Fan Male Ch. 04

The computer screen was where they both could see it. Marcus had brought up one of his favorite fisting stories that Sandman--Kit--had written.

"Tell me, or I'll fist you," he growled.

Kit told him. He told him everything he knew about Toby Drake, his friend with the red Lexus, the friend who was a high-drawer escort with an agency under the name of Todd. The friend who would do almost anything for a man who paid for it. He told him how he knew Toby. He told him where Toby lived--what apartment house, what floor, what apartment number. He told him of Hardesty, the hard-assed cop, Toby's boyfriend and roommate who Marcus would want to avoid.

Marcus smiled, clicked on the link in the story on the screen to a gay male porn fisting video, and, as Kit, exclaiming at the realization that Marcus was going to fist him anyway, arched his back and then his head, glaring at the ceiling as his passage and Marcus's fist became one rocking machine, Marcus breached the young man's sphincter muscle with the heel of his hand, buried the well-greased hand to the wrist in the passage that had been fully prepared, and fist-fucked Kit in the rhythm of the fisting transpiring on the screen.

Begging for mercy that made Marcus laugh and wasn't granted--and that after a few minutes, as he accommodated the fist, Kit no longer wanted to avoid--the young man writhed and cried out in pain, ecstasy, and passion. "Oh, fuck. Oh, shit! FUUCCK!"

Marcus hadn't gagged him this time, wanting to hear the young man's response to the fist. But as the fuck extended, it not-so-subtly transitioned, with Marcus holding the fist steady in Kit's throbbing but expanding passage and just flexing the knuckles of the fingers rhythmically as Kit took over moving on the hand, fucking himself on the fist. In awe himself now of Kit's total surrender to the fist and to him, Marcus held steady, gazing down at the beautiful, lithe body under him languidly moving in the smooth undulation of a fist dancer as Kit rose and fell on the buried hand.

"Yes, YES! I never knew it could be like this. Yesss," Kit now exclaimed, breaking the spell, and shot his load.

The scene was ending on the screen with far less sensual results than were being achieved in the room. Marcus slowly withdrew his hand, rolled over on top of Kit, and thrust his thick cock inside the now-gaping channel, now easily able to take his thickness. He pumped hard and fast and Kit went with him, wrapping his legs around Marcus's buttocks to hold him in close, and meeting the thrusts of the cock with counterthrusts of his hips. Crying out, "Yes, yes, YES," Kit moved his legs, hugging Marcus's hips with his knees and rocking with the fuck. "Fuck me! Fuck me! Screw me!" he exclaimed.

Just to see what he would do, Marcus reached up and released Kit's wrists from the headboard. He laughed, as Kit rolled them both, moving Marcus to his back and, saddled on Marcus's pelvis, with the palms of his hands pressed into the man's pecs and Marcus grasping the young man's waist between his hands, Kit fucked himself on the buried cock in a voluntary cowboy position.

Marcus's prodigious ejaculation was very satisfying to him, not the least because he had tamed the prisoner. Kit had surrendered to him. Game over, though. He had no interest in young men beyond having tamed them. In this case, he had also gotten the information he wanted out of this one.

* * * *

The Washington, D.C., vice unit called out all hands to set up at Freddie's Beach Bar in Crystal City, where the false e-mail Larry had sent to Ian Marcus's "Danny" account told him to meet Sandman in an hour. No sighting of the white Dodge Ram double-cab truck with the Maryland plates had been made, but everyone sitting in the bar they had closed down or out on the street, stationed in all directions three blocks out from the bar were alerted to the truck and to the description of Marcus himself.

All they had to do now was sit tight and wait for the fly to enter the web. Hardesty had called Toby, finding him at Paul's apartment, where he, Paul, and Angelique were watching dirty movies and fucking, Toby and Angelique making the most of Paul's ever-ready ten-inch pole. Hardesty told Toby to stay put there until told otherwise. He sent a photo of Ian Marcus to Toby's cellphone as a guy to watch out for and stay away from. Angelique looked at the photo and confirmed it was the guy who she'd had an encounter with.

Meanwhile, across the river, a blue Camry rolled up to the front of the National Gallery of Art on the Washington Mall. Marcus had found the keys to the car the owners of the house had left there and was driving that on this particular trip rather than his truck. It wasn't that he had a premonition that the truck had been made and was being sought. For the second half of his outing, he had the need for a closed trunk.

