A Life of Yes Ch. 07-08

And I'd done my share of lying down for men for pay.

"I think Nigel is telling me that we've had our run and that he's moving on to something younger," I told Jennifer. "He may not even know he's at that point. He's so taken up with his work that this 'for younger men' fashion show he's putting on may be his unconscious way of expressing that."

"I think he's just insensitive, Lee. He's a man. That happens with me. And he's an artist. He's tied up in his art. I don't think he's any less tied up with you. And even if so, it's not the end of the world. You're still a gorgeous hunk. You could go into movies--legitimate ones now. You have the training. You could even open a dance school. You were pulled out of dance before the interest left you. There will be life after Nigel. God, he's nearly thirty years older than you, double your age. There will be a change sometime. Still, I think all you need is a reset. Reality is that Nigel can't reset until after this show is past him, but you can reset right now."

"That's what Margo said--that we needed a reset."

"Which brings me to why I'm here," Jennifer said. "I can't stay long. Cocktails and an American dick await. I didn't have your birthday present all together last evening, so I couldn't give it to you at the party. Here. Happy birthday, chump... sorry, I mean champ." She gave me that sisterly mischievous look.

"What's this then?" I asked. It was a thick packet of material.

"This is a reset," she said. "You've always said you wanted to see Bavaria--King Ludwig's fairytale castles there. You're going to Bavaria next week for a long weekend. Transportation, hotels, itinerary. The works are here in this packet. All taken care of."

"I can't go to Bavaria next weekend, Jennifer," I said. "The show is the week after that."

"You aren't on the runway for the show. You have no need to be here for it. You need a vacation from this and Nigel needs to know what it is like if you're not here for a show."

"But he needs me, backstage, if I'm not on the runway. He's said so."

"And let him actually absorb that," she said with a cheery tilt in her voice. "That he needs you. That his need for you isn't just an easily flipped off expression."

"I'd have to ask him."

"No, you wouldn't. I've already cleared it with Margo. She says it's a great idea. Nigel doesn't know his dick from his elbow right now as taken up as he is with the show."

I didn't really think it was the show that had Nigel preoccupied; I believed it was Gerald. "The question is whether Gerald knows his dick?" I said.

"Even if he does--especially if he does--this is something you need right now."

I was grateful that she didn't try to say there was nothing going on between Nigel and Gerald. I knew the looks that went between them. Ten years ago that was Nigel and me. I knew Nigel was screwing Gerald.

"I don't know if I could endure touring alone," I said.

"You won't have to," Jennifer said. "A tour guide is included. Your initial stay is at the Sofitel Munich Bayerpost Hotel. He'll meet you for dinner there next Friday night. And you're booked for a contemporary dance performance in Munich that evening. The tour guide has been matched to your interests. You'll be there Friday evening and you'll put yourself in the tour guide's hands for the weekend touring the castles of Bavaria."

"Yes, ma'am," I said, knowing when I'd been taken in hand.

"Don't even mention it to Nigel this week," she said.

"Yes, ma'am," I answered. And I didn't.

* * * *

I saw him at the maître d's stand at the Délice La Brassiere restaurant in the Sofitel Munich Bayerpost Hotel and knew instantly that he was here for me, although he surprised the hell out of me. Jennifer hadn't stinted on the hotel she put me in. There was no reason to believe she's stint on the tour guide she provided. I hadn't given it much thought, though, and for some reason I was expecting some dumpy old East German refugee countess in a dirndl. He was gorgeous. He also was a surprise in that he was black--or at least partially black. He was tall and muscular and a light chocolate brown. His head was in a kinky-haired black buzz cut, and he could have been a mercenary soldier as much as anything else. He was only saved from being thuggish by a movie-star, ruggedly handsome face, an excellent--and expensive--sense of clothing style, and the fluid grace with which he smiled at me when the maître d' pointed me out and he moved to my table.

"Mr. Prentise?" he asked when he was standing there before me in all his commanding elegance. He was all in black, a silky black turtleneck, long-sleeved top that conformed to his muscular chest over tailored black slacks and black loafers. His voice was a rich, silky baritone. He could have been a poet or a musician--something in performance while still being ruggedly individualistic. "No, don't rise, please. I'll sit," he said as I started to get up. He put a beefy hand with, conversely, manicured nails out to take my hand and I nearly hyperventilated as his thumb went under and stroked my palm as we shook hands. In my world this was a declaration of a top to a submissive.

