The Hunt, the Hunters, and the Hunted
The cocktail hour in the large living room at Ravensworth would have been overwhelming for Matt if Perry had not stayed close to him and been adept at including him in the various small chit-chat discussions just enough to make Matt feel like he was part of the discussion. Perry obviously was a favorite among this sophisticated, horsy crowd of eccentric and quite evidently very wealthy people. Very few there were as young as Matt and Perry, but more than a few, both male and female, made little effort to hide that they were the predatory types and were much interested in Perry—and nearly as much so in the blond, clean-cut, male model type he'd brought with him.
They were all too much in the know about Perry and his proclivities not to assume the same ones for Matt. This didn't keep the cougar-type women swirling around in the living room, their wine glasses in hand, from lavishing whatever charms they had on either or both of the young men, however.
The men in the room, all obviously power magnates, talked politics and business and laughed boisterously, and the women twittered around them, gossiping about whoever wasn't in the small group they then were in.
When Thomas opened the double pocket doors to the equally large dining room with its table seating twenty-two, Matt could hardly suppress his gasp at the richness of the silver, china, crystal, and lit candelabras cascading down the table.
During the meal, Matt also couldn't help but notice that he was under scrutiny by a gaunt-looking but handsome and commanding-looking older man with bushy gray hair and thick eyebrows—and a piercing gaze from pale blue eyes—who was sitting at William Henry's right hand at one end of the table.
"The judge. Archibald Atherton himself," Perry leaned over and whispered to Matt.
"Which one?" Matt asked, not being aware that he had revealed he knew he was under scrutiny from several different people at the table.
"The man at the end of the table who's looking at you like he'd like to eat you up. I can see the jealousy all over his face that the Fitzhughs have gotten to you first."
"You mean—?"
"Yes, I'm quite sure he would like to fuck you. But possession is nine-tenths of the law, don't they say? I paid for the tux you're wearing."
Matt could have taken affront at that—except that it was true, that he'd become accustomed to Perry speaking so baldly, and because he was content to let it continue. He was content that he could be bought with the promise of living the good life.
Matt didn't have an opportunity to meet the judge after dinner. Not long after the elaborate meal ended near 11:00 p.m., the guests started to leave. This was the dinner on the night before one of the biggest fox hunts of the season. That would start promptly at 9:00 a.m. the next morning. The hunt was taken very seriously in this region, so many of the guests would go straight to bed from the dinner table.
Perry and Matt certainly did that. They were among the first to leave. Matt had had quite enough to drink of William Henry's expensive liquor and wine and Perry nearly had to carry him up the stairs. When they got to Matt's room, Perry pushed Matt down on the bed with the weight of his body and fucked him while they were still clothed. Their tuxedo jackets were tossed aside, but Perry lay on top of Matt and they squirmed around, kissing and unzipping, freeing, and hand-stroking each other's cocks.
Perry bounded off the bed and pulled the top drawer open of one of the nightstands.
"Aha, victory," he cried out, as he held a condom packet up in one hand and a silver letter opener in the shape of a nasty dagger in the other.
"What—?" was as much as Matt could get out before Perry turned him on his belly and was slitting open the buttocks of Matt's tux trousers and his sheer silk briefs and fingering loose his entrance as Matt squirmed and moaned.
"You're mad. What are you doing?" Matt cried out. "This tux has got to have cost—"
"What does it feel like I'm doing?" Perry said with another laugh. "You'll find two more tuxes like this in the closet."
What he was doing was covering Matt close on the bed and working his cock into Matt's channel, both of them still at least partially in their tuxedos, although Matt had popped out the links holding the front of Matt's tux shirt together and was cupping Matt's pecs. With little gasps and greater groans, Matt widened the stance of his legs in an effort to better accommodate Perry's cock, and settled in for a wild fuck.
They undressed each other after that and settled into each other's arms, kissing and chortling over how hedonist they had been.
