Death on the Rhine

Ralf took in Folsom's ejaculate in his mouth and, briefly, rose up Folsom's body and merged their lips, sharing the saltiness of Folsom's prodigious manhood. He then moved back down Folsom's torso with his moist lips, kissing his way back to the very center of Folsom, and licked his cock clean.

The two were panting, both keyed up, both wanting more. Ralf moved his encasing knees farther up Folsom's body again now, wrapping their cocks together with an encasing fist and stroking them together as he worked Folsom's nipples with his lips and teeth. Folsom murmured his approval and flung his arms around Ralf's head and held him close.

This wasn't the same Ralf who had ravished him earlier, the one who had bulled his way into Folsom's cabin and thrust inside him and pumped him hard with no preparation. Folsom liked both versions of Ralf. This is what Brad had done for him too—gauged his mood and been either lover or rapist as Folsom signaled he wanted at the moment.

Ralf was sitting saddled on Folsom's chest now, handling his rising cock with his hand. Stroking Folsom's neck and chin and cheeks and lips with his cock. And then laying his mushroom cap on Folsom's closed lips. Folsom opened his mouth to Ralf's nicely hung manhood, and Ralf slowly entered him and tested all angles of the warm cavern being offered to him. Folsom's eyes were closed. He was savoring the gentle, yet insistence approach. Ralf rotated his hips, hitting all of the inner walls with his mushroom cap and then slowly, slowly, yet relentlessly, he started to pump Folsom's inner spaces with his engorging cock. Stronger and deeper and ever more rapidly he pumped. Folsom had no trouble accommodating him and matching his rhythm, at least at the beginning. But then Ralf had Folsom's head in his hand and he was face fucking him with more intensity. Folsom started to gag, but he was loving this. He loved being dominated and forced to the edges of endurance.

He opened his eyes. And then the shock set in. Sudden realization. Anger and terror hitting him at the same instant. He bit down hard and the blond hunk yelped and jerked his cock out of Folsom's mouth. Folsom bucked his body up, lurching away from the other man, trying to escape him. But his assailant was quick to recover. He kneed Folsom in the lower belly, knocking the wind out of him and socked him hard in the jaw, stunning and immobilizing the American long enough for him to reach his briefcase and take out leather thongs and tie Folsom's wrists off at the headboard.

When he had opened his eyes, Folsom had seen that there was no scorpion tattoo on the man's groin. This wasn't Ralf. This was Sten.

Sten gave him a wicked smile as he extracted a mouth plug and popped it into Folsom's mouth, the American still stunned by the body and cheek blows. He then tied the plug off. Folsom wouldn't be doing any talking or yelling.

After that, he took a condom out of his briefcase and rolled it on his engorged cock. He moved to between Folsom's legs, spread them wide, thrust inside the American detective's ass, and fucked him hard to a finish.

The fucking went on endlessly, and Folsom began to take hope that the police would show up before Sten could do him any real harm. But then he realized. Sten hadn't called the police at all. And Roman probably hadn't confessed to anything. And the police were probably still searching for Folsom as a suspect in the murders of Meister and Dieter—and now probably Tiho as well.

Sten arched his back and his muscles tensed and he gave a little cry as he unloaded inside the condom inside Folsom. Folsom gave a little prayer that this condom was as weak as the one Meister had used on Brad and that this at least would leave DNA that could be traced back to Sten.

Sten was off the bed now and fumbling around in his briefcase. He came up with a rectangular box, from which he extracted several sounding wands.

Folsom strained at the bonds on his arms and flailed his legs.

But Sten just laughed. "You know what will happen if you don't hold perfectly still for this, don't you? These tubes will tear your cock apart from the inside. If that's what you want, keep throwing those legs around. If not, you'll want to hold very, very still."

Folsom went very still, and Sten sat down on the end of the bed, Folsom's left leg stretching behind his buttocks and his right leg spread wide.

Folsom tensed and began to sweat as the first, small wand was poised at his piss slit and then slowly, ever so slowly, worked in and up his urethra channel. Folsom gurgled in surprise at the invasion. It didn't feel half bad, although he made him want to piss. Sten swirled the wand slowly inside the passage and Folsom arched his back. He wanted to move his body, to writhe away from the wand, but he had to be careful to keep his pelvis perfectly still.

Sten slowly pulled the wand out and Folsom sighed in relief. But only momentarily, because Sten had a larger wand in his hand and was pushing it into Folsom's piss slit. Folsom growled his indignation, wanting to scream instead. Sten laughed and started to move the wand in and out, fucking Folsom's cock.

This was too much for Folsom. When Sten pulled the wand out of Folsom's cock, Folsom shot his seed strongly and profusely.

This turned Sten on and he was pulling on his cock. he stood and sheathed his cock with another condom and then pulled Folsom's butt to the edge of the bed and thrust inside him again. Folsom grunted. Then he began to whimper as Sten pulled a thick wand out of the rectangular box and, after burying his cock to the root inside Folsom, began to run the tube deep into Folsom's cock. Folsom realized that this, exactly, was how Brad, Meister, and Dieter had been found, and he had no illusions about what Sten had planned for him.

When Sten had finished fucking Folsom a second time, he withdrew, leaving the thick sounding wand buried and reached into his bag of tricks again. This time he came out with more leather thongs and tied Folsom's ankles off to the corners of the bed at the footboard. Another dive into the bag and out came an incredible thick and long dildo.

He was feeding this slowly into Folsom's ass, and Folsom couldn't help himself this time; he was writhing and bucking his body against the mammoth object moving up inside him. He knew he was just moments from being torn apart.

Sten stopped with this torture, however, and went back to his briefcase. This time he took out a nasty-looking hunting knife. There was blood on the blade. No doubt Tiho's blood.

Sten laid the knife on the bed between Folsom's legs and went back to rotating and pushing on the giant dildo.

Folsom felt himself slipping away. The fuck was extraordinary, and, except for the probability that Sten would get away scot-free, Folsom felt he was ready to go. He was going delirious, seeing and feeling himself floating on a wave of never-ending ejaculation. So this was what death was about. In the distance between the clouds, he thought he could see figures. He willed them to come closer. He willed for one of them to be Brad, for Brad to be beckoning to him, to be inviting him to cross over. The figures held off, though, hovering at the near distance. Folsom was moaning deeply, his own moaning coming back at him as if in an echo chamber. The dildo was pushing, rotating relentlessly, filling, stretching, to and beyond his limits. . . . Sunlight flashing on the blade of a knife, now held over Folsom's quivering belly, moving to the point of release. . . .