First and Only

Retrieving his glass of wine from the counter between the kitchen and the dining area, Philip started to make a survey of the room. He was still wearing just the open dress shirt Steve had sketched him in. His first stop was at the easel where Steve had been working. He had to admit that Steve had a great deal of artistic talent and had captured him—flattered him even—with a minimum of strokes of the charcoal. If anything, the artist had been generous with the hang of his cock. The sketch was sexy and arousing in its own right. The artist had a talent for focusing on the physical aspects of sex without losing the features that made the individual recognizable.

That led Philip to pay more attention to the rest of the room. He had been so focused on being fucked when he'd come into the apartment that he hadn't paid much attention to the furnishings and decor.

The furniture was spare but obviously of high quality. And the walls were covered with other charcoal sketches—all of other young men, like him. But there many different men were depicted. Gorgeous young men. And the sketches seemed to come in pairs for each of the young men, one an artistic pose like Steve just had done of him, and a second one of the young man in dishabille, sometimes entwined in sheets and other times just a heap on the floor. These, though, were just as sexy looking as the formally posed ones, maybe more so because of the sense—almost a smell—that came off of them of musky sex. And there was a quality about them that made Philip feel exhausted, spent and just a bit apprehensive. They made him conscious of a catch in his breath.

These young men had been sketched after being fucked totally. Fucked by Steve. Maybe fucked again after a quick sketch was done.

At one point, while standing and looking at one of these sketches, Philip had to put his wine glass down on a table, he was trembling so much. The young man looked like he had been fucked to within an inch of his life—and yet there was a sublime, if exhausted, smile on his face as if he would volunteer to die that way given another chance. What, Philip wondered, about the sketch led him to think of the fuck as having been cruel and totally taxing? Then he thought he saw it. The sketch of the young man was from his feet looking up his torso to a face of blissful exhaustion. The view was between spread and bent legs. His hole was gaping, not yet closed, sketched immediately after the cock's withdrawal. And he had been reamed extraordinarily wide. Big splotches of cum still glistened on his belly. Philip looked up and down the walls, suddenly concerned whether there had been another chance at this heaven for that young man. But he saw no more sketches of him.

He moved into the bedroom. There he found a large-sized platform bed and more sketches on the walls. Look as he might, though, Philip couldn't find any more than just those two sketches of each of the subjects. It was almost scary. In each instance the second sketch gave off the vibe that the young man had just been taxed to the limit—but would beg for more, given the opportunity. More gaping holes, more prodigious globs of cum. And yet there was no evidence there had been further sketches of any of them. It was disturbing to Philip. When—no, if—Steve got around to fucking him, would it be satisfying and a memorable experience encouraging more encounters with more men, or would he become a sex slave to a single man who showed him what sexual divinity was but who left him incapable of being satisfied by any other man? His mind kept going back to the length and thickness of that cock and to the evidence that Steve would be a cruel and expert lover.

And to those gaping bung holes after Steve had reamed them.

He shivered at the realization that he loved the idea of such an encounter, and scaring him at the prospect that it would ruin him for full pleasure from other men.

He obliquely broached his concern with Steve while they were perched at the kitchen counter and eating their omelets.

"What's in this omelet?" Philip asked.

"Left to right."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning I stood at the refrigerator and took what seemed to fit from left to right. Luckily I found eggs."

"Ah. Well, it isn't bad."

"Most any food isn't bad after sex," Steve said. "And before more sex."

"Speaking of sex. All those sketches on the walls. Those all guys you've brought here and fucked?"

"Yes. You should see the walls on my house in Brisbane."

"But you fucked them, right? It was you who put them in the condition of those second sketches?" These were questions Philip really wanted to ask. Not just had Steve been the one to ream them that way but also was he really a top? It was disturbing that he hadn't fucked Philip yet. Why had it been Steve on his cock? Everything else but the reality so far pointed to Steve being a piledriver. Was this just a mad game? Was some mad rapist confederate lurking around in the shadows somewhere? Someone physically repulsive?

"The evening is young. Eat your omelet. It will give you strength."

"There are only two sketches of each. Were they drawn on the same day?"

"Yes."

"But only the two?"

