The man put his arm around Rick's shoulder as they left the elevator on the fifteenth floor of the Mandalay Bay hotel casino in Las Vegas. When they'd met in the lobby of the hotel, the man hadn't even maintained eye contact with him other than to nod his head toward the bank of elevators, signaling that Rick was to get on an elevator with him.
The john was maybe forty, a bit stocky, but well muscled. The suit didn't fit him like it would a businessman used to wearing them. Rick had guessed him to be someone who worked with heavy machinery. He'd made sure the guy's money was good before leaving the theater. The john was square-jawed and cauliflower eared and bald on top. But Rick liked the evidence of muscle and the edge of roughness to him - and the bit of nervousness he displayed. He could be controlled, he might be enjoyed, and he'd already shown he had the cash to pay.
They moved down the hall, the man gripping the slim blond close into his side like maybe Rick would bolt and run back to the elevators before they got to the guy's room, which was far down the hallway.
A beefy black guy, obviously a thuggish bodyguard, was standing at a door they had to pass. Room 1562, Rick saw marked over the doorway. The bodyguard's eyes followed them all the way down the hallway. A slight sneer in his lips told Rick that he knew exactly what was happening here. The john's room was four doors farther down, 1570. The grip was tightening, and what had appeared to be nervousness was melting away. Rick had a brief moment of panic as he often did when he went into unknown territory like this. Maybe the guy wasn't as much a wide-eyed out-of-towner as Rick had gauged him to be.
There had been fewer temporary flashes of fear, though, since he'd taken up with Jose. Rick worked a male strip club a couple of blocks off the main strip in Vegas - sort of a working man's Chippendale cabaret. He'd been working there ever since he'd stopped in Las Vegas en route to his unattained dream of Hollywood. He'd been a real hit back in his little Tennessee town. Star on the football field despite his small stature and slimness. Just give him the ball and watch him weave between those lumbering tackles. This was a result of his dexterity on the field and his "moves." They were dance moves. His mother had had a different kind of stage dream for him than he had and had sent him to several years of dance. That helped him on the football field and on the high school drama stage. The training helped him now, where he danced and stripped down from a tuxedo with three other guys three times nightly at Boyfriends.
The big money, of course, was in who might be waiting for him at the stage door after the last performance of the evening.
The football coach and drama coach had fought over him for his last two years of high school. Then one night not long before graduation they'd shared him in a backstage dressing room. The coach had had the biggest dick and a number of friends in town to share him with and by the end of June Rick was opening his legs for any man who had $20 to spare.
His mother asked him what he planned to do in life and suggested New York. While bending him over a chair arm, Rick's former drama coach thought Los Angeles would be a better bet and said he had some contacts who would help him get across country. One of the contacts was the manager of Boyfriends, and Rick was still here after two years.
Where Jose came in was that he was a cop working vice in Las Vegas. He was in on a sting of a politician's private party at the Bellagio. Rick had been caught naked on a bed with the politician's dick inside him. Jose liked what he saw and got Rick out of the hotel suite when the other cops weren't looking.
"I can protect you," he said, as they clumped down stairs at the hotel.
"How so?" Rick had asked, still pulling a T-shirt down over his chest.
"Stick with me and I'll let you know where and when the raids are. I can keep you from being rolled up in these stings."
"Yeah, in exchange for what?" Rick asked, seeing a big piece of his hard-earned income flying out the window. He didn't have a doubt he had to accommodate this guy somehow, or he'd be on his tail from now on.
Jose had shown him by grabbing him from behind, slamming his back against the wall at a half landing of the stairs, stripping his trousers off as he captured Rick's mouth in a deep kiss, and lifting the smaller man by the thighs and setting his channel down on Jose's up-curved hard cock.
Rick didn't even think of resisting. The cop held all of the cards.
Rick gasped as the cock went in and in and in. He hooked his legs on Jose's hips, buried his face in the hollow of Jose's chest, threw his arms around Jose's neck, and held on for dear life as the Hispanic hunk fucked him hard and deep.
Two days later Rick had moved in with the vice detective. The cop still held all of the cards, but Rick was getting the hang of how to manipulate him to his own advantage. Besides, he fucked really, really well.
It was evident coming into hotel room that the guy - Rick thought of him as the Tractor - wanted to act all macho. He got behind Rick with an arm around the younger man - the man was more chunky than tall, but he still was taller than Rick was - and started pawing at Rick's clothes, undoing his belt buckle, unzipping him, unbuttoning his shirt, pushing his trousers down his legs.
"Get on all fours," he growled in Rick's ear and then when Rick had done so on the carpet just inside the door to the corridor, the man quickly mounted him and started a vigorous doggy fuck.
Rick put up with this for a few minutes but then said, "Let's do this right. Let me do you Vegas style."
Grunting, the man pulled out of him, and Rick lithely rose off the ground and guided the man over to the bed, sat him down, and knelt between his spread thighs. The man leaned his torso back onto the surface of the bed, the heels of his hands pressed into the coverlet, and moaned as Rick gave an average-sized cock a deep-throat blow job.
