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Northwind Ch. 1

By: naudiz



He's coming tonight. I don't know how I know, but he is. I woke up trembling this evening. I've been in such a state, pacing through the abandoned corridors and empty cavernous rooms, turning on all the lights because I was frightened (the place is haunted, I'm sure of it), and then I turned them all off again because he prefers the darkness. Now I'm sitting at my desk writing it all down. That's why he gave me a desk, right? And paper, and a pen. There is precious little else in this manor, except for the books in the library, and I can't focus on what I'm reading when I'm like this. My stomach is twisted in knots, and it feels like I swallowed an ice cube. If I write it all down, maybe it'll make sense. Maybe I can resolve this cold fear and gnawing anticipation. 

When I first met him, I was at the end of my rope, and that rope was fraying and coming undone. Maybe I should borrow another metaphor. I was poised for a fall, and all I needed was a precipice. I was down on 13th Street. During the day, it's full of business suits and briefcases. At night, it's where youths with bad attitudes and nothing better to do hang out, lurking in the silent shadows of banks and office buildings. If you're homeless and not too picky about who you wake up next to, you can make a decent living down there. Plenty of rich men with hang-ups about fucking other guys come down there to pick up any young thing willing to go back to their hotel room and keep his mouth shut about it the next day. 

That's where I was when I met him, shivering on a street corner watching every car that cruised past like a dog hoping someone will throw a scrap. I was eighteen. I might be nineteen now, I don't know. I've lost track of time. Sometimes it's like I've only been here a few weeks, other times there is nothing I wouldn't do for a glimpse in a mirror to see if I've gone grey and wrinkled yet. There aren't any mirrors here. No televisions or radios. No computers or phones. There is an electric lamp on my desk, a chair, and my bed. That's it, unless you count the library. There are books there. So many books! And then there's the fireplace and the fur rug, the leather couches. There's also a sidebar, but he keeps it locked. Heaven forbid I have a drink or two without him. Someone brings me food. I never see him, but I can hear his footsteps echoing through the halls at night. I swear this place is haunted. 

So I was standing there on the street corner thinking about how cold I was and how my life was falling apart. Kicked out of the house, dropped out of school, down to thirty-seven cents and my last cigarette. I was smoking it, shivering as my frosted breath mingled with the smoke I exhaled. I really wanted to be picked up before Henry came by. He owned one of the offices on the street, and he was such a bore. Who wants to hear about someone's marital problems when you're sucking him off for twenty bucks? Maybe he thought it was cheap therapy, but I was starting to sympathize with his wife. I wasn't in the mood for Henry. Anyone but Henry. I swore, the next car that pulled up....

It was a black sedan with tinted windows. The passenger side window came down, and the driver leaned over to get a look at me. I felt like my heart was going to stop. To say he was stunning wouldn't have done proper justice to just how perfectly composed his face was, pale and classical as if chiseled from marble. His eyes were a bright, startling shade of green, so pale they were almost yellow. His long dark hair swept forward off his shoulders as he leaned, framing his face naturally in a way models probably had to prep hours for. He didn't look any older than twenty, and his casual jeans and t-shirt didn't go with the car. I wondered briefly if he'd stolen it, then I realized I didn't care, because I was going with him. 

"What's your name?" he asked.

I blinked at him stupidly for a moment, then managed to get past the simple pleasure of hearing that soft and melodious baritone to stammer, "Uh, Eric. What's yours?" 

He tilted his head speculatively, then smiled and said, "If I call you Hyacinthus, will you call me Zephyros?" 

Shaking my head, I said, "I don't get it." 

His laughter was pure music as he opened the door and said lightly, "Get in."

Usually there would be some kind of bargaining at this point. I like to know what I'm going to do and how much I'm going to get out of it, but when he said the words, my body just moved. The cigarette was flicked away, sending a trail of sparks as it skittered across the sidewalk. At the time, it didn't seem unusual that I got into this man's car without a single question as to where or what for. That's what he's like. At the time, it makes perfect sense, but when he's gone, I'm left wondering what the hell I was thinking. 

That was my first night in the manor, and the last time I've seen the world outside its walls. He took me there, and when I asked why his beautiful old house stood empty, he said it was part of a family inheritance, and that he stayed somewhere in the city. He took me to my room, this room, and told me to get myself cleaned up and come out undressed. That was fairly standard, and I hopped in the shower, leaving my threadbare and dirty clothes on the bathroom floor. 

When I came out, he was naked on the bed, stretched out on his side. The black coverlet made his skin look all the paler. Such a magnificent body. Michelangelo couldn't have sculpted a more perfect masterpiece. I remember thinking that he couldn't be real. I had seen my share of naked bodies, and they all had at least some flaws however small. He smiled indulgently at my staring and crooked a finger to beckon me closer, sitting up on the bed as he said, "Kneel on the floor." 

I stepped forward without a word. It was the strangest sensation, as though my limbs were moving of their own accord, and my mind had little to say on the matter. I knelt on the floor between his legs and snuck a glance at his cock. Like the rest of him, it was beautifully formed, even when flaccid. I looked up at his face for some cue, though it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what I was supposed to do here. 

He curled his fingers through my hair and whispered, "You have such lovely golden hair. It's like sunlight, and your eyes are as blue as the sky on a summer day." 

I wasn't sure what to say to that. No one had ever waxed poetical on the topic of my hair or eyes before. About the closest thing to a romantic comment I ever got was that I had a nice tight ass, which was, after all, why they were paying for my time. "What do you want me to do?" I asked awkwardly. 

"Whatever you want," he replied smoothly. "If you want to walk away, do so." 

That threw me for a loop. I'm not good at mind games. I knew he was playing one, but I wasn't getting it. I thought about doing just that, walking away, but I found myself looking forward to tasting him. It wasn't always just about money, you know. Hell, we hadn't even discussed money, and I didn't care. So since it was up to me? I went for it. Maybe too many hotel room tumbles with rich perverts in a hurry had wrecked my sense of seduction and refinement, but I went right for the prize, taking his cock entirely in my mouth and manipulating it with my tongue so I could get a good position for sucking. 

I loved sucking cock. That's why I got thrown out of the house in the first place. My folks weren't keen on having a faggot living under their roof. I didn't care. I loved it. I moaned when he started to get hard in my mouth. His skin was cool, but he warmed up under my touch. I cupped his balls in one hand, giving them a gentle squeeze as my other hand curled around the base of his lengthening shaft. I couldn't quite get all of him in my mouth, but it wasn't for lack of trying. I was really getting into it, bobbing my head as I went down on him, lashing the underside of his shaft with my tongue. I wanted so bad to make this gorgeous creature come. I wanted to taste it. 

When he pulled my head away, I let out a frustrated cry and tried to lunge forward, but he had a death grip on my hair and forced me to look up at his face. I was immediately caught by his eyes, and when he said softly, "That's enough," I settled down. I didn't understand. He was perfectly calm, not even breathing hard. 

"Don't you want me to finish?" I asked, trying to sound sultry but it probably came out like a whine. 

"I just wanted to see," he explained as he pulled me up to the bed beside him, then let go of my hair to gather me in his arms. 

"If I'd do it?" I asked awkwardly. I let him hold me, but it was weird. I was panting like a dog on a hot day and he was as composed as if we were pleasantly sipping tea in his parlor. 

He gently pressed a kiss to my hair and whispered against my ear, "I know you'd do it. I wanted to see if you'd like it." 

"I don't understand," I admitted.

He cupped my face between his hands and murmured, "You don't have to." Then he kissed me. It wasn't one of those sloppy desperate things I was used to getting. I've never been kissed like this before. His tongue casually explored my mouth as he ran his hands over my thin body. There was an air of possession about him, but not lust. When he pulled away, his voice was kind, soothing as he said, "It's late. You should sleep." 

I think I must've fainted in his arms. 

I woke up alone. The sun was pouring in through the window, and I squinted as I rolled out of bed. My clothes were gone, but there was a robe draped over the desk, and I put it on. It was black satin, like the sheets, and it didn't cover much. Under the robe there was a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. At least the bare essentials were there. I lit up and meandered out to the balcony. There was a small table there with a tray with covered dishes. Someone had brought breakfast and coffee, and it was still hot. 

After finishing my cigarette, I wolfed down the food and carried the coffee cup with me as I went back inside to explore the house. The grounds, what I could see of them from the balcony, were overgrown and surrounded by massive pines. Inside, the place was empty and huge. I called out for anyone who could hear me, but I got no answer. I tried the front doors, but they were securely locked. I started to freak out a little. I had to get out of there, and I tried every door I could find. The ones that were unlocked led to empty rooms with the exception of the bedroom and the library. 

I don't know how much time I spent wandering the house, but when I started to get desperate enough to consider breaking a window, I realized I was just going through the motions. I wasn't really scared. I was bored because there was no one to talk to. It's not like I was in any hurry. There was nothing in the outside world for me except another night on 13th Street whoring for what amounted to pocket change. I made my way back to the library. The leather couches looked so comfortable, and there were so many books. I loved to read, and I couldn't go to the public library anymore after I fell asleep there after closing and some security guard got his panties in a wad about it. I would break out later if I had to, after a little rest and some light reading. 

I must've dozed off, because after getting halfway through Shakespeare's Hamlet, the next thing I remembered was being jolted awake by the sound of someone opening the door. I sat up and pushed the book off my face as he stepped in and said, "Oh, there you are." He was dressed in jeans and a t-shirt again, so casual and young. His shirt was black with the word "Sinner" written across the front in dripping red letters. 

I started to say something, but then someone else followed him in. He looked about twenty-five, and he was built all strong and bulky. He was blond like me, only with a crew cut. I couldn't help thinking he was either in the military or a wannabe. The twinge of jealousy I felt shut me up. What should I care if this heartstoppingly beautiful man whose name I didn't even know wanted to bring someone to his own home? 

As if I'd spoken that very thought, the beautiful one laughed softly and stepped over to kiss me lightly before he said, "I think his name is Mark. Why don't you say hello?" His hand slipped beneath my robe, and he put an arm around me to bring me to my feet. He was deceptively strong for so lithe a creature. 

"Uh, hi Mark," I told the blond guy as I stumbled a bit, getting my feet beneath me. 

I tried to adjust the robe as it slipped off my shoulder, but the beautiful one (I'll call him Zephyros) sidled up behind me and slid his arm around my waist, drawing my hand away from the robe as he murmured, "No, leave it. You're going to be taking it off." 

The blond looked me over speculatively, then said casually, "S'up." 