"You can get out here," Marcus growled.

"Here? You're letting me free?" Kit asked. The young man was flabbergasted. "So, what was that all about? You just wanted to break me, to make me want what you were doing to me?"

"You do want it, don't you?"

Kit paused, but it let the truth emerge from him. "Yes."

"And you want it from me."

"Yes."

"I'm done with you. You've given me what I want. You can get out of the car now. I have more important fish to fry."

"I didn't do good? You don't want it from me."

"You did fine. That's why I've brought you back and am letting you off." He didn't go so far as saying "letting you live," but that's essentially what he meant.

"I can give you more of what you want," Kit said. "I've written about other kinky sex stuff. You can do it all to me."

The two weren't on the same wavelength of what Marcus wanted. Kit assumed it was kinky sex keyed to the stories he wrote. Marcus, while not rejecting kinky sex to the stories Kit wrote, was talking about information. Kit had told him who Toby was. He'd told him where Toby could be found. That's what he mostly had wanted from Kit. The kinky sex was a means to get there.

"I told you, I'm done with you. You can get out of the car, Sandman. I want you to write more stories. I want to continue to read your stories."

Kit didn't understand what a reprieve this was and how sincerely Marcus wanted him to continue writing the Sandman stories. Kit had no idea what Marcus had done to Jason Jarvis and had almost done to Ted Franklin to get at the small, platinum blond his was pursuing. Kit was being given a reprieve to live when others Marcus had tortured for information hadn't been.

"Get out of the car, Sandman."

Confused and in a daze, Kit opened the car door and got out. Marcus drove off. Kit stood there for a moment, looking around. The area was almost deserted. There's no reason why it wouldn't be. All of the government buildings were closed down for the night. Marcus hadn't left him with his cellphone or even any money. The only means Kit had of getting home was walking.

He had started to walk when a BMW coupe pulled over beside him.

"Can I give you a lift?" a man, maybe in his forties, but expensively dressed and good looking said, leaning over and looking out of the passenger door. "Where you headed?"

"You going in the direction of Dupont Circle?" Kit asked.

"I can be. Get in."

When Kit had gotten into the car, the car sat there, idling. "What were you really doing just standing out here on the Mall after everything was closing down?" the man asked. "Didn't I see you at a party up on the Potomac Palisades a week or so ago--at Jason Jarvis's place? But I thought you were a redhead then. Maybe I was thinking of another guy. But I do remember seeing you at that party."

"Maybe. I've been there," Kit said. And he'd been a party boy there, going up to the bedrooms when a guest asked him to--that being what he'd been paid to do at the party. So, this guy knew he gave blow jobs and probably that he took cock too. He didn't have a ready answer, though. "Just walking around," he said. He knew that was lame. Then he added, "I'm not dealing drugs or anything."

"It's not drugs I'm interested in," the man said. He put a hand on Kit's leg, just above the knee, and squeezed. "I think you're in some other kind of business, blondie, and I'm a buyer. I can drive you over to Dupont Circle if you want--and if you give me something first. You aren't in a hurry to get over there, are you? You're going over to earn some money on your back, aren't you? You can do that with me for the ride over there."

Kit touched his hair. He'd forgotten that Marcus had dyed his hair peroxide blond. He had to admit that it made him look like a street hooker.

The man fucked him on the bed in Room 226 of the Alexander Hotel. He lay on top of Kit, his knees between Kit's spread thighs and one arm under Kit's waist, holding the young man's pelvis up for a "best" thrust angle and with Kit's torso streaming down to the sheets. Kit stretched his arms out in a sacrificial pose and let the man penetrate and stroke him with a reasonable-sized cock. There was nothing sensational about the man's fucking. But after what the guy who'd kidnapped him had done, everything else would seem a little dull. The man had a dick, though, he could get it hard, and he had it inside Kit.

A wad of hundred-dollar bills on the dresser in the room gave the man all of the missionary-position access he wanted--or any other position he might want too. Kit rather hoped for something exotic he could include in a story. He'd already filed away the approach scenario to include in one. The Alexander was close to his apartment. He could walk home from here easily.

Feeling his sap rise, Kit clutched the man's shoulder blades with his fingernails, set his hips into a rocking motion, going with the rhythm of the fuck. He cried out, "Fuck, yes. Fuck me. Give it to me! I'm gonna come. Now. Now. NOW!" and the two came nearly together.

