He Touched Me

Jack and I were lolling around in his bed, not sleepy, not interested in much save each other. He'd fucked me, I always forgot how good at it he really was, how deep he could easily go, stay there, lick the back of my neck, hold me there with his teeth, remind me of how much he loved me. Shift his cock just a bit deeper, one thing, he never left until I was fully bred, just his signature to me. In the dark, the warm room, the cool sheets his hot body, I could feel his breath even after his climax. His hands slipping under me only to assure me of his love and permanent need to have me, fuck me, be his man.

These private moments without meaning to be were rare only because for men who were supposed to do nothing, in the way of all high class Southern men, we were busy but not to our friends. This night he had the holiday season on his mind, not a favorite of either of us not only because business would be down but because now that we had stature, social responsibility, we'd have to do something but just what?

"What do you want for Christmas?"

"Fuck, we've got everything we could want, you made it for me, I don't know, the old male stand by, socks and underwear?" We both laughed, no point in asking him, he'd have the same answer.

"Gotta do something about the family, Williams, Mark, Venetia, Albert...all but Mark will be happy with money but Mark....?"

"Yeah, Mark. We've got him back in school, he's busy with his residency when he isn't busy with you and...Mathew.:"

"That's working out nicely, my first time as matchmaker and it's a home run. Then there's the other pair...."

"Oh, Jesus, Fred and Brace...what I'd want for Christmas for them is for them to grow up..." We both wanted that. I rolled over, licked Jack's hard nipple while with one hand twirled the hair around it into pickanninny pig tails. "We need to give a reception for our new friends....we've done dinners but something.....dinner dance? Christmas theme?"

"Who as Santa Claus? To do that, you need to call what's her name, Phillippe's mother, she keeps track of who's entertaining, get a date from her. Have it here at the hotel, they cater it, no mess, no clean up....just a hundred invitations to address..."

"Crap, Phillippe wants me to come to another one of his soirees....Mark doesn't like or trust him and all Mathew will say is that they're one of the few families who have every right to be proud of their ancestry, at least none of them were pirates or hookers sent over here from France."

That was the de La Chapelle's, as fine an old family as lived in New Orleans, could trace their family back four hundred years, some of their relatives, who preferred to stay in the old world, still lived in the family chateau. Two children, Phillippe and his sister....the fading flower, Estelle. Not really unattractive but worse, plain. Unattractive could be interesting-I had a favorite fuck who was unattractive but knew every joke, that was really funny, dirty or otherwise. Estelle did not know anything amusing. But that did give me an idea....

"Jack, Estelle de la etc....lets make her the belle of the ball, not make it seem like that but I'll escort her, see she has as good a time as she can have...:"

"Then, what, between courses fuck her brother? Could be quite a party." 

The following evening at one of Phillippe's soiree's with what he fondly imagined to be kinky sex, I mentioned our party to him, hoped he and his family would come and, if she would agree, I'd escort his sister. At that thought they probably heard him laughing in Baton Rouge.
"Go to hell Estelle? That's a joke, right? You do want to have fun, you and your dad are paying for it, for your money get something better than that...I promise to make your evening happy, but Estelle?"
Two weeks before Christmas the gentry oohed and aahed over the ballroom we'd engaged for our dinner and dance. If there was one thing we could promise it was good looking men starting with my father and, well, me. Mark was a treat and with the careful help of everyone, or so it seemed, at the Ponchartrain, there were gasps as guests arrived, were handed a Christmas gift wrapped in gilt paper, were escorted to their tables, offered Champagne or liquor, were encouraged to dance and the party was underway.
I'd spoken to Mrs. de La Chappelle, effectively pledging myself to her daughter for the evening. The lady was enchanted, no one had paid Estelle much of anything, although that's not what she said.
If I had one regret it was that Mathew, as a hired hand at the hotel, couldn't attend-at one time his family would have been among those selected for the honor of an invitation. However, he had personally placed the cards so that who sat next to whom provided each one with a reason to be pleased with their seating.
Jack had found an older lady, the only remaining Grande Dame of her family to escort for the evening; Everyone knew her, everyone was so pleased that Jack had made her feel so included. With the exception of Phillipe de La etc, everyone had a grand evening. I found him smoking in one of the rooms surrounding the main salon, gave him a welcome kiss only to be snarled at, then another comment about his sister....By two everyone had gone home, our family was upstairs in various beds and, we'd heard, our party was now considered the official start of the Christmas entertaining season.
Within two days the Thank You notes started arriving, usually with an invitation, often a note, hoping we would join their family for some part of the holidays. Some ladies, who must have had a really good time, went so far as to suggest that as we were two lonely bachelors, we spend the holidays with them out on their plantations. It sounded...grim. If nothing much happened in town, it was only too easy to think even less happened in the country. Although I shuddered to remember it, our time with Mr. Jones at his place in the country had a certain....diversion to it, something a family at home on the plantation probably could not have provided. (I wondered if they took the servants, the ones who just moved flowers around, with them to move more flowers there?)

