Stallion Station Ch. 05

Heinz Trebel and his Algerian bodyguard, Jordo, went straight to the Terra Nova All Suites Hotel in Kingston upon landing in Jamaica. Jordo left Heinz there to recover at the pool from the long private jet flight from Frankfurt while Jordo contacted the local "finder" to make sure the snatch was on for the next day.

Everything had been carefully orchestrated. Heinz had specialized needs and interests and everything for this "double first" had been planned to a T. Those specialized needs included a nasty appetizer followed by a longer, slowly enjoyed meal. And Heinz, a young, spoiled German industrialist in his late thirties, who had inherited his empire but who had enough smarts not to let what he had inherited deteriorate, could well afford his fetish. He could indulge in it a couple of times a week, doing much of his selection in the various gyms he went to to tone up his muscular body or at college student gatherings where he could shop the fresh, hopefully unused young men—young men who were inclined emotionally to say yes and who valued the money they could earn over their present condition. But there were times when he wanted to go on vacation to indulge in his fetish and fantasy. This trip was one of those times, and he was sparing no expense to pursue his pleasure.

After Heinz' leisurely dinner of steak at the Red Bones Blues Café, Jordo was waiting for him back at the hotel to report that all was a go for the next day. The target had only an early-morning class at the University College of the Caribbean, and the jet was fueled and preapproved for a noon takeoff. It the primary target didn't show for some reason, there was a backup target. But Heinz had poured over several files that had been provided by the Jamaican finder, and he really wanted the primary target.

The fantasy that was evoked in Heinz—that gave him a high—went beyond the surface understanding of what the expensive, complex operation entailed. The young man was, in fact, bought, paid for, and signed off, whether he had intended to carry through with his end of the deal or not. He had advertised the sale of his virginity on the Internet—on Craig's list. He'd received his payment. No one had yet called in the contract to the point that the young man, working through cutouts in addresses and names, probably thought he had worked a scam. Trebel's people had the paperwork tracing back to him in hand. He just had no idea he wasn't as clever as he thought he was.

The beauty of the plan was that not only was the young Jamaican man selected a perfectly formed beauty, but kidnappings among the rich and upper-middle class on Jamaica were routine. That was a big reason that Heinz had included Jamaica in his plan. They would have come and snatched and been well away, with time for Heinz to have his leisurely pleasure at the next stop, before anyone would know to look for the young man anywhere but among the shanty towns of the island's underbelly.

And, in the end, the young man would be returned in far better condition than if he had been snatched in Jamaica for the traditional reasons.

The snatch worked a charm. The Jamaican college student was grabbed and pushed into the van provided by the finder, with Jordo's assistance, right after he'd parted with his friends at the gate into the grounds of UCC. There was no indication that anyone had seen them. Jordo, a hulking six-foot-eight tower of muscle was definitely noticed on the streets of Frankfurt. But here, beyond his height and bulk—although many Jamaicans, including the finder, offered both—Jordo's black skin didn't make him the standout he was in Germany.

Between the finder and Jordo, the young Jamaican was trussed up like a pig ready for the barbeque and driven to the jet, where Heinz Trebel was waiting for them, not being willing, naturally, to be involved in the initial kidnapping himself.

When Jordo had muscled the struggling young man into the aft cabin and he'd returned to take his seat and buckle up for takeoff, he spoke across the aisle to Heinz. "When we are at altitude, do you want me to prepare him for you, Herr Trebel?"

"No, thank you, Jordo. I want to save him until the other one is in hand too. You know I get a little rough with the first one. I want to get past that before doing the American. You've seen the files, I think. The American deserves special attention."

"Yes, sir. You picked wisely this time, I think," Jordo answered.

"Quite expensive, but worth it to have the first crack. I think you'll like where we're going next, Jordo. And, don't worry, you will get to have your pleasure while I'm taking mine. I will take care of you."

