Ian Marcus had barely finished his tuna salad sandwich and Coke when he saw the red Lexus coupe pull out of the Crystal City apartment house garage and head west. He revved up the Dodge Ram and followed the car. Catching sight of the platinum blond hair of the driver, Marcus was sure that he was following his pretty little guy again--Sandman. It was sort of a headscratcher, though, why he'd been at the apartment for such a short time and who the redheaded hunk was he met in front of the building. Maybe this was the redhead's apartment, not the blond's and Ian hadn't run what he'd found to be an ideal punch to ground yet. The redhead looked as fuckable, in Marcus's special ways, as the blond did. But he wasn't blond. Maybe him too. But the blond first.
It had been a fluke that led him to the blond in the first place. He'd been in a bar near the Alexander Hotel, wondering what he'd do if the storyteller didn't respond to his e-mails, when he overheard two men talking at a table. A guy in Arab dress was being set up by another guy, a pimp of some sort, but one who was dressed like a banker. Marcus got the idea that this was a high-drawer sex setup. They were discussing the male whore the Arab was being set up with and the description of him the banker-type gave along with a description of what special things this blond trick would do for the Arab clicked with Marcus. The sex act described was one he'd recently read on the Sandman site.
"Yes, he'll be wearing red silk panties and bra," the pimp said. "Breath play is fine, yes."
And the description of the young man matched the one Sandman gave of himself. Marcus had followed them to the lobby of the Alexander Hotel and when the young blond whore showed up, Marcus decided he might be the one and stayed around and followed him afterward.
Toby Drake, in the red Lexus, didn't pick up on the renewed tail as he switched over to the George Washington Parkway before reaching the Pentagon and took the parkway up along the southern bank of the Potomac River. To save time and traffic, he'd take the parkway all the way out to the Capitol Beltway, take the Cabin John bridge on I-95 across the Potomac into Maryland, and then turn back toward D.C. to MacArthur Boulevard on the bluffs above the northern bank of the Potomac River. The cascades on the river below MacArthur Boulevard made D.C. and its earlier, incorporated, town of Georgetown the last navigable link on the Potomac to the Chesapeake Bay and then the Atlantic Ocean on the river. Rapids started at Great Falls, just above Georgetown. He wasn't monitoring the traffic behind him. He was thinking about the assignment he'd been called in to on short notice. It was a repeat client and a special one at that.
The defense industry lobbyist Jason Jarvis was in town, and he was horny--and he was horny in his special way that called for Toby, in particular, to assuage his lust. Assuage his lust for a big fee, of course.
Jason Jarvis didn't live permanently in the D.C. area, although his job lobbying congressmen brought him here frequently. He lived in Chicago. The house on MacArthur Boulevard wasn't his, either. It belonged to a consortium of firms with lobbyists wheedling at Congress in the firms' interests, and the house--a party house--was occupied by those coming into town by reservation. It wasn't a large house, but it was an expensive one, with winter views down to the river and the privacy sought by those accustomed to entertaining important people who didn't necessarily welcome being seen in the company of the lobbyists who virtually owned them. The bedrooms were big and well appointed--not just with toys but with well-hidden restraints as well.
If only those walls could talk.
Jarvis was a peculiar bird, sexually. He was a bald, robust, florid former professional football player in his early fifties. He was quite noticeably of significant size--in all proportions--and with fetish sexual tastes that dictated that he usually had to pay big fees to be satisfied. He had a special proclivity for small, androgynous, young and gorgeous platinum-blond men. He got off on stretching them to--and, if circumstances were right, beyond--the limit. The party house played no favorites. It was amenable to those of any sexual taste, and its services included, if needed, discreet removal services. Toby fit Jarvis's bill precisely while being able to take what the big man had, and thus Toby often was called in to do him service when he was in town.
Toby took a sharp left, without giving a turning signal, into the driveway. It rose sharply uphill beside the driveway of the house located in front of, and lower down on the hill than the more private home Jarvis had reserved. Both sat above the Potomac shore and the lower house was part of the compound, housing the crew that serviced the party house above.
Ian Marcus almost missed that the coupe had turned and overshot the driveway, spending considerable time finding a spot where he could park the truck and walk back and, as inconspicuously as possible, creep up through the bushes bordering the steep drive. He correctly assumed the lower house was part of the compound and was occupied and was careful to avoid being seen. He reached the house's parking apron, where the Lexus perched, as Toby was entering the house, and pulled back behind a tree until he determined the coast was clear. Then he started checking the house out for approaches and a place from which he might be able to see what was going on inside.
Jarvis met Toby at the door in a black silk robe and nothing else. His need was quite apparent, in his thick, upcurved erection peeking out of the division in the robe.
"Come in and upstairs. Want you to see the story that posted today," he said in a husky voice, laced with his need. Toby, starting to undo his clothes, followed the man upstairs. The call had said the man was in emergency need. Toby knew that he was revved up and ready to blow. There wouldn't be much in the way of foreplay, but the man was addicted to the stories appearing on a gay male porn Internet story site. He was hooked on stories by a writer named Sandman, who, since Jarvis had been engaging Toby's services, wrote about a rent-boy with Toby's characteristics who specialized in exotic fetishes.
"Come over here and look at this," Jarvis said in a tremulous voice as they entered an upstairs bedroom. A computer was on at a desk near the bed. Toby recognized the Web site setup and saw that a Sandman story was showing. He looked at the passage on the screen.
"It's a very delicate procedure," Brett whispered into Angelo's ear from behind. "It's incredibly sensual, but you have to hold perfectly still. The ultimate fuck. Being fucked in two holes at once. Come, sit on it, in my lap." The young Italian groaned as the older man pulled him onto his lap with one arm encircling the young man's waist and the other positioning his own erection for full penetration as the small blond descended into the American's lap and his passage yielded to the thick phallus.
As he struggled to accommodate the shaft inside him, Angelo looked down at what Bret held in one hand and shuddered. The fingers of one hand thrummed one of Angelo's nipples; the other held leather restraints.
"Are those necessary?" Angelo whimpered.
"You'll find you want them," Bret answered. "You must hold very still or you'll be ruined. And I want you to give yourself totally to me. You will be my captive prisoner. Your very life will be in my hands and at my disposal."
The young Italian was bound at his wrists, his arms flung up and the wrists bound behind Brit's neck, and at his ankles, his legs trapped behind Bret's closed legs. He was totally immobilized and stretched out on the American's muscular body. The fuck began, Bret grasping and squeezing Angelo's buttocks apart for maximum penetration and raising and lowering the young Italian on the sinking cock. When the depth of the possession was complete and Angelo was groaning the working of the shaft in his soft, yielding core, Bret held. He drew the young man's attention to what he now held in his hand. "The rods are called wands," the American whispered. "The sex act is called sounding. Have you ever seen--?"