One Christmas present had resolved itself; Jack bought a Cadillac Roadster which made me, well, all of us, nervous each time he drove it. The dealer who sold it, and must have been touchingly grateful to have a cash sale at that point in a world where nothing sold, threw in driving lessons, several hours of them. Whether he needed a license or not, he finally decided he was ready to drive and, as his 'maiden' voyage took me on a spin around New Orleans. That there was no damage, much less death, occurring from this adventure had everything to do with the quick footed-ness of pedestrians as well as there were no large things, of whatever sort, in the middle of the road. Our arrival back at the Ponchartrain brought several staff members to assure themselves we really had got back. Jack had enjoyed it, Mathew, the first person to me, concluded I had not for when he opened the door, I fell out. There after, when Jack drove, it was ALWAYS solo. If he offered a ride to another guest, one, say he'd been drinking Bourbon coffee in the bar, they were grabbed before they could get in and, under some excuse, got away from any automotive excursion with Jack. The rest of us, if necessary, all piled in the La Salle to go wherever we needed to go. Jack offered to give me lessons but, based on what he'd not learned, I declined.

Whatever my thoughts on motoring, it opened up a whole new world for him, one I envied; He could get out of the hotel, not visit friends and just...go. Where? Who cared. Increasingly his time away from tedium grew longer until one day he had Williams pack a bag for overnight, didn't mention where he was going, kissed me goodbye and was gone. Other than the open maw of death that came with riding with him, I might have asked to be included no matter where he went. That left me to hold down and practice indolence something, I found, one learned rather quickly.
But were our days not occupied? Well, it took two days to put up, decorate then disagree on the looks of the Christmas tree so another one was got and it, too, was decorated. In the end we had three trees which, given the crotch of comfort in which we lived, seemed appropriate. To Christen them I fucked Fred, Brace and Mark, one under each tree. Other days the 'staff' and I played card games, anything from "Old Maid" to Five Card Stud to Slap Jack.
Because it was the holiday season, the soiree times seemed to come to an end as the young men involved had to switch from carnal delights-or those sexual acts they fondly imagined as delights-to playing filial with their parents.
One thing, I was spared a family with whom I had to spend any time. Williams would take all of us out in the car, Albert driving...to no place in particular but it was out and that counted. Venetia busied herself making baked goodies which were put in some sort of packing, in a box, tied with a red ribbon and delivered to the various friends as our modest contribution to their Christmas. We got fruitcake in return. Our largesse, however, just went further to insinuate us into society. Venetia knew that her gift of home made things, although trivial, were what you did to honor 'special' friends, in lieu of a paid for gift, this was more-she explained it to me-a personal gift cementing friendships. If I'd known sugar cemented friendship, I'd have starting lifting the sugar bowls in restaurants.
Phillippe called to ask if I'd like to get out and go to a film, there was supposedly a good one at the local bijou. For all I didn't really like him, it got me out of the house for a few hours plus, unless he wanted to try something I wasn't going to do, I was free from sex with them. Also, I didn't need Phil to warm me up, something he wasn't able to do; When I got back I had Fred and Brace lined up as a late night snack while Mark was doing night duty at the hospital.
It was a good picture, I hadn't seen many 'movies' so perhaps I was more impressed than I should have been. Also, Phillippe had a major attack of 'hands', reached over, unbuttoned my trousers, reached in, pulled out my cock and blew me. Ho hum. His only comment when I refused to taste myself was that Go To Hell Estelle would have loved for me to eat her out....whispering in my ear he promised me that later....he rubbed my nuts while left the sentence unfinished.
I went to the men's room, demanding that Phillippe stay in his seat, and found Mark had followed us when he'd finished rounds at the hospital. I squatted down to have a moments conversation, told him we'd lose Phillippe at the hotel and we could have a nice, relaxing evening, he, too, liked and was amused by 'the twins' as he referred to Fred and Brace so their addition just meant more pleasure and fun for all.
Phillippe suggested we walk back to the hotel, it was only a few blocks and the exercise would be great. Fine, we'd walk. Nice night, I was almost glad for the suggestion....just not his company. His only topic was his sister and how could I prefer her over him? I knew what he could and would do, she was just nothing, compared to him. He tried to slip his hands down my pants, I pulled them back, he tried to turn me for a kiss, rebuffed, then he pushed me into a space between two buildings, pulled a gun, told me to strip, then and there; Shots, agonizing pain, he was on me, beating me with the butt of his gun.....then pain.....I heard Mark yelling...felt blood............