By the time Rick thought they were finished, with the Tractor on his back on the bed, purring, while Rick, in full control now and digging the heels of his hands into the man's pecs, rode his cock, while making all of the appropriate comments of what a man the Tractor was. The man's cock was nothing to write home about, but Rick enjoyed watching how his beefy muscles clinched and rippled as Rick rose and fell on the cock and the man thrust his hips up. At climax, Rick leaned down and bit a taut nipple and the Tractor howled and ejaculated great wads of cum into the bulb of the condom.
With a growl of lust, the man pushed Rick off him and over onto his back, covered Rick's body with his, and thrust hard inside him with his cock again and again and again. To give the man that lingering feeling of power, Rick cried out, "Yes, yes. Fuckin' yes! You're killin' me!" But the Tractor was going flaccid and wound up a dead weight on top of Rick, panting and wheezing, so Rick didn't lose control. He took the man's head between his hands and brought their lips together. After the kiss, he whispered, "You're the best."
The Tractor would remember the blow job and the fuck and feel that he'd gotten his money's worth - and that he sure would like to do it again. But most of all, he'd remember that a young hunk who'd turned everyone on when he danced and stripped on stage had told him that he fucked the best.
"Come see me at Boyfriends again," Rick said as he was pulling his trousers back on and the man was on his back, on the bed, watching him. He didn't get any further than that into the possibility of a replay. All the guys thought they were so good in bed that he'd just give them another one for free. And that wasn't going to happen.
Rick left the room alone some forty minutes after going in. He was tucking his shirt into his trousers as he walked and trying to avoid eye contact with the bodyguard still standing outside the door four rooms down from where the Tractor was lying on his back and moaning softly to himself in satisfaction.
The bodyguard waited until the elevator door closed and then opened the door to 1562 and mumbled something to the Arabic bodyguard who had been on station inside the door. The Arabic bodyguard came out of the room and took up the station the black bodyguard was vacating as he moved toward the elevators.
* * * *
As Rick was walking down the corridor at the Mandalay Bay with the Tractor and past the beefy black bodyguard standing by the door to 1562, inside 1562, the Greek pimp, Cosmo Eracules, was getting a full body massage from a young Frenchmen named Emile.
An aerialist artist with the Cirque du Soleil Michael Jackson extravaganza at the nearby MGM Grand, Emile had gone to great lengths to set this encounter up. At the moment, instead of Eracules being in control, as he assumed he'd be, the Greek pimp was putty, almost literally, in the hands of the dark, sultry, and sensuous Frenchman.
The Greek, barrel chested and somewhat thickening at the waist but still a well-muscled bull of a man was lying on the bed, his heaving, hairy torso and his right cheek of his face flat on the surface of the bed and his arms stretched straight out from his sides and clutching the edge of the bed on either side. His hips were elevated, as Emile had coaxed him up on his knees. His legs were spread, and Emile was crouched behind him, one hand holding one of Eracules' hips, the other one snaked through the Greek's thighs and slowly milking the older man's thick and long cock. Emile's tongue was massaging the inner walls of Cosmo's channel a couple of inches.
Cosmo hadn't been fucked in years. He'd been doing all of the fucking for nearly two decades. But now he was whimpering and begging for it - from the beautiful young, perfectly built Frenchman with the long, thin cock.
The Frenchman had established full control earlier when, having given Eracules a sensual massage on his back, buttocks, and thighs, Emile entered his channel with two greased fingers - with only sighs as an answer - and massaged Eracules' prostate to an ejaculation. When Eracules had come for him, Emile pulled the Greek's body to where his head flopped over the foot of the bed, and Emile rose from the bed, came around to the foot, took a firm grip of the Greek's wrists, spread the older man's arm's wide, and presented his cock to Eracules' mouth. Stunned into high lust for the beautiful young French acrobat, Cosmo took the cock in his month and allowed Emile to press it deep into his gullet and stroke.
The Arab bodyguard standing by the door was poised on the balls of his feet, ready to spring at the first sign of the Greek pimp's rejection of such an unusual invasion of his boss' body, but Eracules was fully lost to the charms and skill of Emile.
He didn't even signal to the bodyguard later when Emile, crouched behind Eracules' raised pelvis, stopped stroking Cosmo's cock, took his tongue out of the wide-open hole, mounted the Greek's pelvis, and started the long journey of his cock up towards the intestines of the man.
He began to stroke slowly and deep. No condoms were in use here. Emile was a prodigious producer of cum. Eracules was going to get filled up.
Emile and Cosmo had seen each other the previous night at the MGM Grand. Emile was swinging his patterns above the stage and Cosmo was in the audience. Cosmo was shopping for a young man or two that he could peddle to lonely businessmen at the Bellagio. Eracules liked to winter in Las Vegas. At his age, even the Mediterranean was getting too cold in the winter. That was in temperature; it was too hot for him just now as the police of various nations were beginning to cooperate in honing in on shutting his operation down. Emile was identified as one possibility for his new stable of young men.
