Nutcracker Christmas Partying

"Now me. Touch it." I did. He was in magnificent erection. He moaned low.

"Stroke it." I complied. His moan was deeper. I was moaning as well.

He pressed his pelvis against mine. He was in massive erection. I didn't see it, but I felt it pushing itself up between my thighs, already moving below my ball sac, across my hole, which puckered and began to blossom open.

He was going to fuck me. I wanted him to fuck me. I moaned and whimpered something that was indistinguishable even to me.

"Fuck me," I whispered.

"Yes," he answered.

He grasped my wrists together and bound them in the leather of his belt, raising them up and hooking them on a hook above my head. He grabbed my ankles and hooked them on his shoulders, using my flexibility as a dancer. His hands glided over my chest and down my sides, over my belly, and back up to pinch and thumb my nipples.

I shuddered and trembled and shimmered and whispered, "Please, please," not being able to say again what I really wanted, which was his hard dick inside me. He'd said "yes" to that. I was going to be fucked the first time by a black stud.

I groaned and gave a little cry as I saw him reach over onto the surface of the table and sink his fingers into the slab of butter there, and then I gasped and cried out louder, screaming, "Fuck! Shit!" as his greased fingers found, penetrated, opened, sank into, and began to stretch my hole.

His cock soon followed when I was lubed and open. He was enormous. I sobbed and moaned as he penetrated, mastered, and then pumped me, all the time holding my head against the wall with a grip on my throat.

"Yes, yes. YES!" I cried out as he pumped and pumped, stretching my passage, and my passage responded. The muscles of the channel walls undulated over the huge shaft, making love to the cock as he fucked me.

He fucked me hard, deep, with vigor, and to his completion. He stroked my cock and squeezed my balls with his free, greased hand, while he fucked me, and I came again before he did.

So, that was what it was like to be screwed by a black bull. It was like no other coupling I'd ever experienced. It had been all about him—the pleasure he wanted to take. But it had given me maximum pleasure too. I felt totally fucked.

When he was done, he unhooked my wrists, let me sink to the floor, muttered, "Sorry, I couldn't help myself," and, picking up his trousers and retrieving his leather belt, left the cottage. He was nowhere to be seen when I was able to collect myself, pull my coat back on, and leave.

I had never been so fully and brutally taken.

When I got back to the house, the meeting of the numbered men had been concluded. I avoided them and went up to my room and to a bathroom to soak in the tub and whimper and moan. En route Steve had stopped me.

"They are going over onto Fire Island tomorrow and staying the night. So, you three will be free to do whatever you like here until Wednesday afternoon." Steve had taken a shine to Win, so I knew how Win, at least, would spend our "free" day.

Having a free day without the number guys pawing me was a relief, but I would have liked it better if they had already gone to Fire Island for an overnight Christmas orgy at a male brothel there. The black bull groundskeeper had wiped me out—and they'd done me royally earlier that afternoon themselves.

But they put a full evening of fun and games with the three ballet dancers, with Two and Four repeating with me what they'd done with Win on the ottoman in front of the fire. The screwing continued into the night, with me winding up riding One in a cowboy position on his bed, One lying on his back, holding my waist in his hands, as I rose and fell on his shaft. Six was, initially, on the bed beside us, fucking Kyle in a missionary position. He couldn't keep himself from One, though, and he abandoned Kyle, mounted himself up behind me while I was riding One's cock, slid his shaft inside me on top of the one One already had in my channel, and the two doubled me to a three-way ejaculation.

It was a lot for the small, lithe body of an eighteen-year-old guy to take. But take it, I did. I was still gaping open from the black groundskeeper earlier in that day. That helped me take two together later.

Kyle had used the doubling as an excuse to escape and the three of us collapsed on the bed in a heap. As we were recovering, I, surprisingly, was pushed off to the side, One continued lying on his back, but now Six saddled himself on One's pelvis and, like I had done before, sank his passage on One's cock, and began riding him in a cowboy.

So, One and Six were more intimate than merely boss and employee, I discovered, and, as I surmised, Six was more amenable to taking cock than giving it. I probably should have figured that out earlier.

They didn't notice when I quietly rolled off the bed and padded out of One's bedroom.

* * * *

It was snowing, but, like a moth to the flame, that didn't prevent me from pulling on a warm coat and boots and leaving the house. I took the path down toward the bay, seeing the glow from the black groundskeeper's cottage filtering through the boxwood hedges before I reached the turnoff. I took the path toward the light and knocked on the door, but before he could decide whether to answer the knock or not, I pushed the door open.

He was sitting, cross-legged, in front of the fireplace, where a fire was flaring. He'd put up a Christmas tree beside the fireplace. It wasn't as grand as the one in the main house, but it was nice enough. Christmas music was softly playing in the background. The interior of the cabin, living and dining room combined, and a wall of kitchen cabinets and appliances, glowed from strategically placed candles. A wine bottle and one glass sat on the slate hearth, signaling that he hadn't been expecting me—or anyone else. He was wearing just red-flannel pajama bottoms.