I knew I was in a hospital; Ace, Mark and Williams were about the bed and none looked happy. Apparently I rejoined the living just as Mark said that he'd called someone, the best Urologist and he'd soon....but then pain hit me. I must have groaned because Mark stuck a needle in me and I didn't hurt any more.
My next visit to the world was longer and more...productive. That's when I learned that Phillippe had, intentionally, shot me in the nuts. The Urologist said...before he was concerned about my ability to reproduce, he wanted to make sure we could save the actual testes itself, if not, castration. Beyond that, my jaw had nearly been broken, for a man who lived as indolently as Phillippe, he backed quite a hostile punch-admittedly done with the butt of a gun. Asked when we might know the fate of....he couldn't say their medical name, the doctor would only speculate and, he said, he was not comfortable doing that. Best, and he knew how cruel this would sound, I should prepare myself for the surgery to remove.....my scrotum and its contents...believe I thanked the doctor, may have asked, again, when he'd have a clearer picture but before he could produce an answer I did the groaning trick and someone stuck a needle in me.
The interesting thing about being kept sedated, in addition to not feeling pain, you lose any sense of time, place or events. Periodically I'd rouse to see who was there, who was not there and try to figure out how long it had been since I'd been there. Gradually my wakeful times became longer and I could go whole hours without being knocked out. That was also when I talked to both Mark and Ace, each privately, and with differing reasons. Mark, of course, was no longer tutoring but now medical-for very obvious reasons I was beyond interested in saving my balls and the thought of castration....Mark held my hand and promised....they'd do everything....but the look on his face, the tone of his voice all suggested that 'everything' probably meant leaving a tidy scar below my cock where my balls had once been; I wondered if it would be vertical or horizontal.
He was a good friend and an understanding doctor; He held my hand and my head while I cried at what I suspected would next happen....and then stuck me in the ass; easier than my arm and more immediately effective.
One guest I did not expect was Phillippe's father, a very fine gentleman, horribly embarrassed, mortified, trying to offer whatever he might be able to do to rectify what his son had done-money was not mentioned although I had little doubt some form of offering had been made to Jack; My only question was...had he accepted it? Some instinct in me said that the best thing was to treat this as an incident between two families, no publicity, certainly nothing legal....if there should be any questions, refer them to me and I'd quash the rumors. Neither of our families wanted notoriety. It was the perfect plan. Mr. de La Chappelle immediately agreed, said his son would, of course be punished....and again, I had a suggestion. Rather than some transitory punishment, perhaps having him removed....as happened, an acquaintance of ours had a ranch in Southern Arizona, it might well be that some time there working would not only satisfy all but make a better person of Phillippe. He was in tears at the thought of his son only being sent away as opposed to prison and the unbelievable gossip and the family...certainly I came from a fine family myself; Father must be proud etc etc. Oh, and might I ask a favor? Certainly, anything....I promised to send word to him, thanked him for his most appreciated visit, we, carefully, shook hands and he took his leave comforted, no doubt, that his family would face...nothing.
One visitor I hadn't planned on was....Estelle, Her distress was real and touching. Her apologies for her brother...she knew she'd been the cause. She also knew how and where I'd been wounded and though she was too well bred as well as too ashamed to directly mention it, she said she must do something to try and atone so to that end she had thought to become a nun, spend the rest of her life in prayer....and there I stopped her,
"Did we have a good time at our party? The answer is yes, we both did and there's no reason for you to not going on having good times. Your brother is out of your way, his unkind mouth...silenced for good and....I don't tell this to many people but I am a terrific matchmaker, back in Chicago, young as I was, I did very well...my first success was between two Standard Poodles I'd noticed out riding...." It was meant to be amusing, tension breaking and it worked. I had enjoyed her company immensely and could find no reason why other suitable men should not have the same pleasure. I could almost see a glow, faint, but there, in her cheeks. Impulsively she took my hand and could only quietly say...."You are the nicest man I do believe I ever met.....do you really think....?"
"Estelle, I don't think I know, the only reason you're not having callers now is because everyone is involved with Christmas but I fully expect to find you on New Years Eve, in a pretty frock dancing the night away with some handsome, fine gentleman, further, one who's admired you but too shy to speak."
This wasn't a lot of hooey, I did have the very man in mind. Handsome, shy....there's was only one stumbling block however I could kick that aside. Easily.
We talked, she more animated, for a few moments more until a nurse appeared with something not revealed-I felt I was about to get stuck again-so Estelle rose to leave thanking me and, just one thing, would she mind asking her father, at his convenience, to visit? Of course, Daddy had spoken so highly of me....whatever daddy had said went up as the fluid in the syringe went down.

