Busman's Holiday

I was dressed in silky white gauzy slacks showing red bikini briefs underneath, and a white mesh armless T-shirt that showed my tan, physique, and nipples, with the silver bars in them to good advantage. As I often did at such parties, I was barefoot, which gave off the "half-way-to-bed" aura. I had no trouble in such gear to readily see who would be interested and who wouldn't. Most of the ones who showed interest were Salvatore's staff. He apparently kept men about him with the same interests he and his nephew had. Guido was there, mostly moving about with another sleek, dark and sultry, young man of about his own age.

As I roamed the entertainment room and joined with this conversational group and another, I found that most of the investors wanted to talk about business while being more than a little hazy what business they meant, or sports, or getting pussy. A few did smile at me and touch me, including one tall, distinguished-looking, wavy gray-haired man, but none were showing interest in getting me alone until Salvatore came up to me with a tubby little middle-aged Arab-looking man with his tongue hanging out.

"This is Hamid, New York"--Salvatore only referred to me as New York. "He would like to see what rooms there are on the floor below this." That was a signal if I'd ever heard one. And it was the correct signal. Hamid, who was wearing one of those white Arab robes that buttoned down from the throat, revealed to be naked underneath when, as he sat on the bed in the room assigned to me and I knelt in front of him, I unbuttoned and flared his robe open. He was in erection and in the need of the blow job I gave him. He had folds of fat around his middle, and I just closed my eyes and pretended I was giving the motorcycle cop head. He didn't come then. He wanted to fuck me too. He was content in my bending over the bed on my stomach and him kneeling behind me, eating me out and then covering me in a doggie fuck. He was a fast shooter, so that didn't take long.

He was just a tubby little Middle East man, but there had been something of danger in his eyes and of an unnatural lust and, as sometimes was the case and took me by surprise, once he was behind me and inside me and his hands moved to encase my throat as he thrust, there were a few moments of high emotion and arousal from the sensation that I was completely his for the moment and that he had exhibited the attitude that I wasn't a person, just a vehicle for his pleasure, and that his pleasure might include snapping my neck at the moment of his ejaculation, fucking me to death. And I had become so jaded to my occupation, though only recently entered, that it aroused rather than horrified me. I moved a hand to my cock and stroked myself, with all of my sensations racing between the almost loving way he manipulated my throat with his hands and the movement of his cock in my passage.

We came together and it was only then, as the pressure on my throat lessened, that I looked around to see that one of Salvatore's lieutenants, a muscular dark-toned man in his early forties named Frank, who had been following me with his eyes all evening, was standing in the open door to the corridor, leaning against the door frame, and watching the Arab fuck me.

It was the job. I managed. I knew how to give him what he wanted without gagging, and Hamid went back upstairs happy. I, strangely enough, was happy too. I was happy to be alive, when he so easily could have snapped my neck and a look into his eyes told me that the little man perhaps had done that before--snapped a young man's neck during sex. Perhaps in his own country where he could get away with it without punishment. But I also was happy for those seconds of unexpected ecstasy when I felt in mortal danger. Left alone in the bedroom, with the thug, Frank still leaning into the door frame and watching me, I leaned down to sweep up my pants, briefs, and T-shirt to put them on. I'd already tossed the Arab's spent condom into the trashcan next to the bed. Frank took three quick steps into the room though.

"You don't need those for a while," he growled. "You owe me some fun. Who knows what the Arab would have done to you if I hadn't been watching?"

I realized he had a point. His fist closed around my wrist and he led me to the stairs next to the house elevator, which was humming its occupancy and either ascent or descent, and he pulled me down the stairs to the pool terrace.

He was a burly, hirsute man, but it was all muscle. He laid me down on a pool bed, with my head dangling over the end. I didn't even think of resisting. This was an "anything goes" weekend stint. His shirt came off his back to expose his muscular torso--and he, like Salvatore, had the puckered scar of a bullet wound in his shoulder. He had a swirling, geometric pattern tattoo that covered his left breast and swirled onto his left arm and down to his elbow. When the shirt was off, he put the harness of his left-pit gun holster back in place, unzipped himself, and extracted a long, thick erection.

