Out on the Street Pt. 02

Throughout the week, I'd deliberated offering to pay Vittorio to bring himself off while Angelo was fucking him, as a specific side-bargain, even though I was the one who'd ruled out such dealings. Another ten dollars, just for this one small thing? Another twenty? More? At some price, he was likely to fold, to agree to what I wanted, but under those circumstances...would it be what I wanted?

I knew now that it wouldn't. If it chanced to happen spontaneously, well, I'd share in the joy of it. And if it didn't...I'd be none the poorer than I currently was.

I bent down and scooped him up. "I won't tell him," I said as I came upright, "and Vittorio? I won't ask you to do that again. But if you want to..." I trailed off. He was already shaking his head.

-----

Vittorio:

I could tell that Angelo was feeling bad. I would've known anyhow, from his manner, from the way his silence was...different...today, but I saw how bad he felt when we came through the door of the bathroom, Frank carrying me. He started forward from his position against the wall, eyes wide with horror, hand over his mouth, inarticulate noise issuing out around it.

Frank shushed him. "You didn't injure him. And nor did I. I'm only carrying him because I don't care to have my seed dripping off his stomach and all over my floors."

True to his word, he didn't mention mine, and he cleverly kept his body between Angelo and I until I was deposited back in the bath. I was grateful. I knew that Angelo wasn't such a simpleton as everybody thought, but even if he had been, he wouldn't have believed that one man could produce that much seed inside of five minutes.

I didn't want Angelo to know what I'd done in that bedroom, because...because I'd used him, with my mind, as surely as Frank used each of us, and for the same reason - self-gratification. I'd imagined him doing all manner of things to me, tenderly, roughly, utterly heedlessly, while I brought myself to completion, and even though I knew there was no chance he'd ask what had happened, still I felt consumed with the need to conceal it from him.

I looked across at him as we walked, his thumbs slung in his pockets in that way he had. We weren't in step with one another today. We weren't in tune. He felt guilty because he thought he'd hurt me, plundering my mouth. And I felt guilty because I'd reveled in every single second of it.

And what could I say to make him feel better? It's perfectly alright, I'm quite recovered now? Frank had fairly well said that already, and it'd done nothing to chase the concern from his face.

But how could I tell him? I loved it, the smell of you, so potent, so close...I thrilled to it, the urgency, the power of you, taking from me. I wanted it, I needed it. How could I say, I would have died happy had my breath stopped, had the light gone out, because...in the moment, the whole world was you...

I couldn't, because he wouldn't understand, any more than I understood Frank. His face, when he dragged me up and threw me - I thought he was outraged. But then his voice, when he bid me touch myself, it was oddly strangled and hoarse, and I realized he wasn't angry, he was inflamed. By what Angelo had just done with me, or...? No. He was aroused because I was aroused.

And it was only when it was all over and he was leaning down to tip me into the bath that it occurred to me I'd twice told him no last week, and once more just seconds ago, and that I'd be wise to work very, very hard at being everything he wished, in every which way but that, because...he had a power over me.

Frank. He had a power over me, because he knew my secret. Angelo. He had a power over me, because he was my secret.

-----

I was afraid, entering Frank's house the following Sunday. He'd promised me he wouldn't tell, and I believed him, but I was sure he'd exact a price for his silence, and my mind was in a ferment, speculating on what it might be. If he were to bring another boy in, and have him fuck me instead, while Angelo stood by...if he were to bring another boy in and have Angelo fuck him instead, and force me to stand by and watch...

There was no other boy. Everything continued the same. Almost the same.

It took two further Sundays for me to notice that Frank had adopted a new pattern, so subtle were the changes. But now, at the beginning of every evening, he'd have Angelo go down on me first, whereas formerly it'd been otherwise.

He was giving me cover, I realized - providing me with a simple explanation for an arousal whose true origin was...more complicated. Ever since I'd become entrapped by this...thing, going down on Angelo had been fraught with danger. I'd have to slip one hand between my thighs, bend my prick over my thumb, and squeeze until it hurt to keep myself from responding alike to the swelling of his flesh, his intermittent grunts of pleasure...

Frank gave me cover in another way as well, one I was even more grateful for. When he'd drunk his fill of the sight of us playing, he'd have me turn over and lie on my front, stretched out flat. It was a position he'd never requested before. He would spread my legs in a vee and tell me to arch my back a little, and then Angelo would shuffle in between my thighs, anoint me with a little salve, and saddle up.