"Yes, sir, thank you, sir," Jordo answered with a big smile. "You always do take care of me."

As well, I must, Heinz thought, even though you leave them in worse condition than I do. There weren't too many men who would give him the service and loyalty that the Algerian giant gave him.

* * * *

"Are you sure?" Bill Cain asked. He was sitting across the breakfast bar from his nephew, Andy, at the old farmhouse he owned near the Hampton Sydney college, near Farmville, where he taught mathematics. This was to be Andy's big day. Andy, a student at Hampton Sydney, was celebrating his nineteenth birthday. He and his uncle had been discussing this for a year, and Andy hadn't lost his resolve.

"Yes, this is what I want," Andy answered. "I don't want to pretend. You are doing fine with it, and I get so frustrated that I haven't done it all yet. I get up to the brink and then . . . I just need to be pushed over the edge."

"That's not what I was asking," Cain said. "I mean are you sure you haven't gone over that edge already. Because if we do it this way, if we take money for it, and they find out you're not a virgin to it, there will be hell to pay."

"No, as soon as I found you had a way for us to get something out of it, I made sure I didn't go any further with anyone. I always was too nervous to do it all anyway. But I've cuddled and made out a bit . . . and there have been a few hand jobs, but . . ."

"No blow jobs?" Cain asked sharply.

"Not much of any. I've never given any and the couple I've gotten didn't last long or amount to much."

"But no ass play?"

"Nothing except what you've suggested for the past couple of weeks. Just to make it easier, like you said."

"How often, though?"

"I've got a butt plug in now," Andy answered. "Bet you didn't even notice. Have used it enough not to be walkin' funny or anything anymore."

"It's going to be much more taxing than that if you go through with this," Cain said. "You've given this thought, I hope."

"Shit, let's just do it. All of it. Let's just get past as rough as it gets. I've waited too long."

Bill Cain gave his nephew a pointed look. What could he say when Andy had declared he was gay and wanted to be? Cain had declared that himself years before, and Andy had accepted it. He'd known he was gay when he had been Andy's age, and he'd acted on it—the whole way—when he was younger than Andy was now. Of course, his form of gay was to take and Andy insisted that he wanted to be the one taken. And no, he'd never had the urge to hook up with his nephew.

Cain hadn't come out before Andy had come to live with him. If he had, California child services probably wouldn't have given him custody after Bill's sister, Andy's mother, and her husband had died in a car wreck, leaving Andy with no living relatives other than Bill. But Bill had taken the child in and raised him as his own. Andy had been a beautiful child—and was a gorgeous hunk of a young man—all California surfer blond, even if they'd left California some time ago. But in all that time Bill hadn't given a thought to touching him himself. It wasn't just that his tastes in men were different; it also was because Bill couldn't stomach having sex within his own family.

When the rumors had started in California that Bill was gay, he'd left his job in Stanford and moved as far away from California as he could find another job, bringing Andy with him. He'd done that for Andy. Because he didn't want to lose custody. Family was family, and he was the only family Andy had.

It had become complicated later when Andy started to show that he had interest in men too. By this time Bill was out in the open and there was nothing he could say about the lifestyle to turn Andy away from it without being two-faced. All he could do was be honest about the pitfalls. None of that had mattered to Andy.

Bill had nervously negotiated his way through Andy's late teens, doing what he could to steer some of his gay community friends away from Andy, who was like a magnet for them, and suffering with Andy through several inappropriate adolescent crushes, carefully guiding Andy on the dangers of underage sex. Andy had navigated all of that, and, if anything, had been overly indoctrinated. Now, at nineteen, he had had some hookups with men but had never been able to go all of the way, possibly because of how closely Bill had tried to steer him.