I said to Ace, “I know where you've been going and who you're seeing which...at first annoyed me but given the times and what all we're not doing, it must be a fucking lot more interesting at the Stud with Jones-how badly twisted is he?-then here in town. That you haven't killed yourself driving out there....I believe we have something that Jones will want. Pricey? Of course but you won't need much explanation and when you do tell him, you might want to have him tied down."
Ace left with a tight smile, almost a smirk, that could either indicate how well his son was doing or he'd just found another pot of gold; I could hear the infernal roadster fire up and head out and not to find the best frog legs au gratin in the quarter...
For once Albert and Venetia agreed on something which is why I had a Christmas tree in my room, fully decorated and, even though it was six feet too tall for the room, the easy answer was to find a carpenter and have six feet cut off; the top six feet which gave it an unusual appearance. Just then the expression 'cut off' made me nervous as I thought of my two buddies in their fleshy pouch not knowing their fate. Another family sent a group of Carolers some of whom could carry a tune and, Venetia again, having seen the food I was being served which prompted a visit to the hospital kitchen. I was able to prevent her from being banned from the hospital BUT it was made clear she was not welcome in the kitchen, it would be 'better' if her visits confined themselves to my room only. Annoyed but unable to not comply, she comforted herself by creating her own form of room service with food brought from home. Food from the hospital kitchen? Thrown out the door; After a few times, none was even sent up.

Mark and Dr. Gunderson-I was finally awake long enough to find what his name was-approached me saying that....given this period of time....surgery....quickly they said this was only exploratory, there was some suggestion that scar tissue was impeding my fuller recovery and, at that time, it should be removed....they held this until they had to say it. IF it was found that my testicles were damaged too extensively then....
I helped them out. “You'll have to castrate me.” We all were quiet. Trying to salvage some good news. “That may not happen, we're not in there, don't know....” then lost his commentary as I'd said it, he didn't have to; They would nut me. 