Once more, the musculature and tattooing of his torso took my breath away.

"I said I was sorry," he said when he saw me framed in his entry door. "I couldn't help it. You gave it to those men at the house. I had to have it too."

"I don't want your 'sorry,'" I said. "I came because I don't know your name. You didn't tell me what your name was."

"No, you didn't come for that," he said.

"No, you're right. I came because I want that big, black dick of yours inside me again." As I said that, I opened the coat I was wearing and let it fall to the floor. I stood there just in the boots that I then slid my feet out of as well.

We held for a couple of long seconds, him obviously trying to decide which way to go, me knowing exactly what I wanted.

"Come here," he growled at last. "I'll give you all of the big, black cock you can take." He slipped his pajama bottoms off, and I gasped at seeing that he was well on his way to a huge erection. He pulled me down on top of him, I took his cock in my mouth, and the fuck began. It moved on to him kneeling on the rug in front of the fire and holding me in his lap, facing him, my torso streaming back toward the Christmas tree, as he grasped my hips and pulled me ever so slowly on his shaft, as I groaned and moaned at the stretch of him. Once partially saddled—I could tell that he wasn't going to be able to bottom inside me without a lot more preparation—I was being worked on and off his stretching shaft until, first, he came and then as I lay back and moaned, he stroked me off.

We lay there, like that, both of us concentrating on him going flaccid inside me.

"I'm told the men are going over to Fire Island tomorrow and staying there until the next day," he said.

"Yes," I answered.

"I attended the lighting of the tree in Rockefeller Center the other night. It's really something to behold. Have you seen it? Do you ice skate? There's a skating rink there."

"I haven't had time for anything like that," I said. "We're putting The Nutcracker on at Lincoln Center, and all my time has gone to rehearsals and performances. I've seen nothing of the city. I'm up from Philadelphia. Never been to New York City before."

"I'll take you there tomorrow. We'll be back before the men return from Fire Island."

"I don't see how—"

"I'll clear it with Steve up at the house. He's in charge while the men are gone. They need never know."

"I guess you could tell Steve there's some sort of emergency requiring me to return to New York for the day and you volunteered to take me," I said. I couldn't help it—I felt taken care of that he didn't ask me if I wanted to go to the city with him—that he just said that's what we'd do.

"I'll take care of it, and I'll take care of you," he murmured. And he did take care of me, turning me over my belly, running an arm under my waist to raise my pelvis to his desire, and mounting, penetrating, and fucking me again. I lay there, cheek to rug, eyes gazing into the fire, luxuriating in that big black shaft working my passage. This time he prepared me longer and found a position that, when I'd been opened well, he was fully saddled, and I was fully penetrated, stretched, and fucked.

* * * *

I don't know what he told Steve, but it worked. We went into the city for the day, didn't return until the next morning, Wednesday, and neither Steve nor the men said anything about it. Kyle and Win didn't give me away either.

The day in New York City was glorious. Frank—that was the name he finally gave to me—seemed to know every place a guy would like to see in the city and he took me there. He drove me into the city in a nifty Porshe sports car he said went with the Babylon mansion and Steve let him use, and he parked it in the garage of a fancy old high-rise apartment building between Central Park and the East River on 68th Street. That evening, when it was getting dark, we walked back from Central Park to Rockefeller Center to be there when the lights on the Christmas tree went on. Then we ice skated on the rink there.

From there we took a cab up to 68th Street East to the apartment house whose garage he'd used for the Porsche, the Lenox Hill, old, elegant, and over fifteen stories. He took me near the top of that to a huge four-bedroom apartment, which he said belonged to someone he knew who wasn't in residence at the moment, and who said Frank could use it. The furniture in the apartment looked old, like it had been there for generations, elegant, and expensive.

There, in a big four-poster bed in one of four bedrooms in the apartment, he fucked me through the night. He asked how the men at the party had fucked me and what positions they'd used, and then he replicated them. He wasn't the least bit judgmental that I worked the party as a prostitute. He showed no jealousy that six men were screwing me at the party.

It all worked out that we got back to Babylon before the number men returned from Fire Island. He let me off at the house and he went on to his cottage in the back garden. I wasn't back long before the men returned. Whatever they'd done overnight at the male brothel on Fire Island, it didn't wear them out, because they returned as randy and ready as they had been when they left. I didn't have time or opportunity to go back to Frank's cottage that evening or night because the six men fucked the three ballet dancers all over the mansion all evening and into the late morning of Thursday when they all packed up and left. Our dance master, Gregor Gerinko, arrived in the afternoon to take Win, Kyle, and me back to New York.