Had I been read that quickly? Then I remembered that Jennifer had said that the tour guide had been matched to my interests and I nearly laughed. Jennifer knew me entirely too well. I wondered if the tour guide knew of this purposeful compatibility.

"Call me Lee," I said. "And I assume you are to be my tour guide for my weekend floating around Bavaria."

"Yes, I am. My name is Edel. Edel Hoffer. Just call me Edel." The accent was German, even though the English was flawless. "I am to be at your every beck and call for the next three days. You will be my only client. Feel free to let me know exactly what you want to see and do--what you like and what you like better. Do you fully understand?"

"I'm not sure," I said. I did want to be sure.

"I work for an escort agency, a full sex-service escort agency. We were contracted through a British escort agency, so I assume you know the full range of services available to you."

"Ah, yes, now I fully understand. It's always good to get that pinned down."

"Pinned down is good, yes," he said, and we shared a knowing smile.

"And you are a native German, Edel? You know Bavaria intimately?" I asked. I, of course, was dying to ask about being both German and black.

"Ah, you mean my race, I'm sure. That I'm black," he said, giving me a disarming smile to show me that the question was natural and not unwelcome. "Don't be embarrassed. It's a natural question. Yes, I know Bavaria... intimately. I specialize in intimacy." He paused on the word, savoring it, as, with a tingling sensation down low, I savored it too. "I was born here. Third generation German. An ancestor two generations back was an emigrant from Uganda, but, yes, I am very German and I know Bavaria well. I also know some of the culture your description reveals. After dinner, we'll go to a contemporary dance performance at the Iwanson Studiobhuhne performed by Group 95. There will be a private performance afterward we'll take in as well. I understood you trained as a dancer in New York and danced on Broadway."

"Yes, I did," I answered, "although just in one short-lived production. My sister arranged this trip--and you--for my birthday. I take it she told quite a bit about my background and my likes and dislikes."

"And your lifestyle," Edel said, giving me a smile and a pointed look. "I know you are gay--and a submissive. If you desire, I can complement that." And that was the beginning of an interesting and free-flowing dinner conversation as we were served a gourmet meal that befit the reputation of the hotel and of its restaurant.

Edel was subtle about it, but he handled me as if I was his female date as we took a hotel car to the theater after dinner. He guided me about with just a touch of his fingers on my arm and the small of my back--but also at moments--on my buttocks, which sent electricity through me and gave me the sensation of already being intimately possessed by him. There was no doubt that he knew how to be the complement to a submissive.

The main performance at the Iwanson Studiobhuhne was a four-person, two-couples dance titled "Route a le Campagne," which was performed excellently and created an aura of sensuality. The private performance afterward for a much smaller audience, all men, after we'd had cocktails and conversation with members of the dance troupe, was a two-man piece titled "Männer Verstricht, Männer Entlassen." The performance was explicitly sexual.

"The translation of the title is 'Men Entangled, Men Released,'" Edel breathed in my ear as I was looking down on his hand on my knee. And, indeed, the dancers were entangled to the point of writhing on the stage flooring, and the dance ended with one hunky dancer fucking the other one in a missionary position. This was something I would have expected to see in a secreted gay nightclub rather than in a dance studio. Every nerve in my body was tingling. Every time Edel touched me I could feel and could almost hear the sizzle.

"They do it very well, nicht wahr--not true?" he whispered in my ear.

"Yes, they do," I answered in a breathy voice.

"Perhaps we will..."

"Yes," I answered. That seemed to be what my whole life was wrapped around--telling men yes.

A hotel car was summoned afterward and conveyed us back to the hotel, with Edel stealing a kiss and a grope in the backseat. Neither was crudely applied. Edel was elegant and graceful in everything he did--up to a point, when he turned into an all-consuming animal, providing two consuming forms of taking. I was later to learn that if anyone could make an art form out of the act of fucking, it was Edel.

At the door to my room, he took the key card out of my trembling hand, opened the door, closed it behind us, and took me into a close embrace. The embrace became increasingly intimate right there, standing inside the door. He bore me to the carpet as he unbuttoned and unzipped and pulled clothes off. I gasped, as in a missionary position that mimicked what we'd just seen on the stage, holding me in what was both a fully capturing and a comforting cocoon embrace, he entered me with a cock that was thicker than anything I'd had in years, and fucked me, me moving in waves of pleasure under him, right there on the floor just inside the door to my hotel room.