When Bill had asked Andy what he wanted for his nineteenth birthday, Andy had been straightforward. "I want to be fucked. Butt fucked. Taken the whole way. Repeatedly. I want to be taken across the barrier, forcefully, if necessary. I know it's what I'll want once I'm on the other side. I don't want any more of this 'just petting' stuff. I hear you in the bedroom with your men—with Tom and Brady and Stu. I want to feel what they feel, to scream my passion of being fully taken. That's what I want, Bill, if you have to ask."

It wasn't the first time that Bill got the feeling that Andy resented him for not taking care of it himself, but there was no way the uncle was going to go there. But he did feel the obligation to help make it happen. Andy was old enough to decide for himself it was what he wanted. And if, having done it, Andy found he didn't really want it, that would be fine with Bill too.

Andy had flounced away then, leaving Bill a little sad. But the sadness was that, because he himself had had joy in being with other men, perhaps he had overcontrolled his nephew. Perhaps if Andy was so sure of what he wanted, it wasn't just because of the environment he'd been raised in. Andy had shown no interest in girls—ever—and he was one beautiful specimen of a young man. Perhaps Bill had gone on too long after Andy's eighteenth birthday gatekeeping the men showing interest in Andy.

He went over in his mind the men he knew—the men he knew who would love to fuck Andy and give Andy what he wanted for his birthday.

There was a men's gym he went to, out on the Richmond road, in a complex that had evolved into a male brothel. The owner of Stallion Station, Jess Gordon, would be perfect if Andy really wanted it all at one time, wanted to be completely taken and initiated—and if Jess could be convinced to go easy on it. And there were a few other men going to the gym because they also used the young men in the former motel rooms attached to it. Bill himself went there, having first hooked up with a young rent-boy he liked named Matt, when Matt had worked at an adult video store.

He had asked Jess about it, and of course Jess was interested. But a few weeks later, Jess suggested that there was some way they all could make money off of it if Andy truly was a virgin to the ass fuck.

"I have a buyer."

"A buyer? What do you mean a buyer?" Cain asked.

"The Internet has some real opportunities floating around on it. If the kid really wants to lose his virginity—and you can guarantee he's a virgin—I have a buyer who's interested in popping his cherry. Two buyers, actually, and the second one is willing to pay a thousand to get in there second."

"If the second is willing to pay a thousand . . ."

"The first one in is willing to pay ten thousand."

"Ten thousand!"

"Yeah. He's a German industrialist. Not that old. Late thirties. In top shape, and popping man cherries is a fetish of his."

"Good god, willing to pay that much?"

"We'd have to split it. I, as the finder, would get half. But he's already seen photos of your Andy—I have plenty of good ones from when Andy works out in the gym here—and the German says he's randy for it. He said it wouldn't be rough fuck, but it would have to be a long fuck. He'd want to come twice. But he guaranteed Andy would like it. Insists on bareback, though, with certificates."

"And he'd pay for the trip to Germany?"

"He'll come here. All at his own expense."

"I don't know. Andy would have to be good with it."

"Here's the German's photo—a couple of them. He's hung, of course. But he promises not to ruin Andy. You can show the photos to Andy to see if he's interested."

"OK, I'll do that," Cain said, liking what he saw in the photos. "I don't know anything about a certificate, though."

"I can arrange that," Gordon answered. "I have a doctor on retainer for checking the guys here over regularly."

"You said there's a second guy."

"Yeah. But he knows of Andy firsthand. Says he's had his eye on Andy for some time. He doesn't mind going second, but there'd be some kinky stuff. Bondage, maybe a bit of flogging. No permanent damage."

"Can that one be put on a contingency? Can Andy make the call after his first experience?"

"You said Andy insists on seeing rough and kinky too, didn't you? There's nothing in this that he wouldn't get from me. And we were close to a deal of me doing it with you payin' something. This is a much better deal."

"I understand. But I can't be sure Andy is really ready for it all. Can the second one be on contingency?"

"Yes, but it would have to be right after the first. The second wants him before Andy gets cleaned up from having been barebacked. That's the deal. And I said fifty-fifty, but I'd be providing the rooms for it—right here. So the profit's heavy on your side. I'll cover the cost of the certificate."