And as he worked himself slowly, quietly into a frenzy, then to a stillness, a clenching, a shudder...I was free, released from my fears, because that part of me which ought rightly to have been indifferent to his efforts and was not stayed hidden, safely tucked away against the mattress.

I'd lie there, prone - aching, thrilled, content, until the door clicked shut. Then Frank would gently, silently turn me over, draw me toward him, lift my thighs and enter me. Once I understood the pattern, I understood the bargain. To be hidden from Angelo, to be on display for him.

It was me his eyes wandered over now. Even with my own closed, my prick could sense his stare while he fucked me, excited by my excitement. While Angelo fucked me, it was my face he watched. I knew it because I'd briefly catch sight of him from time to time in my delirium, while my vision wandered and jerked and at times disappeared altogether as my eyes rolled behind their lids.

There was nothing I could do to contain it, so I let him know, I let him see, and in watching him as he watched me, I saw myself as I truly was. I was offering my body up to Angelo, joyfully...yes. But the joy wasn't only in the sacrifice - it was in the fuck. I desired him. In every way.

-----

Frank:

"There were packages came for you - two of them. Separately. Not in the usual mail."

"Thank-you, Mrs. Riddiford," I told her. "Where did you put them?"

"In your study, on the blotter," I heard her muffled reply as she struggled out of her apron, preparing to leave.

There they were. In my study, on the blotter. A small square box wrapped in brown paper and secured with twine, and an envelope. I found my letter-opener and ran it across the top of the envelope, drew out the sheet of paper inside. A White Star Line ticket for a first-class berth to Dublin, eight days hence. For one.

I had left it and left it until I couldn't delay any longer. Ordinarily I'd have been in Europe for weeks by now, arranging for fresh stock, making new contacts, reforging old ones. I usually quit New York the minute the weather began to get sticky, and returned to easier temperatures as the leaves began to curl, but this year...I hadn't wanted to leave.

I hadn't wanted to give Vittorio up. For weeks, I daydreamed about taking him with me as a sort of assistant/clerk. Some smarter clothes, access to plenty of books, and the leisure of time, combined with his natural inquisitiveness - he'd surely make the best of such an adventure. It would be as much a joy to have him by me in the daytimes as the nights.

And then, when we returned to New York? I'd get him a puppy - warm and wonderful, as responsive as himself, for his very own, to teach, to provide for, to love...and to play with. I hadn't had a dog for many years, but he was young enough still for a puppy, young enough to be down on the floor, rolling around, tussling. It would be a Jack Russell, I decided - a boy with a character larger than his stature should have a dog of the same disposition...

Lord, so stupid, all of it...that someone of my age should indulge in such idiocies. But indulge in them I did. I wallowed in them. Until last Sunday. Gazing down at Vittorio, spread around me, all yielding, his upper body streaming back toward the bed, I wondered how I'd ever found him inferior to Angelo.

I'd have you, I thought, without the other. But you wouldn't have me without him. And you can't get him without me.

What a mess. What a dreadful tangle. I knew then that I needed to let them go - both of them - before I did irreversible harm to any of us. I had to put aside all this foolish sentimentality, act decisively, cut the knot.

And then because I had decided to be done with foolish sentimentality, of course I purchased each of them a gift. I unwrapped the parcel and checked that the contents were what I had ordered - yes.

I'd assumed they were Catholic, though likely it had been a long while since either of them had entered a confessional. Still, I surmised they wouldn't turn down an amulet, and if life pressed in hard on them at some future point, they'd have something of value to sell.

The two slim gold chains hung from my index finger now, each lightly weighted by the gold St Christopher medal they bore. They were identical, except for one detail. I'd desired the jeweller to engrave an 'A' on the reverse of one, and a 'V' on the other, and he had done so - beautifully.

Good. Good. I took the package upstairs to the second bedroom, deposited it on the side-table, and looked about the room.

Tomorrow it ends, I thought. It was fortunate that I'd be colossally busy this coming week preparing for my departure, for business to tick over here while I was absent, or I'd be moping dreadfully.

I was moping a little already. There'll be other boys, Frank, I told myself. The knowledge utterly failed to cheer me. There would always be other boys - the world is a big place. But when you've let yourself grow attached, there's scant comfort in such thoughts. You don't want other boys. You want this one.

I sat down on the bed and let it wash over me for a moment, remembering having to say goodbye to Reuben, all those years ago. I had the same feeling now, a sort of sick sadness invading me. Back then, at twenty-five, I thought it was the end of everything. Today, at fifty-two, I knew it wasn't.