I glanced at Zephyros dubiously. "I'm taking it off?" 

He smiled and said, "Yes. I'm going to watch him fuck you." 

I should've said no. I should've at least discussed the matter of getting paid, not to mention getting out of that house, but I couldn't. Those eyes were fixed on mine, and I couldn't open my mouth to form the words. He wanted to watch me fuck this guy. I started grasping for reasons as to why I should. He wasn't bad looking in a brawny jock kind of way. He seemed nice enough if a little mentally absent. I've certainly done worse. "Okay," I said. I didn't mean to. It just came out. 

Zeph smiled approvingly. Sure it was condescending, but I didn't care. I wanted that approval. He tugged the cinch of my robe free, and I didn't try to cover myself as the garment slipped to the floor. The jock looked me over and leered a little, stripping off his shirt as he asked, "How do you want it?" 

I started to answer, but Zeph cut me off, and I realized I wasn't the one Mark was talking to. "The couch I think," he replied. "Don't hurt him. I don't want him mad at me." 

As if I could ever be mad at him. Just hearing him say those words made me so happy. I wanted to do this because he wanted to watch. Mark was a piece of meat. I didn't give a shit about him, but I'd rock his world if that's what Zeph wanted. "Come here, big guy," I purred as I sidled over to him. Zeph stepped back and settled on one of the leather couches to take in the show. 

Mark wasted no time. He slipped out of his jeans and kicked off his shoes, then snaked an arm around me and drew me up close. He was already getting hard, and he was huge – maybe a little too big for my tastes, but if this is what Zeph wanted to watch.... We didn't waste time with pleasantries. This man was ready to fuck. He planted a kiss on my lips, and his hands were all over me. I pressed up to him and coaxed his cock to life by rubbing my body against it as I planted my hands on his massive arms for balance. I was really get into it, but I was poignantly aware the entire time of those green eyes upon me, watching. 

Mark was an animal. His tongue invaded my mouth, and I just opened up and took it. He must've liked it because a low rumble came from his throat, and his hands gripped my ass as he pulled me hard against him. The feel of hot skin on skin brought my little soldier to attention, and we mashed our hard cocks against each other frantically. When he pulled away, he left me gasping for breath and flushed with excitement. I had a momentary flashback to the night before, and I quailed inside. Oh, no. He was not going to leave me like this. I had no idea what I would've done if he had, but you can believe it would've been drastic. 

Fortunately, before it came to that, the man grabbed my wrist and led me over to the couch opposite the one where Zeph sat. He was still watching us, one leg crossed over his knee and an elbow propped on the couch's arm. He looked detached and fascinated. Mark sat me down on the couch, not quite gently, and clutched a handful of my hair with one hand as he pressed his cock against my lips with the other. "Suck it," he whispered shakily. "Get it nice and wet, baby." 

Like I needed any urging. The moment that swollen red mushroom head brushed my lips, I took him greedily. He held my head steady and slowly slid his shaft over my tongue, grunting with pleasure as his dick pushed against the back of my throat. He then pulled back and took up a rhythm, fucking my mouth slow and easy, and then a little harder as his breath started coming quicker. I closed my eyes and let him do it, opening my throat as much as I could and forcing myself not to gag. I wanted to swallow him whole – I was a cockslut and had never denied it. 

He pulled out of my mouth abruptly and pushed me back on the couch. He wasn't violent about it, but he was shaking and gasping and needing to get off. We both were, and I laid back as he let go of my hair and drew his hands over my thighs to lift my legs on either side of his shoulders. I squirmed a little and started to say something about a condom, but Zeph's voice jarred me into silence as he said, "No. That won't be necessary." 

I glanced over, and he was still watching us. I could've sworn his lips hadn't moved, but I was in such a haze of lust I didn't care. I watched him, our gazes locked together as the man who was nothing more to me than a warm body spit on his hand and slipped a finger into my ass, lubing it with saliva before pulling out to get a grip on his cock and guide it in. It hurt a little as he pushed impatiently and the head popped past the tight little ring of muscle. I heard myself groan, but it was like it came from someone else. I was watching Zeph, and those strange eyes were the center of my world. I gasped as Mark pressed in further, making my insides feel stretched out. When he was buried to the hilt inside my tight gripping hole, we both stayed there for a moment, locked together and letting ourselves adjust, and then he started to thrust, drawing back and then pushing in. It was a slow rhythm, and after the initial pain, it started to feel really good. 

The whole time, though, I was watching Zeph. In my mind, he was fucking me. It was his hands gripping my hips hard enough to bruise, and his cock filling me, making every nerve come alive with aching pleasure. There was a longing in his eyes, and in my mind, I was satisfying it every time my hips ground against that invading flesh, drawing it in deeper. Zeph smiled slowly and murmured, "Stroke yourself, Eric. I want to see you come." Though his voice was soft, it cut through the jock's grunting and my own moaning, and I heard it clearly. 

Who was I to deny the man a reasonable request? I was the whore fucking one stranger to satisfy another, so it's not like modesty was an issue. I actually liked it. I liked flaunting my young body, sliding my hands down my chest and stomach, teasing myself to heighten the anticipation before curling my fingers around my cock and giving it a soft squeeze. Pleasure ripped through me like fire in my veins. Between those eyes watching me and the hard pounding I was getting from this beefy stud, I wasn't going to last long. I tried to hold off, but the sight of me stroking my dick made the jock go into overdrive, and he fucked me in a frenzy. I had to plant one of my hands against the arm of the couch to keep getting tossed to the floor. 

The whole time, I was watching Zeph. My breath started to come quicker, and I picked up the pace when I knew I was past the point of no return. Every time Mark thrust home, it was like a jolt of raw sensation I could feel all the way up my cock. There was just no stopping it. My body spasmed violently, milking Mark's dick as a glob of cum spattered on my chest, followed by two more. I was writhing beneath him, and I guess it was enough to push him over the edge, because it only took a few more strokes before he buried himself deep inside me and shot his load. 

As Mark teetered over me, gasping for breath and shuddering in the aftermath of his orgasm, I barely even noticed. I was watching Zeph, and he smiled at me knowingly, looking satisfied. When the jock gathered up his composure and pulled out, I let my legs fall to the couch and lay there trembling. I never spared the man another glance. Even when Zeph told him, "You're done here. I'll meet you in the foyer," and the man slipped into his jeans and snatched up his clothes, I didn't look away from Zeph.


Northwind Ch. 1



When the door closed and we were alone, he got up, and I sat up with anticipation, hoping he would come over to me, but he didn't. Instead he went to the sideboard and unlocked it to pour a glass of wine. My body ached pleasantly, and my legs were quivering, otherwise I would've joined him there. It took him awhile, but with his back turned to me I couldn't see what he was doing. Some distant thread of reason told me it might be wise to make sure he wasn't drugging the wine, but keep in mind that when I was actually with him, whatever he said to do seemed like a good idea. The doubt didn't come until after he was gone. 

So when he turned and came over to me and pressed the glass into my hand, it didn't seem out of line at all to take a sip as he said, "Drink." The wine was rich and sweet, and a deep shade of crimson. I took another drink, and then another. 

As he sat down beside me and slipped an arm around my shoulders, I noticed a knick on his wrist, and I lowered the glass to say worriedly, "You're bleeding." 

He smoothed my tousled hair with his fingers and said lightly, "It's nothing. I cut myself on a glass. Drink." 

So I did. I drained the glass, and then he plucked it from my hand and set it aside before taking me in his arms to kiss me. Trust me, the spirit was willing, but the body was weak. I slumped against him lethargically, and he laughed softly as he laid me back on the couch and murmured, "You're tired. Rest here. I'll carry you to your room after I've seen to our guest." 

I wanted to reach for him as he stood up, but my hand barely twitched. As my consciousness faded, he ambled casually to the door, and I couldn't move a muscle. I'm not sure when I fell asleep, but when I woke up, I was in the bedroom again. Alone. 

There is more to tell, but as I write this, the sun has set and the sky has darkened to a purple twilight. I can hear crickets chirping outside my window, and the first glimmer of stars are scattered across the sky. The house is silent, but it won't be for long. He's on his way.

To be continued...



Northwind Ch. 2



Last night was different. I don't feel well. That is to say that physically I feel fine, better than ever, but I'm disgusted and sick in my heart and mind. It's like I said before, when he's here and with me it all makes sense, but when he's gone I'm left wondering what I was thinking. Even as I sit here writing this, I can feel him inside of me, and the doubt starts to dwindle. He's not coming tonight. He's in town, and he's laughing at something. The more of him I feel inside me, the less of me there is left. I'm fighting this. I know it's a lost cause; the moment his attention turns my way I won't want to resist, but for now I have to try. I have to get it all down so that when these words are the only thing I have left of myself, I'll remember who I was. 

I'm getting ahead of myself. I will take up where I left off and tie the two ends of this tale together. After I woke up alone, a few days passed where I had the manor to myself. There was the one who brought me food, whose footsteps I could hear in corridors, but I never saw him. I spent my time exploring the house or reading in the library. I found what must've been an old ballroom on the second floor, with an expansive balcony from which I could see a garden below. The massive room stood empty, and there was a sense of sadness, as if the loneliness of this old place was magnified there. It should've been full of life, full of music and dancers. I tried to dance once, twirling across the empty floor like a child spinning circles to make himself dizzy. It was fun until I laughed, and the hollow echo of that sound brought home to me just how abandoned this place was. 

It might strike one as odd that I didn't try to escape, but try to understand that I had never been surrounded by such opulence, and all of my needs were provided. The same couldn't be said of life on 13th Street, peddling my body for spare cash. I had ample food, cigarettes, and clothing. Whenever I awoke there was something clean to wear draped over my desk, and whatever I'd worn the day before had been taken away. I kept telling myself I would make a break for it tomorrow. Always tomorrow. Today, I would indulge in just a little more comfort and security. I would finish the book I was reading, and then I would go – but when I'd finish a book, I would always find another that appealed to me. 

Sometimes, during the day, I'd take my book up to the balcony and read where I had a view of the garden. I never saw the gardener who so carefully tended those flowers and hedgerows. Like the servant who brought my food, he was a ghost, substantial only in what he left in his passing. At night, if Zeph didn't come, I would read in the library. Sometimes there was a fire already burning in the fireplace when I got there. Sometimes there was a smoking jacket draped over a couch, or a cup of cocoa on an end table. I would read until I couldn't keep my eyes open, then I would retire to my room and sleep until the sun pouring in through the window woke me up. 

