Men in Tuxedos

"Man, don't you ever give up?" Dave asked in exasperation, removing Zane's hand from his basket and rising from the sofa and moving over to a stool by the bar.

"No, Dave, I never give up. Not when there's something I want like I want you."

"I should have known when you brought me up here and offered me all of that fine liquor. You just wanted to get me drunk and have your way with me, didn't you?"

"Yes, that was the general idea," Zane said dryly, a smile of perseverance on his lips. "What's the problem? You don't find me attractive?"

"Yeah, you're plenty attractive all right, Zane," Dave said, with a glint of defiance in his eye. "And well you know it to. I just don't open my legs for anyone who says he wants me."

"You sure open them for Karl," Zane retorted, the smile just as sparkly as before.

"Karl's different," Dave said.

"Right. Karl has money and position and is a proper sugar daddy. Karl can get you some place. You know what that kind of arrangement is called, don't you?"

"Yeah, that's called good old American trade," Dave shot back. "Quality goods for quality services. And I see no reason for you or anyone else to look down your nose at it."

"Oh, I'm not," Zane answered calmly. "Believe me I've been there myself."

"Excuse me?" Dave said, surprised and intrigued now. "You of the Ivy League education and good Wall Street job?"

"Right," Zane responded, getting a glint of an opening here. Maybe if Dave saw him on equal footing he'd come across with what Zane was after. Maybe the evening wouldn't be yet another loss in this long-term battle to win Dave.

"So, what do you know of what a guy's got to do to make it in this town?" Dave challenged.

"I didn't come from money, Dave," Zane shot back. "I know it looks like I did from this apartment and from my education, but I earned my education on my back—just like you are doing with Karl."

"What do you mean?" Suddenly all of Dave's antennae were up. He was suddenly very interested in what Dave was saying.

"I put myself through school by working for a hard-core call boy service," Zane revealed. "I came to this lifestyle through hard work."

Dave was all interest now, and he returned to the sofa and started pelting Zane with questions. He took a couple of swigs of scotch from the generous portion Zane had poured out for him and settled back in the sofa cushions. He didn't even seem to mind when Zane put a hand on his thigh and started working it up his leg—or if he noticed, he didn't seem to mind. He only wanted to hear the gory details of Zane's past now.

"And what was your strangest assignment?" Dave asked Zane at the end of a flurry of other questions that Zane had dutifully responded to. "I mean, can you remember any? There must have been some."

Zane chewed on that one briefly—but only briefly, because he didn't want Dave to zero in on his hand, which now was on Dave's bare belly, under the hem of his shirt. His other arm was snaked around Dave's shoulder.

"Hmmm, let's see. That might have been the night of the men in the tuxedos."

"The men in the tuxedos?" Dave was all ears.

"Yes. As the night was starting out, I knew I was in for a workout, because the caller had specified he wanted someone experienced with men and had authorized for the full unlimited service for a four-hour period. That usually meant multiple ass work, although it's true that some out-of-town hicks just didn't realize what the various options were and had more money than brains when they set up a session.

"The address I was given was for a large, but nondescript brownstone, up on 57th Street, near Central Park. A polished brass plate by the doorbell simply stated that I was at some club, Hedgewood or Hedgeneck, or something like that. I later assumed that it was one of those old-world highly exclusive men's clubs that had existed for a couple of centuries without catching the public eye.

"I was met at the door by the epitome of a butler type who told me to follow him toward the back of the house. Outside a double oaken door set in a whole hallway of polished oaken paneling carpeted with an Oriental rug in vibrant colors, he told me to strip entirely and to leave my clothes folded on a Chippendale arm chair that was located next to the door. I did so, and then he knocked twice on the door, opened it, and ushered me into the room.