"I'd have to be doing something while I wait for Andy," Cain said. "Throw in free access for me to Matt while this is going on and I'll see what Andy thinks about it."

"Done. There's one other thing, though."

"What?" Cain asked. He knew it must be a corker if Gordon hadn't brought it up earlier.

"The German wants a movie taken. Not for distribution. We'd have a contract on that. But a movie for him, for his personal use."

"I don't know," Cain said. "You know how easy it is for these things to get on the Internet."

"The guy's paying ten thousand for it and signing a contract. And he says Andy can wear a mask, so no one could be real sure unless he decides to go pro porn—which you can ask him about too. He's a real cute trick—men'll go crazy over him. I got an eleven-thousand-dollar offer for his first two goes without hardly lifting my finger. I could use him. The German wouldn't be wearing nothin', and he's well known in Germany. It's doubtful he wants to be seen on the Internet fucking a young man."

"I don't know," Cain said. "All I can do is ask Andy. He's an adult now. If he wants to do this, he can do this and I don't have any say in it."

"One thing, though, Bill," Gordon said. "You aren't dealing used goods, are you? You haven't been spiking him for years, have you? 'Cause if I found out . . ."

Cain gave Gordon a withering look. "He's my nephew. I wouldn't be doing any of this except that he's been begging for it for a year. I haven't laid a finger on him. Ever. And he tells me he's been too nervous to do it yet. That's the reason he wants something definite set up that he can't wriggle out of."

"I had to ask. This much money on the line. And who knows how nasty the German could get for that much money."

* * * *

Griff climbed off his client's exhausted, panting body and padded over to the bureau to retrieve the hundred-dollar bill for declaration to the house, plus the two twenties as a tip. He took it with him when he went into the bathroom and closed the door with a click. This was his client's signal that the session was over.

The small blond dancer was the most professional rent-boy that Jess Gordon had installed in the rooms on the reverse side of the former motel wing of Stallion Station. Griff had left Farmville for the more lucrative pickings in North Carolina, but had been lured back to head up Gordon's stable of rent-boys.

The client, one of Griff's regulars—Griff's time already almost exclusively being devoted to a small list of regulars—just lay on the bed on his back, moaning. Steeped in pleasure with what the flexible and inventive little blond had done with his ass as he rode the client's cock in several different positions, pulling two ejaculations out of the client before he stopped.

Clients didn't ride Griff. Mostly they just lay there, marveling at the different positions he could take in riding their cocks. Mostly Griff rode the client. And hard, pulling every bit of cum out of them until their balls ached.

Before Griff had locked himself in the bathroom, he, by custom, put a basin of warm water and a washcloth out on the bureau. That was all the client was going to get. He had to clean himself up and hobble out of the room on his own. If Griff came out of the bathroom before the client was gone, that was an automatic write up of another hundred-dollar session. Griff could go the extra mile, but few clients could after what he'd drawn out of them the first time.

The client groaned, rolled over to the side of the bed, and sat up. His feet hit the floor on top of the three spent condoms he'd used. Those went to the house along with its seventy-five-dollar cut of the basic fee, to give Gordon an indication that everything had gone on as it should. The rent-boys thus made their best money off the tips. Both management and the clients were cool with this. If you got the service that Griff gave, you had to expect to tip well. If Griff lost interest, you'd have to move down the line of Gordon's rent-boys until you reached your balance of what you got being worth what you spent.

If you picked a guy up in the gym who wasn't one of Gordon's boys, you could have a room for fifty dollars for every two hours, no one-hour splits. But then whatever the fuck cost was up to you.

This particular client never settled for anything less than Griff.