Then there were the times he would come. The first time, it was a complete surprise. I was in the middle of a bath, and he simply let himself into the bathroom. He laughed as I gaped at him, and he bodily dragged me out of the tub to meet my 'new friend' for the night. I was so startled, and so enamored of those captivating eyes, that it didn't occur to me to protest. He took me to an empty room lit by candles in silver sconces. The floor was bare, and in its center, a stood a man. He looked about thirty, with the strong build and calloused hands of one accustomed to labor. He just stood there, naked at the day he was born, tall and dark, hairy and big. Significantly big. He was already hard, and I couldn't help staring at his sizeable tool. It was long and thick, jutting straight up so that it almost lay flat against his taut stomach. It was repulsively fascinating, the way it twitched eagerly like a thing alive. 

As Zeph and I stood on the threshold, the man looked at me, only at me, as if Zeph didn't exist. It was unsettling the way his eyes seized upon me, like he would tear me apart with only his gaze. His breath quickened, and his hands jerked at his sides as if pressing against some unseen restraint. I started to back out of the doorway, but I bumped into Zeph, who blocked my escape. He smiled at me kindly, kissing my cheek before murmuring, "Have fun." He didn't bother with introductions. He merely gave me a shove that sent me stumbling, dripping and shivering, right into the panting beast. 

As if my touch had triggered some invisible mechanism, the man's arms came around me, and his hands clutched and groped roughly. I wasn't a stranger to being pawed at like a piece of meat, but something was seriously off here. He was like a man possessed, and I don't mean that metaphorically. Usually the kinky stuff was accompanied by some kind of talk. Gonna fuck you, boy, gonna make you squeal like a little girl. Yeah, I'd heard it all before. This guy wasn't doing that. He was mindless, thrusting his hips against mine like he was responding blindly to animal instinct. He didn't seem capable of realizing he was hurting me, let alone caring. 

I tried to pull away, but he grabbed my hair and forced my lips to his. I bit him, and my hands clawed at his chest, but I might as well have been trying to move a mountain. The harder I resisted, the closer he held me, which made me want to resist all the more. Somewhere in the midst of the struggle, he grabbed my battering hands, and his mouth softened against mine in a kiss so eerily familiar that the fight in me drained away. "Shh," the stranger whispered against my lips softly, "It's okay, Eric. I won't hurt you." 

I looked up to see his dark eyes alight with excitement and wicked amusement. I tried to pull away, looking quickly to Zeph, who leaned slack against the doorway, his eyes staring at us but not quite focusing. His head was tilted at an odd angle that reminded me of a marionette with the strings cut. I glanced back at the stranger, and he winked, grinning as though he was imparting some terribly clever joke. 

There is nothing quite like the sensation of relief and terror melding into one within you. It feels like the floor has been torn away from beneath your feet, and you could swear you're falling, but you're not going anywhere. There is a brief moment, before the denial and rationalization kicks in, in which you know what's happening, and it shatters whatever preconceptions you might have had of a normal world. That moment only lasts the span of a few heartbeats, but it seems like an eternity, and all you can do is stand there and stare. Then all you can do is shake your head as your mind starts constructing sane explanations. This man was a friend of Zeph's, and they were playing a trick. Nicely choreographed and perfectly possible. I could believe that, and so I tried to desperately. 

I'm not sure what sensation is supposed to happen next in this instance, because before it could come to me, his lips were on mine again, and his calloused hands explored my body. I let go of my hesitation. If this guy could pretend to be the object of my desire, then I could pretend to believe the ruse. That's how badly I wanted Zeph. I would abandon all reason just for the illusion. 

We made out like desperate teenagers, tumbling to the floor, fumbling and pawing at each other, panting and gasping. There was no finesse to our lovemaking. I wouldn't even call it that. Animal rutting hits closer to the mark. In our clumsy grappling, I got him on his back, and immediately stuffed my mouth full of his cock, whipping my tongue along its length and sucking the purplish head. He groaned beneath me, running his fingers through my hair and shivering as he whispered, "I haven't felt this in so long. Don't bring me off yet, baby. I want to fuck you." 

With that monster? I sat up, trying to catch my breath as I looked at him dubiously. He almost laughed, but it came out more like a needy groan, and he stretched out an arm, feeling along the floor in the shadows. "You think I don't take care of you?" he chided, then he sucked his breath in through his teeth as I ducked my head to give his shaft another tongue-bath. I can never get enough of that taste, the salty-sweetness of sweat mingled with precum. There was a bead of it welling up from his cockslit, and as I lapped it up greedily, I was rewarded with a low moan. 

He pressed a small tube into one of my hands, and I reluctantly sat up again to look at it. Lube. I eyed him again and complained, "You're still going to rip me to pieces with that thing." Even so, I flipped open the cap and squeezed a bit of the gooey stuff into my hand, warming it up a bit before smearing it all over his dick. After I got him good and greased up, I worked the remnants of the lube clinging to my fingers into my ass, slicking up the passage a bit. It was sticky, messy business – exactly the kind of thing that gets me into the mood to fuck. 

Tossing the tube aside, I swung a leg over his hips and situated myself to sit down on his cock. It was so hyper-erect he had to hold it out from his stomach so I could have a decent go at it. I admit I was trembling like a leaf. The damned thing was huge, and he was a strong guy. I couldn't help but think back to that initial surge of animal lust. If his control slipped, he could've really done some damage. 

"Just take it easy," he whispered, trying to sound soothing, but his breath was ragged and there was an undertone of urgency in his voice. 

"I'm fine," I lied shakily as my fingers curled around his thick shaft to guide it into position. I was too tense as I lowered myself onto him, and when my tight ass stretched around the slick head of his cock, the ripple of searing pain that shot through my body made me whimper.

He shuddered delightedly as my ass squeezed around the invading flesh, milking it. He took hold of my hips so I couldn't get off of him, and when the spasm passed, he pulled me down. It was slow torture. He would ease it in about an inch, then stop, giving me a chance to adjust. Then, just as I was getting used to what I had in me, he'd feed me more. Every time he did, I felt like I was being torn in two. Tears stung my eyes, and my gasps came out like sobs. 

He gripped my hips more tightly and grunted, "Relax." It was as if something inside of me unraveled, and the tension released, drained away. I easily slid down the last few inches until I was sitting fully impaled on his monstrous dick, my ass nestled against his balls. 

The pain eased to a dull ache, but every little movement brought it back, sharp, tingling, and thrilling. It felt incredible, and I found myself rocking slowly, intentionally stirring up the sensation as it translated into pleasure. I wanted to tell him how good it felt, but my voice came out in a wordless, broken moan. He laughed softly, and the motion caused my breath to catch in my throat. Every nerve in my body was raw and alive. 

"I think I'm going to come," I whimpered ineloquently when I finally found my voice. 

He drew me down upon him gently with trembling arms. "Of course you are," he whispered, "you're my little whore, and you love it." 

Usually that kind of talk does nothing for me, but coming from him, I melted. Even if he was just a friend of Zeph's playing a trick, he had the nuances down. In my mind, I was fucking Zeph. Damn right I was his little whore. In that moment I would've been anything he wanted. The thick curls of hair on his chest twined around my fingers as I planted my hands there to push myself up. Another moan escaped my throat as his cock pulsed violently inside of me. 

He lay beneath me, letting me work him however I wanted. I stared at his face, which wasn't half as beautiful as Zeph's, but the ungodly hunger in his eyes made him gorgeous. I teased us both, taking it nice and slow, raising myself up a bit, then easing down again. Every time his thick shaft slid in and out, it hit this one spot inside me that sent little jolts of electricity through every nerve. I knew I wasn't going to last much longer, and when I felt like I was ready to explode, one of his hands slipped from my hips to give my cock a firm squeeze, holding me back. 

"Not yet," he taunted, though his cool tone was disrupted by his heavy breathing. 

I wanted to come so badly that I really started to fuck in him in earnest, lifting myself about halfway up the length of his cock, then grinding on him. His amused expression turned serious as he pulled me to him hard on each down stroke. Beads of sweat glistened on his brow, and he licked his lips intently as his breath came in low grunts and gasps. "Take it," he growled, "take it, you fucking slut, filthy whore." 

Maybe I should've been ashamed of the things he was calling me, but I was so fired up they just made me hotter. It was a good thing we were out in the middle of nowhere, because if we'd had neighbors, I'm sure my moans would've woken them. Yeah, I'm a screamer – not very convenient for hotel rooms, but here, where I could really let go, I did. Every time he pulled me down, stabbing into me, I cried out until my voice was raw. It seemed to excite him all the more, and before long, instead of squeezing my cock to hold me off, he started stroking, coaxing me over the edge. 

I came harder than I ever had in my life. It blinded me, like a dizzyingly bright starburst had just exploded behind my eyes. I was delirious, aware only of the indescribable pleasure washing over me in violent waves. I dimly recall calling out Zeph's name and babbling – I didn't know what. I didn't care. I could've been promising him my immortal soul, for all I knew, and at that moment I would've meant it. 

The mindless haze gradually subsided, and I was reunited with reality by the sensation of being manhandled like a limp rag doll. He was fucking me mercilessly, his hands cupping my ass as he thrust into me, pulling me down to meet him. That spot inside me that had felt so good before now ached sharply each time he jabbed at it, and my babbling devolved into whimpering pleas. I don't think he would've stopped because he was hurting me, but it only took a few more slamming strokes. Then he forced me down on him as hard as he could, uttering a low snarl as he went off. I could poignantly feel every pulse of hot jism spattering all over my insides. It was agonizing, but when it subsided, I wanted him to do it again. I never could've taken it, but I wanted it. 

Wanting it or not, the show was over. He stretched out beneath me, sighing softly in satisfaction as his eyes drifted closed. There were a few gooey white globs clinging to the hair on his chest, and a little bit dribbling on his cheek, and I felt oddly proud of the mess I'd made. My attention was then drawn to the doorway by the sound of movement. Zeph approached, blinking vaguely, as though he were just waking from a dream. He leaned down to me, and I reached up to curl an arm around his neck. I kissed him deeply, still impaled on this stranger's gradually softening prick.

Zeph laughed, a musical sound muffled against my lips, and lifted me off the man, drawing me to my feet. The guy's cum leaked out of me, dribbling down my leg in a sticky stream. I was already starting to feel sore from the pounding I'd just taken. I knew I wouldn't be able to walk much tomorrow, if at all. 

"Go get yourself cleaned up," Zeph murmured when he broke away from the kiss, "and get into bed. I'll bring your wine." 

As he led me toward the door, I glanced back at the stranger passed out on the floor and asked awkwardly, "What about him?" 