"Knew it, the man growled. Knew you were a street whore."

It was only after that, after they'd climaxed for the first time and the man continued to hold him in position, both of them concentrating on the man going flaccid and then, as Kit moved a hand between them and rolled the man's balls in his hand, eliciting a moan from the man and the start of a story in Sandman's brain, that something Marcus had said registered in his brain.

Marcus had said he had the information he needed now. What information was that? Kit shuddered and when stiff. He'd told Marcus what he wanted to hear about Toby before Marcus fisted him. The fisting had put that out of Kit's mind. He'd told Marcus everything, including where Toby lived--what apartment house he lived in, what floor, what apartment number. Kit pushed at the man on top of him. He needed to get to a phone and warn Toby that this crazy Marcus guy might be coming for him. But his body wasn't the only thing that had stiffened. The man on top of him was hard again and had started taking seconds.

"So, you want to play hard to get now, do you?" he growled.

He'd fucked conventionally--at least so far. He also was a lot stronger than Kit. He took Kit's pushing at him as sex play, as wanting it rougher, and he tightened his hold on Kit. Kit tried to roll out from underneath him and the man backhanded him across the mouth, snapping Kit's head back in surprise. Kit's eyes widened and he whimpered, thought of anything else forced out of his mind. The man slapped him again.

"Lay there and take it, whore boy," the man muttered, and, with a moan, Kit lay back on the bed and took it. The man fucked him harder and deeper this time.

God, he was good, Kit admitted to himself--better now that he was being rough. He was going deep, pounding, pounding, pounding. Kit grabbed the man's biceps. He was muscular. He was hung. He was a thug. He was fucking Kit good.

"Yes!" Kit cried out. "Fuckin A Yes!"

The man laughed. He turned Kit on the cock, Kit cheek and chest to sheets. He encircled Kit's waist with an arm, pulled the young man up on his knees, crouched over him, and rode him high like he was riding a horse.

"Yes, like that. Fuck me hard," Kit called out as he fell into the rhythm of the second coupling. He was such a slut for it. Toby floated up into his mind again. He'd just have to call his friend when this was finished. He no longer was anxious for it to finish. Kit clutched the man's undulating buttocks in his hands, holding him close in to Kit's pelvis and churned with his own hips. Riding, riding, riding.

* * * *

He was frotting our cocks again, and I was rising to the occasion, as was he. I anticipated another fucking, but here he began to surprise--and slightly concern me.

I watched our joined cocks as he fiddled with the head of his, changing the gold bead for something, still gold, but elongated, more of a probe, thin and some six inches long. I gulped and almost hyperventilated as he pressed some three inches of it into his urethra--his piss slit--leaving three inches extending from the head of his cock. When he was done, he allowed the foreskin to cover his glans again, with the end of the rod poking out and concentrated on mine. He moved his index finger around on the cock head, causing me to tremble and groan at the feel of the skin of his finger on the sensitive skin of my glans. I instinctively moved my rump back, trying to escape his grasp, but, muttering, "Trust me. Relax. You know you like this," he placed the palm of his other hand on the small of my back and held me there.

With a moan, I felt the sap rising in me and produced a film of precum, which he slathered around my cock head. He moved his free hand to the back of my head, dug his fingers into my blond curls, and pulled me in for a possessing kiss. Soon after the kisses started, I lurched and moaned as I felt his fingers performing rhythmic squeezing and releasing pulses on my cock bulb, causing my piss slit to open and burble precum. Still holding me captive, his pinky finger began to worry the slit, pressing it, digging inside it, flicking back inside it. I shot off a partial load.

I pulled away from the kiss and whimpered, "Oh, god, what--?"

"Shh, shh, little one. Trust me. Relax. Give yourself fully to me. You aren't fully surrendering yet."

What more could I do, I wondered.

I moaned as he pulled me back into the kiss and continued to pinky fuck my piss slit, bringing up more cum, which he slathered around on my cock head with the other fingers.

"Oh, shit. Oh, fuck!" I cried out to the empty landscape, as, pulling in closer to in front of me, his knees pressing between my thighs, pushing under my buttocks, bringing our groins together, mine rolled up, I felt him move the bulb of his cock to kiss the edge of mine. He initially didn't bring the cock heads head on because of that three inches of rod extending from his piss slit. Sensing what he intended to do, I tried to move, but he had me immobilized, my arms bound to the chair back and my ankles to the chair legs.