The next day-why put it off?-I was rolled into surgery, Jack on one side, Mark on the other, both grim faced, I had been given...something so was in a very good mood, apparently unable to remember why I was being given a ride on my bed, smiling, confused as to why my two guys looked so unhappy. At one point we divided, Jack went with me to some place they kept you until surgery while Mark went off to scrub in with the surgeons. All I could remember was looking up at masks and lights which dimmed, somewhere I heard Mark's voice....but what he was saying....lost in silence and darkness.

Later, I don't know how much later, I'm in some sort of cavern filled with other bodies. Straining to think, I remember Mark and the Urologist but...that's all I remember. Having made up my mind to what probably happened, I decided to begin life as a Eunuch, at least I could still be fucked....that was something. Wasn't it? A nurse wonders if I think I can pee-she's holding a stainless thing to, I suppose, pee in. Trying to be light hearted I say that, sure, I could pee but that's all that will come out as my sperm factory is now in a surgeons pocket. Well, that was stupid. She looked a bit surprised. "Hasn't Dr. Gunderson spoken with you...hold on, he's here, waiting for you to wake up, you just got ahead of his schedule."
Apparently I'm to be told professionally I'm nutless which, from a medical standpoint, makes it okay. Nutless is nutless but if it makes him happier to tell me, then, sure, he can tell me.
Gunderson and Mark roll up, happy as kids at a birthday party. "Well, it's all over, we did have to take one testes but you'll do fine with just one and Mark, here, figured out a way to insert a prosthetic so you'll look just like every other man....if  I may say...with big balls. All over, no more worrying, I'll check in with you tomorrow but Mark will be your guardian angel....I believe you and your father are responsible for returning him to us....it's a kindness and a good deed we won't forget....neither will Mark, I'll wager." With the look of a man who has just performed a very clever trick he wandered off leaving Mark with me.
"Deuce, he's right, it's okay, no damage to the other side, not many men can say they were shot in the balls and came out of it this good....and he's right, I'm more grateful than you can ever know....when you're better, I'll show you.....” and smiled an evil smile.
I tried to think of a kid called "Sam", dirty desperate for money, food now confident...well, I was losing a tutor but I could work something out. "Oh, while you were there, I circumcised you...can't fuck or play with it for a while but it looks much better....I'll get your father, too...." With a quick look around, he leaned over, put one hand by my cheek and kissed me on my lips. And that's when I went back to sleep.
A few days later, per my request via Estelle, Mr. de La Chappelle visited, glad to see me recovering, glad to hear it went well and, for his benefit, I did play up the fact that I was now one ball down. Just mentioned it but I wanted that in the back of his mind as I asked some favors of him. Some were easy, happy to do them but one or two...Now that Estelle was out from her brother's tyranny, I knew a nice man, a gentle man, a good man who would be a perfect match. I explained truthfully the situation and, of course, he remembered the incident, said he'd look into it. Finally, I wanted a letter from him to his son effectively telling him he dismissed him from their family, whatever was to be done to and with him was done with his understanding and permission. Again, he thanked me for allowing this to be a very private matter and I thanked him for the courtesies and the letter...Again, he left a relieved man. 

I found that Christmas in the hospital was almost a gift; Jack told me about his rounds of parties, receptions, coffees....In an innocent way I suggested he remove his pants, I'd call Mark and after some quick surgery on his cock-he did admire mine and said it did look better-he could have bed rest and avoid any further social entanglements. One thing, however, I did want done; After I'd finished he did look somewhat shocked but, after a few minutes, got a conspiratorial smile and said my idea would give pleasure to several people, us included. He'd motor out the next day to begin the arrangements. I tried, dutiful son that I almost am, to get Williams to drive him but....he and the roadster were having a great time and, according to reports (from whom he neglected to say) his driving skills were improving. A statement I found to be a lie of the most outrageous kind. I, too, had reports, mainly from the staff at the hospital who complained about almost being killed by that 'maniac in his roadster'. Somehow I felt what I'd heard was a lot closer to the truth than the hooey he'd tried to sell me. A lot closer.