We had a rehearsal at Lincoln Center that night, and the next day, Friday, we were back on stage in the weekend cast of The Nutcracker. I barely had time to think about Frank and our fuck in front of the fire and in his bed and the trip to New York City. But every moment I wasn't taken up with dance rehearsing and performance was occupied by thinking of the positions the big, black bull had used to cover me—and on how much better he did them all than the six men at the Babylon party had done.

* * * *

The sex week hadn't exhausted me and the tips were great. It had been exhilarating, and I felt I'd put on the best two performances on Friday that I ever had. Gregor Gerinko even patted me on the butt at one point and praised my dancing in the tin soldiers' scene. Afterward, as I and the other minor male dancers were crowded into a large dressing room, fighting with each other to get our costumes and makeup off and running through the showers so we could dress and get out to the late-closing eateries within walking distance of Lincoln Center, Gerinko came to me. He was holding a bouquet of red and white roses.

"You have an admirer," he said. "If you don't make it back to the hotel tonight, I'll take care of that."

The heads of all other dancers swarming around in the room snapped around to look at me. It wasn't unknown, actually, that someone in the audience—male or female—hit on one of the dancers this way, but it didn't happen often, and not usually with a bouquet this expensive looking. Also, it usually happened when the admirer was known to the dancer.

I was at a loss on who it might be, and responded naturally. "I think it must be a mistake. They must be for someone else," I said.

"No. It's Franklin Carlton. He's one of the backers of this running of The Nutcracker. He's a multimillionaire playboy," Gerinko said. "He's gay too and you aren't the first dancer he's ever picked off the line. If you have ambition to move up to solo roles, I think you need to go out to him. His car's in the alley by the stage door."

"I don't know," I said. "I don't know about just going off with—"

"Your ballet school called me today," Gerinko interjected. "They said someone by that name had guaranteed your tuition for the next year at the school. The man's got the hots for you, obviously. I know you thought your training would stop with The Nutcracker. What are you willing to give to be able to continue? I know you'll give sex. You just went to a sex party. It's up to you, of course, but it looks like you're about to link up with a sugar daddy if you're smart enough to do so."

It was a nifty Porsche sports car. And the driver, of course, was the hunk black bull supposed groundskeeper at the rented Babylon party house.

"You aren't just a gardener and handyman in Babylon, are you?" I asked as I climbed into the passenger seat of the Porshe.

"No. That's my house. The guys who were using it are associates of mine."

"The guys who wanted eighteen-year-old male dancers to fuck," I said.

"Yes. And, yes, they are men I associate with. I like my men young. When I really like them, I want them all to myself, though."

"For just a short while?"

"With the right guy, I'd be looking for longer than just a while—much farther into life, I would hope. I want to start with them young and flexible like you, as a dancer, are, because I want to train them to my desires. But enough of that. I was thinking we'd have dinner at the Atlantic Grill. They are officially closed, but they keep a room open late for special reservations, and then back to the Lenox Hill apartment for the night. I'd get you back well before tomorrow's matinee of The Nutcracker."

"I suppose the fancy apartment is yours too," I said.

"Yes it is. It's been in the family for a couple of generations. No one will disturb us there. Buckle up and let's go."

I knew it would be quite a ride. That was quite all right with me. I liked that he didn't really ask me if I wanted to go with him. He knew I did.

* * * *

December 2023

"Well, it's good to see you again backstage. Are those flowers for anyone in particular?" the backstage manager of the Koch Theater said.

"Yes. There's a young man in the troupe I've met—Jamie Martin," I answered. "On the dance line, taking the roles I took in my first production of The Nutcracker here. The same age I was when I started. Do you know him?"

"Indeed, I do," Fritz said. I gave him a searching look, afraid that he would show disapproval. But he didn't. Fritz had always been understanding that way. "He's a handsome young man and good on his toes. Reminds me of you back in the day. I think I just saw him coming out of the dressing room. Ah, yes, there he is."

Fritz called out to Jamie, whose face lit up in a broad smile when he saw me—and the bouquet of red and white roses.

"You were terrific," I said, as Jamie approached and Fritz patted me on the arm and turned away to talk with a stage hand. "And it was a great production of The Nutcracker," I added.

"You really think so?" Jamie asked, pleased. "Coming from you, that's great praise. I think The Nutcracker has been your life."

It was Frank who was my life, I thought. The Nutcracker had just been the catalyst that brought us together and helped us stay together for nearly forty years. But Frank told me to move on—not to give up. I'd seen Jamie dance in a ballet at my old dance school in Philadelphia. I had recommended him for this production and he had, indeed, done great.

"I was thinking we'd have dinner at the Atlantic Grill," I said. "They are officially closed, but they keep a room open late for special reservations, and then back to the Lenox Hill apartment for the night. I'd get you back well before tomorrow's matinee of The Nutcracker." I checked. You have three days off after that matinee. I thought we could go out to Long Island for a couple of nights. I have a house in Babylon there, opposite Fire Island.