"I was in some sort of club room. Leather-upholstered arm chairs sitting on a huge Oriental carpet in the middle of a wood-paneled room with glass-fronted shelves of books on three walls and on the third wall a fireplace flanked by French doors that apparently led to garden at the rear of the building. At the opposite end of the room from the fireplace was a large mahogany desk with a leather top. The arm chairs were arranged in a circle in the center of the room, facing each other, with a clear space out in the center. There were six chairs, each with a little cigarette table beside it and a brass floor lamp behind it. All of the lamp shades were turned up so that they functioned as spotlights trained on the circle in front the chairs. Each of the chairs was occupied by a man in a tuxedo. All of the men were fairly young—none older than his mid forties—and all had the air of pampering to a high gloss and well-toned physiques and of highly successful position. They had brandy snifters in their manicured and bejeweled hands, and each was smoking a cigar. The air was cloudy with the smell of premium Cuban cigar smoke."

"Come to the center of the room, please, son," a strong, willful voice commanded me from the depths of the cigar smoke cloud. I did as I was bade.

"Turn, please. Turn completely around. Slowly please. Again please. Stand straight and tall, please. You have nothing to be ashamed of." I slowly turned a few times, obviously letting them all see what they were paying for, for whatever purpose—which I had yet to discern.

"Now masturbate for us, please. To completion. Do not worry about where it goes." The same commanding voice. From the intensity of the light directed from the lamps and the thickness of the cigar smoke, I could not be sure which tuxedo had spoken.

"Excuse me?" I asked. In shock more at the incongruity of the setting than at the request itself. I had known it would be a performance evening for me. They had paid dearly for it. This assignment would carry me nearly a month at school all by itself.

"Masturbate, please. And do it slowly and don't hold back on your expression and response, please."

"So, I did as they asked. I had been trained what to do with this sort of request, but I had always assumed it would be something involved in a one-on-one situation."

"I was progressing pretty well, when I sensed movement in the room behind me, and I heard the rustle of rich material close behind me and hot breath on my neck. I looked down, and an arm came around me from behind. It was clothed in luxurious black material. White starched cuffs showed at the wrist, with gold nugget cuff links. An elegant, manicured hand with a signet ring wrapped itself around my engorged cock after brushing my hand away.

"Another black-clad figure was now at the other side of me. I turned enough to see the brilliant white shirt front and the satiny lapel on the tuxedo. The hand of this figure also went to my cock, and the two tuxedos worked my cock in unison and rubbed their expensive evening suits against my bare arms.

"Another figure, a commanding figure, probably the source of the voice that had given me direction, appeared through the cloud of smoke before me. He was sucking on a long cigar and giving me a very intense look. He was perhaps the oldest of the men present. Very handsome, with strong facile features and intense black eyes. The light was reflecting off the diamond studs cascading down the front of his perfectly cut tuxedo. I remember thinking that one of those studs alone would be enough to get me out of the business and cover the rest of my college. He gave me a grin, almost a leer, and then he turned the cigar in his mouth, took it out, and pressed it between my lips. It was moist from his saliva. He rotated it in my mouth, adding my saliva to his, and then he grinned again and moved out of my line of vision.

"He obviously had moved to behind me, because I felt hands pulling my butt cheeks apart—in fact I found hands everywhere on my thighs and belly and nipples, in addition to the two that were stroking my cock—and I bowed my legs outward as I felt the moist end of the cigar working its way into my ass.

"The heel of a hand came up under my chin, the fingers covering my lower jaw and the thumb pushing its way into my mouth, obviously wanting me to give suck, which I did. Meanwhile, the two hands were still stroking my cock, the fingers of both of my hands were being taken into mouths and sucked, and that cigar was being rotated in my ass, being screwed in deeper and deeper and rotated around.

"I was panting heavily at the attention, the feeling of being shrouded in elegant black satin and silks and white starched shirts, flashing studs, and heavy cigar smoke. Aroused by the contrast of my being completely naked and vulnerable and being stroked and invaded everywhere by fully and elegantly clothed men.

