Gustaf's Castle

"Oh, come on, Rob. Come with me," Josh had said. "What's the worst that could happen? You could get laid. So what? It's about time. We've never been to a gay bar before—at least I haven't. And I hear Gustaf's is a gas. All made up in Transylvania style and everything. It's Halloween. They're sure to have pulled out all the stops for the occasion."

No, I'd never been to a gay bar before. In fact, I hadn't been to anything gay—that I knew of—or had even thought of doing so until Josh and I had drawn each other as college roomies. I think being around him for three months so far had bent me. I was beginning to have strange thoughts and urges—ones I'd never had before. All because of how Josh looked and what he did with girls and guys alike.

"Aren't you worn out from the football scrimmages today?" I asked. "Don't you have too much homework to do?"

He was standing at the sink in the bathroom, with only a towel draped around him, having just showered. He was leaning into the mirror, using short scissors to trim his eyebrows. He always wanted to look good. And he always did look good. Two hundred and twenty pounds and nearly six and a half feet of solid fullback muscle; built like a tank.

"Naw. Tonight I feel like something new; something a little wild. You know, give the girlie boys something to gawk at. It's Halloween, man. We need to howl."

"I don't know," I mumbled. I liked him like this, though. He got my juices going when he was being a bit wild. But I really didn't know. Being in a gay bar with him when he was in this mood. Who knew where it would lead to? I was scared and jacked up at the same time.

"Is OK," Josh was saying. "If you don't want to go, I'm sure Scott will go with me."

And that pushed me over the edge. Scott would go with him for sure, and Scott would probably wind up doing things with him after going to the gay bar that I'd only dreamed of doing with Josh myself. Scott had hit on me more than once. I couldn't think of anything worse than Scott getting something on with Josh that I was too shy and scared to attempt myself.

"OK, then," I said. "I'll go with you."

"Great. And wear that black net muscle shirt you have and the tight black jeans. You'll be a smash there. We'll really knock 'em dead."

Gustaf's—really Gustaf's Castle—was all it was rumored to be. The entrance foyer was five steps down, under the stoop of a massive brownstone townhouse in a quiet street off the main drag in Old Town.

The bouncer who answered the door was a regular Egor right out of a Dracula movie, and after giving both Josh and me the once over and being satisfied, he opened a heavy, steel-spike-studded door in the stone-floored foyer we first entered, and we were descending again into a dimly lit, rock-walled, cool, subterranean chamber, complete with vaulted ceiling, thick cobwebs, an armory of medieval weapons and chains hung on the walls, and raucous male noise rising above the eerie sounds coming from a small band. I couldn't tell what instruments were being played or even what style of music; I just know it sounded a little creepy and dissonant.

The room wasn't all that big, and the temperature increased as Josh and I descended the curved stone staircase into the pit, no doubt heated up by the tightly encased swirl of manflesh in high heat.

I immediately felt out of my element and sensed my throat constricting, and all I wanted to do was turn and flee back up the stairs and out into the night. But Josh didn't seem to be perturbed at all. He just kept walking—no, strutting—down the stairs, as faces lifted to take in our arrival and opened up into wide smiles. Cat calls and whistles floated above the sounds of a male crowd on the make, and a corridor was opened between Josh and me and the bar.

Everyone made way as I followed Josh into the crowd and places opened up in the center of the long bar, with men pulling off to the side to give Josh and me space—all except for one man, who would have stood out from all the rest even in the center of the crowd.

He was well over six and a half feet tall and had a dark, glowering aspect about him that exuded domination and control. As tall as he was, he was also a mass of muscle, which made Josh look almost stunted as we approached. He had marble-white skin and black, piercing eyes that both repelled and enticed me as they took both Josh and me in in one, long, languid sweep from toe to head. It was impossible to determine his age. I would have gauged him at more than fifty if it hadn't been for his excellent muscle tone. His face had the craggy appearance of long years of experience without making him any less handsome and arresting in appearance. His silky silver hair stood out wide from his angular face and tumbled down to his shoulders. He was holding up a glass of red wine in long, elegant, strong fingers, the backs of which were covered with curly black and gray-peppered hair.