"Ja, Ja, Ja--Yes, yes, yes," I murmured, transitioning to, "Oh, God, Fuck Yes!" as he demanded entry into my core and flowed in and too full possession when I surrendered to him.

The one difference with what happened on stage was that the stage sex was as much suggestive as demonstrative and was slow and theatric, although tab A did get inserted in slot B. Edel, once he was on top of me and inside me and in complete ownership of me, became aggressive, commanding, and demanding--bordering on the raw, animalistic, and brutal. It was in sharp contrast to the suave smoothness of his escorting technique and his initial possession. He overpowered me physically; pounded me hard, fast, and deep; possessed me fully; and had my throat in a chokehold, controlling my breathing, wearing me down, until I collapsed under him, opened fully to the manliness of him, and took him thick and deep. I surrendered totally to him. Jennifer couldn't possibly have known how much more arousing to me a man was who took me that way. But after that first fuck, he could have done anything he wanted with me.

Nothing had been said. Everything was assumed--rightly. I couldn't get enough of him

When I'd come and he'd stopped thrusting and, presumably had come himself--filling a condom bulb, although I had no idea how and when he'd managed to crown himself, he was so smooth and professional in action--he rose up from the floor and stood over me. His body was magnificent. He rolled the spent condom off his cock and I gasped. He was a chocolate brown across his god-like body, but his huge cock and low-hanging balls were jet black.

"Das war gut, sehr gut. Ich werde dich wieder auf dem Bett ficken und dann lasse ich dich schlafen. Wir werden morgen vor dem Frühstück im Fitnessraum des Hotels beginnen. Oh, I'm sorry, I was so taken with you I have forgotten to speak in English. What I said was, that was good, very good. I will fuck you again on the bed and then I'll leave you to sleep. We will start in the hotel exercise room tomorrow before breakfast."

There was no apology for how fully and brutally he had taken me. It was as if he had known that was what I wanted most from a man. I let it go as a given that it was how I wanted it.

"I caught the gist of that," I said. "I have studied a bit of German. Yes, Edel, that was very, very good. And you are the guide--and my master--for the weekend. You have just proven that. A morning workout will be a good idea."

"As is a nighttime workout," He said with a laugh as he helped me to the bed.

"Say that in German, please," I said. "I love to hear you speak German."

"Ich werde jetzt verdammt nochmal aus dir wieder raus ficken," he said in that silky voice of his. Then he laughed.

"That wasn't a direct translation," I said. "You said something about fucking the hell of me again."

"Yes, I did," he said. And then he laughed again--a low, lusty, sensual laugh. "I was just checking on how well you understood German. Well enough. Ich werde dich in den Himmel ficken."

"Ah, fucking me to both hell and heaven, is it?" I asked, smiling, although with a twitch as I viewed the size of his cock.

"I think you'll be pleased," he said. "I know I will be. You have a beautiful body. I will love fucking you. Ich werde dich lieben ficken. I love how you take it--how you want it so forcefully."

He knew I would be pleased to take it hard. Again, I wondered how he knew. And he'd said just what, at thirty, I needed to hear.

"The background on you mentioned Turkey and that you liked Turkish men," he said. "I know how most Turkish men like to take their sex. And then something clicked. There was a black-and-white photo of you in the file. I didn't recognize you from the color photo. But the black-and-white photo made me think of a movie... so I tracked a copy of the movie down, which was in color. I recognized you then, but you were redheaded in the movie."

"Kibris Delight," I said.

"Yes, precisely." He leaned over and ran his fingers over my gecko tattoo, making me shudder. "Then, when I remembered how I saw you performing in the movie, I knew how you would want to be fucked."

Mystery solved, I thought. I shivered as I lay on my back on the bed and watched him, in all his low-swinging magnificence--well, low-swinging if he weren't on the rise again, which he was--standing at the foot of the bed as he rolled another condom on his cock. He had a cellophane baggie in which he placed the used condom and placed the baggie on the nightstand, ready for the next deposit. He was thoroughly professional. There would be no evidence left for the room attendant to know that I'd been fucked in this room--not to mention how many times. Or how forcefully.