"The cigar twisted out of my ass, and the commanding figure came back around to close in front of me. He gave me that leering, possessive smile, and then he put the cigar back in his mouth and twisted it. His eyes lit up with a mischievous gleam and I felt a strong hand cupping my balls, coming in under the stroking hands of other tuxedos, and he squeezed hard. I threw my head up in a primeval scream of pain and surprise and release to the ceiling, jerking my mouth away from the thumb I was sucking, and shot a strong fountain of semen I know not where.

"The teeming mass of black silk and satin took my ejaculation as some sort of sign, because I was lifted and carried by a bevy of tuxedos over to the leather-topped mahogany desk. At first I was bent over that on my belly. Once again hands pulled my cheeks wide. Then fingers, slippery with lubrication, of different sizes, invaded me, pulling my well-used hole wide. The cigar again now, soggy with lubricant, entering between the fingers and twirling and screwing into me. I was panting and moaning now. The cigar twirled out, but the three fingers of different sizes remained, pulling me, stretching my hole wide. I arched my back, as a thicker, throbbing object, a cock, slid in between the fingers. The fingers pulled out as the cock plowed in, deeper, deeper, deeper. And then it started a furious rhythmic slapping back and forth into me as I counterthrusted my hips back to it until I heard a deep-throated cry and felt my insides being creamed. A second cock replaced the first and I was fucked vigorously and deeply from the rear by one cock while another tuxedoed figure on the other side of the desk pushed another cock into my mouth. At no time did I see manflesh during the whole ritual. Cocks were buried in my ass and mouth, but the tuxedos remained fully in place otherwise.

"I was fully naked, being fully possessed by six elegant tuxedos, heavy, hard, virile cocks invading me from within the folds of the rich material, but never seen.

"When the first set of tuxedos had spent their seed in either end of me, I was turned on my back and fucked repeatedly in succession, each man obviously taking more than one turn at me, with two tuxedos holding my arms out and two more spread-eagling my legs.

"As something of a finale, I was lifted off the desk and a tuxedo came in under me and settled me on his black silk lap, his cock buried in my ass, and another tuxedo came in at me from the front and penetrated me with his member as well. The most athletic of the tuxedos was hunched on top of the desk, black silk pant legs against my naked chest and me deep-throating his cock, chaffing my chin and cheeks on the zipper of the only slightly parted fly.

"I found myself draped, naked and covered with repeated semen of six men over the top of the desk, moaning my elegant defilement, trying to concentrate on the fee I had earned for the evening. When I was able, I pulled myself up to a sitting position. The six chairs once more were occupied by six sedately and richly clad gentlemen sipping their brandy and puffing their cigars and looking very satiated and pleased with themselves.

"The commanding voice then thanked me for my time and told me I was to leave. I dragged myself out into the hall, dressed with my aching muscles feeling every move, and received a generous tip from the butler before I was shown to the door."

When Zane had finished this story, the room was silent for the longest moment except for the heavy panting coming from a still-mesmerized Dave. Zane could feel the young man trembling as well without the folds of his arms.

"Yes, I think that might have been my strangest assignment," Zane said finally, marking closure to his tale.

"Wow." That seemed to be all Dave could say at the moment. And Zane didn't want to break the moment. While he had been telling Dave this story, Dave had been so mesmerized that he didn't seem to realize that Zane had gotten his pants unzipped, had the young man's very nice cock out, and was slowly stroking him.

"So, what do you think?" Zane finally said, needing to either progress or be forced to retreat.

A few more moments of silence except for Dave's soft moaning and sighing and the rustle of the cheap cotton material of his pants in its rhythmic countermovement to Zane's slow stroking motion.

"You wouldn't . . . You wouldn't happen to own a tuxedo?" Dave asked in a hoarse, struggled whisper.

"Why, yes. Yes I do. I think I can find a box of fine Cuban cigars too," Zane said just before Dave lifted his lips to Zane's and sank into a deep, passionate, moaning kiss.