He was dressed for the locale and Halloween theme: tight, fawn-colored britches rising out of high-top black leather boats, stretching over heavily muscled legs, and ending in a low-rise waistband, with a pouch for his privates jutting out provocatively at his basket. A white, diaphanous cotton shirt floated above the tight riding pants. This was open at the neck and half-way down his sternum, to reveal a gold medallion on a thick gold chain nestled in a matting of silver and black curly hair. All very B horror movieish, but on him, very arousing.

"Ah, fresh prey," he said in a rich, silky baritone as we approached. His broad smile was one of simultaneously open and challenging welcome. "My name is Gustaf. Welcome to my castle. I don't think you have been here before, so please accept the first drink as my guests."

Somehow the way he said "prey" sent shivers up my spine. I maneuvered so that Josh was between me and this very disturbing man. For the second time, all I wanted to do was leave—but Josh was already deep in conversation with the bar's owner.

Standing there, watching them, I couldn't help but be taken with the contrast between the two men. It was the personification of good and evil in my mind, although I chastised myself for rushing to this conclusion. It probably was only their coloring. They were both magnificently built, although the much older Gustaf was an exaggeration of power and manhood that eclipsed young Josh in size and presence, even though Josh was no slouch in that department himself. But Josh's Nordic blondness, with his blue eyes and a body that I knew was smooth and hairless and only lightly tanned, contrasted starkly with the dark, mysterious, almost gypsy-like presence of Gustaf. And Josh's smile was entirely open, honest, and fun-loving. Gustaf smiled, but it went to something like a sneer at the corners, and his eyes blazed and darted in a way that you felt was penetrating to the very center of you and pulling at every evil and dark thought that you had.

One drink led to another, and I found myself in a close encounter with a shirtless Hispanic construction worker type who was making no bones about wanting to get to know me better—and intimately. He had wandering arms like an octopus and, while being quite complimentary and full of humorous good will, also seemed quite adept at moving into me and crowding me against the bar.

He was copping a feel of my basket, holding the outline of my cock through the material of my jeans with two beefy fingers and suggesting that we "take a walk for a few minutes—and then laughing and saying it might take more than a couple of minutes," when I decided enough was enough and turned to tell Josh it was definitely time to leave. That this hadn't been such a hot idea to begin with. All the time feeling guilty, because I was enjoying what the construction worker was saying to me and, more disturbing, what he was doing to me. And I was shocked that this was so. I needed to get out of here.

But when I swiveled to get Josh's attention, he was gone. And so was Gustaf. I turned to the barman even as the construction worker was pulling my buns back into the hard on I could feel through the material of both of our jeans.

"Where—?" I called out over the din.

"Eh, what?" he called back.

"Where did they—?"

"Gustaf and your friend? Back to the back. Back there." He was pointing toward the back right edge of the bar.

I struggled to move in that direction, but the construction worker gathered me back into his lap with strong arms and turned me, and then he took my lips in his. I was taken by surprise and by shock and before I could react rationally, I was kissing him back passionately.

He was holding me to him, as he sort of perched on a barstool, my rump against his pelvis, and my torso twisted around so that our mouths met. I felt the palm of a hand glide down my belly, and my zipper was being worked down, and he had a hand inside my jeans, pushing up to the waistband of my briefs and then down under. And then he was fisting my cock, skin on skin. And I was moaning and writhing and engorging under his touch.

His mouth was becoming more insistent, more possessing. His tongue was probing deep inside me. My ears were buzzing, and my mouth was melting to him as I felt myself hardening under his attentions. My mind was racing and screaming "no, no, no," but in an ever-fading roar. My reason was numbing, but my senses were heightening. I raised one hand to behind his head, holding his mouth to mine, and ran the other one down to cover the fist that he was now slowly, but relentlessly pumping my cock with.

I briefly panicked at the thought of being taken like this in a crowded bar, but I'd seen all of the fucking that was going on as we descended the stairs, so I hardly thought I was the center of attention—and right at this moment, I guessed I really didn't give a fuck what anyone else was seeing.

At the point of being lost to him, though, my mind came screaming back and, with a jerk, I pulled away from him in one swift movement.