He cleaned himself up as best he could; hobbled to the door; and, looking around in all directions before stepping out of the shadows of the covered walkway stretching across the motel wing front. He climbed into his rented Buick—he always rented a car to come here; never came in his own car or one from the office—and slowly drove around the side of the motel to the front of the complex, which connected to the Richmond road east of Farmville.

* * * *

Gordon had been called ahead and was standing by the door of the movie studio when the black Mercedes limousine with smoked windows drove up close to the studio door. He opened the passenger door but stood back as the doorway was overfilled with a black African body. Gordon didn't know who this was. It wasn't the German industrialist, Heinz Trebel, that much was clear.

But even though Gordon was no slouch, he got the "hands off" message and pulled back, going to the door into the studio and holding it open. Jordo, Trebel's bodyguard and Mr. Fixit, turned and literally pulled the sluggish body of a young, very handsome and well-formed milk-chocolate black man out of the back of the limousine. The young man couldn't stand on his own, but had to be supported by the bodyguard.

The young man clearly had been drugged, Gordon could tell. But he asked no questions. He was being paid well for this—over and above the fee he had told Bill Cain about. This first part of the agreement was the dangerous part for him. Andy Roberts had agreed to everything Gordon had proposed—and had signed an agreement to that effect. And Trebel had signed an agreement to stick to limits on the taking of the young American.
Trebel had signed no agreement on the taking of whoever was being brought into the studio now. He had just declared that he'd taken the young man away with him. He didn't say the young man would be living, and for what Gordon was being paid, he didn't ask.

The German himself came out of the limousine after the young black man had been hauled out. Gordon showed them into the movie studio. Trebel was visibly pleased at the layout and the equipment that was being made available to him.

Anthony Blaine, the Prince Edward County commonwealth's attorney and the client who had just been with Griff, drove his rented Buick around the side of the motel wing as the young Jamaican college student was being manhandled into the studio. He saw what there was to be seen, but he turned his head away and nudged the Buick quietly toward the access road to the Richmond road. This wasn't any business of his—or so he thought at the time.

* * * *

All of the wind had been knocked out of Joey Wilson and he was beyond the whimper stage. The giant Algerian bodyguard, Jordo, had already fucked him twice—once missionary style on the bed with a monster black cock while chocking his throat until he had nearly passed out. Then on the floor, doggy style, as Joey had tried to crawl to the door of his room, and now up against the wall, Joey's back to the wall and his body suspended in front of the Algerian's massive height, as Jordo chocked him with one hand, and moved the rent-boy's ass up and down on the monster cock with the other hand palming Joey's tailbone.

Spent, all of the fight drained from him, Joey just hung there between the Algerian and the wall, his knees on Jordo's hips and his arms dangling at his side as Jordo thrust, thrust, thrust up into him.

And this was a free ride, included in the contract. Gordon had told Joey to give the bodyguard anything he wanted. He wanted a lot.

Meanwhile, over in the movie studio, with movie cameras whirring and still cameras clicking, the Jamaican student wasn't faring any better with the attentions given to him by the German industrialist, Heinz Trebel.

The Jamaican was bent over a vinyl cube set on top of the blue-velvet-skirted platform in a kneeling position. His legs were bound together at the thighs and ankles, his wrists were bound together, his biceps were bound by restraints to the upper corners of the vinyl cube, and there was a ball gag in his mouth. His eyes had not lost their wild look from the moment forty-five minutes earlier that Trebel had begun to fuck him, which had quickly snapped the young Jamaican out of his drug-induced semicoma.

Trebel was saddled over the young man's hips, giving him cock deep and fast, with his muscular torso arched up and the heels of his hands pressed into the Jamaican's shoulder blades.

Jess Gordon was moving around the sides of the platform, outside the focus of the lights and the camera angles, assessing what was going to be the best angle shots for the eventual film. He was delighted. The German's physique was magnificent and his fucking was first rate. This wasn't the first taking. The first fuck had been with the Jamaican on his back on the platform, his arms and legs spread and tied off at the corners of the platform and the German fucking him missionary style and chewing on his nipples. There had been no gag. This was the Jamaican's first-ever ass fuck—research had ascertained that he had been moving in that direction in Jamaica but hadn't done it yet—although he had advertised it for sale—and the German wanted to get all of his screams on tape.

