will lamely on the forehead and then headed for the door - leaving the youngster to hold back the tears as best he could. Then, as if to throw salt into the wounds, he tossed the money in his pocket back in Will's direction. 'Here you are, gay-boy,' he snapped. 'Get yourself a football!'

And with that he left, with a smug smile on his pretty face - little realising that life's tide was about to turn against him. He'd had it all his own way all these years. But that was just about to change ...

 

Marc Oranje

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