"Sorry. So sorry," I muttered. "Gotta find Josh."

And without even looking around to see what effect this had had on the construction worker, I stumbled toward the side of the bar where the barman had said led to the "back." To where Josh and Gustaf had gone. As I stumbled, I pulled up my zipper, requiring both of my trembling hands to get the job done.

* * * *

The corridor is dark, black-painted rock walls, oozing moisture. And it seems endless. Doors off to either side here and there, but all locked. No sound from the other side. My head is still buzzing. Completely out of my element here. But gotta find Josh. Where is Josh?

At the end of the corridor is an open doorway, covered by a black, beaded curtain. I hear whimpering and murmuring as I get closer. Groans and moans and sighs. And another sound, a more ominous sound—a sound I can't quite identify. Almost a sucking—or maybe a slapping—sound. Both, really. Quite unreal, echoing.

The room—a stone-walled chamber—is nearly pitch black when I stumble into it, and off to the right of the opening my shoulder blades pressed against cold, moist rock.

I can see them only in outline at first, but as my eyes adjust to the darkness, I can clearly take in the mesmerizing, enticing horror of it.

They are both naked now. The young, blond, tanned, hairless hunk and the older, marble-white, silver-haired, hirsute dominating master.

There is some sort of black-cloth-draped dais in the center of the room. Josh is at the edge of this, on both of his knees, undulating torso upright and arched back into the hairy, heaving chest of the other figure, arms hanging listlessly down at his sides.

Gustaf is behind him, but close, one leg flexed and leveraging with the ball of his foot off the floor beside the platform, and the other leg kneeling on the edge of the platform, his thigh insinuated between Josh's spread legs, crotch to ass. The hand of the Gustaf's arm away from me is lifted to Josh's cheek, cupping and holding the younger man's jaw, raising it at an angle, stretching the veins in his neck so that they pop out, fully accessible, vulnerable.

Gustaf has his mouth pressed to these stressed veins, sharp fangs incising into them, gurgling his pleasure in that sucking noise I heard as he drinks Josh's blood deeply, with a slurping sound.

Gustaf's inhumanly thick and long cock is moving, rhythmically, now shallow and fast, now deep and languidly, slapping in and out of Josh's ass canal, the slapping noise reverberating off of the stone walls of the chamber. Gustaf's other hand has snaked around to Josh's flat, ripped belly, and he's slowly pumping Josh's fully engorged cock with his fist.

Josh is whimpering and sighing and groaning and murmuring his pain-pleasure at the testing and full mastering of all of his senses and desires—and fears. There is no struggle in him. His body is slowly swaying back and forth, the expression on his face beatific, his plump butt cheeks slowly moving back and forth, up and down, opening in full acceptance and making love to the gigantic cock that is splitting and mining him deep. Slap, slap, slapping.

As I watch, Josh cries out in passion and twitches hard, and his cock spouts out semen in three strong arcs. But nothing changes. Gustaf continues to suck and to fuck and to pump Josh's still-hard cock.

I whimper and involuntarily work at my belt buckle. Without losing purchase on Josh's throbbing vein with his incisors, Gustaf turns his eyes to me, although I know, instinctively that he has always known I am here, that he heard me stumbling down the long corridor, willing me to continue toward him, to be here to see this—to be part of this.

The power of his eyes—now golden yellow and luminescent in the dim light—pins my shoulder blades to the wall. And the eyes continue to hold me there, not interfering in any way with his sucking teeth, fucking cock, or pumping fist, as my jeans and briefs hit the floor and I begin to work my lengthening, thickening, leaking cock with shaky fist, my ragged breathing and moans merging with Josh's.

Gustaf turns his head and smiles to me, a sneering, knowing smile. He moves his pelvis back, pulling out of Josh's ass, showing me a foot or more of hard, thick, jet-black, throbbing-veined cock. The black cock in stark contrast to the marble-white of the rest of his skin, slowly turning blush now as he feeds. Never dislodged, though, no hint how much is still buried there. I watch as he carefully, almost teasingly, removes his hand from Josh's cock and spreads the hairy-backed palm on Josh's lower belly. Suspended there for the longest time. One more look directly into my eyes and then he licks the jagged wound at Josh's neck and I see his teeth sink in one more time. Eyes back to mine, then descending to my crotch, causing me to look at his as well.