The action was so good, Gordon thought, that he was really tempted to keep a copy of the footage and put it out himself as a movie. He mulled that as he was circling the platform, licking his lips, and pulling on his own meat. Much too much of a risk, he thought. The German was brutal, and that bodyguard of his was a monster. Gordon couldn't risk it. But he could certainly splice a movie out of it for his own enjoyment—and maybe for a few viewings by paying high rollers after enough time had passed.

Trebel took the Jamaican college student, by now limp as a rag and just moaning softly, a third time in a sling with its own circle of lights and cameras.

"Now, do you have some beer and something to eat," Trebel said as he pulled out of the Jamaican at last and rolled the spent condom off his cock. He wasn't going to use a condom for the next one, but there had been no chance of a certificate for this one, and one never really knew what a young man like this had gotten into. He may not even be a virgin to the ass fuck; his sales offer had obviously been a scam attempt. But it was the fantasy of it being so that turned Heinz on. The student seemed inexperienced and tight enough and did enough objecting for this to have been his first anal fuck, though. And that pleased Trebel and teased his fetish. His fetish, though, was to do two in a row, each differently.

"Yes, you can come upstairs," Gordon answered. "I have a kitchen up there. But what about?"

"I'll go upstairs," the German said, using a no-nonsense, authoritative voice. "You, I assume, will have someplace secure to hold this one while I am fucking the other one. And the other one, I assume, is coming along shortly."

Gordon looked at his watch. "A half an hour or forty-five minutes. And, yes, I have a cell with a cot down here that I can lock this one in for you. You did say you were taking him with you?"

"Yes, of course," Trebel answered. And he eventually did take him away, The jet had landed at Richmond International but had flown on up to Ronald Reagan Airport across the Potomac from Washington, D.C., in Alexandria, Virginia. It was waiting there for Trebel and Jordo after the nearly comatose body of the Jamaican college student had been dumped from the Mercedes limousine in front of the door of the Jamaican embassy on New Hampshire Avenue, in Washington.

"You would be ready again in a half hour?" Gordon asked, almost in awe.

"If the beer is good, yes. It is German beer, isn't it?"

* * * *

Jordo had moved on to Jason. A second helping wasn't in the contract, but no one was trying to stop him. When he'd come out of Joey's room, the other guys were hanging around, listening to the sounds of the fuck from within. Jordo looked so wild and magnificent in his nakedness when he'd slammed the door open, that there was a moment before the young men scattered. Jason didn't scatter as quickly as the others and Jordo had reached him and tackled him so that both of them fell into Jason's room.

Thoroughly conquered by Jordo's attentions, Jason quickly fell into rag doll mode. Jordo pranced about his room, crouched just a bit so that Jason's thighs rested on his, and Jason's head lolled back and arms dangled at his side as Jordo pranced and, with crushing hands on Jason's waist, lifted Jason's ass almost free of his cock and then slammed the rent-boy down to where the inner curve of his butt cheeks were tickled by the giant's wiry pubic hair.

In a room nearby, Matt was on his back, his buttocks at the foot of the bed and his legs wrapped around Bill Cain's thighs, his heels rubbing against the curve of Bill's thigh muscles to the rhythm of the fuck. Cain's buttocks were moving rhythmically as he plowed Matt's ass. There was much mouth-to-mouth kissing and Cain sucking on the throbbing artery in Matt's neck and on the young man's nipples.