Zeph reassured, "Oh, he'll be fine. He won't even remember. I'll leave him somewhere safe, away from the house." 

That didn't quite make sense to me, but I was still a little dazed and didn't bother to puzzle it out. Instead, I asked, "Are you going to clean him up first?" 

Zeph shrugged and said lightly, "Nah, let him wonder." 

So it went. Zeph brought a glass of wine to my room later that night, and after I drank it, I fell asleep – only to wake up alone. Then a few days passed where he didn't come around. When he did, he brought a young brown-haired guy who fucked me in the library while Zeph watched. Afterwards, I was given another glass of wine. This pattern has repeated itself with only minor variations for however long I've been here. Usually the men are strong and rough. Sometimes it's like I'm with Zeph and he's borrowing their bodies. Other times he merely watches, but the guys still seem to be in some kind of trance. I often wonder if they even remember me. Sometimes afterwards, when the cock du noir has either left or passed out, Zeph asks me questions about myself and my past, but usually he just gives me the wine and tells me to sleep. 

Over time, I noticed that I could tell when Zeph was coming. At first, it was just a strange feeling in the pit of my stomach, like vague hope mingling with anxiety. Then it became more distinct, and the anxiety and anticipation grew stronger. So did my lust. It's a good thing I don't have any pressing matters to attend to in this house, because I spend an ungodly amount of time jerking off. I think my record is eleven times in one day, and I still went to bed as hard as a rock but too damned sore to give it another go. I haven't at all today, though. After last night, I've been too confused and disgusted to get in the mood. 

Last night, when I knew he was coming, I went to the library, because that's where I wanted to get it that night. I couldn't wait to see what he'd brought me. A bodybuilder? An athlete? He seemed partial to watching me get drilled by bigger, stronger men. I had taken rather nicely to the idea, myself. I wanted this one to be brutal, I decided as I paced in the library, impatient for the evening's festivities to commence. I wanted him to be a monster. I didn't care what he looked like. In my mind, he always wore Zeph's face. 

Therefore I was surprised and a bit disgruntled when Zeph came into the library with Scott. Scott was a whore on 13th Street. He was a little guy, shorter and thinner than me despite being a few years older. He had shaggy red hair, a boyish freckled face, and guileless brown eyes that managed to maintain an air of youthful innocence despite how many times he'd been both fucked and fucked over. He was well liked among his regulars, and he often sported a few bruises under his shabby clothing because he was desperately submissive, and he'd do just about anything for a few bucks. 

"What are you doing here?" I demanded as my old friend greeted me with a nervous smile. I was somewhat surprised by my own rudeness, but just put out enough that I refused to be sorry about it. 

"Eric," Zeph scolded, though the laughter in his voice gave his amusement away. "Is that any way to greet a guest?"

I darted a reproachful glance between them, then forced a smile as I said, "Hey, Scott. Long time no see." 

Scott shuffled a few steps further into the library, looking around with wide-eyed wonder, like he'd never seen such wealth before. Chances are he hadn't. "Wow, do you live here now?" he asked. 

I shrugged noncommittally and watched Zeph as he sprawled on one of the couches and arranged himself comfortably. I shot an irritated frown at him. This mousy boy was my playmate for the night? I couldn't even imagine Scott fucking anyone, let alone getting rough with him. 

"You're going to fuck him," Zeph corrected. I glowered at him for reading my thoughts, though my temper didn't last long under his gaze. Especially when he laughed and added, "I will whenever I want." I could feel those eyes latching on to my mind, an intimate invasion as he impressed upon me, "Now fuck him. I want to see." 

The words seemed to work their way into the core of me. I was already excited. It didn't take much anymore, and with just a little coercion, I was ravenous. I glanced at Scott, and he stood in the center of the room looking small and out of place. Helpless. Something stirred within me at that notion. He was entirely powerless, stuck in the middle of nowhere in an abandoned house, and the only other person besides me was a predator even more dangerous. Would anyone miss him, I wondered as I stepped closer. What was left of my rapidly diminishing reasonable mind was horrified, but I wasn't going to hurt him. I was just going to play. That's all. Play. 




Northwind Ch. 2



"Come here, Scotty," I crooned, crooking a finger at him. He just looked at me for a moment, like he didn't quite resolve what was going on. I could see in his eyes that he was wholly himself. Zeph hadn't done anything to him. Interesting. "Come on," I coaxed, "it'll be fun. Is he paying you?" 

Scott ventured forward, nodding as he said uneasily, "Yeah, a hundred bucks." 

"Wow," I replied indulgently. "That's, what, four or five fucks for you?" I reached out and twisted the collar of his t-shirt in my fingers, drawing him closer. He nodded dumbly, and I smiled as I said, "Good, because that's about what this is going to feel like." 

He tried to say something, but I wasn't particularly interested in talking anymore. I pressed my mouth to his roughly, plunging my tongue between his lips to cut his voice off to a muffled, startled whimper. He tasted like cigarettes, but I suppose I did too, so it was all fair. I hadn't noticed getting any stronger, but I tore his t-shirt away like it was made of tissue paper, flicking the strands of rent fabric to the floor before devouring his bared flesh with my hands. He trembled under my touch, and the taste of fear was intoxicating. My cock was straining uncomfortably against my jeans, though, so I let him go to impatiently unfasten them.

He backed away quickly and offered in a shaking voice, "I'll just take care of the rest," as he started to undress out of my reach. 

"Yeah, you do that," I snapped. I had never been this aggressive with a partner. Even when they paid me to be, it was a forced effort at best. I didn't recognize myself at that moment. I thought maybe Zeph was influencing me, but if so I couldn't sense anything of him in me. He lounged passively, merely observing us with a small smile playing upon his lips. 

I stripped out of my clothes and tossed them aside, then stepped toward Scott just as he was fumbling his leg out of his jeans and kicking them away. He had the cutest cock. It wasn't very big, but it was perfectly shaped, jutting out from his groin like a flagpole. Of course I wanted a taste, but I had other things on my mind, like violating his round little ass. He started to back away as I approached, but I reached out a hand to snag his arm, casually scooping up his jeans with the other. I knew Scott kept condoms with him, and since this was my show, I was going to do it my way. I don't know if Zeph was inside my head to pick up on that, but he didn't complain and I didn't ask. 

I threw Scott at the couch to free up my hands for sorting through his pockets. The poor guy stumbled and fell face first into the leather upholstery, then picked himself up to look at me with puppy-eyed adoration. He was just that way. The worse you treated him, the more he wanted you. "Lay on your stomach," I muttered. I couldn't look at those soulful eyes while I was fucking him. I plucked a condom from his jeans and tore the wrapper away with my teeth. Of course he'd done what I said, and when I stalked over to the couch, he was sprawled on his stomach, clutching one of the cushions in his arms, with his face tilted so he could watch Zeph watching us. 

"You've got a spectacular little 'fuck me' ass," I commented conversationally, sounding aloof and bored to my own ears as I got cozy, wedging my knee between his legs to spread them. "And you know what they say: ask and ye shall receive." My dick was so hard it ached as I rolled the condom on, smearing its lube around the head liberally with my fingers. I liked Scott. I just didn't trust him to be clean. The word 'no' didn't exist in his vocabulary, not that I'd had any room to talk lately. 

"Eric, please," Scott whimpered as he squirmed on the couch beneath me. 

I leaned over to plant kisses along his shoulder, leading a trail to his ear, where I whispered, "Scotty, baby. When spoken to." He shivered and turned his face away, but that horrified act didn't match up with the way he thrust his butt up and eased his legs a little further apart. Zeph didn't say a word, but I could feel his amusement like a peal of laughter rippling across the surface of my mind. 

It was that impression of laughter that put me over the edge. I knew I was entirely in my own mind, but in that moment, I wanted to be brutal. It amused my Zeph, so of course I wanted it. There was no romantic lead-in, no consideration. I grabbed Scott's hips to put them where I wanted them. He jumped a little, stifling a yelp as I pierced his ass, burying a few inches into him. 

A remnant of my conscience nagged at me, and I eased up a bit, but he started to squirm, pushing back against me like he was trying to take it all. Concern gave way rather quickly to sadistic glee, and I held myself still for a moment, resting a hand on the back of the couch for leverage while I watched this little slut writhe on my cock. The combination of the visual I was getting and the way he squeezed around me made it hard to keep myself from pushing him down and fucking him as hard as I could. It was worth it to watch him get so worked up. 

"Am I ever this bad?" I asked Zeph as I calmly stroked Scott's back, grazing my fingers lightly over his skin. 

Zeph laughed, which always such a delightful sound. "Sometimes you're worse." 

I started to laugh, but it sputtered into a low groan. Scott was working some serious magic with his coaxing, and I couldn't hold out any longer. Gripping him at the base of his neck, I held him still and slid the rest of the way into him. I'm usually so careful, so afraid I might hurt someone, but just then I didn't give it a second thought. Drawing back, I thrust home again, picking up a hard slow rhythm that gradually quickened. He gave a low guttural moan and tried to press back into me, but I pushed him down so the only thing he could do was lie there and take it. 

What a beautiful sight. Poor, sweet, helpless Scott, sprawled on his stomach, whimpering and gasping as I drilled him. Each downstroke drove him forward, sliding his stiff little cock over the couch's sleek leather surface. I could tell he was getting off on it, the way he'd tremble and whisper my name every time I pulled back, begging me to do it again. For the first night since I'd come to this place, I wasn't even thinking about Zeph. I was wholly fixated on this whore, my friend, as if he were a buffet and I was starving man. 

I wanted to devour him. I'm not sure what happened. I was starting to feel really good, electrified and a little out of control, the way I do when I'm building up to a mind-blowing orgasm. Somewhere in the midst of the grunting and heaving, I leaned forward to place a kiss against his shoulder, right where it joined with his neck. It's just something I like to do sometimes, to taste the salt of sweat on skin. I didn't mean to sink my teeth into him. It just happened, and once it did, I couldn't stop. I wanted to see blood. I wanted to taste it. 

Scott cried out sharply, and I could feel his body convulsing as he came violently all over himself and the couch. I didn't manage to break the skin, but it wasn't for a lack of trying. The effort woke up an animal in me, and I tore away from his shoulder with a snarl, grabbed hold of his hips, and fucked him. Furiously at first, then desperately as the sweet pressure kept building unbearably. When it finally broke, I collapsed on him, panting and shuddering, buried to the balls in his gripping ass. My pulse roared in my ears, and with each heartbeat I emptied a spurt of cum into the condom. It left me dazed, aware of very little aside from the bliss of release. I came back to my senses when I felt him squirming uncomfortably beneath me. His skin was slick with sweat, and cool. As my eyes drifted open, I spied the place where I'd bitten him not more than a few inches from my face. The angry red patch of ravaged flesh on his shoulder was already starting to darken into a nasty bruise. 