Jack was entertaining when Venetia's voice could be heard saying, “You think I don't know how to wash a man's balls....” at which point a door was quickly closed to prevent any further portion of that conversation from being heard and, possibly, commented upon. Home. While I was grateful to, finally, escape the hospital and their rituals, coming home represented almost a hundred eighty degree shift in what went on. You can, I find, suffer from too much attention.
Every young man I knew, or so it seemed, either dropped by or, in the case of the hotel staff, just walked in; The object of their interest, my testicles and the bag, neatly stitched, in which they lived. I had rather hoped to keep the fact that one was artificial a family secret but....New Orleans, I should have known, was the sort of place where truly interesting facts and gossip hit the trail almost immediately. Nothing, one needed to understand, direct but....we all had servants who, if they knew something, told the servants of other families who told the families. In the private gents clubs, to which Jack had been accepted as a member, the golf clubs, the track where men congregated, the better saloons, my nuts were the biggest thing since the crash of '29. Of course, in their homes at their tables, my testicles were a non starting issue, ladies were present. They could have drawn pictures on the linen table cloths, the women, carefully told by their maids, knew as much as they did and probably with more accuracy.
Estelle, now my best lady friend, was a frequent visitor always bringing flowers-probably taken from a servant who, as I'd noticed, just seemed to wander around their large homes looking for a place to....whatever. It was also by design, mine as well as our cobbled together family, that Estelle met the man I fully intended to marry her: Mathew. While still in the hospital I 'd explained what a fine man he was, how his reduced circumstance was no fault of his and that he was a diligent, hard working, kind man. I could've added he's unlike the many sons I knew who made my practice of indolence look almost amateurish. Mr. DeLa etc knew that I had effectively protected his whole family from what could have been a truly nasty scandal and was more than willing to look into Mathew, see what he thought and, based on that....one day in our sitting room, while Estelle was visiting....
In the foyer at our front door I heard Venetia welcome another guest...”Well, Mr. Mathew, ain't this a nice surprise....Mr. Jack is entertaining a lady but if you'll just pause right here....” She looked around the corner, winked and I gestured to allow 'whoever' it was to come in. I performed the introductions, got the conversation started, handed round Champagne “So cooling on these warm afternoons” then needed to step away for a few moments, citing some medical reason.
Knowing who and what was coming, I'd seated Estelle so she was framed by the French doors that led to the terrace and, almost as if they'd grown there, a display of demure flowers which, at that hour, were lending reflected color to her. The chair we'd offered Mathew to sit beside her was so low-it was Venetia's suggestion and she was the one who cut five inches off the legs-that he was almost kneeling by her side.
Did we eavesdrop? Fuck yes we did. If nothing else, at just the right moment when things got a bit quiet, Venetia entered carrying a freshly chilled bottle of Champagne and, without asking, filled their flutes then said if they had a moment, she just happened to have a small plate of her home made fudge: She knew they'd like to taste it and give her their opinion. Thus pinned down, the conversation, about various candies in this city, that in some ways was a big BonBon, perked up and on.
I've forgotten, though Mark had me read the story, who fell in love with Helen of Troy but I certainly know who fell in love with Estelle of New Orleans. Something I'd figured out, nice as sleeping with Mathew was, in fact he was bisexual, something that in New Orleans was almost the best thing to be; You missed out on nothing and no one. It was easy to see, Venetia also said something about this, that Estelle was sexually inexperienced and as with some women, would never find the fulfilment that sex brought. Possibly enjoy it...occasionally but not the full out, fuck me now baby that some husbands and wives enjoy.
Time for Estelle to leave. In trying to get up from his low seat, Mathew fell backwards over a stool, quietly pushed there by Venetia so he would fall. From the floor, looking up at her face suddenly clouded with concern he blurted out.....”Gosh you're pretty”. Okay, fold the tent, get the horses ready to move out, shows over and it has a happy ending. After he'd left, escorting her to her motor, we all had a bottle apiece and discussed what our wedding present should be assuming that what we'd already done wasn't enough.
As in all good movies, there's a point where the good guy catches the bad guy and whatever happens to settle the score happens....
Phillippe had been kept under a form of house arrest, not allowed out, not allowed to dine with the family, not allowed to make or receive calls or callers. Although when word of his deed got round, which it quickly did, he had no calls and no callers. With every incorrect reason he blamed, first, me and second, his sister for his circumstances. Any idiot, and his father was no idiot, could and did spell out to him why and how and what was to be done. The only one thing missing? When. On the few moments he wandered about their estate, any even seemingly negative mention of Estelle or me got him slapped by whomever was nearest. I'm given to understand only once did he even see Estelle and, by coincidence, it was just as she was preparing to go out dancing with her beau.
On one thing Phillippe led himself astray, with some assistance, and that was his upcoming 'confinement' in the Grand Canyon state. No one knew or cared what his thoughts might be but of one thing I could be sure; He knew he'd missed what could have been very serious consequences, perhaps even resulting in his being put in prison....had I chosen to pursue the matter.
His family was told that on a particular day to have him ready, a bag with a few traveling clothes in them, he would be picked up out back, by the servants entrance. No one said good bye, go to hell or fuck you, just the silence as he walked down the hall to the door, out and into a sedan which then moved away from his former home.
Imagining himself to be en route to the railroad station it's possible to imagine his surprise when, a few blocks from his home, he was pulled from the car, stripped, put in a horse trailer, bridled like a horse and tied down for the ride. After the gate was lifted, there was just enough for him to see New Orleans as it passed from his view as he was off to...well, he must have concluded, it wasn't Arizona. And it wasn't. 