Matt had his arms around Cain's neck and his fingers were running through the older man's hair. The fuck was slow and deep and sensual. They were sharing affectionate praises of each other. This was a sharp contrast to what had happened down the line of rooms to Joey earlier, where the young man now was soaking in his tub to work the kinks out of his overburdened muscles, or to Jason, who was going through the ordeal of the big black cock now in another one of the rooms. In yet another room the teacher, Carl, and the Frisbee player he'd brought to Stallion Station, Rick, clung to each other on the bed, spent from fucking, but too frightened at the sounds coming from the nearby rooms to move away from each other or leave the room.

"You are such a sweet fuck," Cain murmured to Matt while keeping up the slow rhythm of the fuck.

"You have been a favorite of mine since we started while I was working at the video shop," Matt answered. "Oh, yes, like that. Fuck me like that."

"You don't have to work here. You can come home with me," Cain whispered. "I would take good care of you."

"It's something to think about . . . oh shit, you do that again and I'm gonna come."

"If I do it again you'll come home with me."

"I'll sure give it serious thought."

In the movie studio, with lights blazing and cameras whirring and clicking off, Andy was in much the same rag doll mode as Jason was as Jordo pranced about his room and fucked him. But it was an entirely different form of the mode.

Heinz Trebel had been fucking him for an hour and a half, but had initially taken him slow and easy—until Andy could handle it. Then he'd fucked him hard. Now they were in the slow and easy mode again. Just as they had started, Heinz was sitting on the edge of the platform and Andy was in his lap. They were face to face, with Andy's legs extended on the platform around and behind Heniz' hips and his torso arched back toward the floor, with his wrists dragging on the floor. Heinz was gripping his waist and pulling him slowly and deeply on and off the cock.

Andy had a dazed expression on his face and his eyes were hooded in half awareness, but there was a beatific smile on his face. Gordon came down close to Andy's face to capture the look on a hand-held camera. The stills from this alone would be worth a small fortune, he thought. It was all he could do to keep from getting involved. The possibility of Andy wearing a mask hadn't been brought up at all—certainly not by Gordon. And now he was glad Andy hadn't thought about it. The face shots were absolutely perfect.

Heinz and Andy had barebacked—repeatedly. Andy's channel was swimming in cum, aiding the friction of the fuck by a big cock that now had reamed his passage to its requirements. The butt plugs he had practiced with hadn't come anywhere close to opening him to Heinz' requirements, but Heinz had done that himself through methodical and patient work over the last more than an hour. Cum was dribbling down Andy's thighs, and smears of his own cum covered his belly.

Heinz had sat him on his lap initially, facing away from him, and had worked Andy's torso and cock and balls with his hands, kissing and licking Andy's back and receiving Andy's mouth in deep kisses, while he let Andy feel the rise of his cock up the small of young man's back. Andy was trembling and shuddering and sighing as Heinz whispered to him what they would be doing and worked Andy's cock with his enclosing hand. He waited until Andy had ejaculated before raising his body and slowly lowering it on his cock.

Andy took it like a man, shuddering and groaning and giving little cries as the cock sank deeper inside him. The moaning increased as Heinz started to pump him. Overwhelmed as he was with new-found arousal, he came again before Heinz did and then gave a prolonged moan when Heinz gave him his seed in several strong spurts.

Heinz gave the young man a taste of bondage next, but nothing like he'd shown the Jamaican student. Still lapped, Andy was turned facing away from Heinz and his wrists were bound with his arms around Heinz' neck and his ankles were bound together behind the German's buttocks. Heinz fucked him deep and slow, only moving his pelvis.

After a respite, Heinz laid Andy on his back and fucked him missionary style while they kissed and Heinz covered Andy's nipples and face and neck with kisses and nips. They almost were replicating what Bill Cain and Matt Munson were doing over in one of the former motel rooms.

After the last taking, Heinz allowed Andy to stretch out on his back on the platform and, after kissing him affectionately on the navel, rose from him and turned to Gordon. He was all smiles, which pleased Gordon, and the two went off to Gordon's office to settle the final accounting and for Gordon to get an e-mail address to send the films of the two takings to Gordon. Gordon didn't mention that Heinz had had more than the two ejaculations with Andy that the contract had specified. He'd already decided that the film footage was just too good for Heinz to receive all copies and he thought this was a fair exchange.