I sat up, pulling out of him, and took off the condom without looking at it, instead staring at the injury I'd inflicted. Guilt mingled with disappointment, but I was too lethargic to care too much. Besides, it was just a stupid bruise. What did I have to feel bad about? Even so, I gently smoothed my fingertips over the mark, and when Scott winced, I leaned down to kiss him softly, expressing an apology I felt but couldn't bring myself to voice. 

Zeph got up then, and the whisper of his clothing as he moved reminded me he was there. I watched him approach – his lazy stride and the indulgent satisfaction in his expression eased away my remorse. Scott tried to sit up as Zeph stood over us, but he smiled down at the redheaded youth and said, "Sleep." 

Scott simply crumpled like a rag doll onto the couch, and if it wasn't for the steady rise and fall of his chest, I would've thought him dead on the spot. It startled me, and I got up, moving away from them both. Was that how that worked? It didn't seem so immediate and blatantly unnatural when it was happening to you personally. 

Zeph tilted his head to track me with his gaze. I looked away pointedly, turning toward the sidebar. We didn't speak a word aloud. This was the time when he was supposed to pour me wine. He picked up on my thought, and as he sidled up behind me, I had a sense that he had something else in mind. I think some part of me must have known what he was going to do, because I was suddenly scared, and I couldn't bring myself to look at him. I would've moved away, but he had me neatly sandwiched between the sideboard and his body. 

"You're worried about him," Zeph murmured against my hair, sending a shiver down my spine. "Don't be. He'll wake up in a hotel room with a hundred dollars in his pocket." With a soft, low laugh, he added, "Probably madly in love with you." 

I cringed at the thought. Don't get me wrong. Scott's a great guy. I really hope that someday he finds someone nice to take care of him. I'm just poignantly aware of how much I'm not cut out to be that person. "I didn't mean to do what I did to him," I said awkwardly. 

"Of course you did," Zeph replied, casually slipping an arm around my waist and pressing his lips close to my ear to whisper, "You're a predator, Eric. I could see it in you when we first met." 

Shaking my head, I asked, "How can you say that?" I don't know what struck me as more horrifying: that he said the words or that they were spoken with such pleasure. 

"You'll see," he murmured. Then his hand lifted away from the sideboard. His grip around my waist tightened as I tensed to bolt. "I think we'll forego the wine tonight," he said. His voice was somewhat muffled, and as I turned to see what he was doing, all I caught was a glimpse of his wrist moving away from his lips. 

"What are you doing?" I asked, and as I watched, beads of deep rich crimson swelled from a small slash in the pale flesh. 

"Giving you what you want," he murmured as he brought his wrist to my mouth. I tried to pull away, but his arm moved from my waist to my hair in the blink of an eye, and he grabbed a handful tightly, forcing me to hold still. His voice was edged with cruelty as he coaxed, "Come on. You don't seem to mind washing it down with a fine Merlot." 

I cried out in disgust, and when my lips parted, that's when he pressed his wrist to them. He could've just made me do it, but he wanted my mind to be my own for this – mine alone to experience that split second of revulsion and horror, and then to feel the animal within awaken again as those first cool droplets touched my tongue, salty and vaguely metallic. I was perfectly in my own mind when I latched onto his wrist like a lamprey, sucking greedily. That isn't to say my mind was even remotely sane, but it was my own. 

This is what disgusts me so much about last night, now that I'm at the point of looking back and wondering what the hell I was thinking. At the time, all that mattered was the sense of strength flowing into me. It was like no drug you could imagine. I understand now why I have been so sexually charged. His blood awoke in me a terrible hunger. As it coursed through my body, it left in its wake a coldness that demanded the warmth of life and flesh. I could feel him inside of me, his thoughts and desires, the pleasure it gave him as I did this – it made lust seem like a feeble thing. 

I would've drained him dry, but he pulled me away viciously, shuddering as he said, "That's enough." His voice was thick with gratification, and he had a dazed look about him. A crooked smile tugged at his lips as he murmured, "You're a greedy thing. Go up to bed. I'll take your friend to his hotel room." 

It wasn't enough, though. I wanted more, and I tried to make a grab for him, but he pulled away nimbly and shook a finger at me as one might chastise a child. It made me angry, and when I couldn't have him, I lashed out, snapping, "Is this how it is, then? Maybe I want to go home. Did you ever think of that?" 

Zeph turned away, tilting his wrist to the light to inspect the wound. It was like a slit marring the surface of cream-colored satin. The blood had ceased to flow. This seemed to satisfy him. Unruffled by my outburst, he replied, "You are home, Eric. Go to bed." 

He could've forced his will. Maybe he wanted my acquiescence, but I wasn't going to give it to him freely. Standing my ground before him was numbingly terrifying. My voice cracked as I said weakly, "I want to know what's going to happen to me. Am I going to just grow old and die here?" 

Zeph smiled faintly as he stepped closer. His eyes held mine, and I couldn't have made another lunge at him if I'd tried. Cupping my cheek with a cool hand, he leaned in and murmured with a fondness far more frightening than menace, "Oh, Eric. You're not going to grow old." 

I don't remember anything after that except waking up in the morning, in bed, alone. I don't even remember dreaming, except for a nagging sensation in my gut telling me that there had been nightmares. Something about the way the wind whispered through the trees surrounding the manor sent a shiver down my spine and seized my gut with cold terror, so much so that I wouldn't try to go outside tonight even if I could. There are things in the woods far worse than the ghostly servants whose footsteps I can hear echoing in the hallway as I write this. I'm so scared I could cry, and he's in town tonight laughing at something. 

I miss him.

To be continued...



Northwind Ch. 3



It's funny how things that are so horrible when you first encounter them become normal and even desirable. Days flowed into weeks since that night when I first developed a taste for blood. God, it was revolting – at first. Then it became bearable. Then I found myself growing restless, fucking whomever Zeph wanted me to fuck, doing whatever he wanted me to do just as long as I got to taste him when it was over. What a horrible addiction – but I needed it. I needed that sweet metallic taste on my lips. I needed to feel him in me, the way every nerve in my body came alive; it was more than lust. The sensations that flooded into me when I fed from him were to sex like a hurricane is to a summer breeze. 

That isn't to say sex wasn't enjoyable. For days after, I would be so damned horny I could've taken on a football team and left them gasping. Of course, those would be the days he would be gone, the bastard – and me, alone in the manor, jerking off obsessively. I couldn't help it. Everything seemed to get me going. I'd step into the shower, and the feeling of the water over my skin was so intense, so wonderful. The feeling of my slick soapy hands sliding over my body was heaven. Climbing into bed at night, the satin sheets were so delicious, sometimes I would come after barely touching my cock. It didn't matter that I made a mess of the sheets. Every night, they would be clean, the bed made, courtesy the servants I heard moving about the house but never saw. 

So it went for awhile. My nights were spent in a mindless haze of lust and self-gratification, punctuated by the occasional visit when Zeph would show up with whomever he had found that night to entertain us. He seemed to favor watching me get fucked by someone rough and strong, though sometimes he would bring me a pretty thing to play with. As time went on, I left those pretty things more and more bruised. After biting once and breaking the skin, Zeph warned me that if I couldn't play nicely with my toys, I wouldn't get another. I apologized to the sobbing blond, and Zeph erased his memory of the ordeal. No harm done. 

After our company du noir had been dealt with (usually put to sleep with a word), Zeph would feed me, and I would take every drop I could before he'd push me away, chiding me for a greedy thing. Then we would lie together in our mutual bliss while the evening's entertainment snored away obliviously. We would talk, mostly about my life before I'd come to this place. I told him about being kicked out of my parents' house, and how I'd made my way on the street; about annoying clients and run-ins with the police. I wasn't ashamed of my past. I was what I was, and if it was good enough for him, it was good enough for me. Besides, the more time passed, the more it felt like that life belonged to someone else. It didn't mean anything. 

Until one night, when I knew Zeph was coming, and that he was bringing me something special. I went to the library to wait for him. There was a fire was crackling in the hearth and the servants had thoughtfully set out a glass of cognac. As I lounged in a robe and sipped the sweetly burning drink, I wondered if he'd bring me another pretty thing. Imagine my surprise when he stepped in dragging a flustered and flailing middle-aged man in a bad suit with him. Good God, he'd brought me Henry. I'd almost forgotten how much that wheezing old bastard agitated me, but after one look at that balding pate and portly gut, I felt my ire rising. 

"Zephyros," I complained, letting him feel my displeasure rather than voicing it. 

He gave Henry a hearty shove, sending him tumbling to the ground at my feet, grunting and struggling to pick himself up off the floor. This proved difficult with Zephyros planting one booted foot in the small of the man's back, pressing him down while asking me, "What, don't you like it?" 

Henry looked up wild-eyed with fear, and I could tell it took him a moment to recognize me. "Boy," he sputtered desperately. "You, I know you. You have to help me." 

His mind was his own – that was odd. I glanced at Zeph, who shot me a smile that would've looked innocent if I didn't know him as well as I did. He reached into his coat, drawing out a camera, which he fiddled with absently as he said, "I thought you might like a little revenge, and I thought I might like a little blackmail." 

I shrugged at Henry, and admittedly it was kind of sweet to watch the small dawning of hope in his eyes crumble to dust. "What, for his money?" 

"Certainly not for his suit." 

Henry cut in, "This is an outrage. Let me go." The anger he tried to drudge up was ruined by the way his voice wavered and cracked. 

"Shut up." We glanced at each other as we said this in unison, and I laughed. "This is how you make your money?" 

Zephyros replied, "Sometimes." Then his voice took a condescending lilt as he explained to Henry almost kindly, "You're going to service him, and then you're going to pay him substantially, or-" The camera's flash went off, capturing a shot of Henry looking stupefied, on his hands and knees in front of me. "I'm going to ruin your pathetic life, or end it. Depends on how much you try my mood tonight." 

"Why don't you just make him do it?" I suggested. Not that I was looking forward to being 'serviced' by a man who bore a strong resemblance to a walrus, but there I was trying to be helpful for my darling.

"Oh, I'd like it better if he had to live with knowing he'd done it on his own." 