"I should have warned you. I'm a first and only sort of guy," Steve said. "It seemed from how much you were on the make for casual sex at the bookstore that you'd be cool with that. I just do a guy the one day. But I totally do the guy."

"Was I that obvious at the bookstore?"

"Sure were. And you're that obvious now. You want me to fuck you right now, don't you? You want me to prove that I can fuck your brains out. Even though what we just did was great at the time, you won't be satisfied until it's me plowing you. Until I ream you a wider one."

"Yes," Philip admitted.

"Sorry. It's on my schedule. At my whim. If you weren't showing you wanted it so bad at the bookstore, I probably would have just moved on."

"Really?" Philip asked, surprised.

Steve took a minute. "OK, not really. I really did want to sketch you. And not just the first one. I want to sketch the second one. And I think you're going to be a real nice lay when we get there. But more than just this once? I don't think so. When you fly away to L.A. in that Delta jet of yours, this will just have been an interesting encounter—one from which you will be humming and can't close your legs when you walk down that airplane aisle. It will be interesting for me; I hope it will be interesting for you too."

"That's it? I don't even get my own version of the sketch?"

"No. I got my rules. I sorta broke them for you, but you have such a great look. And your cock did me good too. I don't really know yet if you're a good lay."

"You broke the rules for me?"

"I don't knowingly do rent boys. I like them fresh or gently used."

"And do they stay gently used?"

"No. I fuck them silly and ream them a wider rectum and colon. I like to stretch their canals myself. You've seen some of these sketches. You can figure that out yourself."

"I'm not sure. I think you were generous with my cock in the sketch you just did of me."

"You measure yourself short, then. Pun intended. I sketch with integrity. Even in the 'second' sketches. I sketch what's there to see. I saw you looking real close at some of them. Does that scare you?"

"Yes, a little." Which was a lie. It scared Philip more than a little. But it aroused him even more. He was already hard. He felt his juices stirring.

"Good. It's supposed to."

"Do you always talk to your men so openly about this on that one day—the day you sketch and do them? They can't all want to hear you are going to ream them wider. Although when they see you naked, they must realize that's going to be the case."

"No. You're the first one I've gone this far with in what I say. I stop when I sense they can't take any more of the truth. But I do them just the same. You are different from the others. Maybe it's because you are a rent boy. I have sensed from the beginning that you want this—all of this. But it isn't all I want. There is fear in their eyes before I stop telling them what is happening and why. I need that and look for that. I haven't seen that in your eyes yet."

"And you think you can't do that with me—ream me a wider one? Master me totally in that way? I'm an escort, not a rent boy, I'll repeat. I think there's a significant difference in fee structure and services. I make entirely too much from it to be called a rent boy."

"I'm gonna make you cry, Mate. It's in the rules. I don't know about stretching your rectum and colon, though. And that's why I should really be doing this by my rules. Reaming fresh channels is the thrill for me. I want them tight and to leave them big enough to drive a ute into. But I'll plumb you deeper than a fresher guy. We'll see how much you can take. No one has taken it all yet. I'm going to give it all to you whether or not you beg me to stop. Does this make you want to head for the door?"

Philip looked away and took a long drag on his wine. But he showed no inclination to head for the door.

"Ah, two hands on the wine glass, you're trembling so bad. I've reached you at last. And I bet you're ready to come right here and now. I bet you could come with me just telling you what I'm going to do to you."

"Yes," Philip whispered.

"Look at me."

Philip turned his head back toward Steve.

"I see it now. A trace of fear."

"Yes."

"Come to my bed now."

"Yes."

* * * *

Twenty minutes later, they were on the bed. Philip was on his back, and once again Steve was using Philip's cock. Steve was suspended over Philip's prone body like an upward-facing crab. His knees and elbows were bent and his head flopped back between Philip's feet. His buttocks were in motion, rising and falling on Philip's cock. Philip was groaning from an experience he didn't often have unless the man he was escorting was a lot older than Steve and with a lot less muscular body than Steve's. Steve had told him just to lay there and stay hard, which he was doing with the help of the Esculpta cock ring, and that Steve would do all of the work. Steve was showing that he could work Philip's cock expertly even in this position.