Heavy panting and little cries of the taking from Josh, slipping into a long, drawn-out moan, as Gustaf's palm applies pressure to Josh's belly and slowly, relentlessly pulls his channel back along the gigantic foot-long cock. Until all I see are two hairy, lemon-sized balls hanging down from Josh's entrance. Gustaf's eyes back on mine, now, as I shudder and ejaculate and Josh's voice starts in a whimper and crescendos into a cry out, punctuating his spouting once more in three strong arcs, and then collapses into himself with another whimper—still being held in place by Gustaf's strong arms, deeply embedded cock, and sucking teeth.

Horrified at what I am watching, at what he is doing to Josh. Terrified that he might soon be doing the same thing to me. Hardening and leaking because I know he will be—and trembling in anticipation because that's what I want too.

* * * *

Me lying on the dais now, on my back, one leg dangling off the end and the other being held up and spread by a strong hand with long, sharp fingernails. Looking down, seeing Josh—or what is left of Josh—lying crumpled at the side of the dais. Looking down my belly and seeing the black cock—seemingly only at my entrance but already buried deeper in me than I ever thought possible. Pulsating, causing the muscles of my stretched channel to ripple around it. Moving in and out, penetrating me ever deeper with each inward glide.

Looking at Josh again. Strangely not caring. Wanting what Josh experienced. Black cock sinking ever deeper. Moaning, groaning, wanting more of it.

Looking up into its eyes. Golden glowing eyes. Loving me. Caressing my body with its eyes. The eyes asking for acceptance. I smile. And the beautiful face smiles back at. The thick, ruby-red lips open to a broad smile. Fangs. Dripping blood. Josh's blood. But I don't care. I want it too. I want to be completely taken, possessed.

All sensation going to my stretching channel as the black cock sinks deeper into me and begins to pump. Slap . . . slap . . . slap, slap, slap. The sound of fucking reverberating off of the stone walls. Inside me. The . . . thing . . . fucking me. But I don't care. I want it.

The face disappears, descending below my cheek. The sharp, quick pain at my throbbing vein, and I turn my head away from it, stretching out my neck, making my vein bulge. It is holding my hands in each of its large hands—away from my body, fingers intertwining mine. Intimate, loving. I feel warmth at my neck and a pleasant pulsing sensation. The sucking noise. The same sucking noise I'd heard upon entering the chamber—echoing off the stone walls. Someone in the camber is groaning and sighing. I slowly become aware that it is me.

Everything joining in one rhythm: the slap, slap of the fuck, the throbs of the deep-digging cock and the answering ripples of my channel muscles, the sucking sensation at my neck and the responding pulsing of my life's blood to the point of giving, the rhythmic changing of pressure of its fingers interlaced with mine. Even my sighs and moans are joining in harmony with the ultimate taking. It is humming to me—letting me know that it is enthralled in its feeding. The supreme compliment. I am found acceptable. I am ecstatic, but in a warm, increasingly detached way. Everything is getting hazy—except for the reverberating sound of the slap, slap, slapping and the rhythmic suck.

A great sense of peace and deep pleasure is drifting in. The cock is reaching up, grabbing for my stomach, becoming one with me. I am whimpering my love for the mingling of my now-trickle of blood with the numbing saliva of my master. My master's humming tells me it is well pleased and accepts my offering.

My ears, already having started a soft ringing, reverberate with the primeval cry of the master bouncing all around the stone walls as I feel the fountaining deep inside me. Warm, flowing to my very quick. The slap of the cock holds in suspension as does the outflow of my blood, as for one, panicked moment, I feel like I have not been worthy. But then the huge black cock comes back to life inside me again and the slapping and sucking resume, as I . . . grow . . . progressively more lethargic . . . and the ringing in my ears . . . increases to blot out the slapping and sucking . . . and, with an ultimate feeling of bliss, I . . . drift . . .awa . . .