"You're in a mood tonight," I commented as I sized Henry up thoughtfully. He wasn't much to look at, but seeing him kneeling there looking so helpless stirred something inside me, a sense of control I'd never felt before. Zeph was urging me in his wordless way, coaxing me to pay back those humiliating nights of sucking him off in his office as he blathered on pitifully about his wife and job. I gave into the temptation, and as I did, it didn't matter anymore that Henry wasn't beautiful or strong. I started to get aroused on the sense of power. Leaning back, I parted my legs lazily, letting the robe fall away as I said, "Give me a blowjob, Henry. Oh, and I'd appreciate it if you called me 'sir.'" 

Henry gaped at me. "What?" 

"What, sir." I corrected, then sipped my cognac before adding, "Blow me. Stop talking, start sucking." 

He looked like he was about to argue, but then the camera's flash went off as Zeph snapped another picture. I could feel his amusement and approval. That, mixed with the excitement of being in control, sent a shiver through me that went right to my dick, and I could feel it start to thicken. Not that it took much these days. Henry looked miserable as he crawled forward, trailing a nervous kiss along my thigh. "Good boy," I murmured, stretching out a bit so he could get a good look at me, pale skin eclipsed by dark silk. 

It was a clumsy first attempt; he wrapped pudgy fingers around the base of my shaft and leaned forward to give the head of my cock an awkward swish of his tongue. Still, after almost a week of having no release but my hand, it was better than nothing. He just needed a little instruction – which I helpfully provided. "What do you think you're doing, licking a stamp?" Snap. Flash. Another picture. 

"Sorry," he mumbled. 

"Sorry what?" This from Zephyros. 

"S-sorry, sir." It looked like it pained Henry to say it. I almost felt a twinge of pity, but damn. He may not have been the violent type, but the way he used the boys on 13th Street was far from kind. Throw some money at a starving kid, make him your receptacle, then send him back out into the cold. It touched off a spark of indignation that burned through that sympathy. At least when we threw him out, he'd have somewhere to go. 

"That's better," I murmured around another sip, closing my eyes as the cognac blazed a pleasant trail of liquid fire down my throat. Henry must've decided my dick wasn't going to bite, because he took it in his mouth and started sucking gingerly. "Harder," I grunted, squirming a bit on the couch. It wasn't a terribly good blowjob, but there was something quaint about the fumbling that made it a turn on. It wasn't half bad, and with a little work, I was sure he could improve. 

"Mm, nice." He got the hang of sucking, then started to bob his head a little, taking in more with each downstroke. My eyes opened to slits just in time to see the camera's flash go off again, capturing Henry with his eyes closed, grimacing, his lips wrapped around a hard cock. My breath came quicker as I watched him. I wondered what else I could make him do. I thought about fucking him, then decided against it. I was comfortable, this felt good, and given my druthers, I would've rather not seen Henry naked. So I sat back, sipped at my cognac, and let the poor bastard do all the work. 

"How is it?" 

Zeph's voice snapped me out of the lull I was slipping into, and I glanced over at him curiously. "Hmm? Oh, you know, he's not bad. I think with a little work, he'd be a grade A cocksucker." As Henry paused, I frowned at him and snapped, "No one said you could stop." A thrill of pleasure coursed through me as he cringed, and then my cock was wrapped in the wet velvety confines of his mouth again. 

He was hurrying, trying to get me off so it would be over. I started to chastise him, but Zeph cut in, "You look lovely tonight." 

I glanced at him with a sheepish smile that must've looked ridiculous coupled with the balding head bobbing in my lap. "You think so?" The conversation was enough of a distraction to hold off my orgasm, and I kind of liked the idea of Henry getting a taste of what it was like to try and pleasure someone who wouldn't shut up. "Hey, aren't you worried he's going to go to the police?" 

Zeph snapped another picture idly and said, "I'm sure he will, but he's not going to remember how he got here, or where here is, or our faces, or our names." 

"He doesn't remember my name anyway," I said ruefully, absently leaning down to stroke Henry's cheek, wordless encouragement as he uttered a muffled grunt of frustration. "Watch the teeth," I warned him quietly. 

Zeph amended wryly, "Okay, he won't remember my name." 

I shifted my hips a bit where I sat. It was starting to really feel good, but I didn't want to come yet, so I kept talking. "What is your name, anyway?" I probably wouldn't have been so bold with Zephyros, save that I was more than a little distracted by the tongue whipping along the underside of my dick. I swear the bastard was starting to enjoy himself. 

"Murder," Zeph said.

That brought me back from my bliss, a little. "What?" 

"Northwind." Snap, there went another picture. 

"Come again?" 

Zeph lowered the camera and looked at me as if I was daft. "Murder Northwind," he explained. "My name." 

Henry started to ease off again, but since he didn't stop, I let him. His tongue swirled around the head of my cock, and I heard a low moan. Glancing down, I saw a tent in the crotch of his awful suit. I toyed with the idea of letting him stroke himself, but it was a passing thought. I had other things on my mind. "Your name is Murder? For real?" 

"It was a perfectly acceptable name in those days," Zeph replied, looking a little put out. "My mother chose it, after the middle name of her paternal grandfather." 

"Your mother named you Murder." I was a child of the twentieth century. It was all very fascinating. 

Zephyros smiled faintly and said, "Ironic, considering what became of her. I think your friend is getting a little restless." 

Henry whimpered pathetically, and I did feel kind of sorry for him, so I petted his sparse hair and said indulgently, "You can play with yourself." He wasted no time unbuckling his belt and whipping out his rather unimpressive tool. I remembered being able to swallow it down all the way without gagging, but then I'd learned to suppress that reflex years ago. Maybe it just looked small compared to his meaty hand, stroking it furiously. His face was flushed with shame, but he didn't miss a beat, so to speak. As the conversation subsided, he went back to sucking me with a will. 

Zephyros went back to snapping pictures, and I admit I enjoyed putting on a show, squirming and bucking my hips at the poor man's face, fucking his mouth as he worked desperately to get himself off. "You like that, don't you?" I crooned, and my voice was raspy with pleasure. "Maybe if you're good, I'll fuck you next time." I got a sense from Zeph that there wouldn't be a next time, but I didn't mind. Henry whimpered when I said it, and that was the point. 

I tried to hold off, but it became more and more difficult until I succumbed, holding Henry tightly by the back of his head so he couldn't pull away. He gagged and sputtered as I shot into his mouth. He tried to pull away, and there was a time he could have with no trouble, but Zephyros' blood had made me strong, and there was very little he could do. The constriction of his throat as he was forced to swallow was well worth the momentary scraping of his teeth, and I couldn't help crying out. Then I collapsed back against the couch as the waves of pleasure subsided, lost in a daze and only barely aware of Henry licking me clean as his shoulder, propped against my leg, shifted with the motion of him jerking himself off. 

I glanced aside lazily at the nearly empty glass of cognac tilted precariously in my hand, and with malice aforethought, I tipped it, letting the amber liquid pour over my stomach as I sighed, "Good boy. That's for you." Like an eager pup, the man licked and kissed at my stomach, catching up every drop. His mustache tickled my skin, and I laughed softly as I stroked his comb-over and sighed again. He pressed his cheek against my abdomen as he came, shuddering and gasping. He looked so sweet. I realized he didn't irritate me anymore. Henry wasn't a good person, but he was a passable pet. I pondered toward Zeph the notion of keeping him, but was answered with a firm negative. Ah, well. This one already had a good home. 

Unfortunately, as Henry started to recover, he also started to remember who he was and what he was doing here. After a few moments of resting against my side, he sat up suddenly and fumbled with his trousers, brushing at the damp stain on the front of them nervously. "Oh God," he groaned. "I've got to get out of here." 

Zeph took one last picture for good measure, then tucked the camera away in his coat again as he said, "Yes, you do. Get up." Then, "Eric, what do you think that was worth? Ten grand? Twenty?" 

"What?" Henry's eyes looked like they were about to pop out of his head. Zeph shot him a glance that sent chills down my spine. I can only imagine what it must have done to Henry – he became quite pale, and I was half-worried he'd faint. 

"I wonder how much your wife would think they're worth," Zeph mused. Then he shrugged and said, "We'll work it out when we get back to your office. Now go lie down until I'm ready to deal with you." I could feel the mental whiplash as Henry's mind was seized, and he obeyed without a word, curling up on the couch opposite me to stare into space blankly. 

"You really don't like him, do you?" I ventured. 

Zephyros shrugged as he ambled over, sliding onto the couch and taking me in his arms. "I'm giving him what he wants. Tear away the money and power, and there's a spineless coward pining for someone to tell him what to do." I shivered as he drew a kiss along my throat, and my fingers curled through his dark hair lovingly. "Not like you," he whispered against my skin. "You take to power well." 

He kissed me then, and I melted against him. Compared to the average person I might have been uncannily strong, but when his lips touched mine, I felt weak as a kitten. He supported me with one arm around my waist as he leaned back and raked one sharp nail along one side of his throat, parting the pale flesh. My heart beat faster, and my guts twisted with anguished need as I watched blood so thick it was almost black welling up from the wound. "Kiss me," he whispered, and I fell upon him, pressing him into the couch as I latched on to drink, taking him into me. 

To be continued...



Northwind Ch. 4



I’m being trained for something, but I don’t know what it is. This occurred to me this evening, once I’d slept off what I did last night and had a chance to think. I don’t doubt that Zeph enjoys watching me fuck and suck, and get fucked. It’s just that these sessions have taken on an instructive air, ever since that night with Henry. “You take to power well,” Zeph had said after I’d made that bastard suck my dick, and I have to admit it did feel pretty good to watch him crawl on his hands and knees in front of me.

In the nights that followed, I felt like I was being tested. The next time Zephyros came to the manor, he brought me another man like Henry – middle-aged, badly dressed for his outrageous income, pompous and full of himself. I didn’t know this guy per se, but I knew the type. I’d sucked off my share in the days when all that kept me from starving to death was whatever spare change they’d throw at me after coming in my mouth. It wasn’t so long ago that I needed men like him, and I hated them. I hated that, if I didn’t do what they wanted, I’d go hungry and they’d go home to their six digits worth of split level in the hills without giving me a second thought.

The more I’ve thought about it, the more I’ve come to realize that what I hated was being powerless in the presence of men who should be, in a righteous and sane world, beneath me.