Jack had a very direct talk with me stemming around what I did could fuck this, a monster pay day, up. However I felt about the past, forget it. Jones was prepared to almost humble himself to me-he'd already done it to Jack-and hope that the past...was just that, the past. Driving down in the car I'd worked myself up to sullen until Jack slapped me, pointed out that he could make my life something it wasn't, that this had been, essentially, my idea and while he didn't expect me to be wreathed in smiles, I would be polite, willing to forget and...enjoy our visit to the stud. From the driver's seat Billy made it clear that if he was even willing to go near Jones after the years of what he'd endured, I sure as hell could. Also adding that his huge cock could be used as a weapon as well as a thing of pleasure and, he assured me, I did not want to find out what it could do if annoyed.....We drove on in silence.

Dammit, Jack knew I could be charming when I chose to even if I didn't feel like it. From the moment the car stopped in front of Jones' estate I was first out, made a joke about being grown up, no longer a filly but was a full stallion. Behind me I could sense Jack and Billy relax. Jones was prepared to be the perfect host, provide anything, wanted us to be comfortable....and the visit and mission was off to a great start. As Jack predicted, Jones form of humbling himself to me was to tell me he looked forward to a hard fuck later, or now, and he wanted to suck me dry. Anything else he could do? Only needed to ask. He seemingly didn't realize that between surgery for my ball and my circumsion, any thing involving a cock or my-semi-new balls was out.
I'd never seen the actual home, just a glimpse of it as we'd zipped away my only other time there. The second visit revealed that it ws truly an estate in every sense of the word, not just large, but looked like very old money, magnificent furniture...the best of it all. After some of the Frenchified homes in New Orleans, this looked as if the occupant belonged in it, not just because he owned it.\
There was one detail that threw me; A very familiar painting, that of a lovely lady, one that detail for detail was the exact copy of one we had that Jack portrayed as his late wife, my mother. It was easy to comment on the beauty of the lady, the quality of the painting and like milk squeezed from a tit, the whole story flowed out.
Seems the lady had been his wife, ran off with a breeder from Louisville but he'd already had another copy of this one made so he just hung it....where the other one went? No idea. Jack just smiled and I assumed he'd cover that problem of the two girls if we ever needed to. Jones did not entertain and, pretty much as we'd been told he never came to town. In the event he did...well, Mom could always be out being cleaned or reframed or whatever.
In fact, Jones was an excellent host, his most personal room, really a gents bar and card room, was where you could tell he lived most of his life. The rest of the place? He'd inherited it and kept it as it was the day the deed passed to him. With a few improvements. I'm not sure I could define a sexual addict but he came very close. We were encouraged to 'get comfortable' which to him meant strip. We did. He then offered us our choice of seats at the bar; Each stool had a screw onto which any number of things could be attached ranging from plain dildos of many sizes and shapes to stark impalers  that went deep and, in other societies, would have been used as punishment. The latter was his choice and, to be social and prove a point, I asked for one as well.
Jones smiled and suggested that he and I work at finding one best suited to my ass....did I want volume? Length? Pain? And if Pain, how much? Along with that, if I wanted, I could have my legs drawn down and chained to the floor, the seat could be raised so I could be stretched to whatever degree....I had an idea that I thought would pay out. As a guest, rather like offering to let a chef cook the meat the way he thought it best, why didn't Jones make all those selections for me....? His voice dropped to a sort of growl, said he knew how best I'd like it, he could see in me something of the connoisseur of pain that he was and...maybe...I'd like to find out what a cock and an impaler felt like together; He would hope I'd return the courtesy. And....clips? He had a gold pair made with teeth for the nipples. Accepted. But, I asked, wasn't there something....interesting as well, perhaps....well he knew what we wanted. Sorry about the cock and balls, perhaps by summer.