I moaned and whispered, "Don't to this."

His answering, "You will love it. We will become as one," didn't assuage me, but what could I do? I was his lover, the count's paid-for boy toy. I was his prisoner of love. I had pledged to trust him. I had agreed to let him do whatever he wanted with me in exchange for his patronage. I shuddered as he slowly pressed the three inches of rod extending from his piss slit inside my urethra canal, our cocks now docked to each other and joined by the probe inside my canal as well as his, invading and possessing me even more intimately than filling my ass with his cock. I felt his foreskin close over my glans. Grasping the two cocks together in one of his hands and gliding his other over my cheek, capturing and brushing away my leaking tears, the count began to stroke the two cocks together.

I felt the sap rising from deep in my balls. The count must have too, as he murmured, "Let us try to come together."

I was being fucked in a more intimate way that I ever had been before. We indeed had become one, in the most intimate way possible. I moaned and groaned--and shimmered--as he continued moving our docked cocks together, the rod sliding inside both of us, fucking us both as intimately as was possible.

Ian Marcus licked his lips in anticipation. He had brought up the Sandman stories on the laptop he'd found on the dining table in Hardesty and Toby's apartment. The laptop had been on and unlocked and he hauled it and a stool from the kitchen island over to beside the large ottoman in the living room where he had Toby trussed up on his back, naked, a ball gag in his mouth, and his wrists restrained to the bottom corners of one side and his wrists to the bottom corners of the other side. He'd been delighted to find that the ottoman was one of Toby's pieces of play equipment for when he entertained clients at the apartment.

This act of special sounding was what he'd been saving to try out with the small, platinum cutie when he tracked Toby down. He'd been equally delighted to find the box of sounding rods in Toby's bedroom.

Having reviewed the Sandman story he brought up, he clicked on the video that was linked with it. Toby stirred and tried to say something through the ball gag, but Marcus just laughed, selected and eight-inch-long thin wand and settled himself on the ottoman, running his legs under Toby's thighs. He was able to hold his and Toby's cock together in this position.

"Now, you'll want to hold real still for this," he said to Toby. "The last time I sounded a guy it didn't go very well. Of course it was dark and in the back of my truck. But he squirmed too much. For your own good, don't squirm too much. We want to have lots of play time here. There are lots of rods we want to try out."

Toby was moaning through the ball gag, but he knew as well as Marcus did that he would want to hold still for this. He knew that Marcus had botched the dancer from Freddie's Beach Bar, Ron Dunne, and sent him to the hospital. And, in contrast to the dancer, Toby had had this done to him before. As long as this maniac remained steady, Toby could handle this.

He groaned as he alternated watching Marcus pull the foreskin back on his cock head and slowly skewer his own piss slit with four inches of the thin rod. Marcus was panting. After he'd sounded his own cock, he turned his attention to the laptop screen to see that the big guy on the screen had done the same. Toby looked at the screen and groaned, seeing what came next. But he held still, as Marcus grasped his cock and held it with one hand as he put his own cockhead into position and slowly inserted the free end of the rod into Toby's urethra and moved the cockheads together, slowly skewering Toby's cock on the four inches of the rod that hadn't gone down Marcus's urethra.

The two cockheads kissing now, the two men joined by four inches of the same rod in each of their piss canals, Marcus loosely gripped the underside of the connected cocks and slowly masturbated them together, causing the eight-inch wand to slide back and forth in the two canals. Marcus panted and hummed as he worked. Toby moaned and did what he could to hold perfectly still.

"This is nice. This is the first time I've done this," Marcus murmured. "This is sexy. We have to try to come together I wonder how many ever-thicker rods we'll need before we come. You need to try to come with me." He parted the cockheads and pulled the thin rod out. He reached into the box and brought out the next thickest wand. Toby panted hard and groaned as this rod was buried in both cocks, they were brought together in a kiss, Marcus moved his foreskin to cover Toby's cut bulb as well as his own, and then slowly masturbated the two joined cocks, causing the thicker wand to slide back and forth in the channels of the two cocks, fucking them together. Toby moaned through the ball gag and tried not to shudder--tried to hold as steady as possible. Still, the mad man was right; this was sexy. Toby hadn't done this with a client before. Under other circumstances Toby would have enjoyed exploring this fetish sex act. This was probably as intimate as two men could get. If only this lunatic can do it right--doesn't mess us both up.