Northwind Ch. 1

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.