Grabbing my arched head in place between his big, rough hands, he held it steady as the bulb of his cock pressed at my lips. I opened my mouth to the cock, unhinging my jaw to take it all in, and held steady like the good whore I was while he worked it into my throat. His hands went to my throat, feeling where the cock bulb was reaching and for the second time in a half hour I had the sensation that a john I was servicing could snap my neck at will and that he had the thuggish attitude of just might deciding to do that. And again it sent my arousal up and I moaned for him.

Frank's hands went to fisting mine and holding my hands away from my body as he fucked my throat. I lay there, giving him what he wanted. After a few minutes, he wanted to fuck another orifice and did so. He withdrew from my throat and moved over me on the pool bed, taking my ankles in his fists and raising and spreading them. He took his hands away, and I think I impressed him by being able to hold my legs in a wide V also by myself, with the strength of my leg muscles, while he worked on me between my thighs. He thrust inside my passage, bare-chested but still with his trousers on and that gun holster strapped to his chest, and fucked me hard and with vigor. I lay there, my head still arched over the end of the pool bed and watched the reflection of the moon in the rippling water of the pool and another couple--a man and one of the call girls--fucking on the other side of the pool, the ocean behind them.

I let Frank have what he wanted. That's what I was being paid for. Frank was a thug. He treated me like I was just a piece of meat. At the height of the fuck, images of the motorcycle cop, Rob, went through my mind, and I opened further to Frank, my passage muscles rippling over his thrusting cock, and just as the call girl on the other side of the pool was crying out her passion, so did I. I took my cock in my hand and stroked myself to liftoff before Frank was finished with me and just left me there, just as the man on the other side of the pool left the call girl exhausted and flat out on the other pool bed. I didn't let my legs down until he was gone.

The call girl wasn't left alone as I was, though, to pull myself together and go back up to the room assigned to me and shower and dress before returning to the party. As I was leaving, another man was arriving in the pool area and was covering and penetrating the call girl, and beginning to pump her.

So far I was holding my own. I was glad that male prostitutes weren't in as much demand in this party as call girls were.

After showering, I dressed, and went back to the party. I wasn't quite ready to jump into the pit, though, so I picked up a glass of red wine and went out onto the fifth-floor terrace overlooking the ocean. A few other people were out there, mostly in small groups, but there was one man who was standing at the balcony rail alone. He turned and looked at me as I walked out onto the deck. It was the tall, distinguished looking, wavy gray-haired man whose eyes had been following me in the entertainment room earlier.

I walked over to him. "Is there something you want from me?" I asked. Salvatore hadn't told me to go with this man, at least yet, but I had been able to tell that he probably was the biggest investor possibility at the party. Everyone had been deferential to him and Siglioni had taken him from conversation group to conversation group.

"I'm sorry. I've been staring, haven't I? But I looked around earlier and you weren't here."

I was off doing what you could be having me doing too, I thought. This was one handsome man. I don't think I'd mind writhing under him. I'd actually done pretty well in beddings so far this evening--nothing too demanding, and I'd gotten off each time. "When I was here at the party, it seems like every time I looked up, you were looking at me."

"Again, I'm sorry. You just reminded me of someone."

"Someone you liked or someone you didn't?"

"Oh, it was someone I liked. Someone I liked very much. His name was Todd. He lived with me."

"Todd? His name was Todd? It's not Todd anymore, or Todd isn't around anymore?"

"Todd's dead. He died in motorcycle accident last year. I'm afraid I've had a hard time getting past that. You just look and move so much like him."

"Ah, sorry. I didn't mean to be flippant," I said. "This Todd. He was your boy? You fucked him?"

"Oh, yes, I fucked Todd."

"And when you look at me, you want to fuck me too?"

"Oh, yes."

"That's what I'm here for. You can have what you want. No problem."

"You don't think--?"

"I think you're just fine. Here, take my hand. Let me take you somewhere more private."

We didn't just fuck; we made love. He was a big-cocked man. He lay on top of me in a missionary on the bed in the room assigned to me, and I hooked my knees on his hips and pressed my fingers into his shoulder blades and didn't have to pretend my moans and groans, as he plowed me deep and relentlessly in a steady beat that I melded with, moving my hips with the rhythm of his thrusts and causing my passage walls to grasp and squeeze and ripple over his moving cock.