Left alone, Andy lay there, his legs still spread, smiling and murmuring to himself. This was exactly the present he had wanted. The German was magnificent and had been so patient with him. But he had taken him fully. Andy knew he wouldn't have a problem going with any man he fancied now.

He wasn't aware of Gordon and Trebel leaving the studio, or Jordo returning to retrieve the bound Jamaican college student to toss into the back of the Mercedes limousine. Mercifully, Andy wasn't aware of Jordo pausing beside him and contemplating whether he had time and opportunity to take a taste of him—but deciding against it.

The next thing he was aware of was a naked Gordon slipping in between his spread thighs, gathering up Andy's thighs in his arms, spreading them wider, and then pushing his cock into Andy's passageway. He let loose of the younger man's thighs immediately, grabbed Andy by the waist, and began pumping immediately.

Andy made no effort to resist. He lay there, dreamily watching the naval battle of the four master warships on Gordon's chest as the tattooed man flexed his muscles in the rhythm of the fuck. Andy was all cumed out from Heinz' attentions, but Gordon wasn't. It didn't take him long to spout off inside Andy. He lowered his torso on Andy's, embraced him, and gave him a deep kiss.

"You don't know how maddening it was for me to have to watch Trebel taking you like that and not having you myself."

Andy murmured something, but neither one of them had any idea what it was. Gordon rose to a half crouch over Andy and brought the younger man's torso up to his, encasing Andy in his arms. Andy's knuckles dragged on the platform next to him and he managed to return a little of the sloppy kiss Gordon was giving his mouth.

Gordon's cock was rising again, and Andy wasn't giving any objections, so Gordon fucked him again. Andy hooked his legs on Gordon's hips and moaned softly, a sure sign that he was enjoying his second big cock of the day slip sliding away in the cum of two men.

"I have a deal with your uncle," Gordon murmured when he had ejaculated again. "There's a second deal, more money, if you agree to it. Now, before you shower all this cum away. A bit kinky, but not too bad."

"Aren't you the second deal?" Andy asked groggily.

"There's another second deal. You have to forget this second one and only think about the next second one. Will you do it?"

* * * *

They were in Jess Gordon's playroom in the apartment he'd carved out for himself in the motel wing. Andy was kneeling on a vinyl mat, his head and arms trapped in the stocks. Judge Raymond Snyder was standing behind him, lightly flogging Andy's exposed rump with a multipronged hand whip. They were light strokes. The judge was hoping that he could break this luscious young man he'd been watching for a couple of years in gradually so that he one day would willingly fold into the Buckingham BDSM men's club.

When Andy's rump was rosy red, the judge mounted him from behind and fucked the imprisoned young man, pleased that his sheathed cock was moving in the cum of another man—totally unaware that it was actually in the cum of two men.

Andy didn't seem to mind. He only seemed half way in the world at all. His agreement to service the judge hadn't been all that convincing, and Gordon had waved a popper under his nose. Andy was barely there. But he was taking what the judge was giving him.

* * * *

When Bill Cain helped his nephew hobble to Cain's car, the uncle having been reassured that Andy, on the whole, had enjoyed his birthday present, Andy was aware enough to realize that there was another young man in the car, sitting in the front passenger seat.

"This is Matt Munson, Andy," Cain said as he opened the door to the backseat and helped Andy inside. "He's coming home with us to give it a try with us. Hope you don't mind."

As Andy painfully stretched out on the backseat, careful not to press his thighs together, he was beyond caring about anything. He'd have to think about that tomorrow. It didn't even disturb him when his uncle turned his face to the other young man and they engaged in a deep kiss before Bill drove off.

stallion station

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