However, I’m getting ahead of myself. Zeph brought me another Henry, and though I didn’t know this one personally, an arrogant bastard who needs to be taken down a peg is an arrogant bastard who needs to be taken down a peg. I’d been given no warning when Zephyros brought him home. He summoned me with a thought after he’d already brought the man to the library, and I joined them there. The mood was set, with a fire burning low in the hearth, and the scent of brandy in the air, coming from a single snifter resting on the sideboard. I knew it was for me, and I plucked it up as I strode in and took one look at tonight’s entertainment. He was neither beautiful nor strapping. This annoyed me.

The events that followed are hazy in my memory. It’s not just the brandy I consumed in daunting quantities, but also that Zeph was there in my mind, and the experience was not mine alone. My annoyance had turned to rage fairly quickly, and I was consumed with a burning hatred for the man I’d never met, because he was like Henry, and the fact that there were more than one like that in the world stung with the resonance of some great injustice. My emotions had become so much stronger since I started feeding from Zeph, and I can honestly say I had never been so furious in my life.

I didn’t dare take it out on Zephyros, but I took great pleasure in taking it out on the man, whom I’ve dubbed the Suit for lack of a better name. Oh, how I made him crawl. When I first told him to get on his knees, he refused, and I struck him a blow across the face that sent him reeling from the unnatural force of it. The twinge of remorse I felt was drowned in a heady rush of lust. I was in control, and it was better than any drug I’d ever tried. The Suit scrambled to his hands and knees, trembling and terrified. I stalked over to him, knelt down to speak quietly in his ear. I wanted to heap insults on him, call him every dirty name in the book, but instead, what came out of my mouth was, “Now be a good boy, and I promise it won’t hurt too badly.”

I immediately darted Zeph an indignant look. He lounged on one of the couches, giving me an angelic expression that could melt a glacier. I could feel him in my mind, though, and the only angel he’d ever resemble would be the fallen variety. His presence was pervasive and powerful, gripping me like a leash around my throat, and I knew that if I crossed a certain line, he would take over, just like he had made my lips speak his words. Even as I stared at him, I could feel my indignation being soothed away. I turned my attention back to the quivering Suit on the floor, and the idea that this wasn’t a bad arrangement slipped so subtly into my thoughts that it could’ve been my own. After all, it wasn’t as if I had been turned into some mindless vessel for my master’s pleasure. Within the boundaries he’d set out, my thoughts and actions were entirely my own.

I should’ve realized then that he was training me for some purpose, but I was mesmerized by the taste of power I’d been given, the freedom to do whatever I wanted with this Suit so long as Zephyros approved, and there was so very much of what I did that night that met with his approval. I couldn’t hurt the Suit, nor could I physically force him to do what I wanted, so I learned how to manipulate him with words, playing off his fears and desires. I came twice that night, first in his mouth after I taunted him into crawling over to where I stood, then again as I rode his dick with all the consideration I’d give a dildo while I jerked off on his chest. Then I got of off him, leaving him so hard and wanting that he finished himself off with his hand while Zeph and I watched. Then Zeph put him down for a nap, and we reveled in each other late into the night, me feeding from his wrist while he stroked my hair and praised me for being a good boy.

The nights that followed were similar. The players changed, but the game remained the same. Zephyros would ride my mind, ready to snap me back into line but otherwise watching to see what I’d do. And me, crazed with lust and raw with the heightened sensations my master’s blood had given me, didn’t care as long as I had my fill of flesh, sweat, and sex. Through these gentle but firm tutorials, I learned about having power over others, and wielding it not only as a tool of revenge, but also a means of coaxing a pretty little thing to greater pleasure, or reining in a beefy stud who’s just aching to be broken. What I learned is that the key to power isn’t the use of force, but in having it and not using it. The things a man will do when he thinks you might harm him are deliciously creative and widely varied compared to what a man will do whom you’ve already hurt. The fear of what might happen, not what has happened, is an excellent motivator.

Keep in mind that I hadn’t left this manor since the night I came here, so when I awoke yesterday afternoon to find clubbing gear laid out by my unseen servants, I wasn’t sure what to expect. I didn’t question how the specters with whom I shared this place knew what size I wore, but the sleek black PVC fit snug and perfect. The glossy black boots were comfortable, and fit in such a way as to demand a strong and cocky stride. There were no mirrors, so I admired the ghost of my reflection in the window, backlit by the setting sun. All I could see was an impression of long golden hair and pale skin eclipsed by a shiny black second skin. 

It felt good, the way it clung to me, and I must’ve spent nearly an hour simply striding the halls of the manor, my hands moving over my body, reveling in the confinement of the tight clothing and every squeak and creak that came from it whenever I moved. It was dark by the time I felt Zephyros’ presence, urging me to the foyer, where I would meet him and…

He was dressed similarly, leaning against the doorway with a cocky grin playing on his lips. To say he looked good doesn’t do justice to the surge of lust and want that rushed over me, reined in by his will, not mine. As I stood there quivering against the confinement he’d put on my mind, he sauntered over, slipped his arms around me, and pressed a gentle kiss to my lips. I couldn’t do anything more than whimper, and the frustration was maddening. “We’re going out,” he informed me quietly, stepping away and turning to open the door. “Get in the car.”

My legs moved, and I let them, but they were following orders from him, and I had the distinct impression I was currently only along for the ride. There was so much I wanted to say, so much I wanted to do. It had been so long since I felt the ground beneath my feet. Sure, the balconies offered plenty of fresh air and chances to be outdoors and enjoy the manor’s gardens, but it’s different when the hedgerows and rosebushes are all around you, not somewhere vaguely below. 

We passed a row of white hyacinths as he led me to his car, parked at a jaunty angle in the cracked and weed-grown driveway. My senses, already strengthened, were amplified by the sheer excitement of being outside, and the flowers’ scent hit me with a dizzying sweetness. Had I been my mere mortal self, I might’ve fainted from the onslaught of sensations. As it was, I could barely fumble the seat belt into place once I got in the car. Zephyros revved up the engine and began to pull onto the main road. Of course he was cool and calm. For him, leaving the house wasn’t a once in a god-knows-how-many years event.

A disconcerting silence settled over us as he drove and I, slumped sideways in my seat, stared out the window at the passing scenery. There was no point in conversing; once a question formed in my mind, he would plant the answer there. Where are we going? To a club. Why a club? You’ll see. Am I in trouble? No, my Hyacinthus. You’re not in trouble. Streetlights flickered the rows of houses and trees in darkness and lurid orange light. How far outside of town were we? I couldn’t remember ever having been here before.

Once we reached the club, I realized that our arrival there was little more than a fog in my memory. Zephyros. What, did he think I was going to try to escape, after all this time? That I would have somewhere in the city to return to even if I could find my way back again? But his mind was closed to me. He didn’t want my night out to become a lover’s spat and, not knowing when I’d get another, neither did I.

The club was dark, a packed room with flickering strobes silhouetting swaying bodies. There was a time when this would’ve been my scene, but my first instinct was that of an animal – to run, to hunker down in a corner and hide. Again Zeph was in my mind, propping me up on my feet, stifling the rising panic and soothing my nerves. His thoughts were like a drug, numbing my body and easing my mind. I needed him like a junkie needs a needle, and like anyone deep in his addiction, I didn’t care about anything he might do to me, as long as I had him.

The place was a sea of leather and PVC, silvery chains and caked on make-up. It was sleazy and beautiful. That I didn’t recognize the music didn’t bother me, despite there having been a time when I knew every band. The sound was more than just raw noise – a sensual heartbeat pulsing through my body. How had I ever lived before, with five dull senses and no one inside of me but me? Zephyros didn’t say a word, but I knew what he wanted. Find something nice, and get it alone. We drifted through the crowd, which seemed unconscious of how it parted in our wake. I, floating on the pleasant haze of my master’s presence and cased the bar, where pretty boys flirted and dumb jocks showed off. They were alright, but nothing I hadn’t had before.

Then I saw him.

He was cute in a boy-next-door kind of way, leaning against the bar with a glass clasped in his hand. He looked out of place in jeans and a t-shirt, and his expression told me he had no idea why he’d even come. I made my way toward him, and our eyes met. His were warm and brown, honest in a ‘good boy in a bad place’ way. He smiled. I remembered to do the same with some prompting from Zeph, who let me lead and followed up behind.

“What’s your name?” I asked, trying to keep the impatience from my voice. I’d found what I wanted, now I wanted it. Zephyros chided me, you really need to learn how to play with your food.

“Eric,” he replied. 

I smiled despite myself. I sidled in beside him at the bar, and the leather-clad punk lounging there got out of my way. “So, Eric. How fast can you pound down that drink so you can dance with me?” A fear of rejection was for people who weren’t me.

Eric stammered a bit, then gulped down the last of what smelled like a rum and coke. He set the glass on the bar, and I snaked an arm around his waist to draw him onto the dance floor. Zephryos was a shadow riding my mind, staying out of the way. He always did like watching.

Out on the floor, closed in by the press of bodies, I cupped my hands over Eric’s ass and moved in time to the music. Fuck dancing, I wanted to feel this guy’s body, and from what I could tell, I wouldn’t be disappointed. Nice muscles, not too buff. His scent was incredible, all sweat and aftershave, with an undertone of musty wood bark. “Landscaping?” I asked as I slowly but surely let our gyrating steer us closer to an alcove off to one side of the floor.

“How did you know?” he laughed, and his tickle of breath on my throat caused my dick to press against the confines of the tight PVC I was wearing.

“Just a guess,” I replied innocently. Great minds think alike, I could tell. As we drew closer to the alcove, I caught a glimpse of Zephyros there, flashing me a smile across the crowded room. When we arrived though, and I took Eric by the hand to draw him into the dark little nook, Zeph was nowhere in sight. I could feel him nearby, a teasing presence in the back of my mind, but clearly he didn’t want my new friend to know about him. There’s something delicious about a secret, and this unexpected spin made the game all the more fun.

“So what do you do for a living?” Eric prompted, and his voice caught slightly . A total stranger had just stolen him into a dark alcove, the one place in this crowded club that wasn’t occupied. I can’t imagine why he might’ve been a little nervous.

It was a complicated question, and I answered it by kissing him, working my tongue between his lips, decisively if not roughly. He tensed up at first, but then he started to relax, and I reveled in the way his body melted against mine, and his hands cautiously explored the slick PVC coating my skin. He wants this, I realized. He wants me.

Of course he does, came Zephyros’ voice in my mind. I laughed softly, breaking the kiss and gathering my namesake up in my arms.

“You could have anyone you wanted in this club,” he murmured against my ear, sounding mystified.

“I intend to,” I purred, and my fingers hooked on the zipper of his jeans, easing it open.

He went wide eyed and drew away. “This isn’t that kind of place,” he insisted. 