After ten or fifteen minutes in this position, Steve flattened his legs with them running beside Philip's torso and his feet beside Philip's legs. Steve's torso was still suspended over Philip's thighs and his fists were gripping Philip's ankles. He pistoned his ass back and forward on Philip's cock, and Philip gripped Steve's cock in two hands and stroked him, until, with a cry Philip filled the bulb of his condom.

Steve rose off him then and went across the room to his bureau where he'd put his glass of wine. He watched as Philip cooled down and regained his regular breathing. But when Philip rolled off the bed, stood, and started to walk toward his own wine glass, Steve set his down, walked swiftly toward Philip, picked him up and slammed him down on his back on the edge of the bed, stuffing a pillow under the small of Philip's back to raise his pelvis. Kneeling between Philip's spread legs, Steve's mouth went to Philip's balls and hole, which he attacked with slurping sounds, as Philip arched his back, began to breathe heavily again, and moaned to the ceiling.

It was coming, surely. Surely Steve would fuck him now. Philip was panting with short, ragged breaths, already filling out again. That cock would be inside him soon. He spread his legs as widely as he could in anticipation of what he'd have to take. He was frightened and exhilarated all at once.

Rolling the spent condom off Philip's cock, Steve deepthroated him while he started working lubricated fingers into Philip's hole. Then, standing and crowning his own cock, Steve muttered, "Here's the part where you cry." He reached down to Philip's cock and wound the Esculpta cock ring off its root and transferred it to his own staff. The lions' heads that had overlapped around the root of Philip's quite presentable cock didn't even meet when the cock ring was wrapped around Steve's root.

Philip groaned as the thick cock head pushed in beyond his rim. Steve pushed a little farther, while his hands held Philip's legs and extended them as wide and high as possible. And then he held. But only momentarily. Philip arched his back and did cry out, again and again, and was sobbing within minutes, as Steve thrust his thick cock deep in one long, wrenching motion and then started stroking hard and deep in long, thrusting strokes.

"Holy sweet jezuss," Steve muttered as Philip's channel sucked his cock in deep and Philip started causing his channel muscles to undulate over the thick cock. "You can take me deep, all the way. I don't think I've ever . . ."

Philip didn't have to be told he'd taken all of the cock. He could feel the lions' heads of the Esculpta cock ring rubbing against the rim of his hole. "Oh, daddy, oh, daddy, oh daddy, fuck me deep," he cried out in a monotonous litany as Steve, panting heavily himself, did just that.

"I've never. Oh damn, oh shit, you're good," Steve mumbled with a deep moan of his own. "What you do with those canal muscles . . ."

Steve drove Philip's body up onto the center of the bed with the pile-driving thrusts of his cock, ending up with his knees under Philip's buttocks, and Philip just laying there, spent, his arms akimbo and his head turned to the side, with his mouth yawning in a sloppy grin and creating bubbles and his body jerking slightly with each deep thrust of Steve's cock.

"Shit, you're beautiful like that," Steve muttered. And then he had pulled out of Philip and was gone for a few minutes. But he returned to exactly the same position inside Philip and raised a camera to his face and snapped off some shots of Philip's head and torso in well-fucked dishabille. All the time he continued stroking inside Philip's channel. Then he moved the focus of the camera down to where the lions' heads of the cock ring were rubbing against the rim of Philip's entrance as Steve stroked deep and fired off a few photos. "Still can't believe you're taking all of it," he muttered.

Philip dozed off momentarily soon after Steve had finished him, pulling his cock out, ripping off the Golden Ticket Magnum, and shooting off on Steve's belly in four prodigious ejaculations. His eyes opened to find Steve sitting on a kitchen stool, hovered over the foot of the bed, and his easel in front of him.

He was sketching the after being fucked silly visage of Philip, just like he'd done with all of the young conquests before Philip. Moaning, Philip flopped an arm over his face and tried to shut out the world. It had been a glorious fuck—all that he had hoped for. But it had worn him out.

"Yes, I like that better," Steve muttered, tearing off the sheet of art paper he had been sketching on and then starting all over with a new one. "Keep the arm over the face until I tell you you can move it. And spread your legs more, stuff the pillow back under the small of your back, and bend your legs, putting your feet flat on the mattress. Yes, like that. The widest hole yet, I think. All of it. You took it all."