Hovering over me on his hands and knees, trapping me under him, he made love to me with his mouth and tongue down my body from my forehead, with long stops at my mouth and my throat and my nipples and my belly button, pausing to kiss and lick the gecko tattoo, and then on to the crease on each side running under my belly curve and above the curve of the tops of my thighs.

"What I remember from the movie is you having the tattoo here--a lizard of some sort," he murmured, his lips having paused there on my lower belly.

"At that time it was a temporary tattoo, just for the movies," I whispered. "After I stopped making movies, I made it permanent."

"Good. So sexy. I, like all men, I'm sure, have thought lusty thoughts of kissing you there."

The creases led his tongue into my pubic hair and then to sucking my balls and, finally, to covering my cock as I grasped his head between my hands, writhed under him, and rocket my pelvis against his face as he relentlessly gave me head until I creamed his tonsils.

Grasping my thighs, he raised my knees to my chest, rolled my hips up, and ate my hole out until I was crying for mercy or the cock--or both. When he slid inside me, I was fully open to him despite the girth of his shaft and he glided right down into my soft core, where my muscles grasped at the cock and undulated over it, making love to it as he pumped me, slowly at first and then faster and faster. As trite as it seemed when you weren't actually into it, he had Ravel's "Bolero" playing on a CD machine and fucked me to the ever-quickening rhythm of the music, taking it to a crescendo, and then it automatically restarted and he did so as well, moving to a crescendo and then back and then to a crescendo, until, not being able to endure it any longer, I came up his belly. The music repeated, though, and again, until Edel too had his release. But he fucked on, taking me hard, totally.

All the time I'd had my arms flung over my head, grasping the top of the headboard and he'd been kneeling between my thighs, an arm under my waist, holding my pelvis elevated, my legs spread and bent, feet flat on the surface of the bed, using my feet for leverage in rocking up to him as he thrust down into me, keeping the ever-gathering and crashing wave rhythm of the beat of the music.

I went to sleep in his arms afterward. When I woke later, he was gone. He'd taken his baggie of used condoms with him. I dragged out of bed and pulled my laptop computer out and fired it up. I went to the Web site of my sister's international escort agency. Sure enough, there was Edel's page. Jennifer had bought me not only a weekend of sightseeing in Bavaria but also a weekend of "resetting" sex. I could only be grateful to her for that. The best gift ever.

I hoped she got an employee discount. But Edel was worth every euro he charged.

* * * *

The knock on my hotel room door came at 7:30 in the morning. Edel was there, decked out in his gym clothes and carrying his duffel bag for the next two days' travels. He looked magnificent. I may have needed a morning workout to try to keep in shape. He didn't need one.

He got one, though. As he stood in the doorway, he said, in a low tone so that he couldn't be heard up and down the corridor. "Leg dich auf den Rücken. Öffne deine Beine für mich. Zeig mir dein Loch. Do you know what I told you to do? Last night you told me to be your master. I want to know if you will be my sex slave for the weekend."

I shivered. "I'm not sure if I got it all. Something about laying down and opening to you. Before we go to the gym? Before we have breakfast?"

"Before we do anything else. Leg dich auf den Rücken. Öffne deine Beine für mich. Zeig mir dein Loch--Lay down on your back. Strip. Open your legs for me. Show me your hole. If you are to be my slave, you will only care about me being inside you. You won't care about the gym or your breakfast. Do it."

I did it. Quickly stripping, I went down on my back on the foot of the bed; grabbed my ankles, raising and spreading my legs; lifted my buttocks; and arched my back. I was gasping and groaning--"Yes! Yes! Ja! Fuck me!"--as he worked his cock inside me and fucked me hard. His cock reached into the core of me and danced as I dug my fingernails into his biceps. I was his for the asking.

Then we went to the hotel exercise room and did a vigorous routine together. We showered in the bathroom of my room--together, lathering each other up with our hands.

"Gesicht der Wand. Hände über dem Kopf. Spreizen Sie Ihre Beine und ragen Sie Ihr Gesäss aus für mich."

Whimpering, I did as he commanded. I faced the wall, raised my arms over my head, spread my legs, and jutted my buttocks back into his crotch. He grasped my hips, mounted me, and fucked me again. After he'd come, he stepped back, ripped the condom off his cock and tucked it away in a baggie on the bathroom counter along with the one he'd used when he first arrived in the morning, and said, "Gute. Ausgezeichnet. Du bist mein sexy Sex Slave für das Wochenende jetzt."