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.