Philip was asleep before he received permission to move.

In the dark of the night, awakening to discover that he had been stretched out beside Steve on the bed, he only had the briefest moment to think of that because Steve was pulling him up on all fours and mounting his hips and fucking him hard and deep again. He crouched over Philip close and murmured in his ear, "So tight and yet taking it so deep and expertly. Baby, I could fuck you forever."

"It's hard not being tight for a cock like yours," Philip murmured dreamily back. "Yes, there, just like that. Again and again. Oh shit. Oh FUCK! Oh god, you are the best. The very BEST!"

But when he woke in the morning, it was to find he was alone in the bed. Upon inspection, he realized that he was alone in the apartment as well.

This must be what first and only meant to Steve, he thought. So much for "I could fuck you forever." Use them and leave them—without a word of thanks or an assessment of how the other guy had done in the sack. Philip realized, though, that this was what was bothering him the most. Steve had leveled with him on what this was, and, as far as using, Philip had come out cruising looking to use another guy's cock. He hadn't been looking for anything more than a casual fuck. As ferocious as the fucking had been and as taxing as Steve's huge cock was, Philip had to admit that he had loved it. He had never taken a cock that long and thick before, and he felt a sense of accomplishment that he had now. He regretted that they hadn't barebacked. He'd felt the strong repeated release inside the condom when he'd been doggy fucked in the night, and he ached to feel the full flood of it inside him. Truth be known, he had wanted to wake in the morning with that cock working its way into him again—and he resented that it hadn't been there.

What was irritating him now was that Steve wasn't here to assure him that he hadn't been so complimentary on Philip's technique the previous night just to get the last ounce of passion out of him. He had said Philip had a good, hard cock himself, but he had said he'd have to assess how good a lay Philip was later. It was later now, and Steve had evaporated without comment. It wasn't good enough that Steve had told him he was a good lay in the heat of the fuck. Steve had been so detached and analytical before that. Philip wanted to hear Steve tell him he was the best when Steve was in his analytical mode.

The walls spoke of a legion of competitors and Philip was very much a competitor. He wanted to know how he stacked up with the competition. He'd made no bones about telling Steve he was the best. He wanted to hear the same from Steve.

The Esculpta cock ring lay on the dresser. Philip dressed, picked up and pocketed the cock ring as a souvenir of the experience, took the elevator down to Oxford Street, flagged a taxi back to the Grace hotel, stripped, and went straight to bed.

Later that afternoon, Philip heard a persistent knocking on his door. Slipping on a robe, he went to the door and opened it.

"Hello, I don't think we've ever met," Steve, leaning against the door frame, said. He was standing out in the corridor. Just in the gym shorts, athletic T, and flip-flops—no change from the bookshop or dressed any more formally than since that day, which was only the previous day, but seemed so much longer ago than that to Philip. Philip couldn't imagine how Steve had ever made it past reception. But then he'd been to this room in the same thing the previous day and had made it up here. That's how he knew where to come today.

"Of course we've met. You reamed me a new asshole last night. Just as you said you would, and I sobbed, just like you said I would. And then you left me."

"But it was a good sob wasn't it? And where did you go this morning? I went out to get us breakfast—there wasn't anything in the house to feed you. And when I got back you were gone."

"Breakfast? You were coming back?"

"Yes."

"I don't know if I believe you. You said it was in your rules. Just the one day. That was yesterday, not this morning. If you've come for your precious cock ring, stay right there. I'll get it for you."

Philip thought of telling Steve to remain in the corridor and to shut the door while he retrieved the ring, but Steve already had moved inside the room. He stood just inside the open door, though.

"I'm sorry, I don't know what you're talking about," he said. "We've never met before."

Philip was incensed by the mocking smile on the man's face. Was there no end to the power games he played? "Of course we have. We've—"

"Shush," Steve hissed. "Go with me here. There are rules to this. I'm a first and only guy. I want you again. I want to fuck you again and again. But I have rules. I've got to have never met you before. I can't breach too many rules too quickly. But before we agree that this next fuck will be the first and only again—I hope to be followed by the next first and only—I wanted to give you this. I have my two sketches the rules tell me that I must have. This is a third. I've never done this before. I hope you appreciate what that means."