But from this vantage point I also knew that you don't ever get back what you've lost, and you don't entirely stop grieving it. In all the intervening years, there'd never been another Reuben, and similarly, I'd live out my days without discovering another Vittorio.

-----

He was facing me, head turned aside, one cheek resting on the mattress. He knew I was watching him, but it was a distant awareness. He was in his own world just now...his own world, but I had a window to it. The look of a boy as he's being penetrated - there's nothing to compare. Always, always that moment of...disorientation, and...with Vittorio there was blinking, a storm of blinking, rapid but irregular, as the cock sank ever inward.

I used the blinking for a cue, waiting until it abated before setting Angelo on to fuck, while I watched that face change again. It was a sort of...melting. The lines of worry disappeared from his countenance as he bloomed, and gradually the blinking slowed to a crawl, as though there were no thought, no energy to spare for even this tiny autonomic function...everything, everything given over to the cock...

Angelo left the room and he lay still in the aftermath, waiting for me to turn him and take him. I sat down on the bed by his side and laid a hand on his shoulder.

"I've something to tell you," I began.

He looked up quizzically between hanks of hair, but said nothing.

"I travel to Britain and Europe every year for business. Usually in the summer. For a couple of months. I'll...be leaving this coming week. I'll...I'll tell you both, of course, later, but...I thought...you might like to be forewarned."

He nodded. I waited. Nothing more.

As I stood up clear of him, he rolled onto his back, angled himself my way, and spread his legs.

I reached down and stroked up the length of one of them, on the inside, up to the soft skin of the inner thigh. "Would you mind trying something different today?"

He shook his head. "No, sir."

I repaired to my armchair, removed my lower clothes - which I hadn't done in his presence before - rolled my sleeves to my elbows, and seated myself, beckoning him over. Coating my cock with salve as I spoke, I explained;

"I want you to sit in my lap - after a fashion. You start in a crouch, with a foot either side, here, and work your way down. When you're ready to move, I'll hold your waist and assist you, and you grip of each of my arms, here, so you can lean back a little and bear more of your weight on your heels. Does that make sense?"

"Yessir," he assured, climbing nimbly up astride me. All the same, he seemed...uncertain as he hovered with my cockhead at his entrance, lips pursed, frowning, gaze flickering all over. I reached out and stroked his eyes closed with my thumbs, and he smiled wryly. He knew that I knew what went on behind those lids...

"Go slowly," I murmured, "take as much time as you need. Be gentle with yourself. And be careful - I'll go deeper than you've been used to in this position."

He nodded only vaguely, concentrating as he was, focused on accommodating me, but he was still hard, and he stayed hard as he cautiously worked himself down my shaft. He stayed hard as he rested at the root, enveloping me, and the blinking receded. He stayed hard, behind his closed eyes, while I established the rhythm...

For a time I just watched him, glorying in the sight and the sensation, then an idea took hold...

Gradually, gradually I reduced my participation, until my hands were guiding rather than lifting, until it was Vittorio who was maintaining the fuck, raising up, plunging down.

His fingers clung harder to my skin and he leaned back a little further. A minute more, and he let them slip down my arms a fraction before digging in once again as he leaned back further still, picking up his pace, and for once I didn't know where to look, because his cock, as it slapped against his abdomen with every downstroke, was festooning him with scores of tiny shining droplets...

Sweat was forming at his brow, at the base of his neck. He was throwing himself at my groin now, harder and harder, faster and faster, panting with the exertion...suddenly his head went back, his neck extending, spine arching, and there wasn't even time for my jaw to drop before he was erupting all over me...

The head came slowly forward as he sat motionless, planted on me, his passage still quivering about me. His eyes opened and one hand flew to his mouth, horrified.

"Sir! I've ruined your waistcoat!"

I smiled at him, stroked his cheek. "It's only a waistcoat. It doesn't matter. Doesn't matter at all. Go and dress now, and fetch Angelo back here. I have something for the both of you, to remember me by."

He rose an inch or so, then subsided. "Sir, did you...?"

"Yes. When you did." I wiped the remnants of his seed from his cock with my shirt-tail. "Go now."

He dismounted and glided out the door without looking back. I stood and removed my remaining clothes, wrapping myself in a robe.

I regarded my waistcoat, which, given it was silk, most likely was ruined, smiling down at the mess, caressing the viscous stuff between thumb and forefinger. Whether it had been a gift to me, or a gift to himself, or simple happenstance, I'd never know...but I was grateful every which way.

-----

TBC