In the night, Perry turned Matt on his belly again, his body stretched out full length, and began to slowly ride his ass. Matt was so taken up with the fuck that he didn't hear the door open between his room and the one on the front corner of the house. He did, however, feel Perry withdraw and roll off to the side, and a heavier weight cover him close on top of his body. The man was hairy and thicker of both body and cock than Perry was. And he was breathing heavily through his nose at the effort to bury his cock in Matt's channel. Matt squirmed under him, trying to push him off and to pull out from underneath him, but the man—undoubtedly William Henry—put Matt into a full Nelson, and once he had buried his cock and was starting to plow the channel, there wasn't much reason to fight.
As soon as Matt had settled down, he felt Perry, who was still stretched out beside him, move an arm under Matt's midsection and coax him to raise up on his knees. William Henry raised with them, releasing Matt from the choke hold and moving to a standing crouch over Matt's hips to give him deeper penetration. Perry moved his face to Matt's and took his lips in a deep kiss. One of his hands moved to encase Matt's dangling cock, hardening him up and milking him.
When William Henry rolled off of Matt, it was only to push his knees under Perry's buttocks, to turn Perry on his back, and to enter Perry's channel with his cock to finish his fuck there. Then the older man collapsed into a close embrace with Perry and they kissed.
Matt lay there, stretched out beside them, still moaning at the thickness and strength of the older man, and watching the two—father and son—making love to each other.
They all dozed off for a brief time, but Matt was awakened by William Henry, now standing on the floor next to the bed, gathering up his body and carrying him into the other bedroom. He pushed Matt down onto the surface of the bed on the small of his back, grabbed his ankles and wishboned them, thrust inside him, and began a long and deep fuck.
When William Henry was finished, he released Matt's ankles and stumbled to his bathroom, turned on the light, and shut the door.
Whimpering, Matt rolled off the bed and started to struggle back into his own room. But his advance was arrested by a peculiar sight. On the wall of the bedroom, the wall shared with Matt's bathroom, Matt, strangely enough, saw that he could look into his own bathroom, where the light was on—and then, through the open door into his own bedroom. He could clearly see the bed. Perry was still there, on the bed, stretched out and watching the door to the other bedroom. What Matt had thought was a mirror over his bathtub was really a one-way mirror. William Henry could have—and probably did—see Perry fucking him in the bathtub earlier in the day and on the bed in his room just now before William Henry took over the stroking.
The shock of the bedroom setup, and what it meant, having passed, Matt started to return to his own room, but William Henry was behind him and had grabbed his waist in his hands.
"Bend over, spread your legs, and open to me," the older man growled. Cowed, Matt did as commanded with a whimper, and William Henry slammed his cock up inside Matt's channel again and began pumping with a steady rhythm, occasionally taking a hand off his waist to slap his buttocks.
"I . . . I . . . don't understand," Matt murmured when the older man was finished again, told him he could leave, and Matt had returned to Perry in the other room. As William Henry directed, Matt didn't bother to close the door between the two bedrooms. While he was being fucked standing up he'd had time to see that there were monitors on the wall of the bedroom that had cameras directly trained on the bed in the other room. William Henry was going to observe whatever he wanted to see in that room.
"He fucks good, doesn't he?" Perry said, with a smile. "Come back to bed. There's not much time for sleep, so we'll concentrate on that. I know it's been a shock. I'll hold you."
"He's . . . he's your father," Matt managed in an almost plaintive whine. He was moving back and forth, in place, looking over his shoulder, half in fear that William Henry would reappear and carry him back into his bedroom, where he would . . . yes, Matt had to admit it . . . give him a thoroughly enjoyable fucking. He was rougher than Perry was. He didn't want to come any closer to the bed either. But he didn't see what it would gain him to make a dash for the hallway. He was stuck here. And all the time he was worrying about an escape, his mind was reminding him of the opulence he would be escaping from. The struggle immobilized him.
"No, he's not my father in any biological sense. You can see that for yourself. We don't look anything alike. I was eighteen already when he asked my mother to marry him. I think he only asked her because I had already seduced him—yes, for his money. But adopting me that late in life I don't think counts as anything like incest; we are in no way related and he didn't bring me up. Come back to bed. What's done is done. And I'm betting you enjoyed it and will be ready to do it again."
"Again? I . . . certainly . . . don't think so. Just so that he can watch? Is that what this is all about? Are you your father's pimp? You were so anxious for me to come here for this weekend."