He fucked me for over a half hour, coming close to sobs, and whispering the name "Todd."

I did this for almost no other man, but when we were done and dressing, I slipped him two cards--one with the number of my escort agency in New York and the other with my own address in New York and my cell number.

The last I saw of him that night, as the party was thinning out, was him talking in serious tones with Siglioni. There was nothing smart in giving the man my contact information. I'd already figured out that Siglioni's business, whatever it was, was one I didn't want any connection with or to be within three states of. And this was someone Siglioni wanted to do business with. But all of the time the man was holding me close and was inside me, I was aching to be this Todd he was mourning. I hadn't asked his name, though, so it would be up to him to call me if he really had an interest.

I thought I'd see him again, and talk to him further that evening, but that didn't happen. The room was beginning to empty out. Most of those who were left were Siglioni's men. His nephew and the nephew's sidekick came to me and took me back down to my room. There they put me between them on the bed, Guido on the bottom, me straddling him in a cowboy, and his friend, whose name I never got, behind me, also inside me. The fucked me together, sharing me, both of their cocks inside me, and there for a while I could think of was being double stuffed and played like a calliope. This was the only time that day that I felt totally out of control and challenged beyond what I wanted. Both of the men were young and vigorous and they gave me no quarter.

When they were done, Guido delivered me to the larger bedroom across the hall, on the ocean side. He lowered me to a king-sized bed and told me to stay there until Siglioni came. This was Salvatore's bedroom.

Salvatore was not a demanding bed partner. He fucked me from behind in a side split, but I got the impression that he was really too tired from the day to be frisky and was fucking me to maintain his commanding position in his business, whatever that was. It wasn't long before he was snoring. I slipped out of the room, changed into street clothes I'd brought in my suitcase, and left the house. No one stopped me and there were plenty of goons lurking around with guns who would have if they'd been told to.

I already knew what tomorrow would bring. I was to be back here at 2:00 p.m. to ride with Siglioni to the nearby Indian Wells Golf Club, where Siglioni had business to deal on the sly with whoever he had been pulling investors together to back up his negotiations with. Siglioni was quite clear that if deal was made, I was part of agreement.

"And he plays rough," Siglioni says. "Your agency assured us you could take bondage and a bit of whipping."

"Yes," I said.

"For what I'm paying for you, you'd better be good for that," he growled.

* * * *

I was keyed up and couldn't sleep. I didn't get to bed until 3:30 a.m., but I was up before 8:00, had breakfasted, and was out on the beach, sitting on a towel and watching the surf roll in. I don't think I was expecting or hoping for the motorcycle cop, Rob Sands, to be motoring by in a morning run just in athletic shorts and sneakers, but he did. He paused, running in place when he saw me. And then, of course, he came over, leaned down, and kissed me, his hand going to the silver bar in one of my nipples.

"Hi. You out on the beach just in case I jogged by?" he asked.

"Of course," I answered, not know if that was true or not--at least in my consciousness, but happy that it worked out that way.

"I came by last night but you didn't answer the door."

"I wasn't here."

"Out on one of your assignments?"

"Let's not go into that." I wanted to keep sex with a cop completely separate from whatever I was involved with by attending Salvatore Siglioni's parties. "Let's just say I'm glad you're here."

"You weren't put off...? I was a little rough yesterday."

"I like a little rough."

"I could fuck you right here on the beach."

I looked around and laughed. People were beginning to gather for a day at the beach. "We'd get sand where it didn't belong. We'd get arrested."

"Then I could fuck you in the jail cell. I'd handcuff you to the bars."

"How about just upstairs in my hotel room?"

"What are you doing today."

"I have to go out in the afternoon--about two. Don't ask. And that's probably it for the rest of the day."

"How about I take you for a ride around Myrtle Beach and to lunch first?" Rob asked. "I've got clothes in the car I can change into."

"After...?"