I could see Jack's face reflected in the mirror over the bar. Whatever I was doing was not what he'd expected; Offering us the privacy he sensed we'd like, he excused himself to see if Williams had us unpacked. From the look on Jones face his absence, for whatever reason was fine as it gave him and his new playmate more time to become closer.
As he slipped his arms around me to put the clips in my nipples he said, “Jack failed to mention he was bringing a stallion, I remembered only a colt...but you....”
As he secured my ankles to the floor he raised the seat pushing the edged impaler deeper into me. It was cleverly made in that it had a slot on one side just enough to allow something else, a cock for example, to be pushed up if some effort was made. I had never felt like this, the pain, the heat, the sweat, his cock threading its way up my ass...he took my hands and cuffed them to the stool then gave in to himself and thrust as hard as he knew how....I could have screamed but didn't, I was too full of pain and pleasure and desire for whatever more he knew how to do. For now, and for a long time, we were just there, two men attached in the basest way, one crying because it had been so long, the other crying because it was the first time, the discovery of my core of desire. I knew what the days ahead might bring and now....the only consideration was how much more could be done? I'm not sure Jones knew anything save this was what he'd long imagined, a young stallion, willing to take him, willing to give himself over to whatever he wanted, a young stallion that he could not break but would salivate with pleasure at trying.
When the sun went down we finally released each other. The impaler was covered with his sperm and my blood, my neck with the marks of his teeth, my nipples almost removed from the clips but now...what he'd long wanted, someone to do to him what he'd shown them how to do. Perhaps he had found a stallion, one who would fight him, fuck him, hurt him and perhaps even love him. In the dim he whispered thing, perverted things, dangerous things to which I only took his tongue in my teeth while my head nodded assent and left marks on his palate.
I slept with Jones that night, both of us cuffed to the other. He also,  I found, had a peaceful side-usual with someone as deeply involved in pain-as I was becoming. Our night was filled with kisses and promises and, finally, a deep sleep, two stallions accepting one another able to be in the same box without murder on their minds.
He woke me with a giant fuck, one he did quickly and violently and while he worked my tail, his hands ran over my body, caressing my breasts, my lips, promising adoration with pain and exotic pleasure if only I'd agree...I told him that my gift to him was today and, if he was satisfied with it, we might talk but he knew that whatever we found in each other....I would go back. He offered to buy me from Jack; I grabbed him, laughed, kissed him and said that Jack had no right of sale....I could be given, I could give myself to him but what did he want with me? There were other stallions, I was certain he had them come to his corral...I was new and interesting....but he countered that my immediate acceptance of what he loved was exceptional.....Please, think...

Later in the day we all met at the barn where the rest of the day was to be held. Only one thing was missing but missing only in the sense that it hadn't been brought round to find that the judge and jury were assembled and the verdict and the consequences already agreed upon.

For Phillippe, there was to be no mercy, no clemency, no reprieve just the events of the afternoon and then a long train ride.