Though I adored the way his voice squeaked as he said it, this wasn’t getting me laid. The urge to snarl, ‘well it is now,’ push him against the wall, and strip him down was strong, but Zeph’s presence in my mind was stronger, reining me in, coaching patience. So instead, I smiled with a calculatingly coy tilt of my head and said smoothly, “Then why don’t we go somewhere quieter?”

I may not have had Zeph’s ability to seize the mind, but a pair of baby blues and a sweet smile can get a boy what he wants. Eric followed me out of the club after hastily zipping up, and I was poignantly aware of the straining denim against his crotch. My mind raced with thoughts of where I could take him that was close by, and Zephyros supplied me helpfully with the knowledge of an abandoned warehouse across the alley.

The night air was cold on my flushed faced as we left the noise of the club behind us. The warehouse by comparison was a lonely and silent tomb, dusty with old cobwebs as even spiders had abandoned this condemned place. Getting in wasn’t a problem – with my strength, ripping off a few boards nailed over a door was like tearing open a bag of chips, and with Zephyros’ gift for manipulating the mind, anyone nearby simply failed to look in our direction. My poor namesake didn’t seem to know what to make of the situation, but he stayed close to my side as we slipped in unseen.

I could feel Zephyros trailing us, but I couldn’t see him. Even my sensitive hearing could only barely pick up his footfalls, and poor Eric seemed clueless. He shivered in the cold, and I drew him closer in the crook of my arm as I led him to a pile of broken down crates and sackcloth heaped in the shadows cast from where a part of the roof had caved in. He staggered and leaned against me heavily – my eyes had adjusted well to the darkness, but as I glanced over to his face, I saw him staring blindly, and I felt a twinge of pity. “Come on,” I said gently, taking his hand and laying it upon the sturdiest of the crates. He groped for it eagerly and felt his way along to a place where he could sit. I sat beside him, took his hand again, and found myself unsure of what to do. Zeph was there in my mind, but he had gone quiet, poised and waiting to see where I’d take things.

“So…” Eric prompted, and in the awkward silence that followed, we both laughed and relaxed some.

“I’m not good at small talk,” I mentioned apologetically.

I glanced down and watched his fingers twine around mine as he replied, “Oh, I don’t know. You were doing pretty well back at the club.”

The urgency that had brought me to this moment had faded, and without Zeph guiding me, I was suddenly at a loss and somewhat afraid of this boy-next-door with the warm smile and pretty eyes. In the dark, his face was a ghostly shadow, his expression open and honest, trusting that I was as blind as he, and he was smiling serenely as he stared into the shadows. I didn’t have to ask to know that he wasn’t the kind of guy who fucked around. There was a sweet nervousness about him, and the way he dressed wasn’t peddling flesh. Compared to the nameless slabs I’d nailed for so long, he was achingly and intoxicatingly real. There was a wistful quality to him, not like someone hoping to get some, but more like he was searching for something deep and substantial. Then again, aren’t we all?

I still wanted to fuck him, but I also wanted to know him, and that wasn’t something I’d never dealt with before. My mouth went uncharacteristically dry, and my voice trembled as I said, “You know, if you don’t want to…”

But he put a finger to my lips and replied wryly, “You think I followed you here to pick out china patterns?” He gave a quick shake of his head, tousling his brown curls, and leaned in to kiss along my throat, adding, “It’s okay. I want this.”

I pulled him closer, and our lips met. Blind lust had become such a part of me, it didn’t take long to make up my mind, and he, having already decided what he wanted to do, didn’t waste any time. The crates creaked beneath us, and the sackcloth staved off the worst of the splinters. It was a clumsy fumble as he struggled with each others’ clothing, and I won the race, unzipping his jeans and practically lunging for his cock, engulfing it in my mouth. He was only partially erect, but as I pushed him back onto the crates and swirled my tongue along his shaft, he started to harden the rest of the way. God, how delicious it was, the taste of his skin, and the feeling of my mouth being stretched as I tried to contain his entire length. He whimpered helplessly, curling his fingers through my hair as he writhed beneath me, causing the aged wood to groan and complain.

It was the only sound in the warehouse, save for our labored breathing and his quiet pleas. He wanted to get off so badly, but I wasn’t ready for that. I wanted it to last, to drive him insane. I wanted to be the best he’d ever had, the best he’d ever have. So I teased his dick with my tongue, sucking him in as I swallowed him into my throat, then easing off to do it again. When I cupped his balls in my hand and gave them a squeeze, he practically melted, but only for a moment before he was squirming again.

When I could tell he was getting close, I drew off of him entirely, and he yelped with dismay, reaching for me as I pushed away. “I want to fuck you,” I panted as I worked open my pants – I’m all about the romance. The PVC was so tight, and cock was straining so hard against the material, it wasn’t easy, but once I got unzipped, my erection practically sprang out. With a sigh of relief, I collapsed onto the crates, splaying on my back and reaching for him. He was quick on the uptake, and I didn’t have to say a word – his lips wrapped around my cock in a heartbeat, and I was in heaven.




Northwind Ch. 4



He may not have been the type who was out looking for a fuck, but someone had taught this guy how to suck dick. Plus, he’d come prepared. As his head bobbed up and down, he fumbled in his pocket for a condom and clasped it in one hand while the other wrapped around the base of my shaft, and he started to deep throat me. A trace of annoyance tempered the pleasure his warm, wet mouth was giving me. While I approved of using protection in theory, I didn’t want to bother with a condom. But what was I going to tell him? That I knew I was clean because I couldn’t catch diseases? It was only momentarily irksome anyway, because that boy could do things with his tongue that could put anything else out of your mind.

I had to push him away, because after he hit that sweet spot right on the underside of my cock’s head, I came dangerously close to not needing that condom after all. He had me breathing raggedly slick with sweat, and so worked up that even the cold air on my dick felt wonderful when he leaned back and worked on opening the condom wrapper. It was a gold coin, unlubed, and as I reached for it, he shook his head and whispered, “I want to show you something.”

So I leaned back, propped on my elbows, and watched with amazement as he gave my cock a quick lick, then laid the condom against his lips. I couldn’t believe it, but he leaned down and began to suck me into his mouth again, rolling the condom on with his lips, tongue, and gentle, precise suction. Through the latex, I could feel every little manipulation, and I quickly forced myself to think of something grotesque to keep from coming. Ah, yes. I’d finally found a use for Henry after all. Even remembering sucking him off couldn’t kill a boner entirely, but it was enough to keep me from shooting then and there. My namesake finished rolling the condom on, and held me in his mouth for a moment, breathing through his nose and just engulfing me in his warmth. The image of his dark curls tumbling over his brow, and his gorgeous lips locked around the base of my shaft was incredible. I had to think Henry thoughts all over again.

Eventually the torture subsided, and he drew back slowly, gazing toward me with glassy eyes that didn’t quite focus in the dark. I reached for him without a word, and as smoothly as if we’d choreographed it, I got up from the crates and bent him over them, where he twisted his hands in some sackcloth and braced himself. Then I pushed down his jeans and pressed in close to him. It’s not like I’d never bent anyone over before, but god, he was beautiful, the way his back curved, and the broad set of his shoulders straining through the flimsy cotton of his shirt. I took it all in as I spat on my fingers and worked them along his crack, finding and probing his tight opening.

“You ready?” I whispered, leaning down to nip at his ear. Some detached part of me noted almost coldly that I’d never asked that with the others.

By way of reply, he rocked his ass against my probing fingers, grinding his hips and moaning softly. If that wasn’t a yes, I didn’t know what was. It was an effort of will, but I pushed my cock into him slowly. I didn’t want to hurt him. I had to have him, but not at the price of his pain. I shouldn’t have worried. He was tight, but he knew how to take a dick, and as I eased into him, he pushed back against me until I was lodged fully inside of him. I could feel muscles tighten and squeeze around me, a hot velvety vise. The ripples of pleasure coursing through my skin hit my bloodstream like wildfire, bringing every nerve alive. This was my life, that constant need for gratification, and when I could feel it coming, the world was all brightness and fire, even in the darkest shadows.

When I drew back and thrust into him, he arched his back and tossed his hair, bracing himself to meet my strokes, which started so slowly but picked up pace as the fleeting grasp I had on control began to unravel. I pushed harder, and he cried out, but before I could do anything, the words, “Don’t stop,” tumbled from his lips on a broken moan. It had to have hurt. I knew my strength, and I wasn’t holding back. Neither was he, and with every downstroke, his body trembled, his muscles squeezing and spasming around my cock. It felt like he was coming, and his cries sounded like it, but I hadn’t even touched his dick. Like I was going to stop and ask? I couldn’t even think for the pleasure, and for what seemed like a small eternity, the only thing in the world was that unspeakable sensation, growing stronger and stronger, until it trembled through me and peaked in an explosion so intense I’d never felt anything like it.

Reality seemed to settled around us gradually. I was dimly aware of pulling out of him, of peeling off the condom and tossing it aside. I must’ve crawled up beside him, because when his kisses returned me to myself, he was gathered up in my arms, and I was stroking his hair. There were tears in his eyes, and he was shaking. Maybe I’d really hurt him, or maybe I was just that good.

“Will I ever see you again?” he whispered, and his voice was raw and aching.

Every ounce of me wanted to say yes, immediately. The word was on my lips, with no thought to how it would be possible. My namesake had made me do something I’d never done in all the time that Zephyros had kept me; I’d completely forgotten about him.

“Eric.” The voice was passionless, and it echoed eerily through the sagging walls of the warehouse.

We both looked up, but while I spotted Zephyros immediately, standing some ten paces away with a face that was a mask of cold fury, the other Eric, my Eric, kept tracking his gaze through the darkness and fixing on nothing. When I started to speak, Zephyros cut me off, the words piercing my mind so sharply I could’ve sworn they’d drawn blood. Get in the car. He didn’t take his eyes off the trembling brunette beside me.

I didn’t move of my own volition, but I did move. My hands refastened my PVC and smoothed it out, and I rose from the crates, my feet taking steps as if they’d been programmed to do so whether I wanted them to or not. I could hear Eric behind me, plaintive as he asked, “Where are you going?” I passed by Zephyros, who hadn’t so much as blinked, and his eyes were fixed on the poor man with a look of peculiar interest. I kept going, out of the warehouse and into the night.

That’s all I remember. I awoke this afternoon in my room in the manor, hungry for blood, and feeling like a naughty boy who’d been sent to bed without his supper. Zephyros is training me for something, and I don’t know what. All I know is that, last night, something backfired.