"Yes, after I fuck your lights out." Which he did, upstairs in the Royal Garden condo, both of us standing in front of the glass door out onto the balcony, Rob holding me in a close embrace from behind, cupping my chin with one hand, pulling my head back into his chest, and stroking me off with the other hand, while he fucked up into me with power thrusts from behind. He continued power driving me long after I'd splashed my cum on the glass of the door. Then he fucked me up against the wall tiles in the shower afterward as well.

We didn't finish with that until almost 11:00, and then he took me for that ride around Myrtle Beach afterward, using my rented 370Z convertible.

"Give me the keys," he'd said when we got down to the parking lot.

"It's a rental. I'm the only one signed to drive it," I said.

"Give me the fucking keys. I'm driving."

"You always have to drive, do you?"

"Are you complaining? I don't drive you well enough?"

I smiled and handed him the car keys. We cruised around, had lunch at a gay bar facing the beach on the south end, and he made a ceremony of paying.

"We could split the tab," I said.

"You're the bitch here--my bitch," he growled. "Your job is to lay down and take it. I do the driving."

I gave a little shudder. The controlling man thing aroused me.

We drove back into the Royal Garden Resort lot a few minutes after 1:00.

"I'm coming up," he said.

"Not a good idea, I'm afraid. I have to be someplace else at 2:00. Come back tonight, about 10:00."

"No can do. I'm on duty this evening."

"Well then. What? Where are you going?"

He was going over into the corner of the lot. He put the top up on the 370Z and then took me into his arms across the front seat, unzipping himself and then me. We necked while each of us stroked the other off.

"That'll have to do for now, but I'm not finished with you," he said, as he started up the engine and drove the car to a space closer to the building. I barely made the 2:00 arrival at the Surfside Beach house.

* * * *

The cover for whatever meeting Salvatore Siglioni was having with a man named Tony Franchese was a golf tournament at the Indian Wells Golf Club. There were VIP stands with box seats, where I sat between Siglioni and Franchese, who was a large, muscular, thuggish man with rugged looks and a mean eye. He was in his late forties or early fifties, with beefy hands lined with gold rings, some with big stones in them. The chit chat across me was about sports and cars and politics and I was included, but more in a flirty, "What do you like in bed" sort of way from Franchese, who obviously was deciding whether I was enough of a reward on top of everything else to do this deal with Siglioni. We stayed only long enough to establish we'd been at the golf tournament that afternoon and then, at a signal from Franchese that he was satisfied, the two men and most of their attendants withdrew to a conference room in the club house to discuss their deal.

Nephew Guido and one of the bodyguard goons who had been giving me the eye took me to a house across a small lake from the club house and backing on one of the Fairways. Guido fucked me in one of the bedrooms there and then the goon fucked me. A call came through, presumably from the club house and I hustled down to the basement of the house, where there was a sex torture chamber, fully equipped, and with soundproof padding on walls.

Guido and the bodyguard laid me, naked, on my belly on the bed, spread-eagled and restrained at the four corners of the bed.

When Siglioni and Franchese arrived, I was left alone in the room with them, with Franchese doing the fucking honors and Siglioni sitting off to the side and watching. Franchese used a looped belt on my back and buttocks, but it wasn't long before he was eating me out, using a dildo and a string of graduated beats on me, and then working on getting his fingers, bejeweled rings and all up inside me to the knuckles while gripping the hair on my head with the other hand and arching my head back.

I'm sure it looked more taxing than it actually was. I looked on the small and slender side, but I wasn't as delicate and vulnerable as it seemed. I had seen a lot in the escort business and Franchese was just working on his arousal; he wasn't beating me down. I made the noises that helped him go into a high before he mounted me from behind and above and fucked me to an ejaculation.

Afterward he and Salvatore went off to conclude their business and, eventually, Salvatore came back, climbed on top of me, and took his piece of me.

On the drive back to the Surfside Beach house, Guido suggested that I go out on the town with he and his friend from the previous evening who had doubled me with him--acting as if I was in love with them and would naturally want a repeat.

"Two problems," I said. "I'd love to go, of course, but the contract ended with the action at the golf course house. If there's more, I have to report it to the escort agency and your uncle will have to pay more. I can't mix business with pleasure while I'm here. All of the play has to be accountable to the escort agency. That, and I have another assignment to go to. I have to fly back to New York tonight."